Slow, deliberate footsteps echoed through the vast corridor, each one rolling across pillars carved with ancient ornaments and murals that rose like the walls of a palace.
Every step grew louder as the figure approached the two children trembling on the cold stone floor.
A crushing weight pressed down on their backs, forcing their shoulders toward the ground and keeping their heads bowed.
The red‑haired boy's breath shook. Sweat gathered along his brow and slid down his cheek. His teeth dug into his lip until blood streaked down his chin. Even under the pressure, he forced his neck upward, inch by inch, until his eyes reached the man's mouth.
His grip tightened around the shovel's handle. The wooden shaft creaked in the silence,
and in the next moment, the shovel swept through the air in a wide arc toward the man's torso. The handle vibrated in his palms, his arms burning as he drove the swing forward. Adrenaline surged through his head—
"Matheus Boreas Gresham."
The sound cut through him as he woke up from his day dream.
"Born and raised from a noble branch of the Boreas household, ruling the lands of the central continent's eastern coast."
The man paused.
His piercing gaze settled on the boy, the weight of it sinking into him like a blade.
"Despite your great upbringing, Theodore Boreas Gresham challenged the patriarch for the household's seat… and won the duel."
A breath.
"Against your father."
Matheus's fingers twitched. His jaw tightened. His shoulders trembled as he pushed against the pressure pinning him down. The moment his muscles found the smallest opening, he tore forward, ripping free of the invisible weight and swinging his shovel toward the man's torso with everything he had—just like the moment he had fended off a red dragon's claw.
The shovel cut through the air with a sharp whistle, the metal head blurring as it raced forward. The force behind it rivaled the Sword God's Longsword of Silence, the air itself seeming to stretch around the arc. Matheus's vision narrowed, slowing as the shovel's edge neared the man's wrist, centimeters from connecting—
—and then the world tilted.
"OOOF!"
His sight spun.
The man's figure drifted farther away, shrinking from view.
Sebastian's eyes widened as he watched his friend spin through the air, tossed aside with effortless force before crashing onto the stone floor. The impact echoed through the corridor. He stood frozen, trying to understand what had just happened, his gaze locked on the man who had thrown the boy aside. The man calmly cracked his knuckles, each pop sharp in the heavy silence as he walked toward the fallen child.
Matheus gasped for air. His hands clutched at his knee, where a deep purple bruise was already swelling beneath the skin. Pain shot up, forcing a strained grunt from his throat as he tried to pull breath back into his lungs.
Then a suffocating weight pressed down on him, freezing the pain in place.
"In contrast to the prior patriarch's mercy… or kindness in sparing his own flesh and blood from the succession battle…"
The man's voice carried no warmth.
"…your uncle issued an ultimatum for your family."
The man knelt down and reached for the boy's hair. His fingers closed around the strands, and with a sharp pull he dragged Matheus upward, lifting him until their eyes were level.
"EeeehhaaAAAAA!"
Matheus's scream tore out of him as his scalp stretched under the weight of his own body. His hands shot up instinctively, grabbing at the man's cold wrist, trying to ease the pull, trying to stop the tearing pain running across his head.
The man's bloodlust thickened in the air, filling the corridor like a suffocating fog. Even meters away, Sebastian's breath hitched, his chest tightening as the pressure pressed against his lungs.
"Matheus Boreas Gresham… How are you alive?"
Matheus's grip weakened.
His fingers slipped.
His legs dangled uselessly beneath him.
The killing intent pouring off the man crawled across his skin, numbing his nerves, draining the strength from his arms. His eyelids fluttered as the world around him dimmed, the edges of his vision blurring as consciousness began to slip away.
"S‑StTOP!"
The killing intent thinned just enough for the voice to slip through.
The man's gaze shifted, the corner of his eye catching a smaller presence frozen in place, trembling.
His fingers opened.
Matheus dropped to the floor, landing hard as the pain from each injury flared one after another.
The man turned his head slightly, acknowledging Sebastian's existence for the first time. One eyebrow lifted, the muscles around his eyes tightening as his expression sharpened.
Sebastian couldn't look back.
His legs shook beneath him.
His heartbeat pounded so violently he could hear the sound escaping his own mouth.
The man rotated fully toward him as his steps began to move forward.
Thud...
Thud...
Thud...
Each echoing step slammed through the hallway, rattling inside Sebastian's skull. His thoughts scattered, scrambling for any way to fend off the man approaching him.
What do I do…?
Wind? Should I blow him back?
No—he just fought that creature…
Blow up the place and run?
Run where?
Thud...
Thud..
Thud.
Sebastian's breath hitched as the man's sharp, piercing gaze bore down on him, sweat sliding off his nose and tapping against the blue stone floor while an unspoken thought churned behind that stare.
Where have I seen this boy before…? Such weak mana lengths…
Then the man's voice cut through the silence, low and deliberate.
"Are you… Alton Aiken?"
Sebastian's eyes snapped open, heat surging up his chest as rage rose so violently it tightened his throat.
"HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT NAME!"
His voice ripped through the corridor, raw and hostile, his breaths turning fast and uneven as adrenaline flooded his veins and old memories clawed up from the depths of his childhood, twisting inside him until his chest felt ready to burst. The outburst forced his head up, just enough for the man to catch a clearer look at his face, and the man's eyes widened, his mouth parting slightly as recognition settled in.
"No… you are not that dwarf. You are his son…"
A sharp flare of hostility rippled off him, and Sebastian flinched as his gaze dropped to the floor under the crushing weight of that stare pressing down his spine.
"You are Sebastian Aiken."
The words hit him like a blow, and his body tensed on instinct, every nerve screaming for him to move as the suffocating bloodlust thickened around him; the faint shift of the man's stance reached his ears, and Sebastian forced his eyes upward, only for a hand to snap around his throat the instant his gaze lifted, fingers locking tight and cutting the air from his lungs in one brutal motion.
"Urgh!? Krrrr!"
Sebastian's feet left the ground as the man hoisted him up with effortless strength before slamming him down in one brutal motion, the impact ripping the air from his lungs as his back crashed against the stone floor and the man's grip stayed locked around his throat, pinning him in place.
"Kuurgh!"
Sebastian's hands shot up on instinct, fingers digging desperately into the man's wrist as he tried to pry himself free, but the pressure only tightened while the man stared down at him, brows furrowing as he muttered.
"How is this… possible?"
The man's brows tightened, his expression twisting as he watched Sebastian struggle beneath his hand, the boy's arms trembling and his grip weakening under the crushing pressure.
"Sebastian Aiken, you will tell me everything—" he began, but the words cut off as a sudden surge of magical energy rippled through the room, sharp enough to make the air vibrate.
His head snapped toward the center of the hall just as the fading glow of a teleportation circle pulsed weakly on the floor, its light flickering in uneven waves while silhouettes slowly formed atop it, taking shape in the last trembling traces of illumination.
-----
A fading sound drifted through Reinheardt's ears, blurring into the remnants of his fever dream.
Sending those poor children into a hydra's lair… Was I wrong?
"-heardt…"
Even with all this strength… I was so quick to cast aside the weak.
"Reinheardt!"
Forgetting what it means to be a knight… can I even call myself… a father?
"REINHEARDT!"
Smack.
A sharp warmth burst across his cheek. Reinheardt's eyes snapped open.
The small blue‑haired mage stood in front of him, face twisted with frustration, staring straight into his unfocused gaze.
"What's wrong with you?! Get yourself together and help me move this boulder now!"
Reinheardt looked at the young mage. Deep eye bags hung beneath her eyes, her expression strained and exhausted. Each breath came heavy. Her legs and knees were mottled with blue bruises, and the skin along her fingers and palms was torn open, blood seeping steadily from the raw wounds.
He rose to his feet.
The area around the magic circle had been almost cleared, only one massive boulder remained. The rest of the debris lay scattered in red‑stained piles around the circle, the stone smeared with dried blood.
His gaze shifted back to the blue‑haired mage.
Roxy had her arms wrapped around the boulder, her legs bent, her upper body pressed against the cold surface as she braced herself to push. Her movements were sluggish, her body trembling under the strain. Nothing about her posture suggested she had anything left to give.
A knot tightened in Reinheardt's chest.
The weight pressed against his ribs.
He rushed to her side, reaching out and placing a hand on her shoulder. His grip was firm but gentle as he pulled her back from the stone, turning her toward him before she could force herself to push again.
"What are you doing, Reinheardt! I need to move this boulder—"
"You've worked hard enough. Let me take this from here."
"No! We need to hurry! The boys—"
Reinheardt pulled Roxy fully toward him, his hands closing around both her shoulders. He held her in place, steady but firm, guiding her to face him. His worried, troubled expression hovered inches from her own.
Roxy's eyes widened.
Her gaze traced the lines of strain across his face, the tightness in his jaw, the flicker of fear buried behind his eyes. It was as if the words he couldn't bring himself to say were pressed into that single expression.
Weird… how one look can say so much…
Her thoughts drifted.
Her shoulders loosened.
The last remnants of adrenaline drained from her limbs, leaving only the heavy pull of exhaustion. Her knees softened, her posture slumping as fatigue washed over her like a collapsing wave.
Reinheardt gently set the sleeping magician down in a clear patch of floor, away from the scattered rocks. He rose and turned back toward the magic circle. Only one massive boulder remained.
He stepped toward it.
The stone towered over him, its surface cracked and dust‑coated. Normally, something like this would have been nothing, yet when he pressed his palms against it and pushed, the boulder barely shifted. His arms trembled. His boots scraped against the floor as he tried to gain leverage.
A strange heaviness clung to the stone.
Or maybe it clung to him.
Reinheardt's breath hitched. His muscles strained. The memory of the children, the guilt twisting inside his chest, the doubt gnawing at the edges of his focus, all of it dragged at him like chains.
Despite that, he grit his teeth and a guttural scream tore out of him as he forced his weight forward, every fiber in his body tightening. The boulder scraped across the stone, inch by inch, until it finally slid free from the platform.
Dust burst outward in a cloud as the rock thudded aside.
Reinheardt panted as he stared at the magic circle, its sigils carved in the unmistakable style of the dragon race. The plate beneath his feet showed no cracks, no damage—untouched despite the chaos around it.
The ancient mechanism mesmerized him.
One by one, the sigils flickered to life.
A faint glow.
Then another.
As if some hidden lever had been pulled.
The circle brightened in a slow, steady bloom of light.
Reinheardt turned toward the sleeping mage.
Her small frame lay still, breaths shallow, exhaustion clinging to her like a second skin.
He hesitated, weighing his next move.
The boys were ahead of him.
Somewhere beyond this circle.
An ominous pressure tightened in his chest from the god's warning.
What is it that I should do…?
All the sigils lit at once.
A blinding light surged upward, filling the room in a red haze.
Reinheardt looked at the young magician's sleeping face one last time.
His jaw tightened.
His fist closed.
With a steady breath, he stepped into the circle.
The air warped around him, space twisting in a strange, weightless pull.
He shut his eyes as he spoke.
"Is to take responsibility."