Once Alicia understood that the place was meant to be destroyed, panic surged through her like cold water down her spine. For a brief and shameful instant, her thoughts scattered. Her heart hammered violently, breath coming too fast and too shallow. The stone walls around them felt
suddenly closer, the ceiling lower as if the underground chamber itself had decided to collapse early just to mock them. She forced herself to stop.
Panic was useless. She had been taught since childhood that fear dulled judgment and nobles who panicked died first. Alicia straightened her back, fingers curling into her palm until her nails bit into skin. The pain
grounded her.
"It isn't my time…" she told herself.
Yet, no matter how firmly she repeated it, fear still lingered in the quiet places of her heart. Not the loud fear that screamed but
the quiet one that whispered that lives could end unfairly, suddenly, and without
ceremony.
Her knights reacted faster than she did. Their hands hovered near their coats, fingers brushing against the hidden devices secured within. They decided to activate the emergency communicators, the artifacts reserved for one purpose only. They were not meant for inconvenience or embarrassment.
Activating them meant admitting failure, admitting that the life under their
protection had been placed in genuine danger. For a knight, it was both duty
and humiliation.
Baston noticed the movement from the corner of his eye but said nothing. He didn't know the artifact's true purpose. To him, it was just another nervous habit and another sign that these men, for all their armor and
discipline, were still human. Unlike them, he appeared almost relaxed. Almost like he would never be complicated.
In truth, Baston was anything but relaxed. He simply knew better than to let it show. Panic was a luxury reserved for those without
contingencies. Baston had learned that lesson early long before the academy and
long before magic lessons and rankings. The moment he let fear surface, the balance would tip. The clown wasn't watching their expressions out of boredom. He was weighing reactions, measuring cracks, and searching for the smallest inconsistency.
Baston could not afford one. Inside his chest, something stirred. It was not fear, instead it was calculation. The old book remained silent, its presence heavy and watchful in the back of his mind. That silence
itself was a warning. When the old book spoke, it judged. When it didn't, it observed and observation was often worse. Baston had no idea how this encounter would be weighed, only that every choice mattered. So, he played the role he knew best. An unremarkable student, a bystander, or a piece of background furniture.
If the clown was a performer, then Baston would be the audience member who clapped at the wrong moments and asked harmless questions. Let the people believed the clown was in control. Let him enjoyed the stage. Baston had no intention of winning this exchange. He only needed to survive it.
"All right," the clown finally said, clapping his gloved hands together as if starting a performance, "I'll begin. Who are you?"
His painted smile curved upward, exaggerated and hollow.
Baston answered without hesitation, "Just an average student at Prius Academy."
The clown tilted his head, sensing the answer was acceptable. He was quite satisfied amidst not knowing his real name.
Baston met his gaze, "What do people call you?"
"Pretty good answer. Pretty good question," the clown's smile widened, placing his hand over his chest theatrically, "People call me
Joker."
Alicia frowned inwardly. Baston hadn't asked for the man's real name yet the clown still gave his name. The clown was very direct and his opponent operated indirectly. She believed the clown would never give a real
answer anyway, only an alias. As the spectator, Alicia could only see two people dueled with their words.
"My turn," Joker said lightly, "What's your relationship with that girl?"
Baston glanced at Alicia only briefly, "She's just a passerby."
The words struck harder than Alicia expected. Her brows knitted together for a split second before she schooled her expression back into calm. She wanted to rebuke but she warned herself. This was not the time.
Joker chuckled but didn't comment. He gestured grandly, "Your turn again."
Baston thought for a moment, "Were you involved in the explosion at Prius Academy?"
Joker spread his hands innocently, "I'm just a passerby too. I don't know anything about explosions. In fact, I didn't even know one had happened."
The symmetry of the answers sent a strange chill through the room. Alicia's suspicion deepened. The man's words were evasive but not clumsy. He was playing, mirroring Baston's answers as if mocking the entire concept of truth.
"For the third question…" Joker tapped his chin exaggeratedly then grinned, "Are you gay?"
Baston's expression darkened instantly, "No."
The two knights bit back laughter, shoulders trembling. Alicia pressed her lips together, refusing to react. The question was absurd but Baston understood it instantly. He was trying to destabilize the rhythm.
"Then let me ask," Baston said evenly, "Are you crazy?"
"Yes."
The answer came without hesitation. Joker stood, laughter spilling from his painted mouth as he threw his head back while cackling wildly. The sound echoed unnaturally through the chamber, scraping against the walls.
"Yes, I'm crazy," he said, stepping forward.
Baston stepped back, so did Alicia and the knights. The clown stopped just a few steps away, his laughter dying abruptly. He
straightened as if suddenly bored.
"Oh dear," Joker sighed, glancing at his bare wrist, "Look at the time. It's been far too long already. I have other business to attend to."
Baston's chest tightened.
"You can continue playing by yourselves," Joker added cheerfully.
"Wait!"
Baston stepped forward instinctively. He couldn't let it end like this. Not yet. At least, to show to everyone here that Joker was not him. To perform to his best, convincing all spectators that Joker was indeed different. The clown then vanished completely.
There was no flash and no sound. One moment he was there and the next, he was gone as if reality had simply erased him. For several heartbeats, no one moved. The silence left behind was heavier than Joker's
laughter had ever been. Baston felt it press against his ears, against his chest as if the room itself was holding its breath. He resisted the urge to exhale too quickly. Joker's disappearance was not a victory. It was an unfinished sentence.
"He left on his own terms… No, he left because I ordered him to…" Baston thought.
His gaze swept the chamber instinctively, not out of fear but habit. There were no residual traces to look for. No distortions and no
hidden watcher. Joker had vanished exactly as intended. The puppet disolved cleanly back into nothing. From the outside, it would appear theatrical, unnatural, and unsettling. That was the point.
Joker was never meant to linger. He was there only to play as the bad guy. Inside Baston's mind, the old book remained inert. There was no warning, judgment, and affirmation. That silence was deliberate. He recognized it now. The book did not react to performances meant for others. It responded
only when he himself was being measured. The danger here had never been Joker. It was whether anyone would look too closely at the one who created him. So far, no one had.
Baston loosened his fingers slowly, forcing his posture to remain casual and unremarkable. A harmless bystander lingering too long after a scare. Exactly what they expected to see. If questions came, he needed to look confused. If scrutiny followed, he needed to look forgettable. And if something truly dangerous arrived, he needed to improvise.
Baston exhaled sharply. Before relief could fully settle, the ground trembled. A deep, resonant vibration rolled through the chamber, followed by a surge of overwhelming magical pressure. The ceiling above them burst open, not crumbling, but peeling apart as if lifted by an unseen hand. Chunks of stone hovered midair and frozen. Light soon poured in.
A man descended slowly from above with billowing robe and radiating mana in dense with controlled waves. His presence alone bent the air, forcing breath from Baston's lungs. It was strong. No, it was overwhelming. The difference between Joker and this man was immediate and terrifying.
Joker had been dangerous in motion. He was unpredictable, sharp-edged like broken glass scattered across the floor. He invited attention, drew eyes, and demanded reactions. This man did none of that. His power did not flare or threaten. It settled the situation. It pressed down invisibly,
rearranging the space around him without effort and without urgency. The floating rubble was not a display. It was incidental proof that the environment itself had already submitted.
Baston swallowed. If Joker had been a pressure, then this man was gravity. There was no angle to exploit here. No rhythm to disrupt and no game to stall. He knew, with absolute clarity, that if this man decided to look at him, then no amount of acting would matter. The old book remained quiet. It
had always been quiet in such situation.
For the first time since the encounter began, Baston felt something dangerously close to uncertainty. Joker could be managed. Authority like this could not. This absolute power did not need excuses, explanations, or theatrics. It only needed intent. And intent, once formed, could not be talked away. The man landed gently as if gravity itself deferred to him. Alicia's fear soon evaporated instantly.
"Uncle!" she cried, running forward.
The man laughed warmly and caught her in an embrace, "I'm here."
Relief flooded the chamber.
"As soon as I sensed the distress signal, I came at once," he said, pulling back to examine her, "Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine."
The knights dropped to one knee, "Our apologies, my lord. We failed to protect Lady Alicia."
"You did your duty," the man said calmly, "You called for aid."
Baston stood frozen. So that's what it was. An emergency call reserved for true danger. No wonder reinforcement had arrived so quickly. Everyone began speaking at once but Baston barely heard them. Cold sweat trickled down his back. If he had delayed even a little longer, his puppet would have been crushed by sheer presence alone.
Inside the academy, everyone had been limited. The students was bound by rules and by ignorance. Out here, the world was different. Power answered power. Alicia then noticed Baston's silence.
"Baston, do you want to return with us?" she asked.
He hesitated then nodded, "All right."
Her uncle studied them briefly, brow lifting ever so slightly. The pairing amused him but not enough to concern him. Still, curiosity won.
"Alicia," he said, "What is your relationship with that boy?"
"It's quite complicated."
The man smiled, "You don't want to tell me?"
"I want to," she whispered, "Just not where others can hear."
"Easy enough."
A soundproof barrier shimmered into place. Alicia soon told him only part of the truth. About meeting Baston by chance, about seeing him practice ice magic alone, and about his claim of hiding strength to hunt a
criminal organization. Alicia hesitated before continuing.
She didn't realize it but her story softened around the edges when she spoke of Baston. Small details slipped in his calm voice. The way he spoke as if danger were already accounted for and the absence of panic even when things had gone wrong.
To her, these things meant foresight. He could control the situation. Despite facing unexpected death, he was very calm. It was just like he was ready. Even if he was in weakened state, his heart was strong. His maturity was far beyond what his appearance suggested.
What Alicia didn't understand was that she was mistaking restraint for righteousness. She believed Baston hid himself for noble reasons, that his silence was a burden he carried alone out of necessity. In her mind,
this made him trustworthy. Angus noticed the shift immediately. Not the words but the tone.
He said nothing, merely filing the impression away. People revealed more through what they defended than what they explained. And Baston, absent from the conversation, remained exactly where he preferred to be. She then left out the cult matter. Left out her deepest suspicions. Angus listened silently, his eyes were thoughtful.
"From the poor districts?" he murmured, "Strange."
"I don't know either," Alicia admitted.
The barrier faded. They soon reached the academy gates. Angus identified himself properly, refusing to cause a scene.
"I'll go ahead," Baston said suddenly, "I still have something to do."
Alicia nodded, "Thank you for everything…"
Baston bowed politely to Angus and left. Only once he was gone did Angus exhale softly.
"That boy…" he said, "Is hiding something."
Alicia didn't disagree. And far away, Baston walked alone. His heart was still racing, knowing one truth with perfect clarity. The clown was dangerous but it was part of his hidden power. Yet, the man who arrived after,
he was worse.