Chp: 6 - The Other Within {2}
Morning, beneath the dimmed sunlight.
Darion Valdis Villiers, the only son of the Archduke of the North, sat upright in an intricately carved wooden chair. At just twelve years old, he already carried more rumors than most soldiers on the battlefield—all because of his sharp gaze and speech far too arrogant for someone his age.
In front of him, his private tutor, Elroy Nordahl from the Branch House of Marquess Nordahl—an elderly scholar from the Royal Institute—unrolled a fresh parchment scroll. Today's lesson seemed to be a repeat, prompted by Fillion after Darion's strange behavior upon waking. According to Fillion, the young master had oddly stopped throwing things at him as death threats and had even asked bizarre questions like "What year and month is it now?" It was impossible for the young master not to know, so Fillion—misunderstanding—assumed Darion had lost part of his memory.
"We have already discussed this theoretically, Your Highness Darion," Master Elroy's voice sounded formal, though slightly trembling from age. "Currently, before you enter the Academy at seventeen, we will strengthen your understanding. For reasons already known, practical magic demonstrations are strictly forbidden before entering the Academy. You only need to listen to my explanations—especially given your apparent minor memory loss at the moment. Now, let us focus on the fundamentals. Mana."
Mana. Kyouya—the transmigrator now trapped in Darion's body—repeated the word silently in his mind.
'Mana. The fundamental energy of this world. This complicated magic system is seriously annoying. Why does it have to be this complex? Can't it just be "shoot fireball and done"?'
While Master Elroy was delivering key plot exposition, the original Darion—the cynical boy—muttered in their shared mind, his voice childish yet dripping with contempt. "You outsider who doesn't know your place. If only it were that easy."
'At the very least, you could explain and guide me like a game mascot instead of letting Fillion misunderstand my condition like this.'
"Game? Guide you? Hah—know your place first, parasite. You're the one who suddenly asked him questions, and this is the result. That idiot Fillion just followed the most ridiculous logic he could come up with."
'…Okay, I get it.'
"Do you still remember what mana is, Your Highness?" Master Elroy asked, pointing to a schematic diagram.
"Of course, old man. I'm not as senile as you. Mana is analogized as an infinite ocean surrounding us. Pure power, undefined, and dangerous."
Master Elroy nodded, unoffended by the insult. "Thankfully, it seems you still remember the basics. Let us continue."
From what he remembered of the novel, this system was the core foundation that differentiated humans from other races. If he recalled correctly… using magic in this world was complex, not simple, and required considerable skill…
"For humans," Master Elroy explained, "we are Vessels and Filters."
He used the familiar analogy Kyouya already knew from the novel. "Every human has a Core Vessel at their spiritual center. The Mana Ocean must be filtered through this vessel. The filtering process requires energy; therefore, the Mana we actually use is literally tamed Mana."
"A slow process," Kyouya interjected flatly. "Once the Vessel is empty, refilling it takes time because the filtering isn't instant."
Elroy gave a faint smile. "Exactly, Your Highness. That is why our Mana is limited, though it can actually be developed—both in filtering efficiency and vessel capacity—under certain conditions, such as accumulating experience or consuming plants and substances that shorten filtering time or expand the vessel. Meanwhile, other races, such as Elves—"
"Ah, Elves. Those arrogant creatures born with the most practical system, just like those disgusting demons," Darion snorted in their shared mind.
"—their Mana functions like a River," Elroy continued, drawing a curved line on the parchment. "They do not filter. Mana flows through them naturally. As long as the Mana Ocean exists, their River flows. However, nature's justice remains. They still must draw a handful of water into their vessel with focused intent in order to use it. Thus, while their flow is unlimited, the volume they can draw is still bound by their high concentration capacity. They must remain calm at all times."
This was the main point, Kyouya thought. Limitations on power. That was why inter-racial wars had never truly destroyed the world—every race, despite different systems, had practical limits in actual combat.
Kyouya frowned, almost forgetting an important detail. "Old man, if a human's Vessel constantly tries to filter surrounding Mana, what about Mana Fever?"
At the mention of the term, Elroy's expression turned grave. "Ah, you don't remember that part either? A rather taboo topic, but I will explain it again for you. It is the fatal flaw of our system. If someone continuously receives and filters Mana but does not use it—like an infant who cannot yet control the 'tap' of their vessel—then the Vessel will Overflow."
"The already-filtered ocean overflows into the body's system. This causes Mana Fever—a life-threatening disorder," Master Elroy whispered, as though afraid the walls might hear. "In the past, unfortunately, many infants from powerful magical bloodlines died from this. They could not control the influx, nor expel the overflow through magic. At that time, no one understood the cause until the Tower Masters intervened."
'That's a key plot detail for the "Searching for the Hero" arc. In the original novel, Kanata was saved from Mana Fever by the heroine,' Kyouya mentally noted, his brain processing the storyline.
"So you're already looking ahead to that heroine? Of course. Some perverted old man obsessed with women."
'Don't judge me like that. I'm saying it doesn't mean I'm interested. I'm analyzing the current messy storyline in my memory to survive. And if I die, you die too. Remember that, kid.'
"Bla bla bla." Kyouya almost got annoyed and wanted to punch Darion—if only he had a physical form and wasn't just a voice in his head.
"So, Your Highness," Elroy took another parchment. "Control is everything. Without control, even basic magic like fire will consume the user. That is why we move on to…"
Master Elroy pointed to a row of mysterious symbols that looked like a mix of ancient letters and stellar sigils.
"The Arcanum Alphabet. A simplified translation of the dragon language. This is the second dam. It gives structure, precision, and limitation to the Mana you release—preventing your Imagination from running wild. Once you master the Arcanum Alphabet, you need to understand structure before your Imagination can truly work. And that is where your personal magic style will form."
Master Elroy paused, letting the information sink into the seemingly calm Darion.
"Any questions, Your Highness?"
Kyouya, having now gathered all the basic information needed to move the early plot forward, answered with a deep gaze.
"Just one, old man. If everything is forbidden and restricted because of its destructive potential, why do we still study it behind closed doors? Instead of basics, why not just teach me directly? I can give you pure gold coins equal to the risk you're taking."
Master Elroy chuckled softly. "Unfortunately, I am not greedy, young master. That is why—no matter how much you ask—I will refuse. Magic is a manifestation of Kaivalya; it is beautiful and dangerous… and money may not always match the risk, young master."
'I actually respect some people in the North for being like this. They're hard to bribe and almost impossible to betray. But their flaw is also their superiority complex—so to immigrants, northerners will treat them like vermin or slaves. Quite cruel, but fitting for the title of strongest continent. Besides, the northern government is traditional authoritarian—thankfully not totalitarian like in the past… if it were, I'd have been discovered and killed already.'
"Lucky idiot. But it seems you have quite a good understanding of the laws in several continents… you must also know about the Sacred Law of Prohibition—the holy unity law for continental peace, the ban on teaching magic carelessly."
'Yeah… you could say that. At least reading paid off in the wrong way.'
"How is that wrong?"
'Because I don't remember it very well.'
"…What?"
'I told you—my memories are fragmented…'
"Fine. Basically your memories are almost useless. Do you even know the reason for your senility?"
'No idea.'
"You really are… hopeless."
'I know. That's basically why I call it The Law of Fantasy—something that's hard to explain logically from the starting point.'
"You mean Lǫg Sagna?"
'Yeah yeah, I remember now—it's the northern continent's language, right? But it's kind of weird that I can understand what you're saying…'
"I'm the one who should be asking that. Your language sounds like one from the eastern continent—northeast region."
'Yeah, I'm from the East… just a different world.'
"I figured. Our Kaivalya is basically quite similar."
'Woah~ congratulations, you guessed it.'
"…" Darion knew that was a small, barely concealed sarcastic compliment that sounded ridiculously praising, but he had no strong reason to be offended over something so minor. Though Darion would never admit the topic had actually been interesting.
And for Kyouya, this was a good first step in talking to him—even if it was laced with insults and condescending stares.
"Empires across the world agreed to these rules after wars that reached a peace accord—not to teach magic carelessly. Those who still violate it will naturally face punishment or be dealt with by the authorities in charge. That is why the Kaiv Academy was built," Elroy continued.
"I'm your master—shouldn't you obey my request to teach me how to use magic?"
"I'm sorry, young master, but I must still refuse."
"Tch, not fun."
This guy… he must have gone through a lot to refuse so firmly… Kyouya thought.
"Very well—shall we continue with continental history to determine how much of your memory is truly missing, young master?" Elroy asked with renewed enthusiasm, ignoring Darion's flat stare.
Haa… this is going to be long…
•••
The air inside the luxurious room felt thick—an odd mixture of expensive velvet, aged wood, and near-physical existential pressure. A chaotic battlefield born from two souls forced to share one vessel—Kyouya, the unfortunate transmigrator, and Darion, the arrogant, oppressive host. They were opposing poles, compelled to coexist in the same container.
Kyouya—now residing in this small frame—sat in a velvet-upholstered chair near the window. Golden afternoon light, like searching fingers seeking freedom, slipped through narrow gaps in the heavy curtains. The falling beam illuminated the single anomaly amid the excessive opulence: a tiny cactus.
Small. Round. A quiet ball of silent thorns. Ironic.
The compact plant sat in a skull-shaped ceramic pot—or perhaps it really was a carved skull… A decorative choice that seemed to imply even amid beauty, death was the foundation of this mansion.
'The taste of the people in this house is truly… unique,' Kyouya thought, noting it with bitter amusement.
He stared at the cactus as though it were the last artifact connecting him to his old life. A memory of a cheap apartment, faint city noise, and long nights accompanied by a thorned plant that never demanded anything—a symbol of peaceful solitude.
A few hours earlier, after a dry and tedious noble etiquette lesson, he had murmured softly near the bookshelf, "If only there was a small cactus…"
A murmur that should have been swallowed by the thick room air. But in this mansion, the walls seemed to have ears attuned to those with the strongest survival instincts. Fillion—the servant whose life hung by a thread—had caught the unintended sigh.
(A few hours earlier)
In the marble corridor, Fillion nearly collided with two fellow servants, eyes wide with urgent fear.
"Mini cactus! I need a cactus pot right now! Thorny—but don't lose the sense of… fatality! Hurry!"
"Sir Fillion… does the young master want to torture a plant now?"
"Shut your mouth! This is about my life!"
In a time possibly shorter than an execution wait in the Intis Empire, Fillion returned breathless. He placed the tiny pot on Darion's desk, watered it with ordinary water while silently praying. "Goddess Cassiarey, protect this servant… may the young master be so busy tending these thorns that he forgets to order the stables burned…"
(Present)
Kyouya carefully watered the cactus with a few drops—a small ritual that felt like touching his own peaceful side, a fragile silence. That quiet was a reminder of an existence he once had.
"Huh… so peaceful…"
But peace was a forbidden luxury for a prisoner soul.
"This is a waste."
Darion's voice—from the core of Kyouya's mind—was a sharp ice blade, without unnecessary warmth or volume. He didn't shout; he commanded.
"You sit there like a mourning statue. You skipped yesterday's knight-field training schedule. You're truly useless, and you look pathetic."
'That's because I had to process a lot of historical information. Besides, in my world, privileges like sword training were only for certain people—and I wasn't one of them.'
"I don't care about your excuses or your old world. YOU are not YOU—YOU are ME. So get up. Take the sword. Or I will—"
Suddenly, the arm that had gently held the watering can jerked and set it down. Darion's fingers gripped the cactus pot with full force—an action that reminded Kyouya the boy still had some control over the body.
'Don't—'
BRAK! CRASH!
The small pot met its fate, shattering against the marble floor. Soil scattered like storm-rolled dream dust. Ceramic shards flew, tiny thorns rolled away, rejecting touch.
'Oi, seriously?!'
"Quiet." Darion stared at the wreckage with cold violet eyes. "That piece of trash was a symbol of your weakness. I won't allow memories or whatever that is in my room. This isn't your home. Stop thinking like a senile old man."
'…Fine, calm down first.'
"Calm? I'm just stating the truth. And I won't ever shut up just because a parasite whines."
'Crazy, cruel, merciless… His mouth is sharper than any sword blade. He is cruelty in human form—a strong but insane bastard. Genius in the arts of magic, swordsmanship, and destroying others' dignity—that's Darion.' The novel quote spun in his mind, now feeling suffocating.
And here was the true horror: Darion could hear everything. A seamless corridor connecting Darion's consciousness to every thought Kyouya had. But it was impossible for Kyouya not to have a plan—he was simply not thinking about it right now. If he did, Darion would know.
Darion clicked his tongue softly. "You remember that line well. 'Strong but insane bastard.' Cute. You remember those details quite clearly for someone who claims to have forgotten."
"You know what's funniest?" he said, staring at his reflection in the gold-framed mirror. His expression was cold, lethal. "You probably want me to stop hearing your thoughts, when I don't even know how to turn it off. So if you still want to keep secrets, you'd better stop thinking so hard. Or die. I personally prefer the second option. So if you're really just a passenger, at least be a passenger who knows his place. Or at least be entertaining to watch."
Kyouya had to admit—amid all his frustration—Darion wasn't wrong. But if he thought about it, the kid's personality was like… 'A tantrum child.'
"…#######" Darion unleashed every curse word he knew, making Kyouya realize once again that this child knew many languages—but seemed heavily inclined toward profanity…
•••
Behind the bedroom door, Fillion stood frozen. His face was as white as marble, eyes staring at the door as though it were the curtain between heaven and hell. How many minutes had he stood there after hearing the crash? Two? Five? Fillion clutched the gold tray in his hands like he was clinging to the last remnants of his life. He sighed, beginning to mutter a prayer.
"O Goddess Cassiarey… if today I am not thrown out the window… I swear I will donate my weekly salary to repair the sacred temple garden…"
But his prayer was cut off by a cold, flat voice—as though rising from the grave.
"FILLION." Darion's voice—heavy, cold, lethal—nearly made Fillion's soul leap out of his body.
"Y-y-yes! Y-Young Master!"
Fillion opened the door slowly, like a mouse peeking into a slaughter room.
He saw the destruction on the floor: shattered cactus, scattered soil, and Darion's cold, unreachable gaze.
Darion glanced at Fillion. His violet eyes were like freshly sharpened daggers.
"Clean it." The command was absolute.
Fillion nearly dropped the tray. "Yes, Young Master! I'll clean it until this floor can be used as a mirror!"
"And two."
"…T-two… Young Master?"
"Order new ones. One for me, and one for that bastard."
Fillion swallowed hard. He didn't dare ask who "that bastard" was, much less question the quantity.
"…You have some kind of cactus obsession or something?"
'Please, Darion—just shut your mouth for a second and accept our cooperation gift.'
Darion was almost rendered speechless by Kyouya casually dropping that absurd statement after being insulted so much. "…You really are a weird bastard."
'Yeah, I got that comment a lot in my previous world.'
Kyouya knew the game had only just begun. He wasn't just fighting a new world—he was fighting the most dangerous ego he had ever known, an ego now sharing both subconscious and body with him. He was trapped in an absurd theater directed by a madman.
To be continued.