"Hey!" Lye barked, startling the two sentries awake from their drowsing.
"Master Lysander! What brings you to the manor—"
Whack!
The other guard smacked his companion on the side of the helmet. "You idiot—that's the Master's home!"
"R-Right! My apologies, Master Lysander!"
Ciro watched from behind, expression flat, though faintly amused.
"Father doesn't pay you two to nap on duty," Lye sighed as the gates creaked open. "Have someone else take over. You're both dismissed for the day."
The sentries froze.
Then—
"Thank you, Master Lysander!" they cried in unison, bowing so deeply their helmets nearly clanged together.
As the boys passed through the gates, Ciro remarked dryly, "And here I thought you were just a spoiled brat. Turns out you actually care about your workers."
"Urgh! Do you ever shut up?!" Lye growled, marching ahead. "Father taught me something—respect is earned, not bought. If I hide behind my title, are they respecting me… or just the name I carry?"
Ciro blinked.
"…So you can say things like that after all."
"It's because of Father," Lye said, his tone softening in a way Ciro hadn't heard before. "He's harsh sometimes, but… I know he wants what's best for me."
They passed trimmed hedges and quiet courtyards until they reached a small structure at the edge of the grounds—a neglected wooden shed, its door warped with age, rust eating through the hinges.
Lye stopped before it, gripping the lock.
"That's why I want to grow stronger," he said quietly. "So I can—"
Yoink!
"—beat—"
Yoink!
"—that baldy—"
Yoink!
"—and prove my worth as the viscount's son…"
The lock refused to budge.
Lye slumped. "Tch."
"Do you always force your way through problems?" Ciro asked, stepping forward.
Crack.
Thud.
The lock shattered, dropping into the grass.
Ciro tossed the stone aside and leaned into the doorway. Darkness swallowed the interior, broken only by a narrow spiral staircase descending into the earth.
"…This is a library?" he asked, skeptical.
"Well—yeah," Lye scratched his head. "No one's used it in ages. Guess the lamps never got replaced."
"Does anyone in this manor ever read?"
"Shut your trap!" Lye snapped. "Stay here—I'll grab some lamps. I don't like the dark."
"No need."
Ciro closed his eyes. A moment of clarity shot through his thoughts.
"Lucias."
Light bloomed in his palm—a single floating orb, soft and steady.
Just one…
He exhaled faintly, disappointed, but stepped forward anyway.
"Let's go."
Lye stared.
"…M-Magic. You know magic?!"
_______________________________________________________________________________
"My, have the boys gotten tired of the town already?" Hermit mused, sensing their mana nearby. "They're at the manor."
"I told you—the two are getting along just fine~" Chief assured him. The pair remained in the office, idly catching up over the five years that had passed.
"In any case, Chief," Hermit said, his tone turning solemn.
Chief straightened at once. "Is something wrong, Sir Hermit?"
"…I could be mistaken," Hermit replied quietly. "But I doubt it."
The weight in his voice made Chief tense.
"Please," he said carefully, "enlighten me."
"Has there been anything… unusual in Fishun as of late?" Hermit asked.
Chief fell silent.
Almost immediately, a particular memory surfaced.
"Yes," he said at last. "For the past six months, several townsfolk have suddenly renounced their residence."
Hermit listened without interrupting.
"When their families questioned them, they all said the same thing—that they felt as though they were speaking to someone else." Chief hesitated. "And their eyes… glinted a different color."
"Hm?"
"A surreal purple, they said. Since it was their own decision, I could do nothing. Still… abandoning family and livelihood on a whim is unnatural." His hands tightened atop the desk. "I began to wonder if I had failed them as a leader."
"You have done well," Hermit said gently. "This is not the fault of governance."
He paused.
"This is the work of a hex."
"Hex?" Chief echoed. "You mean… magic?"
"From the moment I entered this town," Hermit said, lowering his voice, "I sensed something… fishy in the air."
Chief blinked. "Well, Sir Hermit—we are a fishing town, so—"
"No." Hermit cut in, firm.
"Animus."
The word struck like thunder.
Chief shot to his feet, palms slamming against the table. "Impossible! You and the heroes eradicated the Abyss long ago! There are no remnants left in this age!"
"Calm yourself," Hermit said evenly. "Earlier, when my mana fluctuated, I confirmed it. Only animus can disturb the flow of magic in such a manner."
"Fiends… in my town…?" Chief sank back into his chair, rubbing his temples. "This can't be…"
"Normally," Hermit continued, lifting his teacup, "animus would have destabilized my magic entirely. Instead, it merely nudged it—briefly."
He set the cup down.
"That tells me one thing."
Chief looked up.
"Someone in Fishun is either a low-class fiend," Hermit said, eyes narrowing, "or has recently made contact with one."
Silence engulfed the room.
"If it is you who says it, Sir Hermit…" Chief whispered, "then it must be true."
"Inform no one," Hermit said. "Not even your most trusted men. Fiends reveal themselves only when victory is assured. Until then, they wear borrowed faces—like wolves draped in wool."
Chief met his gaze and understood.
This was no idle suspicion.
"I will remain in Fishun," Hermit concluded. "We investigate quietly. Until we know more, this matter must never leave this room."
The boy must have felt his mana shift.
I must ensure his safety.
Low-class fiends adore ample mana, yet flee from those who possess too much of it.
And Ciro…
His mana is the perfect amount for a fiend to prey upon.
____________________________________________________________________________
"Well, I guess it isn't farfetched that you know magic—you are his pupil, after all," Lye surmised, following closely behind Ciro as they descended the spiraling stairs. "Can you blast fire? Or shoot beams? Or—"
"Limit talking," Ciro said. Their voices reverberated down the shaft and echoed back to them. "And for the record, I'm not his pupil." He paused. "Though I can't deny the old man knows a lot."
Lye crossed his arms, muttering, "Buzzkill…"
They continued downward, the still air swallowing everything but the sound of their footsteps.
"In any case—"
"You just said to stop talking!" Lye's voice bounced off the walls.
"I said limit, not stop."
"Urgh! Are we there yet?"
"How should I know?"
Does he ever shut up?
At last, they reached the final step.
At the bottom lay books. Thousands of them, arranged in towering circular shelves that spanned the entire chamber.
"So many! Keep going, Blondie! There's bound to be a book about swordsmanship!"
"You? Reading?" Ciro scoffed.
"Oh, shove it up your listless ass and go."
Dust and cobwebs blanketed the space.
"By the looks of this place, these books should've rotted away by now," Ciro murmured, letting the light in his palm sweep across the shelves. Strangely, every volume appeared pristine.
"All of them are enchanted with a thin layer of mana," Lye said proudly. "You're a mage and you didn't even notice? Hah!"
"Just a reminder," Ciro replied, a faint smirk forming, "I don't mind the dark—"
He dispelled the spell as darkness swallowed the chamber whole.
"—but you do."
"AAAAGHHH! OKAY, OKAY! I'M SORRY! I WON'T MOCK YOU AGAIN!"
"Lucias."
Light bloomed once more.
Ciro glanced down.
Lye was clinging to his leg like a frightened kitten.
"Ahem!" Lye sprang upright at once, burning the moment from his memory. "Anyway—aren't there any lamps here?"
"Wuss," Ciro muttered.
Lye opened his mouth to protest, then remembered who controlled the light. He promptly shut it.
Sulking in the corner, Lye went silent.
Ciro, meanwhile, noticed a metal rod protruding from the wall.
It supported a lamppost, but oddly, it wasn't mounted on the wall, but was built into it.
More lever than hanger.
Curiosity won.
He pulled.
Clunk.
Every lamppost ignited at once, flames bursting to life across the chamber.
"What the hell?!" Lye yelped, scrambling to Ciro's side.
The shelves behind them split apart.
Stone groaned as the wall formed by the shelves sank downward.
Thud.
The impact echoed through the library, followed by silence.
The two stared at each other, then at the newly revealed path stretching into the dark.
_______________________________________________________________________________
Moments earlier, within the Fishun Manor's training grounds.
To quell the unrest in his heart, Chief had taken to his blade. Yet no matter how fiercely he swung, the unease refused to fade.
Fear—for his town.
For their livelihood.
For his people.
For his son.
Whoosh!
His blade cleaved through the straw mannequin, its head tumbling to the ground as he sheathed his weapon.
Chhk.
"There have been no recorded appearances of fiends for over a century," Chief said quietly, breath uneven. "I wished to doubt Sir Hermit's words… but he stood among those who slew the Great Evil itself. If anyone speaks truth, it would be him."
Behind him, a female maid approached, towel in hand.
"Even so, Lord Fishun," she said gently, "is that truly possible?"
Chief turned, accepting the towel and wiping the sweat from his brow. "What do you mean?"
"I do not doubt Sir Hermit's wisdom," she replied, "but it is difficult to believe that… fiends still walk this world."
"I know," Chief murmured. "After the Abyss was slain, the only conflicts humanity knew were against itself. Never did I imagine humanity's natural enemies would return…"
The woman paused.
Then smiled.
"You will protect us, my lord. I have faith in you."
Chief returned the smile and drew her into a tender embrace.
"I will," he whispered. "For Fishun. For our people… and for our son."
Thud!
A thunderous sound echoed through the manor.
Chief frowned. "What was that?"
"...I'll have the guards investigate," the woman said, already turning toward the exit. "Please return to your office and rest."
"Harper?" Chief called after her.
She glanced back with a reassuring smile. "I'm fine, my lord. Merely… unsettled by the situation as well."
"Rest yourself too," he said softly.
She departed.
And unseen by Chief, her smile melted away. Her features twisted. Not of fear nor worry...
But into an expression of pure, quiet repulsion.