The path was narrow and dark, its walls layered with cold cobblestone with webs clinging thickly to the ceiling.
"What the hell even is this place?" Lye murmured, keeping close behind Ciro as the pale light of Lucias guided their steps.
"Aren't you the owner of this manor?" Ciro sneered.
"First of all—it's Fishun's, not just ours," Lye shot back. "Second, I've never heard of anything like this. Not even from Father."
"Haven't you considered the possibility that he might have hidden—"
"No." Lye cut him off sharply. "I'm… sure Father doesn't know about this. He wouldn't hide things from me." He hesitated, then added, quieter, "I trust him."
Ciro said nothing for a moment.
"Is that so," he replied at last, then continued, "Then why exactly are we exploring this uncharted place?"
Though he chose not to voice it, Ciro was curious what lied ahead of the path. There was no possible merit, given he only wished to read at the olden library. But nothing could stop a boy's unexpressed curiosity.
"Don't drag me into your curious antics!" Lye barked, his voice echoing far ahead. "I had no choice but to follow you!"
A faint grin crept across Ciro's lips. "Wuss."
"Yeah, yeah—just keep moving, nerd."
Before long, the glow of Lucias revealed the end of the passage.
A flat steel door stood embedded in the stone, its frame crusted with rust.
They halted.
Ciro placed a hand against the surface, studying it closely.
There's not even a keyhole.
He pushed.
Thunk.
Thunk.
It won't budge at all.
It's likely that it could only be opened from the inside.
That would mean this path is used as an exit.
His thoughts narrowed.
Who would build something like this without even the viscount's knowledge?
Even so, who could?
Someone with authority, probably…
A name surfaced unbidden.
That blockhead mentioned his suspicions of Sir Kahlo.
Though I may be speculative, it is possible that it was his mana I sensed earlier.
It was far too similar to his son's—Calvin.
"Step aside, Blondie," Lye said from behind—his voice oddly distant.
Ciro turned just in time to see Lye charging full speed, boots pounding against stone.
"You—!"
He barely slipped against the wall as—
BOOM!
The door burst inward with a thunderous crash, metal shrieking as it tore free from its hinges.
Dust billowed shortly.
"I got it!" Lye cheered.
Ciro stared.
What a brute…
Lye slowly turned his head, taking in what lay beyond the broken door.
He crouched, noticing the room was bathed in a sickly green glow, cast by countless candles scattered across the floor. At the very center stood a large bronze cauldron, surrounded by a ritual circle etched into the stone. The walls were plastered with scrolls, their symbols matching the ones inscribed on the floor.
"What the hell…" Lye murmured, unsettled. "It's like a witch's lair…"
Ciro stepped inside, his eyes drifting toward the table lined with vials of garish, swirling liquids. Scattered across the room were countless doors that seemed to lead nowhere and everywhere at once.
It's that feeling again…
This entire room is riddled with it.
An eerie presence prickled at his senses—the same sensation he had felt near Calvin.
"What do you think this place is for?" Lye asked, eyeing the circle.
"I haven't the slightest idea," Ciro replied. "The old man had a room like this—but it wasn't nearly as… creepy."
"…h—help…"
Both boys froze.
A faint groan echoed through the chamber as chains scraped softly against stone.
"Uuurrr…"
"Blondie," Lye whispered, pointing toward a dark corner.
Metal bars were embedded into the wall, half-hidden by shadow. A rag, stiff with dried red stains, was draped over them.
They exchanged a glance, then nodded.
Shing.
Lye drew his blade, gripping the hilt with both hands.
"I–Is someone there?" he called, forcing steadiness into his voice as he aimed the tip toward the corner.
Silence.
Then—
"…Master… Lysander…?"
The voice was hoarse.
Lye's eyes widened.
He rushed forward and tore the rag away.
Behind the bars was a man—shirtless, skeletal, chained to the wall. His skin clung tightly to bone, his face sunken as if he hadn't eaten in months.
"Is that you, Roy?!" Lye cried, horror flooding his voice.
"Master Lysander…" the gaunt man whispered, his lips trembling, cracking from dryness.
"Hold on! I'll get you out of there!" Lye sheathed his sword and backed up.
He charged.
Thud!
The bars didn't budge.
He tried again.
Thud!
Again.
Thud!
He fell onto his back, breath knocked from his lungs.
The metal was far stronger than the door he had shattered with ease.
"Why are you just standing there, nerd?!" Lye snapped, scrambling to his feet. "Don't you have any magic that can do something about this?!"
Ciro remained silent, studying the bars closely.
It's not mana…
No. This isn't mana at all.
It's something else.
Something malicious.
"These bars are enhanced with that same energy," he said at last. "Whatever this is, I can't break it."
He turned to Lye.
"The most logical thing to do is tell the old man and Lord Fishun about—"
"It's those bald-headed father and son!" Lye burst out. "It's them! It has to be them—I can feel it!"
Ciro paused, meeting his gaze.
"I understand you're shaken," he said evenly, "but accusations without evidence will only make things worse. Calm down, and let's go get help."
Lye clenched his fists… then slowly exhaled.
"Yeah…" he said quietly. "You're right."
He turned back to the prisoner.
"Roy—we'll bring help, all right? You'll be fine. I promise."
The man, too weak to speak, could only manage a faint, grateful smile.
_____________________________________________________________________________
Moments earlier, within Chief's office.
"Have you cleared your thoughts, boy?" Hermit asked gently, his back resting against the chair.
"Yes, Sir Hermit," Chief replied with a faint smile. "I… am grateful to have people rely on me. It gives me the strength I need as Fishun's lord."
"I see," Hermit said, returning the smile. Then, his gaze drifted toward the door. "And to the lady outside," he added calmly, "care to join us for tea?"
Chief's eyes widened.
"Of course… You weren't granted the title of Sage for nothing, Sir Hermit," a woman's voice answered from beyond the door. She stepped inside with a small bow. "My apologies for intruding, Sir Hermit—Lord Fishun."
"Oh, not at all, dear," Hermit replied warmly.
"Harper," Chief said, taking her hands, "is something wrong? You're much too pale."
"Oh, Lord Fishun… it is nothing a mere maid should trouble you with," she said softly, withdrawing her hands. "I will take my leave. Please be well, Sir Hermit."
She bowed once more and closed the door behind her.
Chief exhaled, anxiety creeping into his expression.
"She always hides her true feelings from me. It's clear she's unwell…"
Hermit studied him in silence, stroking his beard. There was something in Chief's gaze—something too tender for a lord toward a servant.
"She is your lover," Hermit said at last. "Or am I mistaken?"
Chief pressed his lips together, unable to answer.
Hermit laughed quietly.
"Then," he continued, leaning forward, "why hide it from the boy?"
Chief hesitated, then let out a shaky breath. He sat down, folding his arms.
"Many years ago," he began, "my men and I were ambushed by bandits on the road to Rufnia. I ordered them to flee while I held the enemy back."
Hermit listened in silence.
"When my strength was spent—just before my final breath," Chief smiled faintly, "a pair of the most cerulean eyes I've ever seen looked down on me and said, 'You look useful.'"
Hermit chuckled. "A charming first meeting."
"She nursed me day and night," Chief continued. "When I could stand again, I knelt and proposed with my sword. I couldn't wait to return home for a proper ring."
"You've always been impatient," Hermit remarked.
Chief laughed softly—then tensed.
"But nobility is cruel when it comes to love. My father allowed her to serve as a maid… but never as my wife. A nameless commoner had no place beside a viscount."
He clenched his hands.
"When my father passed and I inherited the title, we chose secrecy, maintaining a farce of master and servant."
"And the boy?" Hermit asked.
"Lye doesn't know," Chief said quietly. "He doesn't mind not knowing who his true mother is. He's still a child… but one day he will notice."
His chest tightened.
"I know it's selfish. But I want to cherish this—my love, my family—just a little longer."
Hermit was silent for a moment.
"There is no such thing as an eternal lie," he said at last, placing a hand on Chief's shoulder. "Either you tell him yourself and risk his resentment… or you wait until the truth spills out, and regret not having spoken sooner. Be strong, boy. Decide."
Chief bowed his head.
"You're right, Sir Hermit… Thank you."
Hermit's gaze drifted to the window.
Hermit's fingers paused against his beard.
For the briefest moment, the flow of mana around him… wavered.
A faint, nauseating prickle brushed the edge of his senses.
Animus…? No—too weak. But close.
On another note, I'm struggling to detect the two boys' mana...
"Boy," Hermit said quietly, "are there any underground passages in your manor?"
"There are none, Sir Hermit—" Chief began, then stopped.
His brows slowly furrowed.
"Though… we do have a library. It descends to a lower level in the manor. Why do you ask?"
Hermit rose to his feet as his staff materialized in his hand.
"The boys," Hermit said coldly, "are standing far too close to a fiend."