"Your Highness." Dierde hurried after him and asked, "Do you want to go in? Without orders from a superior, you're generally not allowed to see a high-security prisoner."
Luke stopped, turned to look at him, and said, "Then should I write you one right now?"
Dierde fell silent at once. He suddenly remembered who the man in front of him was—Demacia's prince.
Even without holding any formal post, that status alone meant he could absolutely do what he just said.
Write an entry order on the spot.
So trying to talk him out of it clearly wouldn't work. Seeing that, Dierde didn't try to block him anymore and simply kept pace with Luke.
When they reached the door, he ordered the two guards on duty, "Open it. His Highness is going in to meet the prisoner."
"Yes, sir!"
The two guards immediately obeyed, slowly pulling the heavy door open.
Inside was dark, with only a thin smear of light visible.
Dierde took a torch off the wall nearby, clearly intending to go in with Luke.
Luke didn't mind. He stepped inside.
As Dierde followed, the interior brightened little by little.
There was only one cell in here, but the space was large—and there was only one prisoner inside it.
That alone said plenty about how "special" this inmate was.
"Doesn't seem like it's meal time yet."
From the deepest part of the darkness came a hoarse, low voice. A moment later, chains rattled, the sound drawing closer. "So which big shot came to stare at me this time?"
As the torchlight pushed deeper, a figure slowly emerged from the shadows.
A black-haired man with a weathered face. His beard and hair were messy, and his upper body was bare. On his right arm, several intersecting magical patterns were carved into his skin.
Despite being locked away in this dungeon year after year, he wasn't skin-and-bones—you could still see the traces of training in his build. A heavy collar encircled his neck, and petricite chains bound his wrists and ankles—four in total.
Unlike the mages outside, this man stood at the front of his cell now, calm-eyed, his black gaze measuring Luke in return.
Sylas the Unshackled.
"'This time'?" Luke caught the detail immediately.
Sylas smiled faintly. "A lot of Demacia's important people get curious what I look like. You're not the first person to stand there and talk to me, kid."
"Sylas! Watch your mouth!" Dierde took two steps forward, eyes sharp with malice as he stared into the cell. "Standing before you is Demacia's second prince!"
"Oh? Then I really was rude," Sylas said. He performed a perfectly proper bow from inside the cell—but when he raised his head, there wasn't a shred of respect on his face. He looked at Luke and added, "So your father found himself another one, did he?"
Before he'd been thrown into this cell, Sylas knew Jarvan III had only ever taken one wife—and that she'd died after giving birth to Jarvan IV.
He even remembered the king had once sworn he wouldn't remarry. Yet now a "second prince" had appeared.
Of course, after all these years, Sylas had no idea what had changed outside.
Still, the look in his eyes was pure contempt.
Dierde stepped closer again, glaring coldly as he threatened, "If you dare show His Highness any more disrespect, you'll learn what pain feels like. And as for food—don't expect a bite for the next few days."
"I thought you'd drag me out and execute me," Sylas said, utterly unconcerned. He smiled, provokingly meeting Dierde's gaze. "Why don't you do it, Dierde? I've been waiting for that day for a long time."
A few missed meals. A few beatings.
That was all.
Sylas didn't care. Even as a prisoner, he seemed completely unafraid of angering people who could end him whenever they pleased.
Because deep down, he knew that if they truly wanted him dead, he would've died that afternoon more than ten years ago.
And the reason he hadn't died… he'd figured that out long ago.
They wanted to dissect his strange ability, learn how it worked, and use it to drag even more mages down here.
That was why.
And after over a decade without sunlight, he was sick of living.
Every day he stayed alive, maybe another mage "brother" or "sister" would be dragged in because of him.
"Sylas!" Dierde was about to snap—
But Luke stepped forward and raised a hand, stopping him.
Dierde immediately calmed himself. "Your Highness, I hope you won't waste your anger on a rat like this. Later, I'll punish him with three days on an empty stomach."
"It's fine. I'm not angry," Luke said, looking at Sylas. His expression was calm, his smile light. "And he should still be fed properly."
Luke's gaze stayed on Sylas as he continued, "Sylas, outside they call you an unforgivable monster of a mage. Your reputation is everywhere. But now that I'm looking at you face to face… you don't seem like much."
"So?" Sylas sat down on the floor and let out a cold laugh. "You came here just to mock me?"
Luke nodded. "Yeah."
Sylas: "…"
That—
For the first time in his life, he fell silent.
How was he supposed to respond to that?
He'd meant to provoke this young prince… but somehow, a spark of anger flared up in his own chest instead.
Someone really came all the way down into the dungeon just to say, you don't seem like much?
Dierde glanced back at Luke, impressed.
His Highness had skill. Even Sylas had been left speechless.
Luke asked, "Why aren't you talking now?"
Sylas, sitting on the floor: "…"
To be honest, he'd forgotten what he was going to say.
And now he kind of didn't feel like dealing with this prince at all.
"Fine," Luke said. "We'll talk some other day."
When he saw the other man refusing to engage, Luke turned around and started walking out. As he walked, he told Dierde, "I thought about it seriously… and yeah. Don't feed him for a few days."
Dierde replied instantly, "Yes, Your Highness!"
As the two of them left and the door slowly shut, the last sliver of light vanished. In that final moment, Sylas still looked stunned.
You said you weren't angry!
The food down here was awful, sure—but even he couldn't handle not eating for days!
Truthfully, over the years, people had come to see him. People had cursed him. Some had even come into the cell and hit him.
But this was the first time Sylas had met someone who showed up just to be petty.
Dierde escorted Luke back to the first level of the dungeon.
"No need to see me out," Luke said with a wave, signaling Dierde to stop following.
"Yes, Your Highness. Safe travels."
Dierde halted near the exit, watching Luke's back disappear into the corridor.
Luke already knew the way. There was no point lingering in the dungeon, so he headed straight for the prison entrance.
"Safe travels, Your Highness."
At the entrance, the two guards bowed again to send him off.
Luke climbed into the carriage. Yurna Doer cracked the whip, and the carriage rolled toward home.
Inside, Luke leaned back against the seat, silent as he thought.
He'd seen Sylas today.
And if there was anyone who truly served as the fuse for Demacia's future upheaval, it was him.
Right now, Luke still didn't know what to do with him.
The reason Sylas was locked in the dungeon was simple: he was a mage.
But the reason he was treated differently—given a "VIP" cell—was twofold. First, the grave crimes he'd committed.
Second, the strange ability he possessed.
More than ten years ago, Demacia's anti-mage laws were still in full force. In Dregbourne, a young man named Sylas was unfortunate enough to be discovered after his magic awakened.
But after his parents persuaded him, he chose to turn himself in.
When the Mageseekers investigated him closely, they discovered his unusual gift.
He could sense mages.
If someone was a mage, they couldn't hide from him—not in front of his eyes.
To the Mageseekers, that ability was priceless.
The young Sylas, who'd expected prison, discovered instead that the state "made use" of him.
Or rather—the Mageseekers did.
They folded him into a Mageseeker squad, and for the first time in his life, Sylas felt useful.
He carried out his duty with conviction. He wanted to devote himself to his country for life. He was proud—proud as he used his talent to help the Mageseekers capture mage after mage.
But as time went on, he gradually began to doubt his duty… and began to doubt the anti-mage crusade itself.
Then, during one dangerous incident, all of Sylas's questions finally exploded.
That day, out in the countryside, he stumbled upon a mage in hiding. But when he realized she was only a little girl, he felt pity. He wanted to protect her from being dragged away.
Yet the Mageseekers still found the child, and they harshly ordered Sylas to hand her over.
In the moment he hesitated, he accidentally absorbed the girl's magic—and that was what led to the tragedy that followed.
His entire Mageseeker squad died.
By his hands.
It was clearly a loss of control, a surge of magic he hadn't meant to unleash. But he had no time to think—he fled desperately with the girl.
The Mageseekers quickly branded him a murderer and launched a nationwide hunt.
That was when the name of "the unforgivable monster-mage" spread. In a very short time, he became a figure Demacians feared by instinct alone.
But back then, Sylas was only a young man—how could he possibly stand against the Mageseekers?
Before long, he was caught, imprisoned, and sentenced to life.
To this day, he remained locked in that lightless dungeon.
From the story alone, Sylas was nothing more than a tragedy.
But Luke wouldn't feel even a hint more sympathy for him.
No special reason—only that this man, in the future, would bring no small disaster to Demacia, and countless ordinary people would suffer because of him.
And that was the question Luke was turning over in his mind.
As someone who knew what was coming, what he "should" do now was use the authority in his hands and execute Sylas—ending the problem at the root.
But… would that actually help?
After thinking for a while, Luke set the matter aside for now.
There was no need to rush. After all, there was still time before that day arrived.
When the sun set, Luke returned home.
Watching the faintly red clouds in the dusk, he stretched and finally let his whole body relax.
"Pour me a cup of Smoky Earl Grey Tea."
He tossed the order to a maid without thinking, then lay back in a rocking chair and idly felt its gentle sway, slowly closing his eyes.
There was no need to turn on the water-powered fan yet—it wasn't that hot.
Before he realized it, night had fallen.
Dinner time.
Luke still decided to cook for himself—and for quite a while going forward, it looked like he'd be doing it personally.
With a master like him, Yurna Doer had hit the jackpot.
For dinner, Luke decided on two bowls of old-school New York-style spaghetti.
Step one was the sauce.
He used tomato sauce, adding diced meat, diced ham, diced egg, and then his secret blend of seasonings.
Before long, the rich aroma spread through the entire house.
Next came the dough. Since it was spaghetti, the noodles needed to be thin and long, with a springy bite—getting that chew just right took a bit of technique.
But for Luke now, he could do it with his eyes closed.
He finished the noodles and got ready to drop them into the pot—
And Lux arrived.
It was like she'd timed it perfectly.
She walked into the kitchen naturally, didn't say a word, and just stared at Luke with wide, hopeful eyes.
Luke glanced at her twice and finally asked first, "Already eat?"
"I did," Lux said, nodding. She really had eaten before coming over.
But as she smelled the sauce filling the air, she lowered her head and placed a hand over her stomach, as if measuring how much space she had left inside.
Then she looked up with an adorable smile. "But I should be able to eat a little more."
Luke had known what she was going to say the moment she stepped into the kitchen.
Still, when it came to food, more people wasn't a problem.
He thought for a moment and asked, "How much?"
Lux leaned closer to look. "Just… that handful."
Luke: "…"
He looked down at that so-called "handful."
It was enough to fill a full adult-sized bowl.
You call this a little?
But he quickly let it go.
A girl in her growth phase—eating a lot was understandable.
Good thing he'd had the foresight to make extra noodles.
He dropped the whole "handful" into the pot. Lux beamed, turned around, and went to wait by the dining table.
Not long after, Luke brought out two bowls of spaghetti. Yurna Doer had already taken her portion herself.
He'd noticed that lately, his maid had been a lot more proactive when it came to meals.
He didn't dwell on the detail.
Luke looked at the blonde girl sitting at the far end of the table. She was happily swaying in her seat, waiting with obvious anticipation.
He set Lux's bowl in front of her, and Miss Crownguard's eyes lit up instantly.
All of Lux's attention was on the spaghetti now—the cook had been completely forgotten.
Watching her spear a noodle with her fork, eager to taste it first, Luke sat across from her and said, "Miss Crownguard, remember—wasting food is shameful."
Lux already had the noodle between her lips. With a soft slurp, the long strand slid smoothly into her mouth.
She chewed a few times, and only after swallowing with clear satisfaction did she reply confidently, "Don't worry—I'll finish it!"
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