Even so, I couldn't stop feeling it—every drop that echoed reminded me of the pain from tiny needles piercing my skin. I got up, planting my foot on the cold floor, then began walking with difficulty, one foot after the other. The sound of the rain still reverberated through the entire house. In some way, it satisfied me to hear the drops; that much noise somehow relaxed my mind.
I climbed the wooden stairs to a room that held only a bed and a sword hanging on the wall like a great relic. It was impeccably maintained, not a single speck of dust on its hilt. I laid my head on the pillow, wondering to myself how long this little farce would last—me pretending I was still a knight upholding my honor. I fell asleep expecting nothing, just my end once more.
When I woke, I heard the thudding on my wooden front door. I rose from the silky sheets, my body feeling like it was splitting in two, and walked heavily across the cold wooden floor. I descended the stairs with effort. Days when someone knocked were rare, stirring a sense of expectation—maybe a cleric or priest with a cure for my illness. I opened the door, trying to appear imposing, to project a noble aura of strength, but it was futile in my current state.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Lord Lorse," said the man in elegant clothes painted with noble colors, his tone courteous. A sweet fragrance emanated from him. "Who are you?" "I'm a doctor," he replied dryly. "I don't understand." I opened the door wider to let him in. He entered with confident steps, eyeing the stairs and the house. "It's a very comfortable place." He wore an amiable smile that seemed to hide something.
We moved to the living room, where the door to the patio stood slightly ajar. "What do you want?" "I want to cure you." I looked at him incredulously. "Yes, but what do you want from me?" "Nothing. I just want to rid you of that disease." For a moment, I fell silent—it was something I couldn't believe so easily. I raised my alertness, keeping my guard up, a cold gaze settling on my face. "What's the procedure?"
He pulled a small briefcase from thin air. I stared wide-eyed—it was spatial magic, something only a rare few could do. I rubbed the calluses on one hand with the other and tapped the table. What he said might be true; if he could wield that kind of magic without effort, he was no ordinary man. I fixed him with a stare. I didn't care where his power came from—what mattered was what it could bring me. I coughed softly.
"You see, this treatment is a bit complicated. It would take too long for a normal person, but there's a way to make it much faster. The method is simple! Of course, everything has a price—but it won't be me charging you; it'll be the spell itself." He moved his hands near my face, making a money sign. "You might lose something equivalent to what you gain." He finished with a sinister air. "I see. I could lose a lot, just as I could gain. For example, losing the mobility of an arm would be dangerous, but losing a tooth—like a wisdom tooth—wouldn't be so bad." The mage nodded. "You're absolutely right. I can cast the spell right now or whenever you're ready. Just let me know."
As the mage started to rise, I didn't even need to think about it. I'd already lost everything; this was an opportunity dropped from the heavens. Even if it was black magic or some dirty trick, it didn't matter—I had nothing left to lose. I still remembered the power of that sword, the pride and national pride it had filled me with, pure power. "I'll do it, on the condition that you make a contract with me stating that this spell—"
The mage raised his hands in front of him, signaling to stop. "Fine, fine, I understand." The table filled with blue light, bathing the room in a blue haze. Spells usually left a scent; this one smelled of saltwater. The lights and letters in the magic circle faded. "I swear in the name of Bartolomeo the dark mage that I will free you from your condition without causing you any harm." His voice was calm, as if he'd said nothing out of the ordinary, but his gaze held a challenge, daring me to confront him if I had a problem.
The spell began immediately, before I could speak. The place filled with a blackish-red hue, surrounding me in a circle. The black particles I remembered so well moved like water, engulfing me. When I opened my eyes, I was in a black sea. The sound of waves crashing against the shore was clearly audible, even though everything was dark. I could make out the shapes of objects and waves. I looked around but noticed something: the sandy ground didn't feel cold. There was no pain in every movement. My body felt as it had before the injury.
I planted my foot in the sand and ran, kicking it up in a spray behind me. I felt the comfortable sea breeze and the serenity of a healthy body. My heart warmed, freed from a great worry. Then, a figure began emerging from the sand as if trapped beneath it. When its face surfaced, it said, "A pleasure. I am the Vessel of Desires spell, a forbidden incantation." It had a wide smile that wasn't friendly in the slightest—it gave an unsettling vibe.
"Grant my wish," I said, staring into its eyes. "Very well, but I'll take something equivalent in return. Don't regret it." Its tone was grim, the shadow from its hair adding a sinister touch. "Yes, I won't regret it." In the next instant, mist enveloped my body. A wave of discomfort washed over me. When I awoke, I was back in the living room, the patio door open. I clenched my fists—I could feel it; the pain was completely gone. Not only that, I rose rejuvenated, a sensation I'd only felt in my prime.
I walked slowly to my room where that sword hung, the one I'd once wielded with ease. I opened the door and grasped it firmly, examining its white gleam from every angle. "At last," I muttered, a smile slowly spreading across my face. I checked every inch of my body for signs that might betray black magic use, but there was nothing—not even the most devout could distinguish me from a normal person. That was the most tempting part of black magic.
The first thing I did was send a letter to the king, filled with superiority and pride. I wrote that I'd recovered, claiming it was a miracle from the goddess, and that I sought to serve again. When I finished, I hurried to write another to my family—a modest rural household with some resources, but not nobility. We always had a bit more budget than others, though I took no pride in it. I left the sword resting on the floor beside me while I wrote: one letter to my family, one to the kingdom, and others to my former captains. If I wasn't mistaken, I'd soon return to Lira Academy.
Nearly a month passed. Not much had happened. My family, thrilled by my recovery, visited with great joy. Yet I felt nothing special—it seemed superficial after they'd forgotten me entirely. Still, as a respected knight, I couldn't disrespect those who'd raised me with such care. Besides, I understood human nature; it didn't mean there was anything wrong with me. It was just fate. You can't fight destiny—you face it with strength.
I gripped my sword firmly, sheathing it. I prepared behind the door, waiting patiently for today's visitor: a carriage to take me to Lira Academy to resume my service. I wore my heavy white armor, which I'd stored piece by piece in a small chest. I could hear the incongruent sounds of hoes striking earth, wind rustling through crops, and distant voices I couldn't make out.
The sound of an approaching carriage grew familiar. I stepped out with sure strides, turned the handle, and pushed forward. For the first time in ages, I felt like a knight again—like pride, like someone worthwhile. I walked across the gravel path and boarded, stretching my foot to the step. "Are you the knight who saved the academy?" the driver asked in a heavy, hollow voice. He didn't seem normal. "Yes, that's me, though I regret not doing a better job." I looked down uncomfortably, tightening my glove slightly.
"Don't worry. There was little to be done. I was a knight once too, and I know how hard it is to face an opponent you know you can't beat." His words carried solemnity and memories he couldn't express. "I'm proud to fulfill my mission, even if it's impossible." The driver snorted, as if I'd said something ridiculous. "Sometimes we don't fight for the right things, but for honor, and it blinds us," he said dryly. Then he urged the horse forward.
The carriage's rattle kept me awake, while fireflies and nocturnal animals kept me alert, hand on my sword. The landscape shifted endlessly with every closed eye, an infinite cycle bringing no joy—just another road. Before I knew it, we were at the gates of Lira Academy in the capital, Lurnica. This place brought bittersweet memories I'd rather forget. I stood without pain—something I'd forgotten—and opened the white carriage doors.
The driver spoke, his tone echoing through the carriage: "Did you have fun?" It felt like a loaded question. "I don't need fun." I stepped down, feeling the hard ground. I advanced toward the academy entrance. From the corner of my eye, I saw students' astonished stares, whispers, or long silences. I pushed on without care, shoving the door open. Their gazes followed, though none dared ask who I was—until a professor caught me in the hallway.
"Excuse me, can I help you?" he asked, puzzled. "Yes, can you direct me to the director?" He led me to the director's office, where I was supposed to meet. The academy was noble not just in its chivalric attitude but in its stunning beauty—an architectural marvel reinforced by the finest magic. Its walls bore green and red hues signifying nobility.
The director's room was imposing, lit by candles of every color: red, black, green, yellow. I'd never seen black glow. His desk sat by the window. "Do you know why I brought you here?" His gaze was sharp, exerting pure pressure without malice. "No." I met his eyes steadily. "Well." He twirled his pen in the air like a dance. "Somehow, you undid a curse—something even I couldn't do without prior research. How did you manage it?" His piercing stare cut through my facade. I was sure he knew I'd used black magic, yet he held no prejudice.
Seeing the director—so noble and strong—act like a cold machine filled me with admiration. I realized there were people you could only dream of equaling. Still, I had to get through this. "It was a miracle. The Goddess is undoubtedly on my side."