"Young man, I have seen your sparring at the arena today. I say, your technique is quite amazing…"
"Not to mention the quick casting. You even handled your opponent beautifully…"
"It is good to gain such experience. I hope you won't take Theodore's earlier mockery to heart. After all, interruption during spell casting is a common strategy among wizards."
One by one, the elders approached Baston with polished smiles and measured praise.
Their tone was warm, too warm to be accepted for his poor identity.
Baston stood among them like a misplaced ornament in a room filled with expensive relics. He bowed when appropriate, nodded when necessary, and replied with modest answers carefully wrapped in humility.
Inside, however, he felt the temperature of the room shift.
This was not kindness. This was evaluation.
Earlier in the arena, their gazes had been sharp and dissecting. Now, they were weighing him differently. Not as a curiosity and not as a joke.
He was being evaluated as an asset.
The reason became clear soon enough.
Alicia's father had acknowledged him.
Once the head of the family expressed interest, the rest followed naturally. Nobility was a current. Once the river shifted direction, the smaller streams adjusted themselves without protest.
Baston could see the pattern clearly.
The elders did not approach him because they admired him.
They approached him because the head of family had made a decision.
"Baston, I'm sorry I haven't introduced myself properly," a deep voice spoke from behind the circle of nobles.
The murmurs softened immediately.
"My name is Harry Xavierius. I'm the head of this family and I'm also Alicia's father. It's good to finally speak with you directly."
Baston bowed slightly.
"It's my honor to meet you, Lord Harry. I never expected such a great lord to greet someone like me personally."
Harry laughed lightly.
"Don't be overly modest. I called you here because I'm curious. Your technique, it felt practiced. Not something a boy suddenly awakens to. It's as if you've been studying far longer than your years suggest."
The air stilled. It was subtle but Baston noticed.
The others were listening carefully now.
He felt a thin line of cold sweat slide down his back.
He forced a small, almost embarrassed smile.
"Not really, my lord. I simply dislike pain. So I learned ways to defend myself. My offensive ability is nearly nonexistent. I only know how to avoid getting hurt."
It was not a lie. Just not the whole truth.
Harry studied him for a brief second longer than comfortable before he nodded.
"I see…"
The tension loosened slightly but not completely.
They changed topics smoothly, like seasoned politicians shifting subjects without revealing dissatisfaction.
"Recently, there have been many assassination attempts across different territories," one elder commented casually while sipping wine, "Do you think there is a shift in power among certain organizations?"
"I cannot say," another replied, "There are too many secret groups operating in the shadows. Even the kingdom struggles to monitor them all."
"We only need to take care of ourselves," Harry added calmly, "There's no need to entangle the family in disadvantageous conflicts."
"True… true…"
"I heard a certain lord was nearly killed last month. Luckily, he was saved by a loyal guard."
"Yes. I heard he compensated the guard's family generously."
The conversation drifted lightly but the theme lingered like smoke.
It was about assassinations, power shifts, and silent enemies.
Baston listened quietly.
Information was a currency more valuable than gold.
And tonight, the nobles were spending it carelessly.
He noticed something else.
Every mention of assassination carried tension but also familiarity.
As if danger was not hypothetical and as if it had already been knocking at doors recently.
The servants began serving food and drink. Crystal glasses chimed softly with silver utensils glinted beneath chandelier light.
Baston longed to eat freely. But here, every movement was watched.
The elders handled food like collectors examining art with small bites, measured gestures, and polite smiles.
He envied the younger table where laughter rose naturally.
Before he could finish his thought, the real purpose finally came.
"Young man," one elder leaned closer, voice smooth as silk, "Your growth in magic is impressive but talent requires nourishment."
"Indeed," another followed, "Advancement without resources is nearly impossible nowadays."
"If you lack support, how about we assist you? With proper backing, your future will shine."
They painted futures with fame, power, reputation, and prestige.
Each word carefully placed like stones building a golden path.
But Baston understood something fundamental.
Nothing offered by nobles was free.
Every favor was a hook and every investment demanded return.
The debt of kindness could bind tighter than chains.
He could not reject outright because that would be foolish. He could only chose to delay.
"I'm grateful for your generosity," he said politely, "But for now, I wish to focus on my studies at the academy. Once I've grown more stable, perhaps we can discuss further."
Some nodded, some smiled knowingly, and some did not hide their disappointment.
A few elders continued pressing, their kindness growing almost suffocating.
Baston realized something critical.
They were not trying to help him. They were trying to claim him first like merchants competing for rare goods.
If he allowed even a single thread of obligation to tie around him, it would tighten over time.
He had to escape but politely. Yet, the pressure grew heavier.
It felt like invisible strings wrapping around his limbs. It seemed he had to do something about this.
The chandelier light above flickered faintly. Just a breath of dimness before stabilizing again.
No one else seemed to notice but Baston did.
The old book inside his clothes was quiet but he secretly had deployed it.
Earlier that day, it had already delivered its punishment notice which were delayed and inevitable. The attack would come. The old book never specified when, only that it would arrive without warning. However, he could also decide the time by himself.
He had calculated the possibilities.
If it struck him while alone, he would gain nothing.
If it struck him inside the academy, questions would arise but no political weight would follow.
But here, inside the mansion of a noble family, in front of elders already speaking about assassinations, and in a room filled with witnesses, the outcome would transform from misfortune into narrative.
Baston's gaze drifted subtly across the hall.
Harry sat upright, composed yet alert.
Angus remained quiet but observant.
Alicia's posture was elegant, though her eyes flickered occasionally toward him.
The elders kept circling him conversationally, tightening their invisible net.
And beneath the smooth dialogue, Baston sensed something else.
Fear but not of him, yet of something approaching.
The assassination topic earlier had not been random. It was too natural, too rehearsed. Several elders exchanged glances when certain names were mentioned. One even paused before finishing his sentence as if remembering a detail he decided not to reveal.
The atmosphere of the mansion tonight was polished but not relaxed.
There were more guards than usual. Their footsteps outside the hall were heavier, more frequent.
Even the servants moved quicker than necessary as though eager to finish their duties and retreat.
This family expected danger. Perhaps not tonight but soon.
Baston's mind calculated rapidly.
If the punishment struck at this very moment, the context would complete itself.
Assassination rumors, political tension, a vulnerable head of family, and a young wizard who reacted first.
He needed timing, a perfect one.
He lowered his gaze slightly, pretending to consider another elder's offer.
Inside his mind, he reviewed the book's nature once more.
The punishment was absolute. It was invisible and unavoidable but it targeted him alone.
Though he placed himself in front of someone else, the attack would still strike him. But to the observers, it would appear redirected.
Sacrifice always held greater value than talent.
Respect born from strength could fade.
Respect born from blood did not.
He measured the distance from his current position to Harry's seat.
There were four steps. Perhaps three if he cut diagonally.
He glanced toward the window deliberately, testing reactions. Nothing yet since the elders still continued speaking.
"Connections are important, young man."
"Talent without backing is like a sword without a sheath."
"We only wish to see you flourish."
Their smiles were gentle but their intentions were not.
Baston inhaled slowly.
If he hesitated too long, the punishment might activate at a disadvantageous moment.
If he acted too early, suspicion might arise.
Then, a faint tremor pulsed through his chest. Not physical but instinctual.
The old book had never warned him verbally when punishment triggered but there was always a prelude.
A tightening of breath, a cold prickling along his spine, and the sense that something irreversible had begun.
It was coming soon.
He lifted his head abruptly. The movement cut through conversation like a blade.
His eyes locked onto the tall window overlooking the dark garden outside.
His breathing shifted sharp and alert.
The nobles froze while the younger generation whispered.
"What's wrong with him?"
"Did someone offend him?"
"Is he losing his composure?"
But the elders sensed something else.
Baston's expression was not emotional. It was focused.
Harry narrowed his eyes and quietly extended his magical perception. Angus did the same. They sensed nothing.
The night outside remained still with no mana fluctuation, no movement, and no threat.
Yet Baston's gaze did not waver.
And then, he moved. In a single burst of speed, he stepped in front of Harry.
"WATCH OUT!!!"
Time fractured.
At that exact instant, the old book's punishment activated. It was invisible, silent, and unavoidable.
A force from nowhere pierced into Baston's body with catastrophic precision.
The pain was absolute.
It felt as though his bones shattered inward.
Blood erupted, making his vision went white. The agony lasted only seconds before darkness swallowed everything.
He collapsed while crimson spreading across polished marble.
For half a heartbeat, no one moved.
"ASSASSIN!!!"
Chaos detonated and guards soon rushed in.
Knights formed protective circles and wizards activated detection spells. Barriers flared to life along the walls.
Harry stood frozen for one second, stunned.
Someone had attempted to kill him inside his own mansion and in front of his entire family.
Humiliation burned hotter than fear yet the attack had not struck him.
It had struck Baston. The boy had placed himself there deliberately.
The implications struck fast. The boy had seen something. He reacted before anyone else. He had already sacrificed himself.
Harry clenched his fists.
Search spells rippled outward but nothing was found. There was no assassin, no mana trace, no projectile, and no curse residue.
It was as if the attack never existed and that made it worse.
Baston lay in a pool of blood. His breathing faint and his condition was critical.
"Take him to the emergency chamber!" Harry ordered sharply.
He could not allow the boy to die. Not after saving him, not after everyone witnessed it, and not when society would condemn him for ingratitude.
Healers rushed in and Alicia followed without hesitation. Angus moved behind them while the younger nobles trailed nervously.
Theodore swallowed hard.
He had mocked Baston before. Now the fat boy had shielded his father. The irony suffocated him.
Inside the emergency chamber, healing magic poured over Baston's body.
Light layered upon light, his blood was sealed. The internal damage had been stabilized but the healers whispered urgently.
The wound was severe and unnatural.
Almost as if struck by something invisible and instantaneous, yet despite the severity, his life force remained stable.
It was strange, suspiciously strange but no one had time to analyze.
Outside, Harry convened with the elders immediately.
The meeting room felt colder than before.
He slammed his palm onto the table.
"BAM!"
"Today, I was almost assassinated," Harry's voice carried quiet fury, "If not for that young man, I would be dead."
Silence answered him.
The weight of the truth pressed heavily.
"I will not allow this humiliation to stand," he continued, "Search every corner and expand beyond the estate, villages, towns, and cities. Anyone suspicious must be arrested."
"I've already ordered perimeter sweeps," one elder replied, "If nothing is found, we will expand outward."
"I will investigate among the noble circles," another added, "If this was commissioned, someone will slip."
Harry nodded. Strategies formed rapidly but beneath their plans lingered something more unsettling.
There was no trace. No assassin, no sign of infiltration, and no magical residue. It was as though the attack manifested from the air itself.
That was what troubled them most.
If an assassin could strike without leaving evidence then no barrier was safe. No chamber would be secure and no noble was untouchable.
They discussed long into the night. They were expanding search zones, activating informants, and contacting allies discreetly.
Inside their hearts, they all understood the same thing.
If Harry had died tonight, another target would have followed.
None of them would sleep peacefully again.
They had to catch the assassin. They had to uncover the mastermind. Or else, the next invisible blade might not miss.
And somewhere in the silent darkness of unconsciousness, Baston slept and he was still alive.
He was closer to his objective than ever before.