Ash didn’t fully comprehend what happened in the next instant.
The world seemed to tilt on its axis, a blur of motion and raw, instinctual fear.
BANG!
With a tremendous, echoing sound, the door slammed shut, reverberating through the small room, a final, definitive seal.
Simultaneously, his Master’s arm twisted with a sickening crack that Ash felt deep in his bones, even from his precarious position.
Tyllian had him in a chokehold from behind, his powerful arm like an iron band, completely overpowering the Grand Archmage in an instant.
The sheer, brutal force of the knight was terrifying.
Ash screamed, a raw, involuntary sound ripped from his throat, fueled by shock and a burgeoning panic.
His Master let out a weak groan, a sound of surprise more than pain, but it was enough to ignite Ash’s frantic terror.
“Tyllian…”
The name was a desperate plea, a choked whisper.
Ash cried out, his voice cracking, for him to stop.
“Don’t! Don’t…! Tyllian!”
His mind, already reeling from the previous encounter, went completely blank.
What do I do?
What do I do?
The questions bounced around his skull, a cacophony of helplessness.
“I will punish the one who dared to violate you,” Tyllian snarled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that Ash had only ever heard directed at enemies, never at someone so close, so… familiar.
“I told you it wasn’t like that!”
Ash protested, but the words were drowned out by Tyllian’s furious intent.
Tyllian, his eyes crazed with a feral, protective rage, seemed to hear nothing.
His focus was entirely on the man he held captive.
Ash had no more time to think, no room for deliberation.
Operating purely on instinct, a desperate gamble for the safety of his Master, he threw his arms around Tyllian from behind, clinging to him like a limpet.
He was naked.
The thought registered fleetingly, a secondary detail in the whirlwind of chaos.
“Ash-nim?”
Tyllian’s furious grip on Cecil loosened imperceptibly, his body stiffening as he felt Ash’s bare skin against his back.
He turned his head slightly, peering at Ash over his shoulder, his face bewildered, the crazed light in his eyes momentarily fading.
Has he come to his senses?
Ash wondered, a glimmer of hope sparking in his chest.
But Ash couldn’t let his guard down, not yet.
He pulled on Tyllian’s arm, trying to get him to release Cecil, rubbing his soft face against Tyllian’s broad, unyielding back, a desperate, almost childlike plea.
“No, look closely. It’s Master!”
“Master…?”
Tyllian frowned, the confusion deepening on his face.
There was only one person Ash referred to as ‘Master’: the Grand Archmage, Cecil Moore.
The realization seemed to hit Tyllian like a physical blow.
His eyes, though still holding a trace of their previous madness, cleared further.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Tyllian grabbed his Master, Cecil, by the hair and, with a brutal yank, twisted his head around, forcing him to face them.
“Ack!”
Cecil let out a pained sound, a choked gasp.
Ash was more shocked than his Master, whose neck had just been so violently twisted.
The casual brutality of Tyllian’s actions was horrifying.
“Cecil-nim?”
Tyllian’s voice was still rough, but the initial blind fury had been replaced by a grudging, wary recognition.
“Long time no see, Tyllian. Your welcome is rather… vigorous.”
Cecil managed, his voice strained but still holding a hint of his characteristic dry wit.
That’s it.
Ash thought Tyllian would let go of his Master now.
He wasn’t the only one who had known his Master for a long time; Tyllian also knew what kind of person his Master was.
He would never truly harm Ash, not intentionally.
He was eccentric, yes, but not malicious.
However, Tyllian’s voice grew even more menacing, defying Ash’s expectations.
“Did you violate Ash-nim?”
The question was cold, laced with a dangerous edge that made the hairs on Ash’s arms stand on end.
“…Violate? Ah…?”
Cecil’s response was dazed, confused, a flicker of understanding finally dawning in his eyes, accompanied by a faint, amused smirk that only Tyllian, in his current state, would miss.
“Silence. I wasn’t asking you. Ash-nim, step back. This man is dangerous.”
Tyllian reacted sharply to Cecil’s ambiguous, dazed response, his rage flaring once more.
He urged Ash, pulling slightly, trying to detach him.
Ash couldn’t believe it, could not process the depth of Tyllian’s misunderstanding.
“I told you it wasn’t like that! It’s Master. What’s dangerous about Master? Let go of him. You’re going to break his neck!”
Ash cried out, his voice escalating in desperation.
“What isn’t ‘like that’?”
Tyllian pressed, his gaze fixed on Ash, demanding an explanation, a contradiction to the scene he’d witnessed.
“Everything! It’s not what you’re thinking!”
Ash insisted, trying to convey the complex, twisted reality of his situation with a man who clearly operated in black and white.
“…Then are you saying you permitted this?”
Tyllian’s voice lowered, a chillingly calm question that held more threat than his previous roars.
“Yes!”
Ash blurted out, without thinking, desperate to clear his Master’s name, even if it meant incriminating himself.
Suddenly, there was a loud, horrifying crunching sound.
Ash gasped, his stomach lurching, thinking it was his Master’s neck snapping, his worst fears realized.
But then he saw it: Tyllian, still holding Cecil by the hair, had twisted and broken the bed frame.
The sturdy iron frame bent and contorted under his sheer, raw grip strength, warping into an unrecognizable mess.
Can he really do that?
Ash was startled anew by the knight’s incredible, almost superhuman power.
At the same time, a cold dread began to grow within him.
He could already sense Tyllian’s ensuing reaction, a wave of profound disappointment and anger washing over the knight’s face.
“You, of all people…!”
Tyllian began, his voice laced with disgust, his eyes fixed on Ash.
He was going to get scolded, Ash realized with a sinking heart.
The worst kind of scolding, one that would cut deeper than any physical blow.
Ash squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the inevitable torrent of reprimand.
But the scolding didn’t continue.
Instead, Tyllian’s body suddenly slipped out of his embrace, the warm contact abruptly gone.
‘Huh?’
Ash opened his eyes, confused, watching as Tyllian turned away.
“Where are you going?”
Ash asked, a faint tremor in his voice.
“I’m going to report,” Tyllian stated, his voice flat, devoid of emotion.
Without even glancing back at Ash, he grabbed his limp Master by the scruff of his neck, hauling Cecil effortlessly, and stood up, a terrifying image of resolute anger.
Ash was terrified of this sight in many ways. Was his Master unconscious, or worse?
He looked like a corpse, dangling from Tyllian’s grip. To whom was Tyllian going to report?
But if he asked, “To whom?”, it felt like it would only escalate the situation, leading to an even greater fight.
“Report what…?”
Ash managed, his voice barely a whisper.
“A report on your unrestrained behavior. You were ordered to reflect in your room, yet you brought in an outsider to share your bed. It’s unbelievable. And with Cecil Moore, of all people. That mage witnessed your very birth, you know…?”
Tyllian’s voice was filled with a chilling blend of moral outrage and disgusted disbelief.
‘He is reporting to Owen, isn’t he!’
The realization hit Ash with the force of a physical blow.
Owen.
The thought filled him with a cold dread, worse than anything he’d felt all day.
Ash was at his wit’s end, his mind racing for an escape, a way to stop this impending disaster. Wait, but he also slept with Ash, didn’t he?
If his Master was an outsider, then, in a strict sense, Tyllian was an outsider too. He wasn’t assigned to Ash’s room after all!
However, saying something like, ‘You were dragged in and slept with me too. Why didn’t you report it then?’ probably wasn’t a good idea, not in this volatile atmosphere.
It would only add fuel to Tyllian’s righteous fury.
One thing was clear: he couldn’t let Tyllian leave.
He couldn’t let him report to Owen.
Ash clung to Tyllian’s waist again, wrapping his arms around him, a desperate, silent plea.
“Just a moment!”
“Stop this. Nothing will change because of this. This time, I will correct your habits.”
Tyllian’s voice was firm, unyielding, his tone of voice indicating that he was utterly serious.
“What habits? You’re talking strangely. Who I sleep with is my freedom… no, wait, huh?”
Ash began to argue, then stumbled over his words, realizing the implications of his own statement, the sheer audacity of it given his current predicament.
“Yes. It is Ash-nim’s freedom. And it is my duty to report on you.”
Tyllian’s response was clipped, precise, cold.
He wouldn’t be swayed by Ash’s arguments, however valid they might be.
“Duty, good, it’s good, but. Just for a very short moment. Please?”
Ash pleaded, desperate, tightening his grip.
Tyllian, well aware of his own strength, couldn’t bring himself to shake Ash off with force.
It would be problematic if he broke something, or, more importantly, if he hurt Ash.
But he also couldn’t ignore him and move forward, fearing Ash would tumble off the bed if dragged along.
“Hah…”
Tyllian sighed, a sound of utter exasperation.
He had only one choice, given Ash’s unyielding grip and his own reluctance to cause harm: to pretend to yield to Ash’s strength, to play along, if only for a moment.
He first sat down on the bed, lowering Cecil’s limp form beside him.
Then he seemed to try to detach Ash’s arms, reaching for his wrists.
However, before his hands could snatch Ash’s wrists, Ash, with a ghostly quick skill born of desperation and instinct, undid Tyllian’s waistband.
Just as he had intended from the start, a daring, desperate gambit.
“Ash-nim?”
A flustered Tyllian didn’t react in time, his guard completely down.
It was the typical, bewildered reaction of someone whose pants had just been pulled down in an entirely unexpected, inappropriate situation.
Ash took another audacious step forward in that crucial gap.
His hand slipped inside Tyllian’s underwear.
And without hesitation, he pulled out his penis.
Though not erect yet, it still boasted a surprising, formidable size.
Ash had no idea how he’d managed to take that into his mouth earlier, when Tyllian had kissed him.
But Ash had to do something even more audacious now.
With a swift, fluid movement, Ash tumbled off the bed and onto the floor.
Even amidst this unexpected maneuver, Tyllian reflexively moved his legs, shifting his weight, to catch Ash, preventing him from hitting the hard ground.
“What…!”
Tyllian exclaimed, a mixture of shock and bewilderment in his voice.
Ash, who had fallen onto Tyllian’s feet instead of the floor, immediately righted himself and sat directly between Tyllian’s spread legs, looking up at him.
Tyllian looked down at Ash, who was tilting his head, his face a mask of feigned innocence, though Ash knew he also seemed a little angry.
Ash quickly lowered his gaze, because he felt Tyllian was about to get even angrier, his face already flushing crimson.
Then, Ash, with a desperate resolve, swallowed Tyllian’s penis.
Tyllian gasped, a strangled sound of utter shock and disbelief.
Ash tried to speak, to convey his desperate, tactical reasoning.
“If you open the door now, you’ll be an accomplice too.”
His voice was muffled, thick, almost unintelligible.
“Cause a commotion. If people see this, what do you think they’ll think?”
Of course, this was Ash’s thought, and the words didn’t come out as clearly as he wanted, muffled by the sheer size of what was in his mouth.
The penis was simply too large, too much to articulate properly.
“Are you insane?!”
Tyllian was aghast, his face a mask of shock, disbelief, and a building rage.
But Ash also had something to say, something crucial.
He spat out the penis, letting it fall back into Tyllian’s hand, and stared him dead in the eye.
“You said you liked me?”
“What…”
Tyllian began, still reeling.
“Aren’t you the bad one for tormenting someone you like? You said you liked me, so why torment me? Why aren’t you on my side? If you report this, Owen will try to kill me!”
The words tumbled out, raw and unfiltered, the fear of Owen’s retribution eclipsing all other concerns.
The thought of Owen’s cold, contemptuous gaze made Ash shudder, a visceral tremor of fear.
The thought of himself being intimidated by Owen again, feeling so small and helpless, made him feel sick to his stomach.
Tyllian’s face flushed crimson, a deep, angry red.
“Why would you do such a thing?! No, is that the problem?!”
“Then what is the problem?”
Ash challenged, his voice rising, a hint of desperation in his tone.
“The problem is me, for expecting anything from you!”
Tyllian roared, his voice laced with a profound, bitter disappointment that cut Ash to the core.
Ash couldn’t understand what this meant.
‘When did you ever expect anything from me?’ he wondered, bewildered.
Wasn’t getting angry at him Tyllian’s main job?
Lately, it felt like Ash hadn’t seen any other expression from him.
Just then, his Master, Cecil, opened his eyes, a faint, almost imperceptible flutter of his eyelids.
“I enchanted the door, so it won’t open by normal means. And no sound leaks outside the room.”
His voice was weak, but held a strange, knowing amusement.
“What are you doing here?!”
Tyllian looked about to explode, his attention momentarily diverted from Ash to the cunning mage.
‘Was he pretending to be unconscious?’
Ash was surprised too, a wave of relief washing over him that his Master wasn’t dead, but… would he get beaten by Tyllian and die anyway?
Of course, Tyllian wasn’t someone who just punched anyone without reason.
But he might now.
“What were you doing with such a young disciple?! Since when have you two had such a relationship? No, never mind! Don’t tell me! I don’t want to hear it.”
Tyllian’s questions were rapid-fire, accusatory, yet contradictory.
‘But why are you asking?’
Ash bit his lip, holding back the retort that sprang to mind.
Probably best not to say that out loud, right?
However, his Master seemed to have the same question.
His Master, ever the provocateur, actually answered the question.
“It hasn’t been long,” Cecil stated, his voice a low, knowing murmur, a subtle hint of a smile playing on his lips.
“Hah…”
Tyllian ran a hand over his face, a gesture of utter exasperation.
In doing so, he let go of his Master’s collar, but it seemed calming his overwhelming anger was more urgent than holding Cecil captive.
‘Or not?’
Ash thought.
Tyllian just looked like he wanted nothing to do with either of them, as if they were both incredibly frustrating burdens.
He glared at his Master, a look of profound weariness on his face.
“Enough. Open the door.”
It seemed Ash’s thought was right.
Tyllian looked thoroughly fed up, at his absolute limit.
The problem was that Ash seemed to be included in the list of people Tyllian wanted nothing to do with, a painful realization.
Ash didn’t think twice.
This was his last chance.
Without a word, he put Tyllian’s penis back in his mouth.
And he mumbled as he sucked, the muffled sounds filling the otherwise silent room.
“Ah…?”
Tyllian gasped, a raw, shocked sound.
“Insane, are you out of your mind?! Stop it…”
Tyllian cried, his body stiffening, his muscles tensing.
He bent his body, his thighs, perched on the bed, tensing, his breath catching in his throat.
He was different from his Master.
The reaction was immediate, visceral.
This was a partner worth sucking for, Ash thought, a grim satisfaction settling over him.
Most importantly, in this state, Tyllian wouldn’t be able to leave the room, not without causing a scene, not without revealing what was happening.
Because he wouldn’t do anything to hurt Ash, not intentionally.
Ash opened his throat, as he had learned from his Master, the forced lesson now serving a desperate purpose.
And he swallowed the hardened penis deep, deeper than before, taking it completely, forcing himself to accommodate its length.
Now if Tyllian moved, Ash would get hurt, his most vulnerable, innermost part of his body exposed and violated.
Indeed, Tyllian could not move.
He was trapped.