“Ash. It’s time.”
Ash opened his eyes wide, the words pulling him from the depths of sleep.
He felt like he’d had a dream, a strange, fragmented dream that seemed to belong to his childhood.
He didn’t remember the details well, but a lingering sense of warmth, a profound feeling of well-being, enveloped him.
He felt good upon waking, so…
Did he dream of days spent in the garden with his mother?
Ash stretched luxuriously, the kinks in his muscles protesting slightly, and rubbed his face, forcing away the last vestiges of sleep.
When his mind cleared, pushing away the lingering wisps of dreams, the first person he saw was his Master.
He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to Ash, a silent, contemplative figure.
He seemed to be looking out the window, his gaze fixed on something unseen, perhaps calculating an intricate spell or the shifting patterns of the night sky.
Next, Ash’s eyes fell upon the dark, starless sky and the room devoid of any flame, illuminated only by the faint, silvery glow of the moon.
The moon’s shadow, long and distorted, entered through the open terrace doors, stretching across the room like a silent sentinel.
His Master turned his head slowly, his profile silhouetted against the faint light, to look at Ash, his eyes glinting in the gloom.
“Did you pack your belongings?” he asked, his voice a low murmur that seemed to perfectly suit the quiet of the night.
“Of course.” Ash replied, a sense of quiet triumph in his voice, then clutched his throat, a sudden dryness, a slight rasp, making him wince.
Did he overdo it yesterday?
Perhaps.
The thought of his previous night’s activities brought a faint blush to his cheeks.
Still, there was nothing wrong with moving his body; he felt surprisingly limber.
Ash reached for the outer robe he had carefully hung up, pulling it on, and then, with a flourish, pulled out a heavy pouch from an inner pocket.
Clink.
The satisfying sound of metal against metal echoed in the quiet room.
It was a money pouch, substantial and heavy, filled with a handful of gleaming gold coins.
“Oh.”
His Master exclaimed, a rare note of surprise in his voice.
Ash hadn’t foolishly packed a large, cumbersome bag with various items.
He knew better than that.
He didn’t have the confidence to carry such a thing anyway, especially if they needed to move quickly.
He said proudly, a smug satisfaction in his tone, “I can buy clothes and a carriage. As long as I have money, that’s enough.”
His Master nodded, a flicker of approval in his eyes.
“Not a bad method. If your face isn’t well-known in the marketplace, that is.”
The caveat was delivered with a dry wit that made Ash roll his eyes.
“People from other regions don’t know me! Do you really think I’d buy a horse in this city?”
His tone was incredulous, bordering on insulted.
The idea of being recognized, of his plans being foiled by a simple purchase, was anathema to him.
“Oh, you wouldn’t? That’s a relief.”
His Master’s reply was delivered with an almost innocent sincerity that bordered on sarcasm.
Ash glared at his Master, but he wasn’t particularly annoyed.
Rather, an overwhelming sense of excitement dominated him, bubbling up from within, filling him with a nervous energy.
“It’s time to keep our promise.”
His Master smiled, a genuine, almost mischievous curve of his lips.
Ash’s heart pounded, a frantic drumbeat against his ribs.
Tension and anticipation surged through him all at once, a thrilling rush.
‘Finally.’
The thought resonated deep within him.
He could finally screw over Owen, the man who had tormented him, who had sought to control his life. Ash turned his head, looking for the face he couldn’t see.
“Where’s Tyllian?”
“He’s already gone out to prepare.”
Even Tyllian agreeing to help Ash wasn’t a dream.
Ash was so excited his chest ached.
“First, I’ll tell you the magical principles I’ll be using.”
“Uh, will I understand if you tell me?”
Ash was flustered.
Was his Master really trying to teach him magic even at this moment?
Ash wasn’t particularly keen.
“Well. I don’t expect you to, but it would be good to listen. Just in case of an unforeseen situation.”
“With Master here, there’s no way an unforeseen situation will arise.”
Ash flattered him without a moment’s hesitation.
He knew how to play to his Master’s ego.
“That’s a pleasant thing to say. But it’s not entirely true. This magic barrier is quite tricky to deal with.”
The admission, rare for his Master, piqued Ash’s interest.
“What? Is there something even tricky for Master?”
“Sometimes there are. Like a disobedient disciple…”
“No…”
Was he nagging even at this moment, at the precipice of their grand escape?
Ash groaned internally.
“Besides, I designed this magic.”
The casual declaration sent a jolt through Ash.
“What?”
“I designed it about 20 years ago and gave it to Ayla as a gift, and he used it. Just changed the target of the spell.”
His Master scratched his head, a gesture of mild discomfort or perhaps deep thought.
His bird’s nest-like hair became even more disheveled, standing out at odd angles.
“You’re saying you gifted that magic to Mom?”
Ash asked, a strange mix of surprise and unease twisting in his gut.
“Yes. Ayla was so sad because of the Duke’s infidelity. I applied an intruder prevention spell and combined it with a rather groundbreaking theory for the time. But Ayla never used it.”
Ash became increasingly uneasy.
The implications of this revelation were unsettling.
“What exactly is the magic?” he pressed, his voice taut with apprehension.
“It prevents outsiders from entering a defined area…”
‘Isn’t that just a security spell? It’s on a large scale, though. Master really is an Archmage.’
Ash was momentarily impressed, a flash of awe at his Master’s power despite the growing unease. However, it was too early to be relieved, he quickly realized.
“It was a spell that prevented specific individuals from leaving a defined area. I named the spell ‘Chains of Love.’ Doesn’t it suit it well?”
The Master’s tone was disturbingly cheerful, utterly oblivious to the horrifying nature of the spell he was describing.
No…
Ash’s mind screamed.
“You’re saying it was a spell to trap Father in the castle!?”
Ash’s voice rose in disbelief, a mixture of anger and horror.
“Probably, yes? If it had been used, the target would have been the Duke.”
His Master shrugged, as if discussing a trivial matter.
“It’s natural Mother wouldn’t use it!”
Ash exclaimed, exasperated by his Master’s lack of understanding.
“Why is that? If the Duke couldn’t leave the castle, the chance of him having an affair with an outside Omega would decrease.”
The Master’s logic was chillingly pragmatic, devoid of any emotional understanding.
“That’s not the point! He could have an affair inside the castle just as easily if he wanted to… “
Ash argued, his voice strained.
“Hmm. That’s true. Is that why she didn’t use it? Ayla was weak-hearted, after all. Perhaps she thought it was better for him to do it outside than to see him have an affair right in front of her.”
His Master mused, completely missing Ash’s true point.
‘Is that the point?’
Ash didn’t think so.
He felt like no one would use such a spell, no matter who it was given to…
The very idea was monstrous.
‘But it was used?’
A sudden, chilling thought struck Ash, and he suddenly felt dumbfounded.
The realization hit him with the force of a physical blow.
“You’re not saying this magic is being used on me now, are you?”
His voice was barely a whisper, laced with a dreadful certainty.
“Yes. Owen doesn’t seem to want to let you go at all. The range you can freely move within is the castle, and up to the garden. Other areas, even if they aren’t fenced… for example, places like the stables, you can’t go to.”
The casual delivery of this horrifying news sent shivers down Ash’s spine.
“Isn’t he crazy?”
Ash’s mouth dropped open, a gaping hole of shock.
No way, he cast such a large-scale confinement spell to trap him because of that marriage or whatever?
‘No way.’
Ash didn’t think Owen was that crazy, not truly.
He was… he didn’t want to admit it, but he was a rational human, calculated and strategic, yes, but not utterly deranged.
Trapping Ash until the wedding was actually within the understandable realm of Owen’s cold logic.
If he hadn’t trapped him, Ash would have done anything to screw Owen over!
But wasn’t this magic a crime, a profound violation of freedom?
Ash could easily imagine his Master calmly committing a crime, displaying a complete disregard for laws and norms, but not Owen.
Owen, despite his cunning, operated within a certain framework of acceptable villainy.
His Master cocked his head, a curious gesture, at his disrespectful disciple’s incredulous gaze.
“Hmm?” he questioned, seemingly unperturbed by Ash’s accusations.
“No, how long does this magic last?”
Ash demanded, a desperate hope clinging to his words.
“It will continue forever until someone dispels the magic or the caster stops it.”
The chilling finality of the statement sent a wave of despair through Ash.
“Owen isn’t a wizard, though? How can he cast something like this?”
As he spoke, Ash immediately thought it was a stupid question.
What couldn’t that guy do, with his resources and his network?
Indeed, his Master replied, confirming Ash’s unspoken fears.
“There are many mages in this castle. Although there’s debate whether we should call those inferior ones who can’t even create their own magic ‘mages.’ They can collectively bear the magical power needed to maintain the spell. Even if not, it can be replaced with magic stones. The important thing is the magic itself that was used.”
The technical explanation did little to quell Ash’s mounting panic.
“No… so… why did you create such magic!?”
Ash was in chaos, his mind reeling.
His Master created this crazy, stalking confinement spell, a tool of pure control, but Owen used it! Who should he be angry at?
The creator or the wielder?
The tangled web of responsibility was too much to untangle.
“Ash. It’s not that you have a bad memory; the problem is your habit of not properly listening to others. Haven’t I told you many times?”
His Master worried about Ash, his tone laced with a strange, almost paternal concern.
Ash wished he would worry about his own sanity instead.
“Ayla wanted it.”
“She didn’t want it! She didn’t use it!”
Ash practically screamed, the injustice of the statement a physical ache in his chest.
“Humans rarely know themselves. Most live without knowing what they truly desire, how desperately they want it, or what they’re willing to sacrifice. Ayla was a beautiful and lovely child, but she was foolish. More so than others. Just like you, Ash.”
The Master’s voice was soft, almost mournful, yet his words were a brutal assessment, stripping away any pretense.
“Don’t talk about my mother as if you miss slandering her. Or me, for that matter.”
Ash retorted, his voice trembling with suppressed fury.
Ash lost all desire to be angry.
The exhaustion of it all, the futility of arguing with this man, washed over him.
This person had lived like this his entire life, with his peculiar logic and unsettling creations, so what could he do?
Ash just had to accept it, accept the absurdity, accept the man standing before him.
“Then you can’t break this magic? You said you’d help me escape?”
A sliver of hope, tenuous but persistent, remained.
“Of course I can break it. What do you take me for?”
His Master looked up at the sky with half-closed eyes, a faint smirk playing on his lips, as if the question itself was an insult to his boundless power.
“To be precise, we’ll bypass the magic. We’ll trick the barrier into recognizing us as ‘insiders’ who shouldn’t be blocked. That requires active cooperation from an insider, but we already have someone to help us.”
“Tyllian?”
Ash’s heart thumped again, a surge of adrenaline.
The knight’s involvement provided a much-needed anchor of reality in the Master’s fantastical schemes.
“That’s what ‘preparing’ meant?”
Ash asked, a sudden understanding dawning on him.
“There are various things, aren’t there? Now, Ash. Put the gold coin pouch back in your pocket. Put on your outdoor shoes too. Are the clothes you’re wearing underneath fine?”
“They’re sufficient.”
Ash confirmed, his mind now fully focused on the task at hand.
After all, the clothes wouldn’t even be visible, hidden by his thick, dark coat.
There wasn’t much difference whether he was dressed up or not, only the practicality mattered.
Ash had several sets of commoner’s clothes for when he went down to the village, for his surreptitious visits, and what he was wearing now was one of them, drab and unremarkable.
Now, Ash was breathless with anticipation, a vibrant energy thrumming through his veins.
This was it.
Escape.
Freedom.
The culmination of his long-held desire.
‘Owen, you bastard.’
A silent curse, a final act of defiance.
Goodbye.
“I’ll begin.”
After nodding to Ash, a silent signal of readiness, his Master went out onto the terrace, stepping out into the cool night air.
He was seen standing there, staring blankly into the void, his gaze fixed on something beyond mortal comprehension.
Ash could almost feel the flow of magic gathering around him like an invisible wind, coalescing, building in intensity.
The air crackled with unseen energy.
The next moment…
“Ah.”
A sharp exhalation from his Master, almost a gasp.
CRASH!
A thunderous roar, a sound loud enough to awaken the entire castle, echoed in the sky, shaking the very foundations of the ancient fortress.
Ash gasped, his eyes wide with alarm.
“Quietly leaving will be impossible. This magic doesn’t recognize Tyllian as an ‘insider.’ Owen Mills didn’t trust Tyllian.”
His Master’s voice was surprisingly calm, given the catastrophic noise.
“What?!”
Ash yelled, disbelief warring with rising panic.
“I’ll change the method. I’ll break the magic. There will be a bit of a commotion.”
Crack, crack…
There was a horrifying sound like something massive breaking and tilting, like the very fabric of reality was being torn apart.
At the same time, the black sky was tinged with an ominous red, a fiery glow spreading across the horizon.
Then, Ash saw it.
The only second language Ash could read, Runic, ancient and powerful, floated in the air, manifesting before his very eyes.
His Master, with an almost casual flick of his hand, revealed the hidden magical formula, tearing away the veil of illusion.
Ash got goosebumps, cold dread mingling with awe.
It wasn’t just floating.
Runic characters, glowing with an inner light, filled the entire sky without gaps, a vast, intricate tapestry of power.
This castle, Ash realized, was a prison, a cage woven from ancient magic.
And his Master, with a terrifying, sublime display of power, broke it.
CLANG!
The sound was deafening, the world shattering into countless, glittering pieces around them.