Ash was flustered.
“It’s not outright ruin, is it? And you said you’d help, Master! You didn’t know it would turn out like this?”
“I didn’t know. Normally, I would have been able to get out quietly.”
“‘Normally’… What’s different about the current situation?”
Tylian had his mouth shut, with a stiff expression that suggested he wasn’t exactly pleased.
“Why is that?”
“Ash, you truly have no interest in magic. I wish you’d at least pretend to listen when your teaching master explains something.”
The Master spoke sadly.
Ash, with his eyes half-closed from sleepiness, wished he wouldn’t say things like that. It made him seem untrustworthy.
Didn’t the Master look like someone who only lied?
“I-I listened.”
“What did I say when I used magic?”
“Was it hard to use magic on Tylian?”
Ash recounted what he remembered.
“I did say that. What I asked about was the part where you planned to escape with Tylian’s cooperation.”
What’s the problem with that?
Ash still found it hard to understand.
“We planned to overlay Tylian’s biometric information onto ours, so that when Tylian left the castle, we would escape with him. This magic doesn’t react to those inside the castle. It would be a big problem if it trapped errand-runners every time they entered and exited. My calculation was that if the three of us passed through together while the magic was reading Tylian’s biometric information, the magic wouldn’t react. And it should have worked as calculated.”
“Why was the calculation wrong?”
“The magic didn’t let Tylian pass.”
Ash frowned.
“Tylian is an insider, isn’t he?”
‘So am I, but…’
However, Ash himself was the one the magic was originally meant to imprison, so he must have been an exception in the ‘insider’ list.
But wasn’t Tylian different?
“Exactly. It seems Owen Mills suspected that Tylian would escape with you.”
Ash’s mouth fell open.
Tylian was excluded from the insider list too?
But…
“Owen was the one who assigned Tylian as my guard!?”
“…He’s an escort, not a guard.”
Tylian couldn’t help but correct him.
Ash was dumbfounded.
“Does that matter to you?”
“The meaning would be the same regardless of the word. Perhaps Owen Mills anticipated that
Tylian, while on escort duty, would be persuaded by Ash and flee with him?”
The Master smiled broadly.
His half-closed, sleepy eyes narrowed and then completely disappeared under his eyelids.
Ash didn’t quite understand.
“He thought Tylian would betray him?”
“You understood well.”
The Master praised him.
“But why keep him as my guard? He could have just separated us. Shouldn’t that be the obvious thing to do?”
Tylian seemed not to have considered that part either. He suddenly spoke, as if something had just occurred to him.
“…When I was absent for two days, the young duke… Owen Mills didn’t look for me. He didn’t reprimand me when I returned either.”
“You are a diligent person, Tylian. Even if you were sick, you wouldn’t be absent without leave. Was my guess wrong?”
“You’re right.”
Tylian bit his lip.
“Your exceptional behavior seems to have given Owen Mills conviction. That you would certainly help Ash escape.”
“Such…”
Ash shook his head.
“No, I didn’t even know, but he knew Tylian better than I did? No, no! Aside from that, why would he assign the very person who would help me escape to me? He’s not an idiot.”
“Well, Ash. Why don’t you think about it? You’ve known Tylian longer than Owen Mills, but you know him less, and you are Owen Mills’ sibling, but you know him less than I do.”
“Why is he my sibling?!”
“Ah, are you not siblings now?”
“We are siblings, but!”
Whether that guy considered Ash a sibling was another matter.
The probability was high that he didn’t.
Ash, feeling unnecessarily annoyed, plucked some grass and threw it into the air, sighing deeply.
‘He’s probably not going to tell me.’
Well, whatever.
If it were important, he would have told him.
Surely the Master wouldn’t make a riddle out of something concerning Ash’s life, would he?
To Ash, the Master seemed to love riddles too much.
Or perhaps he enjoyed seeing Ash struggle with unsolvable problems.
Having suffered for days over the Master’s magical formulas, Ash no longer even attempted tasks beyond his capability.
“I don’t know. How am I supposed to know what’s going on in his head? Maybe he thought I’d go crazy if he didn’t assign Tylian to me.”
“Even if I were there, Lord Ash… no.”
Tylian opened his mouth as if to speak unintentionally, then closed it.
“What? Finish your sentence. Do you think I don’t know you’ve been subtly talking back to me?”
“You probably do. You’re just letting it slide, aren’t you? It seems my bad habits are partly your fault too, Lord Ash.”
“My insubordination is my fault too!?”
Tylian had been a bad seed since he was little! What was this guy, who spent all day nagging, talking about?
Anyway, they had to move.
After a quick meal of dry rations, they began walking.
Ash had no complaints about the meager meal or walking under the blazing sun.
Though on the surface he looked like a pampered young master who had never lifted anything heavier than a fork, he had been the Duke’s successor, wielding a wooden sword and running drills in the training ground before he was ten.
Even throwing tantrums requires stamina. Ash’s tantrums and mischief-making often happened outside the castle walls, so he had faced situations that an ordinary noble young master would never experience in a lifetime.
For example, getting thrown into a trash can during a street fight.
‘Now that I think about it, Owen was there that time too.’
He was also a truly problematic guy.
But it still seemed absurd to Ash that he was treated as a troublemaker while Owen was treated as a dignified older brother.
Their father didn’t seem to be particularly foolish, so why was his judgment of people so terrible?
Then again, others had also been completely fooled by Owen, so it wasn’t just their father’s problem.
With Tylian unfolding the map and the Master using a directional magic spell, they cut straight through the forest, which by all appearances was not a proper path.
This was the fastest way to Baron Maynor’s territory.
Following the road would take them far out of their way.
Besides, there wasn’t an easy way to even get to a road in the first place.
Because the Master hadn’t been careful with directional control, they had ended up almost in the middle of the forest.
In the end, all three had no choice but to take out their daggers, hack away branches, and trek through the mountains.
Tylian dealt with any beasts that jumped out along the way.
Of course, they were no match for him.
They walked, chatting idly, and Ash occasionally glanced at Tylian.
He had a question he wanted to ask.
‘But why did you really agree to follow me? Is it because you like me?’
But hadn’t Tylian initially followed Owen’s orders?
His resolve had seemed firm then.
Ash didn’t understand why his mind had suddenly changed, even after they had… slept together.
Had he come to like Ash even more in the meantime?
‘…That’s weird, isn’t it?’
Ash was aware that he hadn’t exactly been charming.
Hadn’t he just done things that would make someone lose affection?
He tried to recall what he had done since sleeping with Tylian.
More precisely, what Tylian had endured because of him.
Being threatened, playing perverted games with the Master… though the latter was more Tylian’s cooperation than Ash’s explicit wish…
And after all that, his feelings for Ash grew stronger?
‘Wouldn’t that make him a strange person?’
Tylian, a strange person?
However, that assumption didn’t fit Ash’s common sense either.
If you lined up Ash, Tylian, and the Master, it was obvious the strangest person was the Master, then Ash, and finally Tylian.
Even if you stopped a hundred people on the road and asked, you’d get the same answer.
Even if you asked Owen Mills…
‘Huh? Why is the Master coming with us?’
Thinking about how strange the Master was made Ash question something.
“But Master, you don’t just have workshops in the ducal territory, do you?”
[I’ve set them up in various places.]
The Master, who had transformed into a bird and was perched on Ash’s shoulder, said.
The Master wasn’t even walking on his own two feet in the first place.
If he just flew away in his bird form, Owen Mills wouldn’t catch him, would he?
“You could just go to one of them. Instead of blaming Tylian or me for your magic failing.”
[Ash, do you know? You’re even colder than Ayla.]
“Don’t bring my mother into this out of nowhere…”
[Does a master need a reason to help a disciple?]
“What are you saying, when you’re the one who doesn’t help without a reason!”
The Master chuckled in a bird-like sound.
[There is a reason, though.]
“What is it?”
A path appeared in Ash’s sight.
The forest finally opened up, and the road leading into Baron Maynor’s territory emerged.
[Because I thought you’d need my help.]
The meaning of those words became clear as soon as they arrived at the Baron’s castle.
The Baron’s castle stood before them, not as an imposing fortress, but a sturdy, well-maintained structure.
It exuded an air of quiet dignity, much like its owner.
Ash felt a familiar knot of unease tighten in his stomach. Baron Maynor.
The man who had been like an uncle, yet had so readily bent the knee to Owen.
The betrayal still stung, a dull ache beneath the surface of his usual bravado.
His decision to side with Owen, a stark reminder of the shifting loyalties in their world, had left Ash with a deep sense of disillusionment.
He had once looked up to the Baron, seeing him as a steadfast figure, a bastion of the old ways, but that illusion had been shattered by the recent events.
The world, it seemed, was far more complicated and treacherous than his youthful rebellions had ever led him to believe.
As they approached the main gate, two guards, clad in the Baron’s modest but practical livery, stepped forward, spears crossed.
They eyed Ash with a mixture of surprise and suspicion, their gazes lingering on his slightly disheveled appearance.
His clothes, once fine, were now dirt-stained and rumpled from the journey, a far cry from the immaculate attire expected of a ducal child.
Tylian, ever the picture of composure, stepped forward, his presence alone commanding a degree of respect.
His armor, though worn from travel, still gleamed faintly, and his posture was as straight and imposing as any seasoned knight’s.
He exuded an aura of quiet strength and unwavering loyalty that even the guards, accustomed to judging character, couldn’t ignore.
“We seek an audience with Baron Maynor,” Tylian stated, his voice calm and authoritative, cutting through the slight tension in the air.
The guards exchanged a glance.
One of them, a grizzled veteran with a scarred cheek, squinted at Ash.
He had seen many noble children in his time, but few with such a defiant glint in their eyes, even when looking so out of place.
“And who might you be, young master?” he asked, his voice rough but not unkind.
Ash forced a smile, one that felt more like a grimace.
It was a practiced expression, a mask he often donned to hide his true feelings, but it felt particularly thin now.
“Lord Ash,” he replied, his voice attempting a regal tone despite the circumstances.
The veteran’s eyes widened imperceptibly, and a flicker of something unreadable – perhaps surprise, perhaps recognition, perhaps even a hint of pity – crossed his face.
He remembered the stories of the Duke’s spirited youngest child, the one who often found himself in scrapes and always seemed to be at odds with his older brother.
“Lord Ash?” he repeated slowly, as if testing the name, confirming the improbable reality.
“Yes. And this is my escort, Sir Tylian.”
Ash gestured to Tylian, who offered a slight, respectful nod to the guards.
“And… this is my Master.”
He gestured vaguely towards his shoulder, where the Master remained in his bird form, a small, unassuming avian presence that would have been easily overlooked by anyone not privy to its true nature.
The guards looked from Tylian to Ash, then to the seemingly empty space above Ash’s shoulder.
Confusion was evident on their faces.
They were accustomed to knights and squires, but a “Master” who was invisible or a tiny bird was certainly beyond their usual experience.
“Your… Master?” the veteran finally managed, a hint of skepticism, bordering on disbelief, in his tone.
The Master, in his bird form, let out a tiny, indignant squawk. It was barely audible, a puff of feathers and a rustle of tiny wings.
[They are so uncivilized, Ash. Do they not recognize true intellectual prowess? Such boorishness!]
Ash could almost feel his invisible huff of annoyance.
Ash sighed internally.
This was going to be a long day.
Dealing with the Master’s eccentricities in front of skeptical guards was just another layer of complication.
“He’s… a very private person,” he clarified, trying to sound as convincing as possible, as if explaining a particularly reclusive noble.
The veteran still looked doubtful, his scarred face etched with suspicion, but Tylian’s unwavering gaze and stoic demeanor seemed to sway him.
Tylian’s reputation as a loyal and capable knight was well-known, even in this more remote territory.
“Wait here,” he grunted, a decision made, and disappeared into the castle, leaving the younger guard to keep watch.
The wait was agonizing.
The sun beat down relentlessly, a fiery orb in the azure sky, and Ash could feel the sweat trickling down his back, plastering his travel-worn clothes to his skin.
He fidgeted, kicking at a loose pebble on the ground, his impatience growing with each passing moment. His mind raced, replaying the conversation with the Master.
Owen’s cunning, his foresight in knowing Tylian would side with him, it was unsettling.
It spoke of a deeper understanding of human nature, a manipulative streak that Ash hadn’t fully grasped until now. Was Owen truly that much more astute than he was?
The thought chafed, a constant irritant that fueled his determination.
He had always prided himself on his quick wit and ability to outmaneuver others, but Owen seemed to operate on an entirely different level, always several steps ahead.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the gate opened again, and the veteran reappeared, followed by a younger, more finely dressed servant.
The servant’s livery was crisp and clean, a stark contrast to their own dusty attire.
“Baron Maynor will see you, Lord Ash,” the servant announced, his voice stiffly polite, a tone that suggested formality rather than genuine welcome.
Ash walked forward, his head held high, a renewed resolve in his step.
Tylian was a silent, reassuring presence at his side, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword, a subtle gesture of readiness and protection.
The Master remained perched on his shoulder, his little bird eyes darting around, observing everything with an almost imperceptible twitch of his tiny head.
As they entered the castle, the air grew cooler, offering a welcome respite from the outside heat.
The interior was tastefully decorated, not lavish or ostentatious like the ducal palace, but comfortable and lived-in.
Tapestries depicting hunting scenes adorned the walls, their threads faded with age, and the scent of beeswax and old parchment filled the air, a comforting aroma that spoke of history and quiet domesticity.
They were led through several corridors, each one echoing with the soft sound of their footsteps on the polished stone floors, until they reached a large study.
The door was open, and inside, a man with a kind, weathered face sat at a massive oak desk, poring over documents.
This was Baron Maynor.
His hair, once dark, was now streaked with silver, and lines of concern etched his forehead, deepening as he scrutinized the papers before him.
He looked up as they entered, and his eyes, still sharp and intelligent despite his age, widened in surprise when they landed on Ash.
The recognition was immediate, followed by a fleeting shadow of something else – perhaps regret, perhaps anxiety.
“Ash?”
he exclaimed, pushing himself up from his chair with a start, the sudden movement causing his documents to rustle.
His voice held a mixture of shock and genuine affection, a resonance that carried echoes of a time when their relationship was simpler, less fraught with political complexities.
He started to move towards him, then hesitated, his gaze flickering to Tylian, then to the general vicinity of Ash’s shoulder, a hint of confusion in his expression.
Ash felt a flicker of hope.
Perhaps he still cared. Perhaps the betrayal wasn’t as absolute as he had feared, a necessary evil rather than a heartfelt abandonment.
“Baron Maynor,” he said, his voice a little softer than he had intended, betraying a hint of the vulnerability he usually kept hidden.
The Baron stopped a few paces away, his expression settling into one of guarded caution, the warmth replaced by a subtle reserve.
The political realities of their situation were clearly weighing on him.
“To what do I owe this… unexpected visit, Lord Ash?”
His formal tone was a stark contrast to his earlier exclamation, a clear indication of the shift in their dynamic.
Ash’s hope deflated slightly.
The formality was a barrier, a wall erected between them.
He knew he had to get straight to the point, leaving no room for misunderstanding or evasion.
“I need your help, Baron. Regarding my father’s will.”
The Baron’s face tightened, and he glanced at Tylian, a silent assessment in his eyes.
“This is a sensitive matter, Lord Ash. Perhaps we should discuss it in private.”
He was clearly uncomfortable, caught between his past loyalty and his present allegiance.
“Tylian is my most trusted knight,” Ash insisted, his voice firm, a refusal to be swayed.
“And my Master is also present, though not in a form you might expect.”
He looked at the Master, who blinked his bird eyes slowly, a tiny, almost imperceptible nod of agreement.
The Baron sighed, a long, weary sound that spoke of burdens and difficult choices.
He gestured to two chairs opposite his desk, their backs upholstered in rich, dark leather.
“Very well. Please, sit.”
His resignation was evident.
As they took their seats, Ash couldn’t help but feel a surge of frustration.
This was going to be harder than he thought.
He had expected some warmth, some lingering sense of their past relationship, a glimmer of the old uncle-like affection, but the Baron was clearly wary, his cautiousness a palpable presence in the room.
Owen’s influence ran deep, a pervasive shadow that had evidently touched even those who had once been close to him.
“Baron,” Ash began, trying to keep his voice steady, to project an air of calm authority despite the turmoil within him.
“You were present when my father’s will was read. I need to know what it said. All of it.”
He leaned forward slightly, his gaze fixed on him, willing him to be honest.
The Baron clasped his hands on the desk, his knuckles white, a sign of his inner tension.
He avoided his gaze, looking down at his clasped hands.
“Lord Ash, you know that His Grace’s will was explicit. Owen Mills was named his successor.”
“I know that,” Ash retorted, a hint of his usual impatience creeping into his tone, a crack in his carefully constructed composure.
“But there must be more. Clauses that benefit me, or perhaps restrictions on Owen. Something that would make him imprison me to prevent me from hearing it. Owen isn’t one to do something without a very good reason, especially not something so drastic and seemingly irrational.”
The Baron remained silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on some unseen point on the wall behind Ash, as if seeking answers there.
He seemed to be weighing his words, considering the implications of what he was asking, the potential repercussions of revealing too much.
The air in the study grew heavy with unspoken tension, a silent battle of wills playing out between them.
Ash felt Tylian’s steady presence beside him, a silent anchor in his growing frustration, his quiet strength a comforting presence.
Even the Master seemed unusually quiet, his bird form motionless on his shoulder, as if sensing the gravity of the moment.
Finally, the Baron spoke, his voice low and carefully measured, each word chosen with deliberate precision.
“Lord Ash, His Grace’s will was clear. It designated Owen Mills as the legitimate heir to the ducal title and all associated lands and properties.”
He paused, then added, his voice tinged with what sounded like genuine regret, “There were no other clauses that, to my knowledge, would be disadvantageous to Owen or significantly advantageous to you in terms of the succession. The document was quite concise regarding the direct line of inheritance.”
Ash stared at him, dumbfounded.
His mind reeled, trying to reconcile his words with Owen’s drastic actions.
“That’s impossible! Then why would Owen imprison me? Why go to such lengths if there was nothing to hide?”
His voice was laced with disbelief, a raw edge of desperation.
The Baron looked at him with a sad, almost pitying expression, his eyes reflecting a deeper understanding of Owen’s character than Ash possessed.
“Perhaps… perhaps he feared your reaction. Your… spirited nature, Lord Ash.”
He said the words gently, as if trying to soften the blow.
“My spirited nature?”
Ash scoffed, the words dripping with sarcasm.
“He thought I’d throw a tantrum and overturn the ducal household? That’s why he’d go to the lengths of imprisoning me and preventing me from hearing my own father’s will? That’s absurd! I’m many things, Baron, but a mere tantrum-thrower isn’t one of them, especially not when it comes to something as serious as my father’s legacy.”
His voice rose slightly, indignation bubbling to the surface, his control beginning to fray.
Tylian subtly placed a hand on his arm, a gentle warning, his touch a steadying force.
Ash took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, to regain his composure.
This wasn’t helping their cause.
“Baron,” Tylian interjected, his voice smooth and respectful, a diplomatic tone that Ash rarely heard from him.
“With all due respect, Lord Ash has a valid point. Such extreme measures seem disproportionate if the will simply named Owen as successor. There must be another layer to this, a hidden clause, or perhaps something unwritten that Owen fears Ash discovering. His Grace, the late Duke, was known for his subtle machinations and complex plans.”
The Baron shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his gaze darting between Ash and Tylian. He was clearly caught in a difficult position, loyalties divided.
“I can only relay what I heard, Sir Tylian. The will was read in the presence of several trusted vassals. Its contents were clear, at least what was publicly declared.”
He emphasized the last phrase almost imperceptibly.
“But who were these ‘trusted vassals’?”
Ash pressed, seizing on his subtle emphasis.
“Were they all supporters of Owen? Were they people he could easily influence or intimidate?”
The Baron hesitated again, a longer pause this time.
“They were… those whom His Grace deemed most loyal,” he finally stated, his voice carefully neutral.
“And most loyal to Owen, too, perhaps?”
Ash muttered, his suspicion growing, a cold certainty beginning to form in his mind.
“Was there anyone there who might have, shall we say, a less favorable view of Owen? Someone who would dare to speak against him, or who would have reason to question the official reading of the will?”
The Baron’s gaze flickered, a tell-tale sign that Ash’s instincts were correct. He sighed again, a deeper, more resigned sound this time.
“There were… diverse opinions among the vassals present, Lord Ash. His Grace always ensured a balance, even among his most loyal subjects.”
“And who among them would be most likely to speak truthfully to me, despite Owen’s displeasure? Someone with integrity, someone who wouldn’t be easily swayed by Owen’s influence or threats?”
Ash asked, his eyes narrowing, a keen intelligence burning in their depths.
He needed a name, a direct lead, someone who could provide the missing pieces of this infuriating puzzle.
The Baron was silent for a long moment, then he slowly rubbed his chin, a gesture Ash recognized as a sign of deep thought, of weighing difficult options.
His eyes drifted to a faded tapestry on the wall, depicting a knight holding a banner aloft, a symbol of unwavering loyalty.
“There is one who might… if you could reach them. Their word is as good as gold, and their loyalty is not easily bought or compromised.”
“Who?”
Ash leaned forward eagerly, a fresh surge of hope igniting within him.
“Lord Valerius,” the Baron finally said, his voice quiet but firm.
“He was present, and he has always been… a man of strong convictions, unyielding in his principles. He also harbors some reservations about Owen Mills’s sudden elevation to the ducal title, and he is not afraid to voice them, even in the face of considerable opposition.”
Ash remembered Lord Valerius. A stern, honorable man, known for his unyielding principles, his reputation for integrity stretching far and wide.
He wasn’t one to be easily swayed or intimidated. If anyone would know the truth, it would be him.
“Where can I find him?” he asked, his voice filled with a renewed sense of purpose.
“Lord Valerius resides in the southern territories, near the Azure Coast. It’s a long journey, and not without its perils. The roads are not as safe as they once were, and Owen Mills has been extending his influence rapidly, even into the more remote regions.”
The Baron’s voice was laced with genuine concern, a flicker of the old affection returning to his eyes.
“We will go,” Ash declared, standing up with a newfound determination.
“Thank you for your honesty, Baron. Your information is invaluable.”
The Baron looked at him, then at Tylian, a complex mixture of emotions in his eyes – relief, worry, and a hint of admiration.
“Be careful, Lord Ash. Owen Mills is… far more capable and ruthless than he lets on. He has a way of anticipating moves and turning situations to his advantage. Do not underestimate him, for your safety and for the sake of the realm.”
As they left the Baron’s study and made their way out of the castle, into the now cooler evening air, Ash felt a renewed sense of purpose.
Lord Valerius.
He was their next step, the key to unraveling Owen’s deception.
The journey would be arduous, fraught with dangers and uncertainties, but the truth, and his rightful place as a duke’s child, were worth every hardship.
The Master, now a small weight on his shoulder, seemed to stir, a soft rustle of feathers, as if sensing the shift in his resolve.
[See, Ash? My help is always necessary. And now, you have a new riddle to solve, a grander quest to embark upon. The pursuit of knowledge, after all, is the highest form of magic.]Ash merely rolled his eyes, a small, exasperated smile playing on his lips.
Some things never changed, and the Master’s penchant for theatrical pronouncements was certainly one of them.
But he knew one thing for sure: Owen Mills had underestimated him.
And he had certainly underestimated the unwavering loyalty of his knight, Tylian, and the infuriating, enigmatic Master.
Their journey had just truly begun, with the promise of uncovering secrets that could shake the very foundations of the ducal house and reveal the true depths of Owen’s ambition.