"So, he was a target...?" Marcy clicked her tongue, surveying the wreckage of Michael's blown-up house. Royal Guards had just finished carrying away the lifeless body of Michael's father.
"It appears so," Amoria replied, her tone thoughtful as her eyes scanned the ruins. "Hmm..."
"What is it?" Marcy asked, turning to her, concern flickering in her voice.
"Why blow up the house?" Amoria murmured, half to herself.
"To... Hm. Maybe whoever did it noticed he saw something and wanted to silence him?"
Amoria shook her head slightly. "Then why not just control him, like you suggested, Marcy? Besides, Michael would've told us if he'd seen anything. If he didn't, why go this far?"
"This feels more like... tying up loose ends," Amoria said finally, stepping carefully through the scorched remains of the house. Ashes crumbled underfoot as she approached what was once Michael's room.
"Loose ends?!" Marcy's eyes flared with anger. "You don't mean to suggest that—"
"It's an option," Amoria interrupted grimly, her tone detached as she sifted through the rubble with her eyes. Her voice dropped into a clinical coldness, like a surgeon examining a patient's chart.
"He has a motive—a powerful one. Your daughter's affection... and mine. Or perhaps even their physical companionship. Not much to lose, considering his deadbeat of a father—drowning himself in grief and ale over a woman who abandoned him, instead of caring for the son who didn't."
Marcy stiffened, her jaw tightening at the suggestion. Amoria continued her cold assessment, unbothered, as the ruined house offered no answers, only silence.
"His father was a drunkard..?" Marcy let out.
"Yes. You never visited his house, so you wouldn't know. After his wife left, seeing him sober was rare." Amoria said, her tone deadpan, her face appeared to be lifeless.
"That, and..." Amoria trailed off as her gaze landed on a faintly hidden mark—a circle burned into the wood, ashes scattered around it, as if the explosion had originated from that very spot.
"He wasn't branded," she said at last, motioning for Marcy to join her.
"Does this look familiar, Marcy?" Amoria asked, pointing at the mark.
Marcy's eyes narrowed as she studied the mark. "...A trapped object. The kind Mika and Rika would craft. It could detonate either by touch..."
"...Or incantation," Amoria finished grimly.
"And you'd only tie up loose ends if someone decides that—"
"—he no longer wants to be a part of it." Their voices overlapped seamlessly as they locked eyes, realization hitting them at the same moment. Michael, now a potential suspect, was with their daughters.
"And this object... A circular mark like this is most definitely a—"
"SLAVE MARK!" Marcy blurted, her breath hitching sharply.
"We need to get back to the guild. Now," Amoria commanded, her tone clipped with urgency.
Without hesitation, they turned and bolted back the way they came, their boots pounding against the ground as dread sank deeper into their chests.
Van sighed softly as he walked the streets, keeping his gaze low to avoid the eyes of the passing residents.
"Haah..." he exhaled again, frustration lacing his breath.
'I've gotten used to it somewhat... This light around everyone. But it still irks me.' His thoughts simmered as he approached the guild—Marcy's guild. His gaze flicked away from the glowing auras surrounding the people he passed, a constant, blinding distraction.
The guild's entrance stood open for visitors, and he instinctively knew Marcy and Amoria were inside. But he didn't hesitate.
He was ready.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something different. An aura that wasn't bright or blinding. Instead, it resembled black smoke, twisting and trailing into the guild like ominous threads. Three distinct strands.
'What's this...?' Van's eyes narrowed as he stepped closer to the guild. The sight of the dark, writhing aura was unfamiliar, unsettling. He followed it through the main entrance, curiosity prickling his thoughts. 'That's a new one...'
Inside, a voice cut through the ambient noise.
"I was the one who branded them, Miss Misa," someone said at the counter, the cold clunk of metal hitting wood following their words.
Van's gaze snapped to the source of the voice. One of the black strands of smoke connected to the person's inner thigh—a tether, faint yet unmistakable.
'Branded...?' The word echoed in his mind as he focused on the man standing at the counter.
It was Michael. He held something in his hand—a slave mark. Unlike the others, no aura surrounded it. No light. Just emptiness.
Misa, who stood behind the counter, chimed in, her eyes widening in disbelief as they landed on the mark.
Her gaze then flicked to Van, who had just walked in. Alarm filled her expression as she stared at him.
"...?"
A bit later...
"I see. So something like that happened," Van sighed, his tone weary as he listened to Misa. They stood in a small, dimly lit room, Michael bound tightly by rope, with Misa's sharp, watchful gaze fixed on him.
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Van's eyes flicked briefly to Misa, scrutinizing her with quiet intensity.
'Her aura's... different,' he thought, noticing a faint pink cloud surrounding her head. 'What is that? It's denser around the eyes... almost like it's blinding her. What could it mean?'
His gaze lingered for a moment longer, narrowing slightly in thought, before her voice snapped him out of it.
"Yes. You should hurry and let your father know, Van. Who knows who else might be susceptible to it," she said coldly, her words cutting through his focus.
'Guess I'll prod later,' Van decided, brushing aside his curiosity for the time being. 'She seems fine... for now.'
She paused, her expression hardening as her eyes narrowed at him. "Though... maybe it's best that you stay here," she added, her suspicion now unmistakable.
"At least until Amoria and Marcy get here," she said sharply.
'I feel there's something suspicious about him. And the fact he walked in here the moment Michael confessed to it... he must be involved. Bastard... doing something like that to Anne and Miss Elizabeth. I don't care if your father is related to them. You'll face Miss Amoria's and Miss Marcy's wrath. I won't let you leave, no matter what. But I must be prepared,' her gaze darkened as she scrutinized Van, who appeared casual and weary. 'Since he's connected, he'll try to argue his way out of this—'
"Sure. I'll stay. I wanted to talk to them either way," Van interrupted, his tone nonchalant as he let out a subtle eyeroll.
'W... Was that an eyeroll!?' Misa's thoughts froze as she was taken aback by his casualness, her suspicion only deepening. 'What was that about!? And he doesn't even seem the slightest bit bothered by the mention of them!?'
"May I sit here?" Van asked, pointing to a chair within her immediate view.
"..." A moment of silence lingered as Misa hesitated, unsure what to make of him.
"... Seeing as you're staying here, I don't see why not," she finally huffed, her tone guarded as Van took the seat next to Michael.
'W-... What's he doing here!?' Michael thought, his gaze flickering nervously to Van, panic flashing in his eyes.
"So," Van said after a few seconds, breaking the silence and startling Michael.
"You lost your dad, I hear?" Van spoke casually, his tone almost indifferent.
'Why is he talking to me like we're close friends!?' Michael wondered, his brow furrowing at the question. He hesitated, unsure of how to respond.
"...."
"... Sorry to hear," Van added, his voice calm but piercing.
Michael flinched. 'What...!? Why's he saying that to me...!? Shouldn't he hate me? Scream at me? Want to kill me for hurting Anne and Lizzy? So you really don't care about them, huh!?' Michael's teeth sank into his lower lip as his thoughts churned.
'No... I know. I know what I have to do. You being here... the way Misa looks at you... I know what to do.' A dark gleam flickered in Michael's eyes.
'Bernard taught me. If I want to get what I want... playing nice is how you get trampled.' His mind flashed to the memory of Van's arm draped around Lizzy's shoulder, the image burning into him. His father's broken murmurs of his mother's name instead of his own as he died echoed in his mind like a curse.
'I'll put you in the ground to elevate myself.'
"It was a good plan, master. Too bad we got caught..." Michael finally said, his voice low and tinged with venom.
Misa's eyes widened in rage as she glared at Van, who looked more disappointed and tired than flustered or scared.
"Before you attack me, Misa," Van said calmly, as if anticipating her fury. His gaze, however, trailed to the hallway outside the door, where he noticed two more traces of black smoke weaving into another room in the guild.
His eyes narrowed. "Who are the two people in the next room?" he asked, his voice sharp.
"YOU BASTARD...!!" Misa roared, her fists trembling with anger.
"You'd know, Master..." Michael interjected, his tone unreadable.
Van turned his relaxed gaze toward Michael, still bound tightly in rope.
"It's Anne and Lizzy. The ones you told me to brand," Michael said coldly, a slight edge to his voice.
"Thanks," Van replied curtly. Without hesitation, he grabbed Michael by the shirt collar and leaped through the nearby window, the glass shattering into a cascade of shards.
"NO...!!" Misa screamed, her voice echoing as she vaulted after them in desperation.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!" Michael's terrified scream pierced the air, the wind and shards of glass tearing at him during their rapid descent.
'This confirms it. The black smoke… they're all branded as slaves. That includes this kid. And the fact that the slave mark he held no longer has an aura means it's useless. In which case… this black smoke… must lead somewhere. I guess whoever commands them?' Van thought, his focus razor-sharp as he landed with a powerful thud and immediately began sprinting in the direction of the smoke.
Within seconds, Van had already lost Misa's trail.
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Michael screamed, his voice cracking as he flailed behind Van.
'Whoever branded Lizzy and Anne... shouldn't have done that with me around,' Van thought, his eyes narrowing as his speed intensified, Michael's body helplessly dragged behind him.
"I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY! PLEASE LET ME GO!! AHHH!!!!" Michael shrieked, his breath coming in frantic gasps.
'He's so strong…!! What is this…!? HE EVEN OUTRAN MISA…!!?' Michael thought, his mind spinning as he struggled to catch his breath, fear gripping him.
For a moment, there was only the sound of Van's relentless footsteps pounding against the ground and the rushing wind. Then, breaking the silence, Van spoke.
"---- ---, -----, -- --- --- ---," he said, his voice calm, gaze fixed straight ahead.
"!?????????????" Michael didn't catch what Van said, the words drowned by the deafening air pressure blasting in his ears.
'Time to end this stupid arc,' Van thought, his expression hardening as he reached the massive gates of the Von Brayle mansion. Without breaking stride, he kicked them with explosive force, the impact sending them flying open with a deafening echo that reverberated across the sprawling estate grounds.
"AN INTRUDER—" a guard shouted, but Van dashed past them in a single blur. The sheer force of the air pressure knocked them over like dominos. Without hesitation, he barreled straight into Bernard's mansion, kicking the massive wooden doors. The impact sent them flying open with a thunderous crash, wood splintering and echoing through the halls.
'Another strand... there's someone else branded,' Van noticed, his sharp eyes tracking the black smoke twisting through the hallway.
'Hm... maybe I should wear a helmet. Just until I'm done here,' he thought, glancing at a decorative display. With one hand, he plucked a metal helmet from the stand and placed it on his head, all while still dragging Michael, who dangled helplessly in his other grip.
'Haaah... HAA... ARE WE...!? IN BERNARD'S PLACE!!? WHAT!!!? THIS IS ON THE OPPOSITE SIDE OF THE CAPITAL!!?' Michael's frantic breaths were labored as panic consumed him.
'What is he planning to do...!? How DID he know to come here!? Is he... with him!? Could they be working together!?' Michael's mind spiraled as Van continued sprinting, his focus locked on the strands of black smoke leading deeper into the mansion.
Van skidded to a halt as he approached a door where the smoke seeped through the cracks. He flung it open just as another door at the opposite end of the hallway swung wide.
"Ah."
Standing in the doorway was Bernard. Behind him was Melanie, dressed in a maid outfit, her wide eyes betraying her fear. Black smoke curled and trailed from her body to Bernard's, coiling ominously toward his outstretched palm.
Van's gaze lowered to Bernard's hand, where four branded circles glowed faintly, each one tethered to a trail of smoke.
"So, it's you," Van said coolly. "The blind braille kid."
Bernard's expression didn't register Van's words immediately. But the sound of Van's voice snapped something inside him. His eyes flared with unrestrained fury.
"THAT VOICE...!!! VAN!!! IT'S YOU, ISN'T IT!? THAT ARMORED FUCK WHO DARED TO DISRESPECT ME!!!?" Bernard roared, his voice reverberating through the hall.
Behind him, Melanie's breath hitched audibly, her body frozen in place as she clutched her trembling hands together.
'Lalyn's kid is here too; and she's also branded... Damn it.' Van clicked his tongue, his gaze narrowing at Bernard.
'Alright, kid. Doing adult crimes? Prepare for adult consequences.' Van decided.