Chapter 66: Oaths and Betrayel

Darius sat, having reverted to his normal form, exhaustion etched across his features. Opposite him, Kinneman stood by the fireplace, his brow furrowed as he stared at the flames.

"Ramman was always a twisted, vile creature. My few dealings with him left indelible stains," Kinneman remarked with a sigh. "I am truly sorry, Darius. No child..."

Darius cut him off, his voice firm, "Dwelling on it won't change the past. Your turn. How did you know it was me?"

Kinneman, turning to sit, picked up a cup of tea. "Honestly, it was largely a guess. But upon seeing your armor and the brooch, it became clear you were using it to change your appearance, especially considering how you prioritized evasion."

'Evasion was all I could manage,' Darius mocked himself. 'Seems a peak steel knight is still out of reach.'

"The tragedy that befell your family spread quickly, it was said that an expedition of knights provoked a formidable mana-beast within Fang Root Forest. In their escape, they unwittingly led it back to the Valdene estate, resulting in a massacre where all perished except for a single mage."

A slow, chilling suspicion, long ignored, began to gnaw at Darius's thoughts. His palms started to sweat, his heart pumping wildly.

"Upon hearing the rumor, I started an investigation. The official report by Rainslif Crowley claimed that the estate was utterly destroyed—no structures left standing, no survivors. The notion that a single mana-beast could wipe out the Valdene lineage struck me as too convenient, too neat."

Darius skin began to pale, the world around him seemed to warp and pulse.

"There was something off about it all, something I couldn't pin down until I saw you—in Warwick's armor, wielding your family's primordial artifact, and manipulating two elements. No stories of theft, you didn't use lightning like Jarek, and too formidable to be Amara. So as I fought you, I began to wonder if the 'Valdene dud' was not simply a random victim, but targeted by the towers. All I needed then was to ask directly and watch your reaction. Frankly, you need to work on concealing your emotions."

After a moment of heavy silence, Darius, using all of his will, mustered the courage to ask, "And the villagers?"

Marcus's eyes met Darius's, suddenly noting the fear within. "The ones on your estate? I'm sorry, boy. There were no survivors."

A sharp, excruciating pain released through Darius's chest, 'Sandbrook Point,' the people who had nurtured and surrounded him since his infancy, 'Tilly...'

Kinneman's throat constricted, his skin prickling as he observed the young man before him. Instincts honed over countless battkes roared within him momentarily before being subdued by his rational mind. He was drenched in sweat, recognizing the raw, penetrating fear of death emanating from Darius, a sensation he had encountered only in the grimmest moments of his life.

"How are you connected to all this? How do you know so much about my family?"

"To carry such a murderous aura at your age..." Kinneman's gaze was filled with pity, but it swiftly hardened as he spoke firmly. "The Blood Oath I swore compels me to tell the truth. I assure you, I had no direct or indirect involvement in the downfall or the tragic events that befell your family."

Staring into the fire, Darius’s shoulders eventually slumped as he exhaled a shaky breath, his rage dissolving into a weary resignation. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, the weight of his words sinking into the silence between them. “Please, continue. How are you connected to my family?” He sank back into the chair, his face half-hidden in shadows, his aura dimming to a faint, subdued glow.

'Seems he has better control than I thought,' Kinneman noted, glancing at the portrait of Warwick and his grandfather, he took a slow sip of tea. "My grandfather and Warwick were more than friends; they were rivals. In fact, the brooch you carry, was originally a gift from my family to yours. Our houses were intertwined closely, up until Warwick vanished."

Kinneman inhaled deeply, his jaw setting as a shadow of shame crossed his face. "After Warwick disappeared, your family came under pressure from the mage towers and the newer factions within the union. As that pressure turned to open hostility, to protect us, the Valdenes severed all ties with our family. I won't pretend we resisted that decision—we couldn’t. Unlike Warwick, my grandfather never rose above the 7th tier. We were forced to stand down."

Darius shook his head, a hint of resignation in his voice, "Your family did what was necessary to survive. Don't carry shame for those actions. The downfall of the Valdenes rests on my shoulders, and Rainslif’s. No one else bears that guilt."

Marcus studied Darius for a moment, his expression serious. "You’re quite strange, you know that?"

"I've been told that quite a lot, actually." Darius's reply came with a slight, weary smile.

"There are moments when I feel like I'm talking to someone who has lived a lifetime," Marcus's voice softened as he continued, "yet there are others..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "I believe I know how your mother died."

Darius's gaze was fixed on the fire, his expression unreadable, shadows under his eyes deepening.

Stolen story; please report.

"You mentioned you were fatally injured, correct? And that you woke up fully healed? It was during that time your mother passed, wasn't it?"

Darius nodded slowly, his eyes still locked on the fire.

"Your mother was a talented mage, and your father, an even more formidable knight. I doubt Ramman had anything to do with her demise. If anything, defeating him would have been trivial for them. That leaves only one explanation—she exchanged her life-force to heal you."

Darius continued to stare into the fire, a single tear trailing down his cheek. "I know... after all this time to think, I'd be an idiot not to understand. I just didn't want to admit it...that he wasn't lying."

To Marcus, the boy before him bore far too great a weight for his age. "Your mother didn't burden you, son; she gave you a second chance—one not to be squandered on self-pity. You owe it to her to move forward with hope. If it were my child," Marcus paused, his expression turning somber, "I wouldn't want him to carry the shadows that I see in you. No parent would."

The fire crackled between them, casting flickering shadows across the study. Darius broke the silence, his tone lighter despite the gravity of their conversation. "I apologize for embarrassing your son, but that kid could use a lesson in humility."

"Kid? Hmm, I suppose you're right." Kinneman chuckled, then added with a hint of seriousness, "And I apologize for attacking you. Though, if I hadn't dodged your first attack, I might have lost my head!" His laughter filled the room, easing the tension.

As the two continued their conversation deep into the night, exchanging experiences and stories, Darius found himself growing especially fond of Marcus. Despite his boisterous demeanor, he carried a noble air of honor and confidence that reminded Darius of his father.

Eventually, Marcus had his servants prepare a room for Darius. Changing back into the guise of the elderly Xue Feng, Darius retired to it, and in what felt like ages, was truly exhausted. As he lay down, for the first time in four years, sleep came easily to Darius.

----

Sunlight glinted off the grandeur of a four-story mansion on the out-skirts of Floeurd'Alene, each window pane catching the morning light. The estate sprawled, surrounded by perfectly carved hedges, their shapes mimicking various mana-beasts, and wonderous fountains that trickled quietly across the grounds.

At the entrance, rows of servants stood in precise alignment, their uniforms crisp under the watchful gaze of a portly man whose round, flushed face matched his curly red hair. Beside him, a young woman in a green lace dress drew the eye; her long auburn hair and round amber eyes gave her an air of noble beauty, contrasting sharply with the disciplined order around her.

The young woman's voice trembled slightly, "Are you sure he is going to like me?"

The large man chuckled, his eyes twinkling as he gave her a reassuring smile. "Who wouldn't be captivated by you, my dear? Don’t worry, my brother is very excited to meet you."

As if summoned by their conversation, a circle of runes ignited between the rows of servants, drawing all eyes with its sudden, vibrant, green glow.

From the glowing circle, a towering cyclone of green mana erupted. Within the swirling vortex, two figures emerged—Solomon Brundy and Crelos, both clad in dark red robes. As the mana cyclone dissipated, it left behind Solomon and Crelos, their robes settling gently around them, each move calculated and poised as they stepped forward into the expectant crowd.

"Brother! You're finally here!" The large man's laughter boomed as he approached Solomon, arms outstretched in warm welcome.

"Forgive my tardiness," Solomon replied with a smile, his eyes nearly disappearing into thin lines as he stepped forward for an embrace. "Believe me, I would have arrived sooner if circumstances had permitted."

"I finished packing a week ago..." Crelos muttered, his voice barely audible. His gaze swept over the grand surroundings, and he couldn't help but whistle in awe. "This... wow, I mean, this place is huge!"

After releasing his brother from the embrace, Solomon’s expression shifted to a frown. He turned sharply to Crelos and commanded, "Enough gawking. Introduce yourself."

Crelos straightened up and stepped forward, offering a respectful bow. "Greetings, sir. Congratulations to you and your bride-to-be. My name is Crelos Oberson."

The large man sized up the teen with a scrutinizing gaze before booming, "Ah, so you're the apprentice my brother has been talking about. Not bad at all, already an inceptor at your age." He clapped Solomon on the back, guiding him forward. "You really struck gold picking him up from the streets. Seems like having a keen eye runs in the family!" His laughter rang out as he glanced affectionately at his fiancée.

Solomon winced inwardly, a silent curse at his brother's hearty claps, 'Logs for hands, shit for brains.' Yet, his smile remained as he chuckled lightly, "You undersold her beauty, truly. She's even more stunning than you described."

The woman's cheeks colored with a bashful blush as she giggled in response, "It seems the rumors about you didn't do justice either. You're nearly as charming as Atleman."

Standing before the tiny woman, Brundy bowed, kissing her hand, "Solomon Brundy, and I assure you, the rumors are quite exaggerated, as you can see, I'm not that handsome in real life."

Grabbing the hem of her dress and bowing slightly, the woman introduced herself, "Sealia Hawkberry."

The conversation flowed smoothly as the group moved towards the grand mansion, as their laughter filled the air, Crelos managed a tight smile, rolling his eyes internally. 'Gross.' with the lines of servants quietly following behind.

Throughout the day, they toured the expansive estate. From the ornately decorated rooms filled with portraits and artifacts to the lush gardens where they enjoyed tea under the shade of blooming trees, every corner offered a new topic of conversation.

Lunch was served in a large dining hall where sunlight streamed through stained glass windows, casting colorful patterns on the finely set table. The day progressed with ease into dinner, which was a grand affair with laughter echoing around the room, blending seamlessly with the clinks of fine china and the rustle of silk garments.

As dusk turned to evening, Brundy and Crelos excused themselves, each retiring to their respective rooms. Not long after settling in, Crelos received a mental summons from Brundy.

Once he entered his master's room, Crelos immediately noticed Brundy's attention fixed on a large portrait hanging on the wall. His thick red hair framed his perpetually closed eyes. As the door clicked shut, Brundy looked over and waved his hand casually. A fine red mist emerged from his palm, swiftly filling the room. The room shimmered with the mist's density before it suddenly vanished, leaving a taste of soot in the air.

Crelos frowned, uneasy about his master's secretive actions. As he stepped forward, he bowed slightly. "Why seal the room? Is there a problem, Master?"

Brundy's eyes snapped open from his usual slits, the intensity of his red pupils startling. "Crelos, did you have a family before I took you in?"

Perplexed by the sudden question, Crelos answered, "No, Master. I was abandoned by my mother not long after I was born."

Crelos watched as a wicked smile spread across Brundy's face. "Consider yourself lucky! To never know the pain of having such an imbecile share your name. His foolish face, his droning on about that simple woman—it makes our tasks all the easier."

Confused, Crelos's brow furrowed. "I thought we were here to enjoy the wedding?"

Brundy's laughter softened, a continuous smile playing on his lips as he shook his head. "Enjoying this farce is the last thing we'll be doing. Master Adept Crowley has set a particular objective for us here." His eyes darkened to a deeper crimson, his voice firming with resolve. "And we must achieve it, Crelos, at any cost."

Crelos straightened, a sense of dread settling in as his master's too-kind demeanor completely unraveled. "What has the Tower Master commanded?" he asked, his voice carrying a clear, determined edge.

Leaning forward, Brundy's smile faded into a grim line, though his eyes glowed with a darker amusement. "We are here to steal something significant. And to kill my brother's new bride." His tone was chillingly casual, the smile returning as he observed Crelos's reaction.

Stunned into a long silence, Crelos finally managed a slow, hesitant nod, "Yes, master."

Brundy's grin widened as he motioned for Crelos to come closer. He began to outline his first task, his voice low and steady, the details unfolding into the late hours of the night.

----

In the morning light that cut into the large empty hall, Darius stood, his black hair a disheveled mess, muscles gleaming with sweat, his breathing heavy. Clad only in his trousers, he faced Marcus Crowley across the training hall. Marcus, also in just trousers, his tall, lean body marked by scars and surprisingly defined muscles for his age, twisted his large mustache as he let out a boisterous laugh.

"Young man, the way you handle mana is like watching a skeeter frantically burying nuts for the winter—haphazard and overly eager!" Marcus's voice boomed across the yard, filled with mirth as he teased Darius's technique.

"Easy for you to say," Darius huffed, wiping the sweat from his brow as he eyed Marcus, "you're at least twice as fast as me."

Marcus roared with laughter, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Boy, once again you remind me of your inexperience. Sometimes your words make me forget how young you really are." In a flash, Marcus closed the distance between them, leaning in so close Darius could feel the warmth of his breath in his ear. "Would you believe me if I told you that you're actually much faster than me?"