Chapter 26: Trace (5)

Chapter 26: Trace (5)

Two hours earlier, at 7 p.m., Sylvia had taken a car ride, carrying a notebook, flowers, and a pen. She was in a decidedly sour mood.

She sat quietly in the back seat, grumbling to herself in silence. How could he assign so many tasks so casually? Though it came with a note saying that completing two out of three is acceptable and does not require a high level of proficiency, it was still unreasonable, even for a five-credit course—

"We've arrived," said the driver.

Lost in her thoughts about the assignments, Sylvia only realized they had arrived when the car stopped. She got out silently, feeling the cool evening air. The setting sun cast a pink hue over the horizon, perfectly complementing the serene atmosphere.

Sylvia walked, holding the flowers in one hand. Her neat shoes clicked on the path until she reached a gravestone adorned with flowers.

Cielia von Elemin Iliade

Beloved wife of the proud mage Glitheon, and mother of dear daughter Sylvia.

This was the resting place of her mother, who had wanted to be buried in her hometown. Sylvia had moved to the capital to be near her.

"I'm here, Mom," Sylvia said, kneeling to place the flowers. "My brother took an aptitude test today."

Her father had remarried five years ago, and now she had a younger brother who was already four years old.

"He has no talent for magic. He looks like a potato. A whole potato. Maybe he's just underdeveloped, or perhaps he was born missing something," Sylvia muttered softly. She continued her rant, "Professor Deculein is awful. He acts like his class is the only one I take."

She couldn't remember her mother's voice, and the sadness had faded. Yet once a month, during these irregular visits, Sylvia found herself talking. Today, it was Deculein’s overwhelming assignments that brought her here, but whatever the reason, sharing her thoughts at the grave always lightened her heart.

"... I'll be going now. Take care," Sylvia said, standing up and turning away without hesitation as her knees began to ache. As she was about to leave the cemetery, she noticed someone who had worsened her mood earlier, someone she hadn't expected to see in such a place—Deculein.

He stood silently, staring at a gravestone. Nearby, a beautiful knight with white hair and light armor observed him from a distance. It seemed they hadn't come together; the woman watched Deculein's back, remaining unnoticed by him.

Deculein stared at the gravestone, silently contemplating the name etched upon it and the memories it held. After a long while, he knelt and gently touched the stone, his eyes growing vacant in the moonlight's reflection. Tears began to form.

Sylvia, surprised by this rare display of emotion, accidentally stepped on a leaf, revealing her presence with a soft crunch. Deculein, startled by the noise, stood up abruptly and glared at her with reddened, tear-filled eyes.

"... You."

"I wasn't trying to spy," Sylvia replied calmly, as usual. She instinctively glanced at the spot where the knight had been, but the woman was already gone.

Deculein followed her gaze and asked, "Was there someone else?"

"No," Sylvia replied, shaking her head. She was not one to reveal secrets.

Deculein closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Sylvia feared she might be scolded, but instead, he seemed grateful. His emotions had been in turmoil, and the interruption had helped him escape the overwhelming flood. He hadn't anticipated being so completely overtaken by his feelings.

"It’s fine. Let’s head back," Deculein said, turning and walking in the direction opposite the entrance. Sylvia hesitated but followed.

"Please don't punish me," Sylvia said nervously, receiving no response. Deculein continued walking, leading them further into the cemetery, which made Sylvia increasingly uneasy.

"I won’t tell anyone what I saw today," she promised, still met with silence.

Should I run away now? But what if he punishes me later? Could he use this personal incident as an excuse to discipline me? Sylvia thought, her mind racing.

"Sylvia," Deculein finally spoke, coming to a halt as he looked around at the ground and the sky.

"Yes?"

"... Where are we?" he asked, his voice tinged with confusion.

Sylvia blinked, noticing his disorientation and likely embarrassment from being seen in tears.

"The exit is in the opposite direction."

"... I see. Lead the way."

They turned to leave but couldn't take a single step. A hooded figure, who hadn't been there moments before, now blocked the narrow forest path leading out of the cemetery. The stranger, clearly menacing, obstructed their way.

"Who are you?" Deculein asked, looking at him with weary eyes.

Lokhak admitted to himself that Deculein was unlike any other mage he had faced. He was strong. Yet, Lokhak knew he still had a way to kill him. In his domain, no magic could manifest—a principle not easily explained by magic but driven by pure hatred. Within this realm, Lokhak alone held the advantage of taking that critical extra step.

Lokhak stared at Deculein. Though Deculein's stance seemed full of weaknesses, Lokhak knew from experience that it was a trap. A trap had to be met with another trap. Lokhak charged again, quickly closing the distance.

As Lokhak crouched, Deculein thrust his fist forward. This time, Lokhak understood clearly—it wasn't a blunt weapon but a fist. At that moment, Lokhak's legs moved again. It was just a single step, but it was enough to make the difference between life and death.

The unmistakable sound of the dagger slicing into flesh made Lokhak smirk, certain of his victory. However, his smile quickly vanished as Deculein, with the dagger embedded in his side, looked at him calmly.

"Interesting move," Deculein mused, seemingly calculating something.

Lokhak twisted the dagger, eliciting a brief flicker of pain on Deculein's face, which he quickly suppressed.

"If this is all you have, I can endure it," Deculein said as he struck Lokhak’s forehead with his elbow and then delivered a powerful punch to his jaw, sending him sprawling. It sounded like the crack of a watermelon being crushed by a bare fist.

Deculein approached the prone Lokhak, stepping deliberately and said, "Lokhak, let me ask you one last time. How much does it—"

Lokhak, spitting blood, snarled, "... You crazy bastard, it's like being hit by a sledgehammer. Are you satisfied now?!"

Deculein nodded, his gaze fixed on Lokhak and asked, "One more question. Why did you kill mages?"

Lokhak's fury ignited and exclaimed, "Mages are cursed! Traitors to God! The Floating Island, Berhert, the Mage Tower—they're all corrupted. Without their magic, they're nothing but pathetic worms, crazed killers who revel in slaughter. But you...!"

Deculein listened silently as Lokhak struggled to move, realizing he was paralyzed from the neck down.

"What kind of fucking monster are you..." Lokhak muttered.

Deculein considered killing Lokhak but ultimately decided against it. Lokhak's murderous intent had vanished, making it easy to overcome the Villain's Fate. More importantly, Lokhak's words had revealed something significant to Deculein.

"I see, you’re one of the Scarletborn."

Lokhak's eyes widened in shock and asked, "Does the Yukline family still remember the Scarletborn?"

"At least I do."

The Scarletborn, born in a blood-red amnion and rumored to possess demonic blood, were natural enemies of mages. Their persecution played a significant role in the continent's history. Magic was originally created to combat demons, which further solidified the enmity between mages and the Scarletborn. This intense conflict was a central theme in the game's story.

"I understand your suffering and the years of oppression you've endured."

The Scarletborn, living in hiding, feared magical retribution—a fear that intensified with shifting political tides. If the Emperor changes in the near future, it could trigger a full-scale massacre, driven by the belief that the Scarletborn are akin to demons. In reality, this cleaning was already being quietly and secretly carried out.

"However, killing innocent mages makes you no better than a monster."

"... Just kill me," Lokhak spat, resignation in his voice.

"Killing someone like you would only bring me dishonor."

Just then, the sound of approaching reinforcements grew louder. Sylvia had managed to find help.

"Enough talking! Just kill me!" Lokhak shouted.

However, Deculein shook his head and replied, "I know the Scarletborn are not guilty."

"... What could a mage like you possibly know?!" Lokhak said, his rage shifting to despair as he grasped the hopelessness of his situation.

"I am Deculein of the Yukline family," Deculein said, as he straightened his rumpled sleeves, tightened his loose tie, adjusted his collar, and smoothed out his shirt and jacket. "An inheritor of ancient magic and a hunter of demons."

"Lokhak," Deculein continued, his voice cold as a chill wind. "Have I lost my dignity fighting you? Have I wavered in the face of your provocations?"

Lokhak, lying on the ground, looked up at Deculein. Seeing his unwavering composure, Lokhak's anger gave way to a deep, inexplicable sadness.

"You can trust me," Deculein said. "You are not demons. You are human."

In Lokhak’s mind, a single word echoed—noble. Deculein's genuine nobility stood in stark contrast to the false nobility Lokhak had encountered before.

Lokhak’s anger faded, leaving a void filled with sorrow. Annoyed by this unwelcome sentiment, Deculein kicked Lokhak's forehead, knocking him unconscious just as the police arrived.