SYMDF 2

Chapter 2

After those mysterious messages appeared one after another, the state remained the same. Ion, trapped in the frustration of being unable to speak, kept shouting silently in his heart.

Someone, take me out.
Anyone, just get me out of here.

He wanted to reach out his hand, to grab something—anything—and rise. But his limbs, like those of a marionette with its strings severed, refused to obey his will. Pain spread through him, aching, stabbing, leaving him unable to so much as twitch.

Accompanying the darkness was a subtle chill that wrapped around his body.

[We wish you an enjoyable life as you struggle to survive in the open-world game “Eternal Empire.”]

An utterly joyless situation. On the contrary, gripped by an unbearable wave of fear, Ion’s eyes welled heavily with tears. At this rate, he truly might die.

Death.

That word, overwhelming and unbearable, began to consume his mind in pitch-black darkness when—

Creeaak…

The sound of an old hinge moving came from somewhere. A faint spark of hope lit within him, and Ion rolled his eyes in the direction of the noise. There, for the first time, he noticed it: a hairline crack of light spreading ever so faintly.

Between the thin shaft of light appeared a tiny silhouette. It was the shadow of a young girl. Peeking curiously through the crack in the door, she tilted her small head and spoke cautiously.

“Ion, Brother…?”

“…”

Ion.

To him it was a strange, unfamiliar name, but instinctively he realized: That must be my name. Yet he could not answer, could not say Yes.

“Hngh…”

Only a small sob slipped out.

[Status Effect: Mute]

Each time he tried to part his lips, such a message would flash before his eyes, vanish, and prevent sound from escaping. Instead Ion struggled to lift his body. Groaning weakly, only sickly sounds came out.

Watching his feeble floundering, the girl glanced uneasily outside as though wary of someone else, then quietly tiptoed towards him. The hem of her light nightgown swayed gently, as did her soft hair, and still she flicked her eyes toward the door several times as though certain someone was nearby.

And then—at last—her face came into view.

[Emily Liana Craiger
Age: 7
Occupation: Unemployed
Note: Second daughter of House Craiger, the player’s younger sister.]

The information read like something straight out of a guidebook.

Sister…

While Ion froze, attempting to comprehend this, Emily knelt down beside him, looking helpless, and tugged gently at his arm.

“Are you hurting badly, Brother?”

Her large eyes were quickly brimming with tears. Seeing those glazed eyes, Ion longed to tell her it was all right, to offer comfort. But—

“Ah, ah…”

Due to his muteness, only strangled noises came forth.

And then—

“Emily.”

The presence she had been watching out for revealed itself. Though it was the first time Ion encountered such a situation, the first time he had heard that deep-timbered voice, the instant it touched his ears, his chest pounded—thump, thump, thump!—as if crushed beneath the stride of a giant beast.

Thump, thump.

Every beat felt like his heart was dropping. The door swung wider, and the man framed in its center called again in stern tone:

“Emily, what are you doing here? Did you not hear your father when I told you never to approach the Punishment Room?”

As he spoke, Emily’s father clenched the short cane in his hand more firmly, as though ready to deliver chastisement. The girl might well have cowered before such a sight, but instead she ran straight to him and clutched at his clothes.

“Father, Brother looks hurt.”

“He ought to. Your brother is being punished right now.”

“But…”

Even under his cold words, Emily’s face wavered with tears as she glanced back sorrowfully at Ion. Ion himself could do no more than weakly brace himself upright with his frail arms trembling against the floor.

In that instant, Emily’s father seized her arm and pulled her toward the door. To someone unseen behind him, he commanded curtly:

“Take Emily back to her room at once.”

“Yes, Duke.”

Ion marveled. The language was unfamiliar, but he could still understand it.

He managed to lift his upper body, staring at the man who Emily had called “Father”—his father, too, then, evidently. As more light streamed from the open hallway, the man’s face, until then concealed in backlight, finally came into view.

[Jemel Drusilla Craiger
Age: 36
Occupation: Duke
Note: The player’s father.]

Compared to Ion’s small body, the man was immense, towering and oppressive. As Ion sat trembling and gazing upward, this colossal figure looked down sharply at him and spoke:

“Have you reflected at all during your confinement in the Punishment Room?”

Reflection? Reflection on what?

Ion wanted to ask but could only gape silently, his lips moving soundlessly. Whatever his father saw in that silence, he scowled deeply.

“Wretched boy. I warned you countless times not to go there! Defying your father’s command, did you dare cause such disgrace?”

“…”

“Why did you do it? You have a mouth; answer with it.”

I can’t speak…

Pathetically, even such words could not emerge. And even if they had, what answer could he possibly give? As Ion grappled with it, fresh words flickered across his vision:

[Status Effect: Mute]
[Status Effect: Amnesia]

Suffocating. Frustrating. Miserable.

With bitter injustice filling him, Ion met his father’s severe eyes. The Duke, scowling deeply, suddenly shifted the short cane to his other hand. Then his right hand rose, poised in the air—though Ion did not foresee what was about to come.

Snap!

A sharp sound cracked across his face, and though still seated, his vision swayed violently.

“Ah…”

Ion let out a low groan as heat flared instantly across his cheek. Startled, he held his burning face, not understanding why he had been struck. Looking back up at his father in confusion, another furious voice crashed upon him:

“You disgrace the honor of House Craiger! The heir, of all people, defying the command of the imperial court out of pitiful compassion?”

Snap! Again fire exploded across his face. Bewildered, unable to grasp meaning, Ion’s eyes welled over, tears spilling thick and hot.

Why is this man doing this? Isn’t this my father?

The injustice and unknowable torment broke him, and fat tears slid down both his cheeks.

At that moment, another taunting message appeared:

[Status Effect: Hostility]

“All this to save some worthless wretch, you dare!”

His roar made Ion flinch, eyes clenched tightly shut. Thankfully, no further blows fell. But hunched and trembling, Ion let out a whimper steeped in fear.

“Uh… uh…”

Perhaps it was that pathetic sound, but the Duke’s eyes narrowed sharply. At last he clicked his tongue with disdain and turned on his heel. Well-polished shoes clicked as they carried him out the door, followed by a displeased command:

“Then let him be released, and give him his meal.”

He spoke as one might about a useless dog in the household.

Immediately, came a quiet reply, “Yes, my lord,” and an older man, older even than Ion’s harsh father, entered. Approaching the boy who was pressing his swollen cheek with faltering breaths, the elder placed firm but gentle hands on his shoulders.

“Come now, young master…”

Whatever else the circumstances, his voice was warm enough for Ion to sense favor in him. As Ion read the hovering caption describing him as his household’s butler, he allowed himself to be lifted to his feet, stumbling unsteadily with support.

There was no strength in his body. Yet to call it merely lack of strength felt wrong—it was as though something essential, some foundation to stand upon, had gone missing.

The old man, too, seemed unsettled by this condition. From his side came a worried question:

“Young master, are you feeling gravely unwell?”

“…Uh.”

Only sobbing replaced his answer. The butler’s expression darkened, but he said no more. Carefully he continued to guide Ion along, and so Ion finally managed to leave that room.

It was daytime outside apparently. The corridors shone so brightly, flooded with sunlight pouring in through tall windows, that Ion had to blink against the sting. His vision was blurred, as though mist clouded his eyes. Surely it was not just from tears. No, it was as though his body’s functions had truly diminished at every turn.

Nearly stumbling often, step by step, Ion descended the stairs and entered his own chamber. There, before a dining table already set, he broke into tears from the humiliation.

“Hic…”

Startling tears burst out suddenly, and though the butler looked flustered, Ion could not stop.

He could not comprehend why he had been suddenly beaten. Compassion? Worthless wretch? None of it made sense. Perhaps he had caused some accident… but nothing would come to mind. All he could feel was swelling resentment. With salted tears falling, he shoved bread into his mouth ravenously.

The frenzied, sloppy way he tore into it had nothing of noble etiquette. The butler, who had escorted him back, seemed shocked by such lack of refinement but did not restrain him. Thanks to this, Ion filled his stomach quickly—only to realize something unpleasant.

His belly was as empty as that of a beggar. His father must have locked him up and starved him.

He did not know what wrong he had committed, but truly… this was too much.

Just as he thought so, the food, stuffed down in haste, met his stomach. Boiling, roiling, it pressed upward. Ion ignored it as long as he could, pounding his chest—then it surged.

“Ugh…!”

“Young master!”

The butler shouted in alarm as Ion doubled over.