SYMDF 16

Chapter 16

 

“…!”

Shocked by the unexpected contact, Ion stumbled back, breath caught in his chest. His lips parted away, his face burning crimson. Flustered, he wrenched his hand free, covering his mouth with trembling fingers. Camillus too stepped back, his own face flushed.

Silence stretched between them. Ion’s green eyes shook, unable to mask their turmoil. Camillus bit down on his lip, covering his face the way Ion had, drawing in a long breath.

The hush of the forest pressed upon them until at last, Camillus muttered:

“I… I’m sorry. For startling you.”

“…”

Is “It’s fine” the right thing to say… here? Ion thought, conflicted. His heart thundered out of control—why? He was not Ion Craiger, not the one who had saved Camillus. And yet, standing before him now, he felt… no rejection. Rather, as though he had known him long.

Lost in spiraling thoughts, Ion failed to answer. Camillus, face tightening with unease, drew closer and caught his wrist.

“Ion, it’s just that—”

But he broke off at the sudden stir of footsteps, the crisp crush of leaves under boots. Voices.

“There! He’s here, Duke!”
“Bring me at once!”

“…!” Ion froze.

His father’s furious voice rang through the woods. Panic struck him—he yanked Camillus’s arm instinctively, dragging him behind a tree. Only then did he realize the folly—they were bathed in light, easily seen. Desperate, he shoved Camillus’s back.

“Go! I’ll deal with the rest.”

“But then you—”

Unwilling to leave him, Camillus lingered. The voices drew nearer. Ion sighed sharply, forcing him.

“Hurry, just go!”

Still, Camillus did not depart. Ion pressed firmer, soothing as he urged:

“You can come again. Right? Why not?”

Camillus faltered, then shook his head reluctantly. Yet his feet refused to take him far.

“But this curse…”

“We can talk about the curse next time. For now, leave. If they find us together, I’ll only suffer more. They already hound me for being involved with you.”

His words struck something. Camillus, frowning, blurted:

“Does the Duke… strike you?”

The sharp memory of his father’s stinging slap seared Ion’s cheek again. His skin burned in recollection. But he forced his gaze away.

“That’s not what matters now.”

Bootsteps closed in, echoing nearby. Ion whispered urgently:

“I’ll pretend I was just… ill. Now go.”

“You’re not pretending,” Camillus muttered, teeth clenched.

Ion shot him a glare. “Just go!”

At last, reluctantly, Camillus vanished into the shadows, the glowing orbs of light trembling out one by one until darkness returned. A rain of glitter fell faintly, his magic’s remnants. Ion reached instinctively toward it—only for his chest to seize with sudden pain.

“Ghhk!”

He clutched himself, staggered, as a warning flared:

[The mana around the player destabilizes.]

His chest constricted, suffocating. He gasped in agony—his father’s shouting voice thundered over the woods.

“Ion! Where is the young lord!”

Clutching himself, Ion knew hiding was pointless. His condition worsened by the minute. Staggering out from cover with a feeble cry:

“Here… I’m here…”

Men rushed forward.

“Young master! Young master!”

Faces blurred as he collapsed into someone’s arms. Dimly, he heard a rare shake in his father’s voice.

“Ion!”

Looking down at him with genuine fear, Duke Craiger’s large hands stroked his flushed cheek. Ion, stunned to feel them trembling, realized for the first time his father did care for him.

“What possessed you to roam outside in such cold!”

Harsh words, but heavy with concern. Ion whispered faintly:

“I-I’m sorry…”

Overhead, an eagle circled, silent witness. And hidden behind a tree nearby, Yomnyong whimpered, eyes brimming.

The Duke’s face hardened as Ion’s breathing worsened. Swiftly he scooped his son into his arms, striding back toward the manor, scolding him still.

“So it was that bastard child here, wasn’t it? No doubt, seeing all this mess.”

“…Father…”

“Tch.” A click of annoyance.

“Enough. We’re returning.”

Ion closed his eyes, swaying faint in his father’s hold. The pain would not abate. The Duke’s grim snarl snapped across the night.

“Is there no physician who can cure my son of this wretched illness!”

Timid reply came from behind, strained with fear.

“M-My lord… it is not merely illness. It is magical in nature, making treatment… difficult.”

“And so what—let him worsen, while you wring your hands? Search! At all cost, find someone who can cure him!”

“…Then, my lord,” another ventured cautiously, “perhaps… the Archmage of the Tower…”

The moment that word rang out—Towerlord—the Duke stiffened. For a stretch, only bootsteps rang through the trees. He struggled in silence.

At last, his voice spat final:

“He cannot be trusted.”

Each step back toward the manor dripped with seething restraint. Massive gates boomed closed behind them.

That very night, within the Imperial Palace, under the silent reign of moonlight—Camillus passed through its gates. His passage permitted by the Emperor’s seal, the guards opened the doors reluctantly.

Gone was all warmth. His face mirrored ice, expressionless, severe.

He strode with unflinching steps toward the Solar Palace, the Emperor’s residence—until a shadow slipped across his path. Dark and sharp, barring his way.

“Again you show yourself, bastard.”

Camillus halted. He needn’t look to know—the Crown Prince of the Empire.

He turned, confirming nonetheless.

Vernian O’Brien, heir apparent.

Camillus’s lips pressed shut. He tried to keep walking, but Vernian moved again to block him, sneering.

“Or shall I call you ‘Viscount’? Either way—why do you pollute this palace with your presence, when your quarters are outside the gates?”

Camillus bowed his head slightly and answered at last, calm.

“I am here to see His Majesty.”

“What? Do you suppose even now, in the dead of night, the Emperor will indulge you whenever you ask?”

“Yes. I believe so.”

The easy firmness in Camillus’s tone made Vernian’s brow twitch.

Still, Camillus pressed.

“I swore, if His Majesty required me, I would come. Proof is here—this seal.”

He drew the emblem of passage from his breast—the very token that had opened the gates.

Vernian’s sneer broke into fury.

“You cursed wretch—!”

A fist cracked across Camillus’s face with a heavy thud, echoing through the court.

Footnotes:

• Towerlord (마탑주): The supreme Archmage, head of the Imperial Tower of Magic. To suggest calling upon him shows desperation—yet the Duke’s instant refusal hints at mistrust and politics. 
• Viscount Title: Camillus retains the noble title of “자작 (Viscount)” despite illegitimacy; Vernian wields it as mockery. 

The Emperor’s Seal: Pass granting Camillus special right to Palace access, evidence of his precarious yet official bond with the Emperor.