SYMDF 22

Chapter 22

 

In the center of the grand hall a makeshift bed was placed, and Ion, like some test subject, was laid upon it under the watchful eyes of many. Most were knights and mages of House Craiger, called in by the Duke himself.

The hooded mage from the Tower crouched down to Ion’s level, voice low and gender-neutral.

“May I see your wrist?”

That tone carried an unsettling tension. With a stiff face, Ion extended his frail wrist. The mage’s pale fingers gently examined the thin arm while the Duke, unable to suppress his curiosity, asked:

“…They say my son’s condition is due to a curse. Is that true?”

The mage tilted their head repeatedly, as though puzzled, then gave a slow nod.

“Yes. A high-level curse. The mana flow that should course through his body… is completely blocked.”

“And so…?”

“Mana is like water—it must flow and circulate. Without it, one lives in constant collapse, every day verging on death.”

The mage’s words, blunt and without courtesy, made the Duke’s expression harden, brows shadowed with fear. Ion, who already knew as much, merely accepted it quietly.

Pulling Ion’s sleeve back in place, the Tower mage stood and bowed curtly.

“…Forgive me. At present, this curse cannot be undone.”

Ion had expected this. Yet the Crown Prince Vernian, who had dragged the mage here, flushed with embarrassment.

“H-hey! Saying that so bluntly—what am I supposed to—”

Before his protest ended, the Duke cut in sharply:

“Then must my son live his whole life this way?”

The honest answer, of course, was until the one who cast it dies. But the mage gave only silence—a tacit acceptance—before glancing again at Ion. In the shadow of the hood, Ion glimpsed a face marred with blackened, patchy scars, as though burned by demonic taint.

And the eyes.

Odd eyes. One iris was a clear, crystalline blue. The other, ink-black.

The system window responded at once:

[Name: ????
Age: ??
Occupation: Mage (assumed)
Traits: Right eye blue, left eye black. Face disfigured from demonic taint. Commonly wears hood.]

Is the system building information as I encounter people?

Ion wondered, then realized: perhaps all data he received came from the erased memories of Ion Craiger himself. Until now, all those he’d met were people this body already knew. But this mage? Brought suddenly by Vernian—someone Ion Craiger might never have met.

So the system draws from memories… and where none exist, it falters.

That revelation chilled him more than the curse itself.

The mage’s voice again:

“If one stronger than the caster examined further, new methods may appear. But I, alas, am not enough. Forgive me.”

Bowing once, the mage turned. Unlike the empty platitudes of physicians past, their words fell final. The Duke sagged into resigned silence.

Yet the mage paused one last moment. Reaching toward Ion, they lifted the mana-stone pendant resting on his chest, turning it once between fingers.

“This stone… Do not part with it, young master.”

With that, they departed in slow, soft steps, the hall echoing with the quiet tap, tap of their heels.

Vernian stood awkward, watching them vanish, then muttered loudly:

“Honestly, what are those Tower people doing…?”

Feigning concern, he added lamely to the Duke, “A troublesome situation indeed, Duke Craiger.”

Ion, helped upright by a knight, almost laughed aloud at the Prince’s hollow airs. His green eyes met Vernian’s for a flash. He expected a glare. Instead, Vernian’s lips curled upward, sly and serpentine.

A smile?

When Camillus smiled, Ion’s heart warmed. But this boy’s smile—this smile made his skin crawl.

Ion’s fingers dug harder into the knight’s shoulder. Sensing his shift, the young knight asked:

“Are you in distress, young master?”

“No. Only weak,” Ion replied quickly, steadying himself and standing. Though his body screamed, he bowed respectfully to the Crown Prince.

“Your Highness’s generosity humbles me. I thank you for your care.”

“…Think nothing of it.”

Vernian tilted his head, peering into Ion’s face, unsettling eyes studying him. Ion suppressed his discomfort, bowing lower.

Then, suddenly, the Prince strode right up and slipped a hand beneath Ion’s chin. Ion instinctively jerked back—

Chime.

The pendant slipped from his robe to dangle in Vernian’s hand.

Ion’s breath locked. He bit his tongue harshly to keep composure.

The Prince turned it slowly over. “This pendant… This is the mana stone fashioned by Viscount Camillus, isn’t it?”

Calls him by title, not as brother…

Hearing it stripped of kinship confirmed the spite in his voice. Ion, pressed by his father’s stern look, chose not to conceal it.

“Yes, that is true.”

Vernian clenched the gem once, then loosened. Leaning near, he muttered so only Ion could hear:

“Even that creature… to craft such trinkets…”

The word blurred—but Ion knew the end of it: Monster.

Releasing at last, the stone swung free again.

“Once I am recovered, I will call to personally thank you for your visit, Your Highness,” Ion said firmly through clenched teeth, bowing.

The Prince paused. His blue eyes raked Ion’s body hungrily, scanning his frailty as though peeling clothes with each glance. Ion felt filth creep like fingers up his pale skin.

Finally, Vernian looked back to his face. The two exchanged smiles—Ion’s polite, Vernian’s poisonous.