SYMDF 35

Chapter 35

 

But does his own safety really matter now? Regardless of death probability or condition, as long as he could continue living, there was hope.

But Camillus…

Ion pictured the faint scene near the end of the flashback—the golden shackles on Camillus’s wrists, the memory of unbinding the chains controlling him by magic.

“Let’s leave here. We can leave.”

At Ion Craiger’s desperate plea, the boy imprisoned and robbed of his life smiled wide. Though terrified of the outside, his yearning for freedom was stronger.

He had finally granted that freedom… Ion knew it was a grave sin, and that something terrible would happen when the shackles broke, yet he couldn’t turn away from the calamity before him.

That was how unfair the torment Camillus endured seemed. The wise boy had been frustrated by the cruelty of adults, but could not accept the status quo.

Had Camillus returned to that place? That living hell?

Ion’s chest ached as if it carried his own sorrow. Tears strained his face when his father’s voice cut through.

“Camillus.”

That name—once a curse, uttered as insult—was called properly for the first time before Ion. He sensed a change and focused on the Duke’s words.

“He has gone North. And decided never to return to the capital.”

“…North?”

“Yes.”

North. Ion tried to recall the place Vernian had mentioned, forced exile to the North. He racked his mind for names on O’Brien’s map.

One name came from his father’s lips.

“A few days ago, he departed for Iodin.”

Hearing Iodin, Ion momentarily wondered where it was—then paled, as all color drained.

“…Father.”

Unsure what to say, Ion gazed vacantly at the man before him. The Duke clearly knew his thoughts, but still chose to deceive his son.

“Ion, it’s not your fault. He made his own choice.”

“Father…”

He could not finish. The mana stone at his neck stilled his voice.

[Current death probability: 32.5%.]

Seeing the number flicker on the screen, Ion clenched his hand.

[Death chance decreased by 35%.]

Calculating with the boosted mana stone effect, the figure fitted perfectly—just a string of numbers, yet Ion could not bear it.

The blood droplets that had flown when the stone shattered haunted his mind.

“Do you understand? That stone proved it—that Ion Craiger is his weakness.”

Vernian’s vile laughter echoed in his ear.

Those moments, when life’s meaning seemed to collapse, pierced Ion to the core.

And so…

Tears he had held back poured freely, blurring vision. His nose tingled; his lips trembled.

Yet there was nothing left he could do. Faced with the Duke’s cowardly evasion, he neither consented nor denied. He became another silent bystander—lacking courage even for that.

The Duke stroked Ion’s cheek, wiping his tears slowly with a finger. At that moment, he was just a father who loved his hurting son and was too weak to carry the burden alone.

Ion watched silently. The Duke’s own eyes were wet.

“You’re here. Thank the heavens, Ion. I nearly lost my only son.”

The hypocrisy—valuing his own son yet ignoring others’ suffering—was plain. But Ion had none to blame but himself.

Ion had spent days without leaving the bed, breathing but not moving. Since his recovery without further seizures, servants gave him solitude when requested.

Days stretched in silence, staring at the ceiling. He felt like a ship lost without its lighthouse, aimless, lacking will to move.

[Current death probability: 14%.]

Everyone urged him to live, but he had lost the will. He did not know what to do, nor did he wish to.

Closing his eyes, he tried to sleep again.

“Kku, kku…”

A small sound stirred him. His eyes snapped open.

By the window, where curtains cast shadows, a short white tail leapt down.

Yomnyong—the stout white dragon he had nearly forgotten—jumped into his arms.

Startled, Ion sat up, holding the plump body.

“Yomnyong? Where have you been?”

“Kkuuung.”

He remembered leaving him behind in the royal carriage earlier. Thankfully, no wounds showed.

Yet the look the dragon gave—gazing through the blue gem with teary eyes—filled Ion with guilt. Holding him tightly, stroking the little horned head, he whispered:

“Why didn’t you follow your master? Your master is Camillus.”

“Kku.”

Unable to speak, Yomnyong only rolled his eyes, tugged Ion’s clothes with small hands, restless with unspoken words.

“Kkuuuu…”

Ion’s expression dulled with unexplained melancholy. Setting Yomnyong down, he spoke quietly.

“You may return to your master. There are many people here—I’m not lonely.”

A lie.

Since Camillus left, confusion reigned inside Ion’s heart. Even among those worrying for him, he had little grasp on himself. The days were like an unwritten book, repeating meaninglessly.

Yomnyong shook his head vehemently, curled up, groaning softly.

Curious, Ion watched until the dragon spat out a large orb. Blue mana shimmered, clearly no ordinary object.

Timid, Ion hesitated, touching it. The system screen appeared:

[White Dragon’s “Orb of Memory” acquired.]

“Orb of Memory?”

The name is clear enough…

Unsure how to use it, Ion frowned.

Thinking it might be something to eat, he lightly bit it. Yomnyong gasped in surprise.

“Whu!”

“How is it used?”

Embarrassed, Ion asked, and Yomnyong exhaled sharply, pressing his hands against the orb in Ion’s palm. Concentrating, Yomnyong pursed his lips. Blue mana inside began to twine and glow white.

[“Orb of Memory” responds to White Dragon’s mana.]

A small image unfolded before Ion’s eyes.

Inside a lavish palace, beneath a long red carpeted hallway, stood the Emperor of O’Brien with his back turned, hands behind him.

Footnotes

Orb of Memory: A magical artifact tied to the White Dragon’s mana, capable of revealing lost memories.