SYMDF 9

Chapter 9

 

Ion pulled back slightly from Camillus’s embrace to look at him—and found his throat tightening so no words would come.

“You were… imprisoned…?”

Perhaps it was because the boy before him wore such a calm, unbothered expression.

That’s abuse, Ion thought—in his chest, just hearing it made his heart lurch. Yet Camillus, locking eyes with him, even smiled faintly.

“Yes. Ion… you freed me from there.”

“….”

For a moment, Ion was struck mute.

Not the prison, not his suffering—but Ion had freed him. That was the emphasis. Ion’s shoulders flinched at the weight of Camillus’s grip, but Camillus, noticing the tremor, gently covered Ion’s hand with his other.

The gesture was clear: I’m fine. Don’t be frightened.

Yet Ion stared up at him—his gaze filled with confusion—his lips trembling.

“I… freed you?”

“Yes. You did.”

So that was it.

〈You disgraced the honor of House Craiger. Defying imperial command out of pity for that worthless brat?〉

The voice of the Duke—his father—came back to him.

〈To save some useless spawn, you dared!〉

Yes, from the Empire’s perspective, the illegitimate child of the Emperor was a blemish. But for Ion’s father to rage so vehemently, the matter clearly went beyond that.

In Ion’s mind, one detail of Camillus’s profile resurfaced:

[Camillus Valderas Clodel
…Known as the son of a witch.]

The son of a witch.

If he had ever been treated well, there would’ve been no need for such a damning epithet. And yet—imprisoned, locked away in such a towering place…

Ion’s heart ached at the thought. Something sharp pricked within his chest, stabbing as if by needles. His hand clenched his shirt, pressing there.

The body’s original owner is reacting…

What else could explain why his heart hurt so bitterly despite having no memories?

Ba-dump, ba-dump.

His pulse thundered so loud it felt like his own ears rang with it. Ion swallowed hard, but Camillus furrowed his brow and drew Ion’s hands closer, cupping them in his own.

“I didn’t ask you to wear that face.”

“…But still…”

Whatever the expression was, it was enough that Camillus remarked—it must have been pained, pitying.

Ion forced himself to smooth it out. To appear as not pitying. Camillus caught the shift and smiled warmly, eyes dark blue like a sea filling with kindness.

He lifted Ion’s hand gently, revealing its back, and pressed his lips down tenderly. His quiet words, quivering, seeped into Ion’s skin.

“You… are the savior of my life.”

Just a short phrase, yet deeply sincere.

“I wanted to tell you that. Even if you’ve lost your memories—there is nothing for which I could ever resent you.”

His voice trailed off as his lips pressed deeper against Ion’s hand. The intensity of the gesture made Ion falter, caught between embarrassment and the impossibility of pulling away.

To refuse—what then? Would tears pool again beneath those lashes?

At the thought, Ion’s heart plunged, squeezed painfully. Something inside him thrashed:

Fine—enough already, he begged inwardly.

So this was the system’s meaning of “extreme favor.” It affected not only Camillus, but even Ion Craiger’s own body, which fluttered desperately at the closeness.

Ba-dump, ba-dump.

His pulse ran wild. Breath caught at his throat, yet he forced words forward.

Inaction leads to death.

If he gave no response now, anything could happen. But a proper reply—and Camillus might well become his unshakable ally.

Ion covered his mouth with his free hand, wheezing a cough to buy time, and then spoke carefully.

“This might disappoint you… but…”

He could not admit to being another soul inhabiting Ion’s body. If Camillus’s love turned inward-out, to hatred—it would be fatal.

Excessive feelings are dangerous. If he knew the truth—that Ion’s body lived, but another spirit dwelt within? Those kind eyes would freeze into ice.

Return him to me. Give me back the real Ion Craiger.

But Ion did not know where that soul had gone. Perhaps extinguished entirely before he arrived.

So survival had to come first.

I want to live. I must.

He couldn’t just linger, memoryless, weak, and collapse for good. □□, the one who had cursed him, must be found.

At last, Ion continued softly:

“You’re right. I… don’t remember a thing.”

As expected, Camillus’s brow twitched with hurt. His grip tightened sharply, making Ion gasp. Just as quickly, Camillus loosened his hold again.

“…I’m not disappointed.”

Yet his face contradicted the words: eyebrows trembling, sorrow etched deeply in his gaze.

Ion, biting his lip, decided instead to soothe him. He whispered with a small smile:

“But just from the warmth flowing into me through your hand… I can tell. You’re a good person.”

That was true. Since clasping hands, Ion had felt profound ease wash into him, a security like soaking in hot water. His entire body slackened, drowsy with peace.

Softly, he smiled—gentle, radiant.

“Your mana is so warm.”

The words struck Camillus like lightning. Whether by Ion’s words or his delicate smile, his pupils flickered wildly; color bloomed red across his pale skin, from ears down his cheeks.

His lips trembled faintly as he muttered:

“I… want to be a good man for you.”

“Why say that? Does that mean you’re not one already? Or… you’ll only be good to me?”

“…Yes. Only to you.”

A moment before, he had seemed so composed, beyond his sixteen years. But now—fumbling, nodding shyly—he looked almost childishly cute.

Still just a boy after all, huh…

Ion thought, as Camillus clasped both his hands once more, face suddenly grave.

“So please…!”

The desperation was palpable even from the first breath.

“Please let me protect you, Ion.”

Ion’s gaze dropped to those white-knuckled hands, gripping with enough force to reveal his bones.

Where did this burning devotion come from? He had no idea. But one thing was certain: Ion Craiger had saved him once. And for that, it seemed, he owed everything.

“…I won’t regret it. I’ll give my very all for you. Truly.”

Ion blinked upward—and froze at a small sight he had momentarily forgotten.

On Camillus’s shoulder, Yomnyong sat happily, wings fluttering, bright jewel-eyes glistening. A minute ago Camillus had dangled him upside down by the tail—but now the dragon mimicked Camillus’s earnest plea, clasping its tiny claws together, eyes shimmering as though in tears.

Too cute…

Doubled by Yomnyong’s comical sincerity, Camillus’s desperate vow felt all the more irresistible.

Footnotes:

• Extreme Favor (극도의 호의): A system “status effect,” indicating affection and loyalty beyond normal human scope—so intense, it influences even Ion’s own body reactions.

• Camillus as “Son of a Witch”: A derogatory title highlighting his stigmatized birth. In imperial politics, illegitimacy coupled with sorcery lineage deepens prejudice.

Refusal equals Danger: The system’s line that “inaction also kills” adds pressure—Ion must respond to Camillus, lest silence itself be considered fatal.