Magnus Draykar III

It had been over a week since our arrival at the Southern Sea Sun Palace, and we had turned up nothing. No traces, no hints, no threads to unravel. The investigation seemed like a dead end, a maze with no exit.

I stared up at the Red Sun hanging high in the sky, its crimson glow casting an eerie light over the palace grounds. My brows furrowed as the artifact's enigmatic aura gnawed at my thoughts. 

How could I locate the Vampire Monarch through this Legendary-grade artifact when I was so weak? The answer was painfully clear.

I couldn't.

Not with the power I currently wielded. The gap between me and what I needed to accomplish was as wide as an ocean, and I was barely treading water. 

A solution came to mind, one reckless and fraught with risk. It was a gamble, plain and simple, but at this point, it was the only card I had left to play.

'I have to take the chance,' I decided, the thought settling like a stone in my chest.

Without delay, I made my way to find Master Magnus. The orange hues of the setting sun bled across the palace, painting its grandeur with an almost melancholic beauty as I walked through the halls. Each step echoed faintly, a steady drumbeat to my resolve.

When I found him, he was standing outside, his imposing figure a silent sentinel as he watched the students training. His gaze was sharp but calm, as if he were seeing not just their movements but the paths they might walk in the future.

"Master," I called out.

He turned to me, his piercing eyes narrowing slightly. "What is it, Arthur?"

"We need to talk," I said, glancing around. "In private."

He nodded without hesitation, his mana flaring subtly as it enveloped us. The invisible barrier was perfect—no one would overhear us unless they could overpower him, and there wasn't a soul on this island who could.

"What's on your mind?" Magnus asked, his tone measured but curious.

I hesitated for only a moment before speaking. "Master, I need you to hit the Red Sun."

His eyebrows shot up, his expression betraying his shock. "You want me to *what*?"

"Hit the Red Sun," I repeated, my voice steady, though inwardly I was bracing myself for his response.

For a moment, he said nothing, his eyes narrowing as he studied me. The weight of his presence bore down on me like an avalanche, but I didn't flinch. I couldn't afford to.

"You understand what you're asking, don't you?" he finally said, his voice low. "That artifact isn't just a symbol of this palace—it's a Legendary-grade artifact. You're asking me to risk provoking them into open hostility."

"I know," I admitted. "But it's the only way. I can't explain all of it, but I believe that if you strike it, it will reveal something crucial."

Magnus crossed his arms, his gaze unwavering. "You're asking me to attack something that could spark a war, Arthur. Do you have any proof to back up this request?"

"No," I admitted, and the word felt like a stone dropping from my lips. "I don't have evidence. But I have a gut feeling—one that I can't shake. There's something deeply wrong here, and the Red Sun is at the center of it."

Magnus exhaled slowly, his eyes closing briefly as if weighing the enormity of my request. When he opened them again, they were sharper, more discerning. 

"Do you understand what happens if you're wrong?" he asked. 

"I do," I said firmly. "But I also understand what happens if we're right. If there's even a chance that this could expose the truth, isn't it worth taking the risk?"

He regarded me for another long moment before nodding slowly. "You've got conviction, I'll give you that. But this is a gamble, Arthur. One wrong move, and we'll be fighting more than just shadows."

"I know," I said, my voice quiet but resolute. "But we're running out of time. If we wait any longer, whatever they're hiding will slip through our fingers."

Magnus let out a low hum, a sound of consideration rather than agreement. "Very well," he said finally. "But we do this carefully. No reckless charges."

Relief flooded me, but I kept my expression calm. "Thank you, Master."

His lips curved into a faint smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Don't thank me yet, Arthur. This had better be worth the risk."

As we turned to leave, my gaze drifted back to the Red Sun. Its glow seemed almost mocking, as if daring us to uncover its secrets.

'This is it,' I thought. One way or another, we would uncover the truth—or face the consequences of our failure.

Magnus's eyes never left me as we walked, his gaze sharp, assessing, and yet somehow distant, as though his mind was walking a separate path from his body. Then he spoke, his voice quiet but resonant.

"I don't think I've ever told you my story, have I?"

I shook my head, though I already knew it. The details of his past were etched in the pages of the novel, but hearing them from Magnus himself would carry a weight the text never could.

"I suppose it's as good a time as any," he said, his tone more reflective now, the cadence of his steps slowing ever so slightly. "Let me tell you how I became who I am."

And so, as the palace hallways stretched out before us, Magnus painted the picture of his past.

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Magnus Draykar had been born the third son of a family of moderate power, their lands precariously positioned between the Northern and Eastern continents. The Draykars were respected but unremarkable. They weren't known for heroics or legends, nor did their bloodline produce prodigies or visionaries. They were, at best, solid, dependable—a family that held its ground but never aspired to more.

Their most notable strength lay in a single connection: Magnus's grandfather had been a close friend of the head of the Windward family, one of the most powerful houses in the North and the guardians of its throne. That friendship granted the Draykars an extended lifeline in the treacherous waters of political intrigue.

Magnus recounted the first time he met Arden Windward, the heir to the Windward family and, at that time, already renowned as a Radiant-rank talent in the making. Magnus and his family had traveled to the Windward estate, and the introductions were formal but charged with importance.

"This is my grandson, Arden Windward," the head of the family had said with a hand on the young boy's shoulder, pride radiating from his every word.

Magnus and his parents bowed low. "It is an honor to meet the prince of the North," they said in unison, their voices careful, deferential.

Arden stepped forward, offering his hand with a smile that seemed effortless, magnetic. Magnus took it, shaking with more respect than confidence. Arden's grip was firm, steady, a harbinger of the strength he would one day wield.

Magnus remembered those days fondly. Arden, for all his innate brilliance, was approachable and kind. They both loved swordsmanship, and their shared interest forged a tentative bond between them. But there was no denying the gulf between them, a chasm carved not just by talent but by fate.

"Arden was extraordinary," Magnus said, his voice carrying a quiet mix of admiration and bitterness. "His sword shone like a beacon, unreachable, almost divine. I trained, harder than anyone else, but I could never touch him."

And for a time, Magnus accepted that reality. He learned to find satisfaction in his own progress, in the slow honing of his skills, even as Arden soared beyond his reach.

But then the tides turned, as they always did in the North.

The head of the Windward family passed away, and the mantle of leadership shifted to Arden's father—a man of ambition but limited strength, not a Radiant-ranker like his predecessor. Arden, restless and determined to surpass his limits, left the North to train across the world, leaving his homeland vulnerable.

The vultures circled quickly. Jealous vassals, emboldened by the absence of Arden's guiding light and the relative weakness of his father, sought to consolidate power by striking at those they viewed as expendable. The Draykars, whose connection to the Windwards had always been their shield, found themselves targeted.

"They came like wolves in the night," Magnus said, his tone darkening. "Those jealous little lords banded together, and their armies descended on us. We were surrounded before we even realized we were at war."

The Draykar family was wiped out in the ensuing bloodbath. The house that had stood for generations, if not in glory, then in quiet dignity, was reduced to ashes. Magnus, the third son, survived by sheer chance—or perhaps by cruel design. His enemies wanted him to witness the fall of everything he loved.

And then Arden returned.

The once-smiling boy Magnus had admired was no longer. Arden was now a warrior, hardened by his travels and wielding a power that dwarfed anything Magnus had ever seen.

"He came back, and he made them kneel," Magnus said, his voice trembling ever so slightly. "Arden didn't just save me—he made those lords, the ones who tore apart my family, beg for forgiveness before he cut them down like animals."

There was silence between us for a moment as Magnus's steps faltered slightly. His hands clenched and unclenched, his jaw tightening.

"Do you know what I felt back then?" he asked me, his voice quieter now, more restrained.

I looked at him, unsure whether to respond.

"I felt despair," he said, answering his own question. "Not just because I'd lost everything, but because I realized how powerless I was. Arden... he was like a star, blazing so brightly that no one could even hope to touch him. And I was a speck of dust, barely worthy of notice."

Magnus stopped walking then, turning to face me fully. His eyes, so often filled with calm authority, burned with a fierce intensity.

"That despair became my fire," he said. "I swore I would never feel that powerless again. That no one would ever look at me with pity, as though I were something to be saved."

I didn't know what to say. His story, even though I had read it before, felt different now. The weight of it hung heavy in the air between us.

"You've felt it too, haven't you?" he asked suddenly, his gaze piercing. "That despair. The knowledge that you're not strong enough."

I nodded slowly. "Yes."

"Then hold onto it," he said. "Use it. Because if you can wield despair, you'll find a strength greater than anything you've ever known."