How Unsightly (2)

Warning: This chapter contains graphic depictions of violence. Read at your own risk.

"Hah… hah… w-why… why are you doing this to… me?!" Zara lay sprawled on the forest floor, blood pooling from a gaping wound in his side. He clutched at his right leg, or at least what remained of it, feeling nothing as a strange purple rot crawled up his flesh, rendering him utterly helpless.

His mana reserves, already meager, had been long drained; sheer willpower and desperation were the only forces keeping him alive. He needed to know why they were doing this to him, what he had done to deserve it. Desperately trying to clear his fogged vision, he forced himself to look up, only to meet the cold, mocking stares of Lionel and Marcellus.

Dammit! Tears pricked at the edges of his drying eyes—not from fear of death, but from sheer frustration. So what if I'm a peasant? So what if you don't like me… does that make it okay to kill me?

"A-aren't… we comrades?" Zara croaked, his sweat-slick face twisted in a mix of confusion and anger. He was done with polite niceties—what was the point? It wasn't like they'd suddenly grow a conscience and spare him now.

Lionel and Marcellus exchanged a glance before bursting into cruel laughter, the sound echoing through the forest.

"Hahaha… comrades! You, with us?" Lionel sneered, barely able to contain his amusement as he pointed at Zara, who lay utterly broken and stripped of any dignity.

Marcellus's laughter faded into a dark frown, his lips curling as he kicked Zara's left leg with savage fury. "This dog still thinks he's worth something!"

"Acck!" Zara screamed as Marcellus's boot connected, but it didn't end there. Marcellus slammed his foot into Zara's stomach, grinding his boot in, forcing Zara to spit up blood and bile.

Taking pleasure in Zara's pain, Marcellus sneered. "Does trash like you deserve to be our comrade? Our equal? Huh, Ideale?" His voice dripped with contempt as he delivered a series of stomps to Zara's abdomen, each one ignoring the agonized screams tearing from his throat.

"M-maybe not…" Zara's voice was ragged, each word wrenched from him through a haze of pain. His response made Marcellus pause, his brow raised in mock curiosity, but Zara wasn't finished. His bloodshot gaze locked onto Marcellus, his fury igniting a spark of strength he should no longer possess. "But is it too much to ask to be treated like a human being?!"

Blood splattered Marcellus's face as Zara spat the words, and for a brief second, the noble flinched, his face contorting in shocked anger. He shot Zara a murderous glare, ready to unleash his wrath tenfold, but Lionel beat him to it.

"This is exactly why you ended up like this, peasant!" Lionel roared, a blade of wind shimmering to life in his hand. "You don't know your place!"

He drove the wind-formed dagger down, pinning Zara's right hand to his leg like a nail. Zara's scream of pain ripped through the forest, but Lionel wasn't done. He pressed his boot against Zara's face, grinding it into the dirt, muffling Zara's screams as his boot broke teeth and battered his jaw toward breaking point. Each stomp made Zara's vision blur, his agony resonating through his entire body, and still, neither noble showed any sign of stopping.

"Hah… hah… hah…" Lionel finally stopped, his boot lifted off Zara's face as he caught his breath. After a moment, he cleared his throat, the sound breaking the grim silence of the forest. Meanwhile, Marcellus had taken Zara's treasured squad robe and was wiping his own face with it, letting it absorb the grime.

Through his blurred vision, Zara barely made out what was happening. He watched, helpless, as that same purple venom eating away at his leg now began to consume the robe he had spent years training to earn. The robe he had risked everything to wear with pride was now crumbling, the insignia disintegrating into nothing.

This time, Zara couldn't stop the tears from falling. Seeing his tears, Marcellus and Lionel sneered even wider. Marcellus spoke first, his tone twisted with glee.

"It was far too shameless for peasant trash like you to join our ranks to begin with. Running around risking your life to save lowborns? Pathetic." Showing us up. 

"What an eyesore," Lionel added, his tone as cold as steel. "We don't need filth like you dirtying our ranks."

Marcellus smirked, nodding. "As our last show of loyalty to Captain Kaiser before we leave his squad, we'll do him a favor and clean up the filth ourselves."

Lionel let out a mocking laugh. "Only true nobility can be this considerate," he chuckled, as though what they were doing was some act of mercy.

They began to prattle on, alternating between mocking Zara and praising their own "merits," their conversation a sickening blend of arrogance and self-satisfaction. But Zara was no longer listening. Their words faded into background noise as he let his head fall back into the dirt, gazing up at the overcast sky through his tear-streaked, grime-caked vision.

How did I end up here? Zara asked himself, not just about his current situation, but how everything had led him to this moment. 

Zara Ideale grew up in an era when commoners were finally beginning to break into Clover Kingdom's upper ranks. The once-untouchable gates of high society had started to crack open; common folk could now secure positions in noble houses beyond the servant's quarters, even enter the royal courts, and—most remarkably—become magic knights.

As a boy from the forsaken realm, Zara grew up on stories of the first Wizard King, Lemiel, and every night he went to sleep dreaming of following that same path. He wasn't unique in his admiration; nearly everyone he knew idolized Lemiel. But Zara was different in one way: he was determined to make his dream happen, no matter what.

But reality wasn't kind to me. Penniless and nearly magicless, Zara's mana was pitifully low, even by lowborn standards. When he got his grimoire, his father passed away from overwork, and Zara had to put his dream aside to take care of his mother, who had fallen ill in her grief.

He didn't waste time with tears; that wasn't the man his father had raised him to be. Instead, he became the head of their little household, managing their farm on his own. To pay for his mother's treatment, he volunteered at the local church whenever he could, taking on extra work so the pastor—one of the few skilled in recovery magic—could find time to heal her.

After about a year, just as his mother began to recover, Zara met her. Elara. A smile tugged at his bruised and battered face as he thought of her. She was beautiful, his age, from the next village over, with a gift for wood magic. Though they didn't quite click at first, with Elara maintaining her polite distance, Zara pursued her with his usual determination.

Eventually, she gave in and let him take her out. A simple picnic on a hilltop was a grand affair in the forsaken realm, and it was more than enough. Their relationship blossomed quickly—they became lovers, got engaged, and married. In a world where life could turn in an instant, they didn't waste years waiting; time was a luxury they didn't have. Peasants don't have. When two people felt a bond, they committed.

By the time they were seventeen, Elara was showing signs of pregnancy, and Zara's mother was fully back on her feet. For once, life seemed to be smiling on Zara Ideale.

But life had its own cruel plans. Only months later, a strange sickness swept through the village. By the time the church responded with containment and treatment, it was too late. Zara had lost both his wife and his mother. His mother's illness had returned, and Elara couldn't hold on in her fragile state while giving birth.

Zara was devastated. But this time, fate had left him a small mercy, a light in the darkness: his son, born perfectly healthy despite everything. He named him Zora.

So Zara became a single father. It was terrifying—one of the most intimidating things he'd ever faced. But he pushed through. He worked his fields from before dawn until long after dusk. Fortunately, he had good friends. The forsaken realm might have been rough, filled with folks looking to claw their way ahead, but Zara's village was different. It was a place where people stood by each other, a rare corner of peace and solidarity.

When Zara went to work, he didn't have to worry about Zora going hungry or being alone. Many of the aunties and wives of his friends took care of Zora, treating him as one of their own. He never forgot their kindness—it drove him to rise up in the world, to someday pay them back. By the time Zora was seven, old enough to manage on his own, Zara knew it was time. Time to chase his dream again.

He had to prove to himself he could achieve something great, to repay all those who had lifted him up, and to protect the common folk who, like him, were always overlooked. And above all, he wanted to be a hero to his son, to show him it was okay to talk, to dream, and to dare. So, year after year, Zara traveled to Kikka for the magic entrance exam, ignoring the sneers and humiliating stares.

Without much mana to lean on, Zara started studying trap magic, digging through old texts in the grimoire tower. He taught himself every chance he got, whenever he wasn't working or spending time with Zora. He trained relentlessly, figuring out ways to make his magic useful even in fast-paced battles.

For three years in a row, every squad rejected him—even the White Serpent, known to be friendlier to commoners. They weren't a charity; they only accepted those who proved their worth. But that didn't faze Zara. He didn't want pity—he wanted respect. If I'm going to be a Magic Knight, I'll earn it the right way. Through my own abilities.

So Zara kept trying. And on his fourth attempt, he finally made an impression. He was accepted—by a noble squad, no less. Zara was ecstatic. Zora was ecstatic. His village, his friends, his mentors—all were proud, all celebrating the boy from the forsaken realm who'd climbed his way into the ranks of the Magic Knights.

But maybe I shouldn't have climbed. Growing up as a peasant, Zara had heard endless warnings about the nobles' disdain for commoners—how one wrong step could ruin him, his loved ones, even his entire village. Hearing about it, though, was different from living it.

During the magic knight entrance exam, he wasn't the only commoner there; a good number of peasants had shown up, and he wasn't the sole target of scorn. With all six captains present—and the Wizard King himself, all known to disapprove of such prejudice—the nobles kept their insults to a minimum. A few sneers, a handful of words here and there. It was nothing Zara couldn't handle. He'd heard worse from some commoners who thought he was aiming too high. Those words rolled right off him.

But once he'd joined a squad, made his dream real, and became the first peasant Magic Knight, the situation changed. Suddenly, he was the center of attention—and of resentment. A few of his fellow commoners resented him out of jealousy, but it was the noble circle that posed the real threat. As commoners climbed higher, the nobles grew anxious, afraid their ranks were slipping. And a peasant making it into their sacred order was the final straw.

With Captain Kaiser out of sight, Zara became a target. Meals would be spoiled before he could eat. His quarters trashed, his belongings taken or wrecked. His seniors dragged him along to gatherings only to make him the punchline of cruel jokes.

What could Zara do? Follow Captain Kaiser around like a shadow, or snitch? Captain Kaiser had given him a chance, treated him with dignity, and Zara respected his introverted nature. He wasn't about to drag the man into his problems, nor did he have the pride to rely on anyone for protection. Zara knew that complaining would only buy him a short reprieve and open a much worse chapter. And he couldn't afford to put himself or his son at any greater risk.

So Zara kept his distance, taking every mission he could, reporting in by letter, camping out, or even traveling back home just to see Zora—though seeing his son was never just an excuse. He missed him deeply. Zara believed if he stayed out of sight, he'd eventually slip out of his tormentors' minds, and maybe they'd even grow to tolerate his presence. But he'd underestimated the nobles' true insecurity and cruelty.

By taking on mission after mission, Zara built a reputation. His name began to spread as the protector of the lowborn, a knight for justice. He was seen as a hero—a role that did nothing but fan the flames of his squadmates' resentment. To the minor noble houses and those who'd mistreated him, his rising fame was a threat. They knew that if their actions against him ever reached the public, the backlash would be ruinous. The nobility might disdain commoners, but they couldn't ignore them entirely. The Clover Kingdom depended on the commoners' labor, taxes, and loyalty. If the peasants revolted, the nobles' cushy lives would be under siege.

So, the same people who had once tried to force him out now held him back. They restricted Zara to headquarters, allowing him out only with the squad and claiming that as a Junior Magic Knight, solo missions weren't permitted—a convenient half-truth. And they intensified their harassment, determined to break him. They went as far as downplaying his achievements, casting doubt on his worthiness, blocking promotions, and discrediting his name at every turn. When Zara finally managed to take a mission, it was only because it was something his squadmates found too dirty or beneath them—missions at the edge of the forsaken realm, places no noble wanted to be seen.

But whenever Zara could act as a Magic Knight, he poured everything he had into his work. He tackled these tasks with fierce determination, knowing that if he pushed forward, he would eventually earn his due. Little by little, his efforts bore fruit. His name began to rise again, enough that he was finally summoned to the War Merit Conferment Ceremony, a major step toward promotion. The nobles' plan was crumbling.

Lionel Vesbar and Marcellus Sera, the two worst of his tormentors, knew they had to get rid of Zara for good. With a planned transfer into the prestigious Silver Eagles and, they thought, the protection of House Silva, they believed no one—neither Lord Conrad nor Captain Kaiser—would dare touch them. So they devised a final scheme.

They invited Zara along on a mission to defend a commoner village—one of Zara's "favorite" types of assignments—as a twisted farewell. In reality, the village threat was staged; they had hired an accomplice to scare off the villagers and eyewitnesses so they'd have a secluded place to "deal" with Zara. When the timing was right, Marcellus attacked, using his venom magic to plague Zara's leg and paralyze him, blocking his mana and immobilizing him.

They didn't just want Zara dead—they wanted him to suffer, slow and agonizingly. For every ounce of resistance he'd shown them, for every scrap of dignity he'd held onto, they planned to strip him of it, making his death a drawn-out punishment.

"Well…" Marcellus began, pulling Zara's fading consciousness back toward him, though his vision had faded completely. He focused solely on his voice. "...I had my fun. What do you say we put this trash out of his misery, Lionel?"

"You're far too merciful, Marcellus." Lionel chuckled slowly, a glint of malice in his eyes. "But it's the least we could do for our dear comrade." The two erupted into boisterous laughter, and another blade of wind coalesced in Lionel's grasp. Just as he was about to swing down and sever Zara's head, he froze, his ears catching a crunch behind them.

"Who?!" they demanded in unison, jerking their heads back, only to pause as they beheld an imposing figure. Tall, with flowing silver hair streaked with blue, he approached them with unmatched elegance and poise.

As Marcellus and Lionel scanned his regal form, they exchanged bewildered glances, hesitating before bowing deeply. "L-Lord Silva… we didn't expect to see you here."

Instead of a response or even a nod of acknowledgment, Sebastian dismissed them entirely, striding between them with indifference. He halted in front of Zara, looking down at him with an inscrutable expression.

Marcellus and Lionel stiffened, turning to face his back, only to notice the blotches of red staining his attire. Though they typically steered clear of physical conflict, they had caused enough pain to recognize blood when they saw it.

The only question lingering in the air was, whose blood was it? Because it certainly wasn't Sebastian Silva's.

Zara, bracing for his final moment, paused when it never arrived. Confused by the sudden shift, he strained to understand his surroundings until a familiar voice pierced the tension, causing him to stiffen. "How unsightly, Zara Ideala."

So it was you?! Zara's thoughts raced. No wonder Lionel and Marcellus were so bold; they had your blessing!

He couldn't shake the burning question of why he had never encountered this man until now. Zara knew all too well of Sebastian Silva's disdain for the lesser born from his time as a magic knight; Julius had warned him to steer clear of this man, claiming he was a traditionalist who would never tolerate the rise of those below him.

Zara had listened to Julius, though he'd been dismissive inwardly, convinced that a man of Sebastian's stature wouldn't waste his time on someone like him.

Who knew I was so wrong? The realization hit him like a jolt—Sebastian had personally orchestrated his downfall! A twisted smile crept across Zara's face, dark satisfaction curling in his gut at the thought of a royal patriarch taking such interest in his fate.

Look how cool your old man is, Zora!

"Zara Ideala…" Sebastian began, drawing Zora's attention to his words. Let's hear what you have to say, you bastard. Let the mockery come; you will have your day! Julius, Captain, Lord Conrad—someone will seek justice for me.

"...Are you a fool?"

Hmm? Zara was caught off guard; he had expected something more explicit. Do stuck-up royals even curse conservatively?

Sebastian continued, oblivious to Zara's thoughts. He looked down at Zara's bleeding form and spoke. "Did you really think that bending your back and bowing to others would make them stop and ignore you?"

Zara felt a surge of anger; he wanted to spit in his face. Of course not! But at least leave me alone—don't take your actions to a new extreme and try to kill me!

Marcellus and Lionel stood frozen in shock as Sebastian knelt beside Zara and placed a hand on his chest. They wanted to say something but dared not speak. It was not their place to question a royal. To royalty, minor nobles and commoners were no different—just insects. The former were merely a bit more tolerable to look at.

Zara trembled as a cool sensation flowed into him from Sebastian's hand, rejuvenating him. Healing magic?! Why?!

He couldn't comprehend it. Why try to kill me only to heal me? Do you want to make sure I don't die while you monologue, just so you can torment me more?

As Zara struggled to open his eyes, Sebastian continued. "Words only hold weight depending on who speaks them. The yells of a peasant like you are utterly worthless. A mere whisper from me can shake this entire kingdom."

"S-so?" Zara spat hoarsely, feeling his insides begin to clear. He strained to focus on the blurry figure of the man making these declarations.

"So, what you should've done is use your fists." Sebastian's tone was matter-of-fact. "Your actions should have drawn attention, inspired insecurity, and instilled fear. Only fists and actions make nobility take the lowborn seriously, because then their lives are on the line."

"It's because of that these two trash don't dare to pick fights with Jack, and why many avoid crossing Yami. They're not afraid to use their might."

Lionel and Vesbar trembled, hastily lowering their gazes, too humiliated to respond.

"They don't have family to look after!" Zara spat in indignation.

"Well you should've considered that risk when you pursued this dream, or quit, when they gave you a chance." Sebastian spoke coldly. 

Zara paused, not able to retort, before realizing something. Wait, trash? Zara stuttered, biting his lip. "You're not together?"

"Of course not." Sebastian shook his head, causing Lionel and Vesbar to stiffen, their pupils dilating in shock.

"W-what do you mean by that, Lord Silva?!" Marcellus demanded, his voice trembling.

"I-it was y-you who g-gave us the o-order to—"

"Listen." Sebastian sighed in exasperation, still focused on healing Zara without turning around. "I don't know what kind of mental gymnastics goes on in those brains of yours, but don't draw your own conclusions. When did I ever do such a thing?" He was incredulous, feeling like he was trapped in a fucking Xianxia novel with this kind of misunderstanding.

The two felt a lump rise in their throats as they watched Sebastian pull something from his satchel. It was a cylindrical object with a distinct, intricate design, divided into three sections. The outer structure was adorned with grooves and rings, giving it a mechanical, almost industrial look.

Eilia's Booth?! Lionel and Marcellus exchanged speechless glances. [1]

Eilia's Booth was a healing magic tool reserved for the highest nobility in the kingdom. Royalty.

Is he seriously going to use it on a peasant?! Lionel and Marcellus were struck dumb, jealousy churning within them. Never had they imagined they would witness such an honor bestowed upon someone they had always scorned.

Sebastian activated the device, and the top and bottom sections extended outward, creating a floating apparatus. The central part of the canister glowed, suspended within a large, green magical aura.

Zora felt his condition stabilize, the healing magic enveloping him in a warm embrace. As the energy surged through him, he experienced a rapid recovery.

Sebastian spoke softly, "This won't be enough; I'll have you taken to the royal palace shortly for treatment. Just close your eyes and rest."

A wave of emotions washed over Zora, as if he had crawled out from the gates of hell. He rested his arm over his eyes and whispered hoarsely, "Thank you." With that, exhaustion consumed him, and he surrendered to sleep.

Sebastian sighed and stood, turning to find Lionel and Marcellus glaring at him with unreadable expressions. Now what to do with you two?

"Lord Silva." Marcellus spoke up coldly, though even addressing him by title, Sebastian felt no hint of respect in the term. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, his voice edged with hostility.

Sebastian only chuckled wryly. "If someone were watching, they'd think you were the superior in this case."

Neither Marcellus nor Lionel bothered to respond, though Lionel pointed a finger accusingly. "Why are you saving this peasant trash? Are you betraying the traditionalist faction? Was your offer a lie?"

"As I said before, I gave you no such thing. You fools just convinced yourselves I did," Sebastian replied with a light sneer, shrugging as if the conversation bored him.

Dark glances exchanged between the two of them, and Marcellus fixed Sebastian with a piercing stare. "You're putting us in a very difficult position here, Silva."

If Sebastian saved Zara and brought him back, their lives would be over. They would be stripped of their positions as magic knights and imprisoned. Their Houses wouldn't support them; they would likely disown them, unwilling to be associated with those who had drawn the ire of House Silva and Lord Conrad. All they would have left would be the wait for execution, knowing the new leader of the magic parliament would act swiftly.

Sebastian shrugged again. "Should I care?"

"You should." Lionel's and Marcellus' grimoires floated ominously in front of them, a physical manifestation of their threat.

"This is your last chance, Silva. Hand over the peasant and accept us into House Silva, and we'll pretend we didn't see anything," Marcellus said with a feigned indifference, though tension simmered beneath the surface.

"Or what?" Sebastian's sly grin widened, taking on a perverse edge.

"Or we'll have no choice but to have you join him," Lionel replied, his gaze darkening as he exchanged looks with Marcellus.

With this confrontation reaching its climax, they were prepared to kill both Zara and Sebastian, fleeing to Diamond with their knowledge and secrets. They could live there, though it would be a significant drop from the luxury they were accustomed to. Diamond was a poor country, and they'd only consider it as a last resort.

Sebastian's smile grew even wider. "The blood on my back—do you know who it belongs to?"

"Who?" Marcellus asked, his patience waning, not in the mood for games.

Sebastian's grin twisted into something more sinister. "The mud mage who was causing a scene in this village. He was one of you, right? Well, I let him meet his ancestors early. Don't worry; the two of you will reunite with him soon."

"Die!" Marcellus and Lionel wasted no time as they launched their attack on Sebastian.

"Venom Creation Magic: Poison Banshee!" Marcellus shouted, summoning a dark purple silhouette of a ghastly woman with hollow eye sockets and a massive mouth that screeched as it charged at Sebastian.

Lionel amplified its speed and power with a gust of wind, propelling the Banshee closer until it was poised to pounce.

The two exchanged smirks. Although no one dared to call Sebastian the shame of House Silva, they knew the truth. He possessed only political might, with average mana reserves and magic—unbefitting of a patriarch of a royal house. He was no match for magic knights like them.

Yet, Sebastian showed no signs of panic. A perfect orb of water formed in his right hand, and the horrifying image of the Banshee melting his body never materialized in their minds. Instead, they watched as the orb spun like a miniature whirlpool, drawing the Banshee toward it.

Marcellus gaped as he saw his spell get absorbed into the orb, the Banshee screeching in pain as it turned the water a sickly purple while struggling to escape.

Then, before their eyes, the orb hovering over Sebastian's palm began to condense and shrink until it vanished entirely.

"W-what spell is that?" Lionel stuttered, bewildered at how this supposed failure of a mage had disarmed them so easily.

"Spell?" Sebastian paused, raising an eyebrow in confusion. "That was no spell; that was grimoireless magic."

Marcellus and Lionel's eyes widened as they noticed the grimoire resting inside Sebastian's cloak, unmoving. He hadn't even used it.

"S-so how did you do that?!" Marcellus demanded, disbelief etched on his face.

Sebastian sighed, scratching his neck in exasperation. "Sorry, but I don't know how to dumb down the concept of hydrostatic forces and eddies for some medieval bumpkins. I'm a life sciences major, not an engineer."

Huh? Marcellus and Lionel exchanged confused glances, struggling to comprehend his words.

"Are you mocking us?!" Lionel's voice was sharp with indignation.

Sebastian shook his head, unfazed. "It's not a you problem; it's just the education system of this era. I should really start fixing that."

"Anyways…" he continued, as his grimoire floated in front of him, pages flipping rapidly, "if you guys want a spell, I'll show you."

Sebastian inwardly chanted his spell, casting it with a sharp snap. Water Magic: Dead Man's Drought.

Marcellus and Lionel flinched as they were engulfed in a fog of steam. They coated themselves in mana skin to resist the effects, but their guard lowered in bewilderment when they found themselves completely unharmed.

A miscast? they thought simultaneously, glancing at Sebastian's smug expression.

The two sneered, and just as Marcellus was about to jeer at him, opening his mouth to taunt, he found no words came out—only hoarse screeches.

Weird. Why does my throat feel so dry? Bewilderment washed over Marcellus as he suddenly felt an overwhelming fatigue and thirst.

He struggled to stand and turned to his side, only to be met with the horrifying sight of Lionel's appearance changing. Gone was his athletic, lean build; instead, he resembled a skinny grinch of a man, rapidly shriveling like dried fruit.

Lionel collapsed face-first, and Marcellus jerked his gaze to his own body, only to see the same fate befall him, albeit slightly slower. His broad, muscular frame dwindled away until he was so emaciated he could see his bones, collapsing in a similar fashion.

W-what is happening to me? Panic set in as Marcellus struggled to breathe, his senses—sight, hearing, touch—dimming as he felt himself blacking out.

The last thing he heard was Sebastian Silva's indifferent voice: "The human body is about 60% water. I don't know how that statistic changes in this… 'place,' but it's inevitable to shrivel up like a prune if all the water in your body is suddenly pulled out."

"If there's such a thing as reincarnation or second chances in this world, try to be a bit more human, and treat others with dignity."

Marcellus couldn't utter a word as his skin flaked away like Lionel's, leaving behind nothing but discolored organs and brittle bones.

As he looked over the two of them, Sebastian scratched his head. Killing those fools before had felt different; he'd used poison, so technically it was Jonna's doing—he hadn't felt guilty or anything.

But with these two, and that mud mage from before, he buried them with his own hands. He expected to feel something—after all, he was a modern man, his worst crimes being jaywalking and petty theft. Yet he felt nothing. No guilt, regret, or disgust, nor any flicker of satisfaction.

Weird. Is this Sebastian's doing, or is this my true nature?

Well, that's a moral dilemma for another time.

Turning around, Sebastian saw the green force field engulfing Zara flicker out as the mana crystal ran out of juice. Well, time to get you out of here.

An eagle of water slowly materialized beneath them. Once Sebastian secured Zara with a water whip, the eagle took off into the sky, flying swiftly yet steadily in the direction of the royal kingdom.

As they ascended, Sebastian's gaze fell on Zara's right leg, and he couldn't hide his complicated expression. If only I was quicker. He sighed, watching the sun begin to set.

In the distance, from a nearby tree that overlooked the scene, a black shadow spread out, and two figures emerged.

The first was a young man with dyed blond hair, dressed in a dark long-sleeved shirt with a deep V-cut. He wore dark, fingerless gloves trimmed with fur and knee-high boots.

The other figure had a more macho build, donned in a Grey Deer robe, with a katana at his side.

The blonde pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and turned to the other man. "Well, Yami, did you get to see what you wanted?"

Yami narrowed his eyes at the retreating eagle until it disappeared from view and nodded. "Yeah. Thanks for the favor, Natch."

Natch chuckled, taking a puff of his cigarette. "No problem, man. Just remember your promise."

"Yeah, yeah," Yami sighed. "I'll get Morgen off your back and pretend I didn't see anything when you keep playing those pranks of yours." Not that I don't do that anyway, he grumbled internally.

"Just making sure we're on the same page," Natch replied, narrowing his gaze as well.

Sebastian Silva. Natch recalled how his father had told him all about this man—how he knew everything about his family and about him. I thought you were impressive before, but you're a very interesting man.

Maybe I should accompany my parents to some of their… appointments in the future.

The next morning: 

With a soft groan, Zara blinked his eyes open, his vision slowly adjusting to the scene around him. Sunlight streamed into a luxurious brick-walled room, flooding it with a warm glow. He was lying on a comfortable bed, wrapped in spotless white covers that felt far too fine for anything he could have afforded. He shifted slightly and noticed he was dressed in unfamiliar nightwear, the material soft and costly.

Turning his head to the right, he caught sight of a small figure on a stool beside him, nodding in and out of sleep. A child with messy red hair, a worn-out white shirt, and a dark blue jacket. "Zora?" Zara whispered, almost in disbelief.

As if on cue, Zora's eyes snapped open, and Zara watched, stunned, as tears welled up in his son's normally impassive face. Without warning, Zora jumped off the stool and threw himself onto the bed, wrapping his arms around his father in a fierce embrace. "Dad!" Zora's voice cracked with a mix of gratitude and grief.

"Ooff—Zora!" Zara gasped, feeling a strange combination of warmth and a sharp pang in his abdomen.

"Oops…" Zora quickly pulled back, his face red with embarrassment as he wiped his tears. He stood beside the bed, looking down at his father. "I-I'm just…so glad. He told me you'd be okay, but I was still scared…"

Zara reached up, ignoring the sting of pain, and gently ruffled his son's hair. "As you can see, I'm fine, my boy."

Zora stilled, a faint blush rising to his cheeks, and nodded.

Zara looked at his son fondly, then furrowed his brow. "He? Who are you talking about, Zora?"

Before Zora could respond, a soft knock at the door drew both their attention.

"Me." Sebastian spoke indifferently as he entered the room. "I see you're awake now."

Zara opened his mouth to respond, but Zora beat him to it, bowing sharply. "Thank you for saving my father! How can I ever repay you—"

"No need." Sebastian waved a dismissive hand. "I'm not one for formalities."

Glancing around the room, Sebastian pulled a chair near Zara's bed and sat, crossing his legs and clasping his hands in his lap. The pose would have seemed almost regal to Zara and Zora if not for the way Sebastian shifted uncomfortably, a hint of a frown creasing his face.

After a moment, Sebastian spoke. "I had my butler escort your son to the royal castle, Mr. Ideale. I hope I haven't overstepped."

Unused to such polite treatment from nobility, let alone royalty, Zara stammered, "N-no, not at all."

Though he had never wanted his son to see him in this state, Zara couldn't deny the warmth he felt at waking up to Zora's face beside him. Turning to his son, he realized he owed him an explanation. "Zora, I was injured fighting some magical beasts—"

"You don't have to lie, Dad." Zora's tone was flat, cutting Zara off, making him stiffen.

Zora gave him a measured look and continued. "Lord Sebastian told me everything. About how your squadmates tried to kill you… all the torment you've been through over the years…"

"Dammit!" Zora swore, his voice shaking. Zara flinched; his son almost never spoke, let alone cursed. "If it was so awful… why didn't you just quit and come home?" His voice broke as fresh tears slipped down his cheeks, and he wiped them with his sleeves. "Is it worth it, Dad? Surrounding yourself with psychos just to chase your dreams? You think dying some heroic death would make me proud?" He choked, his face crumpling. "I-I thought I lost you! What am I supposed to do without you?"

Zara's throat tightened painfully. Ignoring the sting in his body, he pulled Zora close, wrapping him in a fierce embrace, tears slipping from his own eyes. "I-I'm so sorry, Zora."

As they held each other, finding comfort in the warmth of each other's presence, Sebastian closed his eyes and exhaled, giving father and son a moment of peace.

After a couple of minutes, Zara sat up in bed with Zora's steadying hand on his shoulder. He glanced at Sebastian and lowered his head.

"Thank you again, Lord Silva. And… sorry for that."

Sebastian gave a slight nod. "No need. Your gratitude is noted."

Zara was about to respond when Zora spoke up, his voice dark. "I didn't know Magic Knights could be so ugly."

"Zora!" Zara's tone was sharp as he started to scold him, especially given Sebastian's presence—the head of a royal family of Magic Knights. But to his surprise, Sebastian chuckled.

"Some are like that, yes, but many aren't," he replied. "We see the former as imposters and the latter as true Magic Knights. Believe it or not, they used to be even worse years ago. Crimes like this were common. But under the guidance of the current Wizard King and his allies, these kinds of betrayals have become practically nonexistent."

He paused, a thoughtful look on his face. "Today's Magic Knights are united by a goal: defending the kingdom and creating a place of mutual respect for people from all backgrounds."

Though some bad apples like Lionel and Marcellus still make it through, he thought, though he left that unsaid.

"True Magic Knights…" Zora repeated, narrowing his eyes. There are real Magic Knights, like Dad. Like that Julius guy. I'm going to make sure the only ones left are the true ones.

Zora's innocent, childlike look was gone, replaced with a quiet resolve. He had a purpose now.

"I'm going to make the people who hurt you pay!" Zora declared fiercely, his gaze fixed on Zara's right leg.

Zara's eyes widened, surprised, and he was about to ask what Zora meant when Sebastian interjected.

"Zara, try moving your right leg."

Confused, Zara focused and tried to shift his leg. After a few tense moments, his pupils dilated, and sweat beaded on his forehead. He bit his lip hard, tasting blood as he managed to choke out, "I… can't."

Sebastian sighed, giving a solemn nod. "Thanks to Eilia's Booth, we were able to clear the venom from your leg and stop the rot before amputation became necessary. But the damage to your nerves and muscles… it was extensive. Your leg will recover somewhat over time, but not fully. You'll be walking with a limp for the rest of your life."

Seeing the raw look in Zara's bloodshot eyes, Sebastian held his gaze, pausing a moment before finishing, "And, naturally… your career as a Magic Knight is over."

Zara lowered his head, frustration etched into his face. "What am I supposed to do now?" he murmured. With this limp, I won't even be able to go back to the farm and take care of Zora.

He tried to avoid thinking about the dream he'd chased for so long slipping away. If I dwell on that, it'll break me. He had to hold it together for Zora, who stood right by his side. He couldn't bear to be the reason his son cried again.

Sebastian chuckled lightly. "You were out for quite a while. Long enough for word to spread about what happened—not that I kept it quiet. Captain Kaiser felt terrible and left enough money to support you and your son for the rest of your lives, as kings, if you want."

Zara looked up, speechless. "Did he really?" he asked, barely believing it.

Sebastian nodded. "Kaiser took it hard, thought his lax attitude was what gave someone the nerve to pull something like this in his squad. Can't say he's entirely wrong. The man was red with fury. I never thought Granvorka had that kind of fire in him." We'll probably be seeing a very different Purple Orca from now on, he mused.

"How long was I out?" Zara asked.

"About 15 hours," Zora answered flatly, meeting his father's eyes. "That's what Lord Silva and Dr. Owen told me."

Sebastian nodded again. "Julius and Conrad both came by to check on you."

Zara stiffened, feeling both honored and unnerved. The Wizard King and the next likely successor, both coming to see him—it felt surreal. But a sick feeling rose in his stomach. It's pity. They pity me, he thought bitterly. He hated pity more than anything. He loathed the idea of special treatment that only served to highlight his own failures.

Reading his expression, Sebastian sneered. "People pity those less fortunate, Zara. Stop thinking you're so special that you'll be treated differently. Know your place."

"Drop the pride and accept the care and concern people are showing you. It's that overblown ego that got you into this mess. You could have avoided all this if you'd swallowed a bit of discomfort and requested a squad transfer. The Grey Deer or White Serpent would've taken you."

"But that didn't sit right with you, did it?" Sebastian went on. "You thought transferring was a slap in the face to Kaiser, that calling in a favor with Julius was shameless. And maybe it would've been. But we're human, Zara. Who among us hasn't done something less than dignified when necessary? You know why?"

Zara, hanging onto Sebastian's every word, asked hoarsely, "W-why?"

"Because some things in life matter more." Sebastian's gaze shifted to Zora, making Zara tense.

Watching his father, Zora could see his turmoil, the way he gripped the sheets in frustration. Deciding to act, Zora spoke up, "We'll take the money."

And just like that, Zara let go of the blankets, the tension easing out of him as he took in his son's quiet determination.

Sebastian nodded, as if settling a minor matter. "Good. Now that that's out of the way, let's discuss your aid fee."

Zara and Zora exchanged a look of confusion before Zara spoke up, hesitantly. "Aid fee?"

"Yes," Sebastian confirmed. "Not only did I save your life, but I've handled the aftermath as well. House Sera and House Vesbar are no more."

"What?!" Father and son shouted in shock.

Sebastian gave a casual nod. "For someone of my standing, removing a minor noble house isn't much of an ordeal—if I want to, that is. And with the right justification, well, let's just say there are plenty of people in this kingdom eager to earn my favor by doing it for me."

He looked at them calmly. "You won't have to worry about any noble stirring up trouble for the two of you. This incident, and all the resentment tied to it, has been buried with those houses. No one will dare lay a hand on you."

Zora, who was still staring in disbelief, struggled to process that his father's sworn enemy had already been taken care of—the one he had just vowed to avenge, no longer a threat. He snapped back to attention as he heard Zara ask:

"Why are you going so far for us?"

Sebastian shook his head. "I'm going this far for me."

"For you?" Zara asked, even more confused.

Sebastian nodded. "In noble circles, there's no such thing as a free lunch. I'm no Magic Knight—I don't save people out of some goodness of my heart. I don't help anyone unless there's something in it for me."

"And what would that be?" Zara was at a loss. He was a peasant with nothing remarkable to his name—nothing that should catch the eye of a royal patriarch.

Sebastian gave a subtle smile. "I've developed an interest in trap magic. But I don't know where to begin."

Wait… does he want my notes? Zara wondered, relieved at the thought. That's nothing—almost too simple.

Without pausing, Sebastian continued, "They say one teacher is worth more than two books. So congratulations, Zara Ideale. Looks like you're moving up in the world."

"W-what do you mean?" Zara's apprehension showed clearly.

Sebastian's smile widened. "You are now a royal tutor."

Zora and Zara blinked in unison, certain they must have heard wrong. "Eeeeehhhhh?!"

Omake:

"Nozel?" Dorothy's voice was soft as she turned to face him, a small smile lighting up her face.

Nozel froze for a moment, a bit taken aback, then felt the faintest blush rise to his cheeks. Clearing his throat, he tried to compose himself. "I… I just received a promotion."

"Really?!" Dorothy's eyes sparkled as she closed the gap between them, her smile widening. "Congratulations!"

Feeling the heat rise in his face again, Nozel instinctively leaned back but quickly steadied himself, regaining his poise. "As an intermediate Magic Knight, I'm now qualified to lead missions and escort junior knights on assignments."

"Um, okay?" Dorothy tilted her head, looking a bit puzzled. "And?"

Nozel continued, looking down at her with his usual authoritative air. "As a junior Magic Knight, you shouldn't be doing any missions on your own."

"I know that." Dorothy nodded, still not entirely sure what he was getting at.

"So, whenever you're assigned one," he stated, crossing his arms, "you'll tell me. I'll ensure the mission gets approved and personally escort you."

Dorothy blinked, then a mischievous smile crept onto her face. "And what if I ask someone else?"

Nozel's eyes narrowed. "That would be entirely unacceptable."

Dorothy stifled a snicker. "Unacceptable, huh? Well, I might just have to if you don't give me a better reason—oof!"

Before she could finish, she found herself pinned against the wall, Nozel's face inches from hers, his intense gaze locked on her. Dorothy's cheeks went crimson.

"Listen to me, Dorothy Unsworth," he murmured, his tone low and unwavering. "You are my fiancée. My future wife. My partner. If you ever go on a mission, it should be with me and only me. Understood?"

Feeling her mind spinning, Dorothy could only nod.

Meanwhile, on her bed across the room, Acier sat with baby Noelle in her lap, watching the scene unfold, torn between amusement and exasperation. I want grandchildren, but that doesn't mean I want to see them made.

Little Noelle, catching on to the energy in the room, giggled and clapped her hands, cheering her big brother on.

Author's Note:

[1] Not made up, a real tool that Nozel used on Mimosa, Yuno, and Asta, during the royal knights raid on the elf base.