Dungeon of The White Rose

(Author- Hey I hope you all enjoy my story!)

In silence, the two-step inside the dark stone room before Sebastion slowly closes the heavy stone door behind them. The room itself is made exclusively out of a dark grey stone and the door is made out of some strange metal.

The room is nearly 50 feet by 50 feet and is dimly lit by a select few torches. The side walls are lined with wooden racks which hold an arsenal of old and rusted weapons. On the far wall is two old rickety bookshelves lined with tattered leather-bound books and in the far right corner is an old and battered bed mat with a single thick itchy looking blanket.

Not liking what he's seeing, Cassian's face grows grim. Despite this Cassian pushes these thoughts aside to ask, "I'm a warlock?"

"That's right," Sebastion replies.

Without waiting, the old man continues.

"Warlocks possess their own mana, however, they lack any way to manipulate their own mana. It's because of this reason that warlocks must form a contract with a divine being. Only an item gifted to you by a divine being is capable of channeling your magic."

"So the gods are real?" Cassian asks in surprise. During his time, he had prayed to the gods countless times. To some extent, he even believed in their existence. But to have someone tell him to his face that they really existed.... Well, it wasn't something he expected on hearing today.

"Hm. That I can't tell you. The answer is most probably. You see, a small number of religions that exist are confirmed to have been started by Warlocks to increase the influence of their sponsor.

The Church of Stanelf and the Blood Cult have both been confirmed to have been founded soon after their leader gained strange magical powers. From the little knowledge we have on warlocks, it seems like that those 'gods' existing are the most likely scenario." Sebastion explains

Hearing the mention of the Blood Cult, Cassian's blood runs cold. Everyone whether they are street rats or wealthy merchants knows of the Blood Cult.

Seemingly at random, the cult would kill dozens of people in the middle of the night before displaying the mangled corpses in the city center upon stakes. Women, children, and the elderly, the cult seemingly picked their targets at random and that is what makes them so terrifying.

"So people like the Blood Cult have a God behind them?" Cassian asks quietly.

"That's right."

After the response, the room hangs in silence.

Cassian silently absorbs the information. He is a magician. Gods are real. He now serves a noble family. In only what seems to have been a few moments his life went from ending to more than he has ever expected.

"So when do I get my sponsor," Cassian asks steeling himself. His blood running hot in excitement. For the first time since that night, everything finally feels real.

"Your sponsor? Ha! Don't make me laugh!" Sebastian roars his coarse voice booming out in genuine amusement.

"What's so funny? Aren't I a warlock like you said? How am I supposed to use Magic without a sponsor?" Cassian snarks. His frustration leaked out into his voice.

Sebastion sighs and covers his face with his hand to hide his smirk. Seeing this, Cassian grits his teeth in frustration but sighs trying to think of what he said wrong. Is he not going to learn magic?

However, before he can apologize, he suddenly begins bending over, a strong and familiar force hammering his stomach. "Ghua!"

His body goes flying backward as Sebastion kicks the boy's stomach sending him flying. "Do you think magic is a joke?"

With another powerful kick to the boy's gut, he roars, "Look at you!"

The old man stares down at the boy looking for any changes in the boy's demeanor before kicking him across the room.

"Worthless street rat. You may have been taken in by the lady. You may have magical talent, but you are still nothing but a street rat. Learning magic will not change that."

Groaning and clutching his stomach, which is now pulsing in pain, Cassian pulls himself to his feet his anger flaring. Even with the intense pain that makes him feel nauseous, the boy raises his balled hands to his face ready to fight back.

Despite this, Cassian reigns in his anger before asking through gritted teeth, "Then what do I need? What do I do?" I know that the lady saved my life! That she gave me this new one! I get that all. How do I help her? How do I be useful?" His tone slowly turning from frustrated to genuine questioning.

Hearing this the old butler slowly begins taking off his jacket and hanging it on a hook on the wall before mounting his torch in an empty cresset on the wall by the door. "You understand then."

Now free from his restrictions the old man begins stretching his arms out. "Magic is strong. It grants you abilities that you never would have thought possible. However, magic in the hands of a street rat is about as helpful as a toddler using his father's sword."

"Then what do I need to do," Cassian asks realizing his own arrogance. Upon hearing he can use magic, he thought that he is someone special. That he isn't just another street rat. However, thanks to Sebastion literally beating it into him, he realizes that having magic won't change anything if he doesn't change himself first.

Sebastion nods noticing the boy's shift in attitude. "What you need is to become someone capable of assisting the lady. Someone strong. Someone with knowledge. Someone with more than just a street rat high on a second chance."

"I won't disappoint you sir."

"I trust you won't. But it's not me you should worry about disappointing. The lady has high hopes for you."

"I'll give her good reason to. What should I do first?"

Sebastion smirks, "First, become strong."

Without waiting another moment, Sebastion runs forward closing the gap between the two before throwing a low punch. "Low!"

Unable to block the strike, Cassian takes the fit to the stomach before stumbling backward. 'So this is it.'

"Right!" The old man states calmly as he twists and throws a strong left hook toward the right side of Cassian's face. Cassian raises his arm to the right side of his face blocking the strike with his forearm, however, the force of the punch is much stronger than anything an old man should be able to throw.

Unable to withstand the blow, Cassian feels his arm creak as he is sent skidding backward. "Ah, crap. What the hell?" Cassian mutters. Although he has felt the old man's strength before, for the first time it's really striking home.

"Well done. You finally reacted and weren't just a target." The butler states with a slightly mocking tone. However, this time Cassian failed to notice any real viciousness or condescendence that he earlier heard.

He feels his heart warm slightly at the old man's seeming approval. 'God dam it. This old bastard is actually growing on me.' A smile slowly creeps onto Cassian's face. Even if it is this old fart, being acknowledged, even if only slightly, feels good.

"Low left. High right. Left." The Butler declares as he, in the spoken sequence, throws multiple strikes in the declared locations.

Cassian raises his right foot enough to avoid a leg sweep. However, while looking down he is too slow and takes a sharp jab to the left side of his face and a right hook deep into his ribs.

Stumbling backward, Cassian groans as blood splurts from his lips. Despite this, he notices that the strikes seemed to slow and soften right before making contact making the strikes painful but bearable.

"Don't focus on just a single strike. Use your peripheral vision. If you look directly at the incoming strike, you are not ready for any follow-up ones. Rather focus your vision somewhere in the center of your opponent, and use reaction and your peripheral vision to block and avoid strikes."

Once again the old man unleashes a flurry of strikes. Throwing combo after combo. Taking the old man's advice as best as he can, Cassian slowly improves as he begins adjusting. It's slow, but the improvement is there.

Countless time passes as Cassian no longer bothers to keep track of it. His sparring with the old man has left in bloody, bruised, and drenched in sweat despite the chilly and misty feeling within the cell.

Unable to stand any longer Cassian collapses to the ground in exhaustion. "Ugh." He groans unable to even work up the energy to speak properly.

"Well done. Cassian. You lasted nearly an hour longer than I expected you to." Sebastion chuckles with a complete lack of sarcasm in his voice.

A soft smile can't help but spread onto Cassian's face.

Seeing this the old man feels a slight connection with the boy. 'He. It seems I'm growing old and soft.'

Originally, he had been planning on beating the boy relentlessly until he learned and became a loyal dog. However, even from their limited interactions so far, he could tell the boy was deathly loyal. That is what admiration or love does to a man after all.

Maybe it was because the boy reminded himself. While their backgrounds are different, he could remember the days when he followed the lady's grandmother. It had truly been a hopeless infatuation. However, he did not regret the decisions he made because of it.

The boy whether he knows it or not has the same infatuation with the young lady. And that made the old man want to help him. 'She never said I had to be cruel anyways.'

Looking down at the crumpled figure of the now asleep boy on the ground, he walks over and picks him up. He then proceeds to walk over to the floor mat and lays the boy down, pulling the covers over him.

After doing so, he begins muttering softly, "Responde mihi, et sana vulnera. Minor sanitatem."

As he chants the verbal commands, he focuses his mana from his mana heart and channels it through his mana pathways to his index and middle fingers. As he does so, they emit an almost mist-like light blue energy.

He then proceeds to swiftly draw a large circle in front of the boy, the color of which is the same as the mist-like energy from before. In the air, the mist-like energy almost seems to solidify in the path his fingers travel.

Upon completing the circle, it begins to rotate. As it does, he swiftly begins to write four symbols within the circle. The moment he finishes chanting and writing, the circle glows before it melts into an almost liquid version of itself and it covers Cassian's body, quickly soaking into him.

Upon the liquid soaking into the boy's body, Cassian's expression seems to relax as the bruises become less prominent and slowly fade and the cuts slowly seem to mend themselves. While not fully cured, the boy's body returns to a decent condition.

"Sleep well brat. You're going to need it."