Chapter 39

“You would be well-advised to abandon any fantasy of reattaching that,” Kaiyan stated. “Should you attempt it, it will be your head next time.”

“…”

The young magician looked up at him, his entire body shuddering in a violent tremor. Cold sweat soaked his skin, dripping in a steady rhythm from his chin.

Kaiyan tossed the bloodied steel aside and returned to the window. He gazed outside with a profile so utterly detached that the mangled man behind him might have been a ghost.

Leaving the youth to tremble in his shock, the elderly man rose from his seat and lowered himself to his knees before saying, “He remains unaccustomed to courtly conduct, Your Highness, and his inexperience rendered his words clumsy. I beg you to suppress your anger. We have always sought to remain loyal servants to the royal house.”

The magician cautiously lifted his eyes toward the prince’s rigid back. When Kaiyan maintained his stony silence, he continued in a subdued, conciliatory tone.

“How could humble servants like ourselves dare to object to any decree Your Highness sees fit to impose? We came regarding the restriction on audiences solely to present our position and beg for your magnanimous understanding.”

Experience truly makes the difference. They should have let the old man lead from the start.

Isaac watched Kaiyan with mounting suspicion.

It was already surreal that the prince had opted to listen in silence, but it was stranger still that he had claimed only an arm when he would typically have claimed a man’s life without a second thought.

“Though we are men of low birth granted the undeserved honor of audience with our superiors, even the humble possess a measure of dignity. If Your Highness would reflect once more upon the favor long extended to us, we would remain indebted to your benevolence to our very bones.”

Kaiyan turned slowly, his movements deliberate and languid, and returned to his seat. Once he had settled into the velvet upholstery, he tilted his head, his gaze sharpening as he studied the man kneeling before him.

“Is research not the fundamental duty of a court magician?” Kaiyan asked, his tone cutting. “What are those who ought to remain sequestered in the Ivory Tower doing, mingling with nobles so frequently?”

“Magic governs matters of immeasurable variety, even the smallest and most trivial aspects of existence,” the magician replied, his voice steady despite the surroundings. “The fields available for our inquiry are equally vast. There is always a subject worthy of research in even the most mundane facets of this world.”

“Such as restoring the luster of a noblewoman’s skin?”

“Such minor applications are indeed one example.”

The elderly magician did not so much as blink at the prince’s biting derision. Kaiyan continued to stare at him, unmoving. The man’s throat bobbed with a nervous swallow, but he fought with every fiber of his being to mask the strain from his expression.

“I have been hearing unpleasant rumors about your people of late,” Kaiyan said finally. “Would it not be prudent to conduct yourselves with greater restraint? I am told a magician may have been implicated in the recent incident in Roverni.”

The magician fell deathly silent.

The others who had accompanied him stiffened in unison.

Isaac, who knew far more than he had ever intended to about the tragedy in Roverni, felt his own blood run cold.

Whispers had circulated that a magician’s corpse had been found among the bodies of the deceased Roverni faction members when they began to perish in waves once more. The magicians wielded such immense power that no one dared speak openly about it, but those who had access to the truth knew exactly what had transpired. Regardless of the consequences that the incident had wrought, it had not improved the standing of the Magicians’ Guild.

“We understand that to be nothing more than a malicious, baseless rumor,” the elderly magician replied, wearing an expression of dignified, unblemished innocence. “It was likely disseminated by those seeking to discredit us. If there was any grain of truth to it, the culprit may have been a rogue, unlicensed magician operating outside the Guild’s purview. We spare no effort in purging such elements ourselves. Collusion with those forces is strictly prohibited, Your Highness.”

He paused, then bowed his head even lower, his posture practiced and heavy with false humility.

“Nevertheless, as a separate matter, the Guild will redouble its efforts to ensure that none of our members become entangled in secular affairs.”

Having denied everything with an iron-clad composure, he continued with heightened deference.

“We therefore implore Your Highness to reconsider the restriction on unrestricted audiences. With malicious parties already maneuvering to harm us, our persistent research occasionally necessitates close communication with distinguished figures and the capacity to solicit their assistance. We would be profoundly grateful if Your Highness would consider our circumstances with your customary generosity.”

The prince maintained a heavy, silent vigil over the magician, who remained bowed in his display of submission.

An oppressive stillness permeated the audience chamber, thick enough to stifle the air.

After an eternity of silence, Kaiyan finally broke the tension.

“Varied research…”

His voice drifted into the quiet, trailing off with a calculated thoughtfulness.

“Then it could also be utilized to locate someone.”

The elderly magician’s head snapped up, a sharp, avaricious gleam igniting within his eyes. Isaac felt a reciprocal spark of panic flare in his own chest.

Kaiyan despised protracted discourse, particularly with the sort of magicians he held in utter contempt, yet he had allowed this performance to endure far beyond his usual threshold for patience.

I have a catastrophic feeling about this.

Isaac observed them from the shadows, his pulse hammering against his ribs, heavy and insistent.

“Of course it could,” the magician murmured, lowering his tone as he perceived the shifting currents of a potential bargain. “Is there a specific individual Your Highness wishes to track?”

Kaiyan rested his chin languidly against his palm, his expression inscrutable.

“Not a person. A witch.”

“…”

The elderly man’s visage petrified.

The others mirrored his frozen, horrified silence.

The word witch carried the weight of an ancient, suffocating taboo.

While the air remained crystallized with tension, Kaiyan continued in a voice as casual as if discussing the weather. “It appears human and integrates into society. It dwells within a stone structure erected forty or fifty years ago, potentially sharing the space with another. It likely bears the likeness of a young man.”

Kaiyan’s gaze drifted pointedly toward a vacant chair.

“It sat with ease in that chair, implying an average or slightly slighter build. It inhabits the capital’s outskirts or frequents the city, engaged in a profession involving blades or weaponry. It holds a station above the lowest dregs, educated enough to grasp the nuances of etiquette during tea service.”

Each syllable tightened an invisible noose around Isaac’s throat.

“It is highly probable that it keeps animals or maintains a close proximity to them. Each past new moon, it has vanished from sight. This pattern will inevitably persist.”

Isaac’s heart plummeted into a cold, dark void.

For a suffocating stretch, he lost the ability to draw breath. He forced himself to inhale, needing the oxygen to quell the violent, rhythmic thudding of his heart. At this cadence, they were bound to detect his distress.

He felt like a mouse cowering in a shallow, narrow burrow, only to have a cat thrust a clawed paw into the darkness, the hooks raking through the soil inches from his shivering nose.

The target Kaiyan described was undeniably, terrifyingly himself.

Every condition the prince mentioned aligned with terrifying precision.

This is the moment I must remain composed. My expression hasn’t betrayed me, has it?

Isaac cast a glance toward the mirror mounted upon the wall, desperate to inspect his own facade. In the reflection, his eyes locked with Kaiyan’s.

“…”

Mom, save me.

Isaac stood paralyzed, like a frog transfixed before a serpent, unable to move a muscle beyond the frantic blinking of his eyelids. Kaiyan stared back with total emotional vacancy, before his gaze drifted into the ether and then returned to Isaac with a sudden, sharpened curiosity.

The prince’s eyes raked slowly, agonizingly, over Isaac’s frame.

Isaac’s stomach turned to lead.

It isn’t me. I swear, it isn’t me. What kind of witch holds down a respectable job and labors diligently under the sun? Besides, I touched that talisman. That silver was consecrated for years.

Fortunately, a flicker of recollection softened the prince’s blank appraisal.

Ah. Right. It wasn’t him.

At least, that was the desperate interpretation Isaac chose to cling to.

Despite the frantic, screaming prayers echoing in his mind, the face in the mirror remained serenely unbothered. Newly grateful for his own mastery of the poker face, Isaac stared back with a vacant, dull expression, silently projecting the confusion of a servant why the prince would bother to scrutinize him.

“A witch…?” The elderly magician stammered, his brow furrowing with distress. “Are those truly your only leads?”

Kaiyan broke his focus from Isaac.

Only then did Isaac dare to release a ragged, silent breath. His heart raced, and cold sweat clung to his skin.

“Can you locate it?” Kaiyan asked.

The magician descended into a pensive stupor, his features drawn. In the end, he had no alternative but to bow his head. He recognized the brutal, unspoken terms of their transaction.

Give me what I desire, and you shall receive your recompense.

The magician offered a solemn, subservient bow. “We shall exhaust every resource in our pursuit.”

Kaiyan gave a cursory nod, signaling the conclusion of their audience with a dismissive wave of his hand. The magicians, having secured their temporary objective, offered their parting formalities and retreated.

Isaac stepped forward to unlock the doors of the audience chamber.

The young magician, his arm severed and cauterized, emerged first, flanked by two shaken companions. Isaac retreated to grant them passage, catching the young man’s gaze as they brushed past. The boy’s complexion was deathly, utterly drained of color, yet the violent trembling had finally subsided. He clutched his amputated limb against his chest, his eyes sunken into a hollow, absolute darkness—a void devoid of all warmth. I recognize that look. It was a gaze hollowed out by nothing but pure, unadulterated resentment.

“…”

Before Isaac could offer a word, the trio vanished into the corridor. He watched their retreating forms for a moment before sealing the door, plagued by an ominous, crawling sensation across his skin. That bodes ill. The thought evaporated the instant he turned to find the prince watching him with an inscrutable intensity.