It was pitch dark after Baston lost consciousness.
Not the kind of darkness one encountered when closing the eyes. Not the ordinary absence of light that came with sleep. This darkness pressed his soul.
It had weight, silence, and patience.
The unbearable pain that struck him earlier had not merely knocked him out. It had erased him. The last sound that lingered in his fading awareness was a single word whispered amid chaos.
"Assassin…"
Above him, nobles panicked. Guards shouted and wizards flared their mana wildly into the night. They believed someone had targeted Harry, the head of the family.
Only Baston knew the truth. There had been no assassin.
It was only a punishment from the old book.
Slowly, very slowly, he opened his eyes.
The world returned not with sound but with scent. Faint sandalwood, clean linen, and a trace of mana lingering like dew after dawn.
The punishment was really harsh. If he was outside, he might have died terribly. Fortunately, he was in Alicia's house.
His gaze adjusted. He was not in the modest guest chamber assigned to him earlier.
The ceiling above him was higher. Carved beams traced with subtle runes. The bed beneath him was vast, its mattress softer than anything he had ever experienced. Heavy curtains framed tall windows and ornaments gleamed under filtered daylight. Each piece was exuding quiet wealth rather than loud extravagance.
This was not a guest room.
This was a room of status.
For a brief second, a flicker of unease passed through him.
Why here?
He pushed himself upright. His body felt wrong.
It felt too light and too refreshed.
There was no soreness, no heaviness, and no weakness that usually followed prolonged sleep.
Instead, his muscles hummed with vitality. He felt as though he could run across the estate grounds without losing breath.
The punishment had consumed him and then it had ended as if nothing had happened.
The door opened abruptly.
A maid stepped in, carrying a tray and froze. Her eyes widened. The tray nearly slipped from her hands.
"Master! Everyone! The boy has already woken!"
She ran out before he could respond.
Footsteps echoed in the corridor with wind magic stirred on the surrounding.
The first to arrive was not Alicia. Not Theodore and not even Harry. It was Angus.
The old wizard did not walk. He arrived in a rush of compressed air, robes fluttering, and white hair unsettled by his own wind magic. He landed beside the bed with far less dignity than his status suggested.
Baston blinked.
If it had been Alicia rushing to his side, the scene would have carried a certain elegance.
But an elderly great wizard arriving first with breath slightly uneven created a different kind of mystery.
"Are you alright?" Angus demanded immediately, "Is your body still hurt?"
"I'm perfectly fine," Baston replied, "By the way, how long have I been sleeping?"
Angus hesitated a fraction.
"It's already a week."
A week? Indeed, exactly as described.
The old book never lied about time.
Baston nodded calmly, though inwardly he acknowledged the precision of the punishment. One week of forced unconsciousness. No resistance possible and no interruption allowed.
As they spoke, others arrived.
Alicia entered next, composed but pale around the edges.
Theodore followed behind her with sharp gaze.
Then came the elders before finally, Harry himself.
The atmosphere shifted the moment the head of the family stepped inside.
Everyone instinctively straightened.
Harry approached the bed and bowed slightly, signifying a gesture that stunned even the watching elders.
"Thank you for protecting me," Harry said solemnly, "If not for you, the assassin would have succeeded in ruining this family. I cannot thank you enough."
"You are too kind, my lord," Baston replied modestly, "I only acted on instinct."
Harry laughed softly, though the sound lacked full ease.
"Then rest well. The matter of your stay here will be borne by me. Take your time to recover before returning."
After a few more formal words, he left. The elders followed and the room quieted.
Only Alicia and Angus remained. The questions soon began.
*****
After Baston lost consciousness, chaos had erupted.
Guards sealed the estate. Wizards cast detection spells across corridors and gardens. Not a single servant was allowed to move freely until cleared. Windows were inspected, wards were reinforced, and every shadow was interrogated by mana.
No intruder was found.
Not a footprint, not a broken rune, and not even a disrupted enchantment.
There was nothing at all after the assassin successfully launched a sneak attack.
Only Baston lying collapsed beside Harry.
The healers were summoned immediately. His wounds appeared fatal with mana backlash, internal damage, and nerve shock.
Yet strangely, the injuries did not behave normally.
The healing magic worked but he did not wake.
One day passed. Then three before seven days full.
The healers could not explain it. His body was stable, his heart was steady, and his mana circulation was intact.
And yet, he remained unreachable. Eventually, they had feared coma embraced him.
Baston listened quietly.
He knew the truth. The punishment had locked him away. No spell could break it.
He offered a faint apology for causing worry. Neither Alicia nor Angus pressed him further.
Outside the room, however, events had taken a darker turn.
*****
Harry did not believe in coincidence.
If someone had dared attempt assassination within his estate, then someone had to pay.
Searches began immediately. Villages were inspected, towns were questioned, and suspicious individuals were detained.
As the result, thugs vanished, gangs were dismantled overnight, and criminal groups that had operated quietly for years were erased in days.
Some called it justice but others whispered another word which was bloodbath.
The surrounding region shifted overnight. Crime plummeted and blackmailers disappeared.
The public praised the noble house for cleansing the rot. Respect deepened and fear deepened as well.
Baston listened to Alicia recount this.
A chill crept up his spine. His penalty had created ripples. People who knew nothing died.
Harry, however, remained unsatisfied.
No assassin was found, not even a rumor. It was as though the attacker had never existed and that was what troubled him the most. Because an unseen enemy could strike again whenever they wanted.
Angus eventually leaned forward.
"Baston, I want to ask something."
"Yes?"
"You were the first to react that night. Do you remember anything about the assassin? How the person looked like?"
Baston shook his head slowly.
"It was too dark. I hardly saw him."
Angus narrowed his eyes.
"But you said him. How could you know the assassin was a man if you saw nothing?"
There was a faint pause.
"It comes from my instinct."
The word lingered. Angus studied him. Anyone else would have sounded absurd but this was Baston.
A boy who had faced Joker directly. A boy whose reactions defied explanation.
Angus did not press further. Still, a subtle thread of doubt remained in the air. Not suspicion of guilt but suspicion of mystery. There were too many gaps.
After a while, they excused themselves. Before they were leaving, Baston made a request.
"I would like to visit the library."
Angus frowned lightly, "But your health…"
"I've been in bed for a week. If I stay longer, my head will rot."
Alicia smiled faintly at that. Permission soon was granted.
*****
The library of the estate was vast.
Tall shelves stretched upward like silent towers. Sunlight filtered through high windows, illuminating dust motes that floated lazily in golden beams.
It rivaled the academy's collection. Perhaps, exceeded it.
Baston walked slowly among the shelves. His fingers brushed across titles. From history, geography, magic theory, political structures, and military ranks.
He did not reach for advanced magic.
He did not reach for combat manuals.
Instead, he selected general classifications about wizard ranks, knight hierarchies, and kingdom relations.
He sat near the window and began reading.
Alicia remained nearby, watching every movement of him. For her, every action Baston took carried weight. He was not someone who acted without purpose yet today, he studied fundamentals.
Why?
She could not understand. He was already capable.
Why look at basic knowledge?
Baston, meanwhile, absorbed information carefully from junior wizard, senior wizard, expert wizard, great wizard, and arch wizard.
Angus stood near the peak while he stood at the base.
The gap was enormous but gaps were measurable. And what could be measured could be surpassed.
He also studied political landscapes, neighboring kingdoms, alliances, neutral factions, merchant consortiums, and religious orders.
He read about how power moved, not through swords alone, but through perception.
But the more he read, the more he realized something important.
Ranks were only one layer and elements were another.
He flipped a few more pages and found a section discussing elemental evolution.
Common elements such as water, fire, and wind formed the foundation of magical study. They were considered stable and adaptable, allowing wizards to develop based on personal inclination. Most academies focused on these three pillars.
However, history recorded something deeper.
Certain bloodlines did not merely wield these elements.
They refined them.
Water could flow, bend, and crash like waves. It was flexible and defensive in nature. Yet, when pushed beyond its ordinary limitation, water evolved.
Ice was not simply frozen water.
The book described it clearly. Ice was authority over stillness. Water adapted and ice commanded.
True ice element did not rely on temperature alone. It was structured mana crystallization. A wizard with ice element did not merely freeze the surroundings. They slowed movement, restrained space, and altered battlefield tempo itself.
Baston's gaze lingered on the next line.
The Versance family had inherited ice for generations.
Their lineage had refined it into an art. It was said that an ice arch wizard of Versance once immobilized an entire enemy formation without killing a single soldier. They were not trapped in ice physically. They were trapped in pressure and stillness.
Ice magic suppressed initiative.
It suffocated momentum.
No wonder the Versance stood firmly among noble elites.
Baston's expression did not change but internally he acknowledged something.
Alicia was not merely talented.
She stood upon an inheritance that magnified her potential.
He turned another page. It was about fire.
Fire was explosive, passionate, and destructive. It spread outward and consumed recklessly. Many wizards favored fire for its offensive nature.
But there was something beyond fire which was flare.
The text described flare as condensed brilliance.
Where fire burned, flare pierced.
Where fire devoured, flare erased.
Unlike ordinary flames, flare reacted directly with mana. It did not simply rely on heat. It destabilized magical structures, turning defensive spells brittle and fragile.
The Herbiens family possessed flare.
Their lineage had refined fire to such an extent that its purity surpassed ordinary combustion. Records suggested that flare could slice through high-tier defensive barriers that common fire could never scratch.
Baston's fingers paused slightly.
He suppressed the faint warmth beneath his palm.
Ice belonged to Versance. Flare belonged to Herbiens. Two greater evolutions within two noble inheritances.
He continued.
Wind was versatile and swift. It was invisible, often underestimated. Most wind users specialized in mobility and slicing currents.
But deeper within the pages, Baston found something else.
Gale was not speed. It was dominance over pressure.
True gale magic reshaped atmosphere itself. It altered density, twisted trajectories, and crushed opponents through sustained compression rather than explosive force.
The Xavierius lineage once commanded gale.
Ancient records described battlefields where arrows curved unnaturally and spells dispersed mid-cast under shifting air pressure. Siege weapons failed because air itself refused to behave normally.
Yet, the inheritance had been lost.
Generations passed without producing a true gale wielder. The wind remained but gale faded into history.
The text speculated that the bloodline had fragmented, or perhaps the method of awakening gale had been forgotten. Some believed the element still existed dormant within Xavierius descendants but no one could prove it.
Baston closed the section slowly.
Greater elements were not simple upgrades.
They were refined manifestations, they were authority, and they were legacy.
Ice was control, flare was purity, and gale was pressure.
He leaned back slightly with thoughtful eyes.
Power was inherited yet inheritance could be disrupted. And sometimes, it could be stolen by fate.
*****
Meanwhile, outside the library doors, Theodore stood in the corridor. He was watching how his sister locked her sight into Baston.
Alicia's gaze remained fixed on Baston longer than necessary. It was not affection. Not openly but more like interest. A deep interest.
Theodore frowned.
Romance was incomprehensible to him.
He had seen no sweetness between them. No gentle gestures and no exchanged glances filled with warmth, yet something existed.
Something quieter and more dangerous.
He shook his head.
Even if there were feelings, the family would never approve.
Poor class and noble class did not mix so easily. Heroic acts could earn gratitude but not for the marriage. And there was still Clark.
He was more prestigious, politically advantageous, and arrogant.
Theodore disliked him.
But nobles did not marry for preference. They married for balance.
He sighed before he returned to the others.
Conversations resumed elsewhere in the estate. Holiday experiences were shared and laughter filled halls that had recently echoed with alarm.
*****
Inside the library, Baston turned another page.
The text before him described something subtle.
It was about assassination patterns. Not about techniques but more about patterns.
Most successful assassinations required preparation. It needed routes, escape paths, and internal assistance.
Yet in his case, there had been no trace. No infiltration, no residue, and no mana signature. It was all nothing.
He closed the book slowly because that was the true mystery. Not how the assassin vanished but how everyone accepted his existence so easily.
He leaned back slightly.
If someone had truly entered the estate, at least one ward would have trembled.
If someone had truly attacked, at least one mana fluctuation would have been recorded.
If someone had truly escaped, at least one footprint would remain.
But there was nothing because there had been no one. Only him and the old book.
He glanced briefly at Alicia who quickly pretended to examine a nearby shelf.
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
The estate was searching for a ghost. Harry was mobilizing forces against an illusion. Angus was analyzing an enemy that never existed. The surrounding region bled for a phantom threat.
Mystery, once born, lived longer than truth.
He turned another page calmly.
The story of the assassin would persist because no one could find what was never there.
And as long as they searched outside, no one would search within.