I found myself confined to the laboratory, the very space where the arcane stem had unveiled its secrets to me. Bound to an unknown structure, I felt an agonizing restraint that transcended the physical. The surroundings were a blur, a haze that obscured any attempt to comprehend my predicament. My body, fragile and unresponsive, seemed suspended in a state of inertia.
A sudden slap jolted me from the surreal torpor. The pain was searing, a sharp sting that cut through the fog surrounding me. As my head hung in doubt, someone—something—forced my eyes towards the ground. A metallic hand, cold and unyielding, brushed against my face, severing my connection with reality.
'Hell,' I thought to myself, a fleeting realization of the dire circumstances I found myself in.
A needle pierced my right arm without warning, injecting an unfamiliar substance that surged through my veins. An instantaneous surge of energy and alertness coursed through me, shattering the numbness that had enveloped my senses. My eyes darted frantically, scanning the indistinct figures around me. Attempting to scream, I found my voice reduced to weak grunts by a rope tightly secured around my mouth.
"Can you hear me? I know you can't see me since your eyes are partially swollen, but I need you to listen." The voice, unmistakably Olvin's, resonated in the disorienting space. "My friends here need more of the magic you've shown me."
'What who—Ahhh!' A powerful punch struck my chest, stealing the breath I had managed to retain. I closed my eyes, tears welling up, yet unable to escape the confines of my restraints. The weight of despair pressed upon me, and I began to sob behind the obscured veil of my robe.
"The arcane stem is what they were here for. Should've just given it to them before it was too late, Alan. Better off dead," Olvin declared, his words echoing in the disorienting space.
The rope loosened, and my feeble attempts at resistance intensified. The friction against my hands aggravated the burns, each tug a painful reminder of my vulnerability. Finally free, I collapsed to the ground, attempting to conjure any semblance of magic, only to find emptiness where my astral abilities once resided.
"Astral magic is now outdated, and so are you," intoned a deep voice, an air of mystery accompanying the words. "No longer the mage sentinel I see."
Struggling to lift my head, I received a swift foot to the face, plunging me into unconsciousness. The cold darkness enveloped me, and I thought, for a moment, that I might glimpse heaven. Little did I know, my life was about to take an irreversible turn.
I awoke in a different room, my body showing signs of recovery. The burn marks had faded, and my mobility returned. Slowly, I surveyed the unfamiliar surroundings within the Grand Castle. How long had I been absent, lost in the void created by my captors? The building had transformed, adorned with new flags and art that hinted at a reality reshaped in my absence.
"Alan Tumi. Previously Mage Sentinel for Kresa Land, you have been dismissed for carrying out a large-scale attack on Kresa, resulting in the deaths of 1,133 people. You'll now be sentenced to 700 years of exile from Kresa."
'No. No… No… What?'
My eyes shifted to Olvin, now clad in a red and white robe, wielding a colossal sword. His gaze, once filled with trust, now bore a cold, calculating edge. Confusion gripped me, and my thoughts tumbled like leaves in a storm.
"Huh?" I mumbled, my words echoing through the surreal room.
"Speak louder!" Olvin shouted into my ear, intensifying the disorientation.
"What is happening?" I questioned the room.
"If you fail to answer for your crimes, you may be punished with further consequences and a consideration of the death penalty," declared an authoritative voice.
My thoughts spiraled, jumping between realities. What had they done to me during my absence? How long had I been gone? No one provided answers.
"How long was…I…" I slurred, my words reminiscent of a drunkard. My head felt like it was rolling down a hill, gaining speed with each passing moment. The noon breeze, filtering through the windows, offered a brief respite for my overwhelmed mind.
The sun, seemingly bright, cast its glow on that hazy day, but my memory of it blurred with uncertainty. I wiped my eyes habitually, brushing away the dust that clung to my surroundings. Olvin shifted from beside me to stand in front, his expression a far cry from the trusting friend I once knew.
"Talk to me," I implored the young man, my once-mentor. His sharp gaze met mine, but now it held a distant and conscious awareness. "How long have I been gone?" I asked, hoping for clarity amid the chaos.
In response, Olvin dropped his sword, letting it rest at his side. The entire encounter felt like a wake-up call. He leaned closer and whispered, "You've been gone for 2 years, Alan."
I met his words with a gaze that struggled between understanding and disbelief. "Repeat that."
"2 years. Your existence has been a threat to Kresa alone. Arcane is the new founder of magic."
The room's warmth took on a deceptive appearance, its serene ambiance contrasting with the unsettling revelations. "I hear that you fled Kresa, so that you could hide from the Disciples. Am I correct, Alan?" spoke the Grandmaster, his voice cutting through the surreal atmosphere.
"Disciples? Who? I don't know what you are talking about."
"Idiocracy isn't a good look on you," responded a superior Knight, an aging comrade of Olvin's, his beard a glossy red that complemented the armor he wore.
"I suppose you're right, it's not good for me."
"Mr. Alan Tumi, before you get exiled, you'll be held in Negative Hundred for the next 5 years for the deaths of over 1,133 people in Kresa."
"None of this was me! Please stop."
"Your sudden hiding after the attack says otherwise. Shame on you," declared the Grandmaster with his frail voice, cementing my fate. The room's occupants regarded me with disgust, and behind their eyes, I sensed a simmering hatred. Mistaken for the architect of that tragic day, I found myself on the precipice of a grueling punishment.
"It wasn't me, guys, please understand."
"How can we believe you when, before you disappeared, you were seen talking to one of the Disciples who attacked that day?"
They produced a photo, capturing the moment when I conversed with one of the figures near Hastick Bay. The evidence, intended to condemn me, unfolded before my eyes.
"This is a complete misunderstanding!" I pleaded desperately.
"Doubt it," chimed in a new voice—a Grand Knight, donned in white and red armor. "You were there, and decided not to take the girls away from
an area so dangerous, didn't you? I was there on the rooftops, watching."
No matter how vehemently I protested, my words were drowned out by the mounting accusations. The room descended into a cacophony of judgment, and my futile attempts at defense only fueled the flames of condemnation. Five years in Negative Hundred loomed ahead, a harsh sentence that marked the beginning of a dark chapter in my existence.
With my fate sealed and my protests falling on deaf ears, I was ushered into a new chapter of torment. The Grandmaster's frail voice echoed in my ears, the weight of his judgment lingering like a dark cloud over my existence.
Olvin, once a comrade, now wore a smirk that cut through me like a blade. His words confirmed my worst fears — I had become obsolete. The arcane, the very essence of my being, was replaced by a new source of magic, rendering me insignificant. Stripped of my astral abilities, I felt powerless and vulnerable.
As the Grandmaster continued, the room's warmth transformed into a suffocating heat. The sun outside seemed to mock me with its brightness, creating a stark contrast to the darkness within. My eyes met Olvin's, and his once-trusting gaze now held a cold, calculating edge.
"You've been gone for two years," Olvin whispered into my ear, his tone filled with both triumph and malice. The revelation hit me like a wave, dragging me deeper into a sea of despair. Two years lost, and in their absence, a distorted reality had taken shape.
The Grandmaster's judgment echoed through the room, and I found myself trapped in a surreal nightmare. The accusations, the disbelief, and the overpowering sense of betrayal hung in the air like a toxic fog. As they spoke of my crimes, I questioned my own sanity — had I truly committed such atrocities, or was this an elaborate fiction constructed to condemn me?
The Grandmaster, maintaining his stern composure, decreed my exile to Negative Hundred. The very air seemed to constrict around me, and the weight of the sentence pressed down on my chest. In the eyes of those I once called allies, I was no longer Alan Tumi, the mage sentinel, but a pariah deserving of punishment.
My surroundings morphed into a haze as the reality of my situation sank in. The room, the faces of those who judged me, and the disconcerting atmosphere blended together, creating a nightmarish tableau. The once-familiar Grand Castle had transformed into a labyrinth of betrayal, and my footsteps echoed with the heavy toll of despair.
As I was led away to begin my sentence in Negative Hundred, the unfamiliar Grand Knight's voice lingered, a haunting echo in my ears. Her accusations, layered with the scorn of a once-loyal ally, added another layer to the tapestry of my downfall.
The world outside the castle walls appeared distorted, mirroring the chaos within me. Each step towards my exile felt like a descent into an abyss from which I might never emerge. The sunlight that filtered through the windows only served to accentuate the shadows that now clung to my every move.
Negative Hundred awaited, a place of punishment and isolation. The journey ahead seemed insurmountable, and with every passing moment, I grappled with the bitter realization that my past had been rewritten, and the mage sentinel I once was had been eclipsed by a phantom of guilt and condemnation.