BENEDICT TRUNKER
Have you ever just gotten so pissed that you felt like just killing somebody. Wrapping your hands around their neck.
Snap!
Breaking it.
I mean literary, pulling your sword and cutting clean their head. Be it a woman or a man, child or adult. Just too pissed to not give a fuck.
They fucking had the same answer. They were lying, right in my face, without a second thought. My fists clenched, teeth-gritting so hard I could feel the tension in my jaw. I controlled my breath, barely, as I watched them—watched her. The little girl standing by her side. Darius had that damn fixed expression like I was the one inconveniencing her like I was the fucking problem here.
"If that's all, please excuse us," Darius said coldly, rising to her feet, and turning to the child—Elowen. The kid had that look, that fucking obedient child look like she wanted to speak but couldn't, too afraid to say what was really going on.
"Please! He's my son! My fucking child!" Gavin's voice cracked, desperation pouring out of him. "I beg you if it were her—if it were your daughter—would you believe the bullshit you're feeding us?"
"I'm sorry, but we made a detour at Smalling village. We parted ways there," Darius replied, that same infuriating tone, that rehearsed, hollow tone. My body ignited in a slow burn as I stared her down. I'm a noble knight, a rank-four gold star. She knows I can read her lie like an open book. So why the hell does she persist? A grin broke across my face when I hit the breaking point.
The smile—the only emotion I couldn't keep buried.
"Why the fuck would you just casually lie to your superior, Darius? Or is it because I'm a knight—still?" I stepped forward, the marble table between us no longer an obstacle. My voice dropped low, almost a growl. "I'm three ranks above you, so I'll ask you again. WHERE THE FUCK. IS MY GODSON?!"
The words tore out of me like a command, my Aether surging violently from my internal orb, scorching through my Lunaris. I could barely keep it from spilling over, my control hanging by a thread. My gaze flicked to the girl—Elowen—her eyes wide, dancing with fear as she shifted behind Darius, who instinctively shielded her with one arm.
"I won't change my statement," Darius said, voice strained. "We never rode with them after Smiling. We took another—"
"How dare you!!" I roared, Aether exploding from me, filling the room with a violent, searing energy that scattered everything in its wake. My aura manifested a blue blaze that wrapped around me like a second skin. The Knight Clock. Playtime was over.
Thud!
A single, deliberate step. She reacted, throwing up a wind barrier, but it didn't matter. My aura blade had already manifested, blazing through her shield like it was made of paper. The edge hovered between her neck and shoulder, the pulse of her heart pounding erratically, fear and defiance battling in her eyes. She knew, in terms of power, at a close range, a knight is in an advantage
"Let me ask you again, where is my…"
"Now, now, now," the familiar, grating voice came with a light tap on my shoulder, the old man's tone as condescending as ever. "You can't just throw a fit in my home like that, Mr. Noble Knight."
Elerying Elowen. The patriarch of the Freychild family.
In a blur, the space around us shifted, warping from the tense atmosphere of the room to the expansive outdoors. We stood in the middle of his sprawling courtyard, the neatly trimmed lawn stretching out underfoot, the distant maze casting long shadows in the far corner. The old man had his grandchild tucked protectively against him, her small hands gripping his robe with trembling fear.
"You still haven't learned any manners since the last time…" His words were cut short as my aura blade flared to life, the scorching edge grazing his robe. In the blink of an eye, he warped again, the child vanishing as he reappeared at a safe distance. His face twisted into a look of irritation, his eyes blazing with suppressed anger as he glared back at me.
"One fraction lower, and my blade would've sliced her head clean," I snarled, the fiery energy of my aura swirling violently, crackling in the air. "Ascendant or not, she's still a child." My voice was cold, seething, as I raised the blade higher, pointing its deadly tip at his face. "How does it feel? To know your grandchild almost lost her life, while your family hides the truth about my godson?"
The words hung in the air, heavy with unrestrained fury, my aura crackling like wildfire around me as the old man's expression darkened.
Vaaarzzzzz!!!!!!
His Aether tore through the air like a tempest unleashed, spiraling into a vortex of raw energy. Black clouds gathered above, blotting out the faint rays of dawn, while his figure—glowing with the intensity of his internal Aether—radiated a divine presence. He looked less like a man and more like a force of nature, the overwhelming power making the ground tremble beneath our feet.
Elerying Elowen was no novice. In the hierarchy of mages, he stood at the cusp of mastery—what we'd call a mid-level mage, the equivalent of a knight who had climbed the ranks from a simple Awakened to a Silver Knight, now nearing the level of a Noble Knight. He wasn't just formidable; he was one step away from crossing into the realm of Intermediate Aether manipulation.
And yet, we stood as equals.
His eyes glowed a sharp, unnatural green, the energy swirling within them like a brewing storm. Each breath he took seemed to draw the world into his control, and as he stepped forward, the ground cracked beneath him. I matched his step, the Knight's Clock fully materializing around me, my aura armor blazing with unrestrained power.
We stood inches apart, the weight of our Aether clashing violently in the air between us.
His eyes blazed with an unnatural green glow as he stepped toward me, exuding the confidence of someone who thought he held the upper hand.
"You really should learn to control that tongue of yours," he said with a maddening calm, each word laced with condescension. I took a step toward him, matching his pace, my aura solidifying around me. The Knight Clock, fully materialized into its aura armor, glowed with an unearthly blue sheen. A smirk tugged at my lips as I stared him down, feeling the energy thrumming through me. He was shorter—by maybe two centimeters—but his arrogance made him seem smaller. The tied red beard and ponytail, shaved on the sides, made him look absurd. Frankly, he looked like a damn carrot.
"You want to wipe this smirk off my face? Come on, then," I taunted, my voice low and threatening. "Let's see you try."
His roar echoed through the battlefield, shaking the very air around us. His Aether surged violently, and with a sweep of his hand, he conjured a Wind Whirl. It twisted into a massive ball of wind, razor-sharp blades spinning within, each gust fiercer than the last. He dropped into a pitcher's stance, aiming the chaotic mass at me, the sphere growing larger with each passing second. It sucked in everything around it—the air, the dust, the very essence of the surroundings—swirling into a force that threatened to tear the ground apart.
In response, I didn't hesitate. My Aether fully unleashed, I brought down one of my strongest techniques—Plaint Destruction. The aura around me ignited into a black-blue flame sword, crackling with an intensity that rivaled the heavens. The aura sword materialized in my hand, radiating a destructive force that could cleave through mountains. It wasn't incredible like Heaven Slasher, but it was close—crafted through my mastery of advanced Aether manipulation.
The ground beneath my feet shattered as I raised the blade high. "I will cut down anyone who threatens my family!" My voice echoed with fury, the Aether inside me burning brighter.
His Wind Whirl continued to grow, now a massive, brilliant green sphere of raw destruction. But my aura blade flared with power, its flames licking the edges of the atmosphere, challenging the storm that threatened to engulf me.
The air split apart with a deafening crack, a raw, ferocious energy swelling between us, threatening to swallow everything whole. Just as my blade was about to cleave through, the world seemed to halt—stopped by a presence that I knew all too well. The violent force dissipated in an instant, like smoke blown away by a soft wind.
He stood there, serene and composed, his silver hair settling back into place, his green, tight-fitted tunic barely rustling in the fading storm of power. His pointed ears and gleaming silver eyes were unmistakable—Elthred, the elven mage. His gaze, calm as ever, betrayed no emotion, only the steadfast resolve of someone who knew his place and purpose.
"Elthred," I growled, my voice low but charged with frustration. "From the Elven Mage Platoon. Care to explain why you've interfered?"
His right hand held my blade effortlessly, a mere touch preventing it from cutting through the air, while his left hand had dispersed Elerying's wind spell as if it were nothing more than a puff of air.
"Forgive me, masters," he said, voice steady but respectful. "But the situation demands your immediate presence at headquarters. This fight can wait."
_______________________________________________________________________________
The Head Department, or more commonly known as the Royal Secret Chamber, was where all the shadows danced, where the Emperor's dirtiest deeds were done with no trace of his involvement. It sickens me to admit it, but I'm one of them—a position handed down by my bloodline. The unfortunate legacy of being born the only son of the Trunker family. Grace's stepbrother. She's the daughter of an affair my father had with a maid who vanished shortly after, leaving Grace behind like some forgotten secret.
She was neglected—hated even, and for a time, I was no better. But growing up changes you, makes you see the real victims. She was just a pawn in a game neither of us asked to play. Eventually, she walked away, cut ties with the family entirely, but never with me. Even after all of that, she still asked me to be her child's godfather. And Tristian—just thinking about that baby, with those knowing eyes that looked straight through me—it drives me mad knowing something's happened to him, and we've got no clue what.
As a Trunker, this is a disgrace. My blood, my godson, vanished without a trace, and I'm left chasing shadows. It's laughable. But as his godfather? The anger bubbling in my veins is something else. It's a sin I won't forgive.
Elthred leads us into a different room today. Not the usual council chambers, but something more like an ancient hall of elders. The seats form a circle, one corner open to the sky where the sun beams down. It's hot—probably close to midday now, but who the hell cares about the time when my godson is missing?
Damn it.
The more time I waste in this room, the more my temper flares. I should be out there, searching for him, not stuck in this political nightmare.
The room's layout is simple—three chairs surrounding a central, larger seat, the kind you see in old lecture halls. And in front of us stands the third master of the Magic Tower, Flare Girchwet. Tall, slender, sharp-jawed with a long face that looks even more ridiculous with his sickly green eyes. Not the beautiful emerald kind—no, his eyes look like some cheap contacts you'd buy off the street.
Gizzz!
He looks like an unfinished character from a half-assed webtoon. Still, I can't deny his strength. His power is real, even if his appearance is not. He looks at us with that cold, detached expression, like we're beneath him.
"What's the matter, old man?" I bark, letting my irritation spill over.
"As ill-mannered as ever," Flare says, his soft voice doing nothing to calm my nerves. "Would it kill you to show a little respect, for once?"
"I didn't come here for pleasantries. Get to the point."
He clicks his tongue, clearly unimpressed. "I thought you'd be more concerned about the whereabouts of your godson."
His words hit like a punch to the gut, but before I can respond, he gestures behind us. I turn, and there stands Joel, the Gold-Rank Lightning Lancer, looking like he's been through hell. His skin is gaunt, his eyes sunken, and his body—he's withered. He looks like a man starved of life, as if his own lightning drained him dry.
"What the…?" I can barely get the words out.
"What in the gods happened to him?" Elerying asks, just as shocked.
"Astral Academy happened," Flare says, his voice grim.
"You mean the Holy Academy?" I spit, stepping closer to the ghost of a man standing before us.
Flare nods. "That is the result of their new… interrogation techniques. Brutal, as you can see."
"Brutal?" I scoff, anger rising. "This is beyond that. If you told me vampires did this, I'd believe it. He looks like a damn corpse drained by some bloodsucker."
"You said torture?" Elerying keeps us on track.
"Thirty minutes before your godson disappeared, Darius sent out a distress signal. Joel was the one who went to investigate." Flare's voice drops, and I catch the hint of hesitation. "You know how attached he was to her…"
The words hang in the air as we circle around Joel, who looks like he might collapse any second. "Our scouts and sensors detected signs of a battle. Whoever it was, they were powerful."
My heart clenches as I try to keep calm. "What about Tristian? What happened to him?"
Flare's eyes meet mine, and I know what's coming. I can see it in his face before he even says the words, and it makes my blood boil.
"I'm sorry," Flare begins, his voice heavy with the weight of the news. "Your godson was taken. By a Transcendent. We believe they're gathering Ascendants."
** ** ***
"An Ascendant, you say?" My old man speaks so casually, as if it doesn't even faze him. I knew it was a long shot coming to him, but he was my last choice. We can't just treat finding my godson like some random adventurer mission. We need A-rank adventurers, the best damn trackers we can get. Our influence is strong in Widern, but outside of it? We need professionals, and that requires the Emperor's involvement. But trust me, getting an audience with him is damn near impossible. My father, though—he has a bond with the Emperor, being an elder, though not the kind of elder you'd imagine.
He's not some grand, regal figure. No. My dad looks like a skeleton that could collapse any second. His long, unkempt beard hangs from his face, and his magistrate robes barely cling to his frame. His sunken eyes and dark brows make him look like he crawled out of the grave this morning. And before I forget—word of advice: marry well, kids. Don't marry some fantasy witch just because she looks like Cinderella. Grow old next to someone who helps you feel young, even as you age.
"What does this have to do with us, again?" he asks weakly, his voice barely stronger than a whisper.
"Damn it, old man! He's your grandchild, for the love of God!" I snap, my frustration boiling over. "Just make a request for a permit from the Emperor so I can mobilize a search party and bring him home. He's just awakened his Ascendant gift, and he'll be a great asset to our family!"
That gets his attention. His sunken eyes brighten, a greedy smirk creeping across his face. "I'll send word to the Emperor. We'll gather a good team to bring my grandson back," he says, trying to play the part of the doting grandfather. But I see through the act. He doesn't give a damn about the kid—just the power. Ascendants are a blessing to any family, and he wants that power under his control.
"Oh, and son!" he calls out as I turn to leave. "Tell his family to stay at the homeyard for now."
I stop, my blood boiling, and turn back with a snarl. "She's your damn daughter, for Christ's sake!" I shout, slamming the door behind me as I storm out.
BANG!