(CHRIS' POV)
The air was heavy with tension as we climbed the narrow staircase to the second floor, every step creaking beneath our feet. Mister Conrad led the way, flanked by three other men who kept close watch on Uncle William and me. The corridor was dimly lit, the flickering torches casting eerie shadows on the stone walls. My heart pounded in my chest, echoing loudly in my ears as we approached a large wooden door at the end of the hallway. Conrad pushed it open, revealing a spacious room filled with a sense of foreboding.
At the center of the room stood a large, ornately carved table. It looked out of place in the otherwise sparse room, its polished surface reflecting the dim light like a dark, foreboding mirror. Sitting at the head of the table was a man with a bald head and a plump build. His eyes gleamed with a cold, calculating gaze as he drummed his fingers rhythmically on the table, the only sound in the tense silence. His presence alone was enough to send a chill down my spine.
"Sir Carson," Mr. Conrad addressed the man with a tone of deference, "here's the magician and his niece."
Carson's eyes flicked up, scanning Uncle William and then landing on me. A smile crept across his lips, but it was devoid of warmth. He rose from his seat with a languid grace, his eyes never leaving us as he sauntered over to Uncle William. There was an unsettling calmness to his movements, like a predator toying with its prey.
"I feel sad that the second time we met, we were in this condition," he said, his voice smooth but with an underlying edge. "If only you were not a magician, then maybe we could have been friends."
Uncle William met his gaze without flinching. "Yeah, and stop acting like that." His voice was steady, though I could sense the undercurrent of anger simmering just beneath the surface. "Why do you hate magicians so much?"
Carson's smile widened, but his eyes remained cold and lifeless. "It's not just magicians that I hate," he replied, his tone almost casual as if discussing the weather. "I hate all of those soldiers that are fighting on the battlefield; all of those nobles that aren't doing anything; and the one I hate the most is the king of this fucking kingdom."
His words hung in the air, heavy and loaded with bitterness. Uncle William's eyes narrowed slightly. "And? What led you to hate them and even me? Who doesn't even know you from yesterday?"
Carson's face darkened for a split second, a flash of annoyance breaking through his composed facade, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. "I'm glad that you asked," he said, taking a step closer to Uncle William. "Be the loyal dog of this kingdom, huh?"
He began to pace around the room, each step deliberate, as if weighing his words carefully. "Did you ever ask yourself why you are being sent to the battlefield?" he asked, his voice low and almost conspiratorial. "Did you ever ask yourself why those nobles who are supposed to have more magical affinity and swordsmanship talent are not being sent to the battlefield? Instead, they're here living their lives peacefully?"
Uncle William's jaw tightened, his eyes following Carson's every move. "What are you saying? Get to the point already."
Carson stopped in his tracks, his smile fading into a thin line of displeasure. For a moment, it looked as though he might lash out, but he merely closed his eyes and took a deep breath, regaining his composure. "Okay, it seems like you're not fond of waiting, then I'll say it all at once," he said, his voice now a dangerous whisper. "Didn't you realize that you're being used by this kingdom?"
"Used?" Uncle William scoffed, his voice laced with disbelief. "Are you an idiot? I am not being used; I am fighting for the kingdom."
Carson chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Fighting for the kingdom—what a noble purpose that the kingdom brainwashed you to follow." His eyes gleamed with a mix of pity and scorn. "And you're even about to send your child to the battlefield, aren't you? Isn't that what a responsible father does? To send their child to the battlefield and let them die?"
A ripple of shock passed through me. My breath caught in my throat as I watched the exchange, the room closing in around us. Uncle William's face went pale, his eyes widening slightly at Carson's words. I could see the turmoil within him, the way his fists clenched at his sides, the rigid set of his shoulders. Carson's words had hit their mark, chipping away at Uncle William's resolve.
"That's why I hate you soldiers on the battlefield," Carson continued, his voice rising with fervor. "Because you are already brainwashed by this kingdom so that you'll even send your children to war. I hate it because I remember myself in the past."
He let out a bitter laugh, the sound echoing off the stone walls like the tolling of a funeral bell. The air around us grew colder, the dim light of the torches flickering as if reacting to the dark energy in the room. Uncle William stood there, silent and tense, his eyes filled with a mixture of anger and confusion.
I felt a knot form in my stomach as the weight of Carson's words settled in. Was this true? Were we just pawns in some greater scheme? The very foundation of what I believed in seemed to tremble, the ground beneath me threatening to give way. I glanced at Uncle William, searching for some sign of reassurance, but his silence spoke volumes.
The room grew eerily silent after Sir Carson's outburst, the only sound being the faint crackling of the torches on the walls. His cold eyes locked onto us, as if daring Uncle William to defy his words. I felt a shiver run down my spine, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest. This man was dangerous, but there was a sadness in his eyes that I couldn't ignore.
"Do you know that in the past I had a daughter?" Sir Carson began, his voice low and almost haunting. The unexpected gentleness in his tone took me by surprise. "My daughter was named Rana, and she had a magical affinity." He paused, his gaze distant as if he was peering into a past long gone. "That's why I sent her to the academy, so she could fight for this kingdom."
He took a step closer to us, the harsh light from the torches casting deep shadows on his face, making him appear older than he probably was. "After five years in the academy, she was finally sent to the battlefield," he continued, each word laced with a sorrow that made my heart clench. "I promised her that when she came back, I'd cook her favorite food and buy her a gold accessory. A silly promise, maybe, but it was our little dream."
His voice trembled slightly as he recounted the memories, the pain etched into every line on his face. "After a year had passed, I waited for her at the capital, where the soldiers from the battlefield were being sent. I waited for her to get out of one of those carriages where the soldiers ride, but no matter how long I waited and after all the carriages were empty, I couldn't find my Rana."
He stopped pacing and stood still, his eyes glazed over with grief. It was as if he were reliving that moment, the crushing realization that his daughter was not among the returning soldiers. I could feel my throat tighten with emotion, my heart sinking into the pit of my stomach.
"I looked for her," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "I thought maybe I missed her, maybe she had already gotten off the carriage. I ran from one end of the plaza to the other, searching desperately. Then I saw a soldier posting a paper on the wooden notice board at the center of the town."
The room seemed to grow colder as he spoke, the shadows on the walls deepening. His expression turned from sorrow to something darker, more ominous. "I decided to ask him if he knew Rana," he said, his voice hardening. "He said that he didn't know her, but maybe her name was on one of the lists in the paper he was posting."
Carson's hand clenched into a fist, his knuckles turning white. "After that, I looked at the paper and saw her name—Rana." He spat the words out as if they were poison. "I asked him why my daughter's name was there, and what he said next destroyed my world."
He stared directly at Uncle William now, his eyes burning with a fury that sent a chill through me. "He said that those on the list were the people who died on the battlefield."
The words hit me like a physical blow, and I could see the horror on Uncle William's face. My stomach twisted into knots as I watched Carson, a man consumed by his grief and rage.
"I couldn't believe what I just heard," Carson continued, his voice trembling with the effort to remain calm. "I made him repeat what he just said, hoping that I had misheard, that there was some mistake. But he repeated it. And then he added that the families of those who died on the battlefield could go to the main base of the soldiers and claim their compensation for their family member who had died."
There was a bitter, hollow laugh that escaped Carson's lips, echoing around the room like the laugh of a madman. "Compensation," he sneered, the word dripping with venom. "As if a handful of coins could ever replace my daughter."
He turned away from us, his shoulders hunched as if the weight of the world had been placed upon them. "Do you know what hurts the most since I learned that my daughter died on the battlefield?" His voice was barely a whisper, yet it filled the room with an unbearable heaviness. "This kingdom was in a festival mood because it was the 125th anniversary of this kingdom at that time, and they were celebrating while my daughter was dead."
He spun back to face Uncle William, his eyes now wild with fury. "You magician," he spat, his voice shaking with anger, "do you want that to happen to your child too?"
Uncle William looked shaken, his eyes reflecting the turmoil that was now raging within him. His resolve, the ironclad faith he had always shown in the kingdom, was beginning to crack. I could see the internal struggle playing out on his face, the way his lips trembled, and his eyes clouded with doubt.
"I don't know what is right or wrong anymore," Uncle William finally said, his voice a mere whisper, filled with a depth of despair I had never heard from him before.
Sir Carson stepped closer, his gaze softening slightly. "Then let me guide you," he said, his tone almost gentle now, like a devil offering a hand to a fallen angel. "We'll start a revolution, and the purpose is to let those nobles fight for this kingdom and not us commoners. They have better magical affinity and swordsmanship talent than us, so why are the knights and commoners the only ones fighting on the battlefield and not them?"
He extended his hand towards Uncle William, the offer hanging in the air like a noose. "Join me, magician, and we'll change this kingdom."
Uncle William stared at the outstretched hand, his face a mask of indecision. Seconds felt like hours as he stood there, caught between his duty and the seeds of doubt that Carson had sown. Then, with a look of grim determination, he took Carson's hand and shook it. "Okay," he said, his voice hollow, "I'll join you and start that revolution."
My heart dropped into my stomach, disbelief and horror coursing through me. "Uncle William, why?" I exclaimed, unable to keep silent any longer. The words burst out of me before I could stop them.
"Chris, shut up," Uncle William snapped, his eyes blazing with a fury I had never seen before. "You don't know anything. This is not a matter a child should mess with."
Sir Carson watched the exchange with a faint smile on his lips, a predator satisfied with his catch. "Sir Carson," Uncle William said after a moment, his voice calmer now, "my son Will is not here yet. Maybe he's still fighting someone in the basement. Can I go there for a minute to take him?"
Carson's smile faded, replaced by a calculating look. "No, you don't need to," he said dismissively, waving his hand. He then turned to his subordinates, who stood ready for his command. "Go get his son in the basement," he ordered them. "And don't hurt him no matter what."
"Yes, sir!" The two men replied in unison, bowing slightly before swiftly exiting the room, their footsteps echoing down the hallway as they made their way to the basement.
I watched them go, a sinking feeling in my gut. Uncle William had made his choice, but the path he was taking us down was dark and treacherous, and I feared there was no turning back.