The silence lingered, so thick and heavy that it pressed down on my chest, making it hard to breathe. No one dared to say anything. Conrad's lifeless body lay motionless, a stark reminder of the irreversible sacrifice he made. Carson stood frozen, staring down at his fallen henchman, his expression unreadable, but the tremble in his clenched fists gave away the rage simmering beneath. Father, on the other hand, remained on his knees, his shoulders hunched in disbelief. His face was pale, eyes wide with shock. He couldn't seem to fathom what he had just done. He had killed someone—an innocent, at least in the eyes of the law. Even if they had been in the wrong, it didn't matter; killing a civilian was forbidden. The consequences could be severe.
A chilling thought passed through my mind: Father could be sentenced to jail, or worse, forced into ten years of battlefield service. The reality of that punishment hung in the air like a death sentence. My heart pounded, and I felt utterly helpless.
Carson's voice cut through the tension, low and venomous. "I'll make you pay for what you did," he muttered, his gaze still locked on Father, a fire burning in his eyes. His threat carried weight, an unmistakable promise of revenge.
Father opened his mouth to speak, likely to explain himself, but before he could get a word out, we all heard it—a pair of voices approaching from the distance. They grew louder, breaking the suffocating silence.
"Man, this place is a mess. Did that guy really do this?" one of the voices said, incredulous.
"I can't believe that skinny guy could cause this much damage," replied the other.
I turned toward the voices, my pulse quickening when I recognized the two men. Two knights. The same ones we had summoned for assistance earlier. Their faces twisted in surprise when they saw the scene before them—us standing around Conrad's body. Their eyes widened as they took in the bloodied ground and Father's defeated posture.
Without hesitation, they sprinted toward us.
"What happened here? Who killed him?" the first knight demanded, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his sword as his eyes scanned the situation.
Carson, quick to respond, pointed at Father. "That man killed Conrad with his magic! Aren't magicians forbidden from using magic against civilians?" His voice cracked with righteous fury. "Arrest him this instant!"
The accusation landed like a hammer, and both knights' faces hardened. One of them glanced at Father, his expression grim. "Is that true?"
Father, still shaken and panicking, stumbled over his words. "It was… it was an accident. Conrad… he covered for Carson. I wasn't aiming for him. I was trying to stop Carson!" His voice broke as he tried to explain himself, desperation leaking through every word.
But Carson wasn't about to let up. "See?" he said, stepping forward, his voice filled with malice. "He just confessed! He was about to kill me. Arrest him already!"
The knights exchanged glances, their expressions unreadable, before one of them nodded slowly. "We can't ignore that, even if you are a magician serving the kingdom. If you violate the rules, you'll be sentenced—either to jail or ten years on the battlefield." The knight stepped forward, his eyes cold and detached, clearly ready to carry out his duty. He reached for Father, intending to restrain him.
Panic swelled in my chest. I couldn't let this happen. I couldn't let Father be taken away. He wasn't a murderer! It wasn't supposed to go like this. But the knight's hand was already closing in on Father, and my mind raced for something, anything, that could stop them.
Suddenly, Chris's voice broke through my spiraling thoughts.
"Uncle William didn't do anything wrong!" he cried, his small body trembling but his voice full of determination. He stepped forward, trying to shield Father with his presence. "They tried to kill us, and Uncle William was just protecting us!"
The knights hesitated, their eyes flicking between Chris and Carson.
"They kidnapped me!" Chris continued, his voice growing louder, more desperate. "And that man—" he pointed shakily toward Ruel, who lay unconscious on the ground, "he tried to kill me. If Will hadn't shown up, I'd be dead!"
Chris's voice cracked, and tears welled up in his eyes. "Uncle William didn't do anything wrong. They're the bad guys here, so don't arrest him!" His voice broke completely, and tears streamed down his cheeks.
Carson's face twisted into an ugly sneer. "You little brat," he growled, his eyes narrowing on Chris, "shut your mouth. That maniac killed Conrad! Do you not understand that?" His voice was harsh, cutting through Chris's sobs.
Chris recoiled, startled by the venom in Carson's voice, and for a moment, he fell silent. I clenched my fists at my sides, feeling the tension rise inside me. This was my moment. If I didn't speak up now, if I let this play out without saying a word, I would regret it for the rest of my life. My voice shook, but I forced the words out.
"This all started because you kidnapped Chris, didn't it?" I said, my voice louder than I intended. Everyone turned to look at me. I could feel the weight of their stares, but I pressed on. "We only came to your mansion because we wanted Chris back. But what did you do instead?" I took a step forward, my voice growing steadier with each word. "You ranted about your hatred for the kingdom and offered to let us join your revolution. And when we refused, you tried to kill us. Isn't that right?"
Carson's face flushed with anger, and his lips pulled back into a snarl. "You brat! Shut up!"
I didn't stop. I couldn't. "Your daughter died? I get that. But that doesn't give you the right to kill anyone you want!" I shouted, my anger rising to match his. Carson bit his lip, glaring at me, but I saw it—the flash of frustration in his eyes. He couldn't argue with me. He knew I was right.
"And you knights," I said, turning to them, my voice softer but filled with accusation. "If you had just helped us when we asked, none of this would've happened. It's your fault, too."
The knights stiffened, their expressions hardening at my words, but they didn't respond. After a moment, the first knight shook his head. "No matter what you say, kid, your father killed someone, and that's an undeniable fact," he said, his voice cold and unyielding. "So just shut up."
My heart sank, but I refused to back down. I wasn't going to let them take Father away. Not like this.
These knights think they can do anything they want. Their arrogance is obvious, standing there in their gleaming armor, looking down on us like we're dirt under their boots. I can tell by the way they shift their weight, the slight glances between them. They realize they'd get punished for failing to protect us when we asked for their help, and now they just want to pin all the blame on Father—to make him the scapegoat, cover up their own mistakes. The way they act, with such certainty, it infuriates me.
But I'm just a ten-year-old kid. What can I really do to stop them? I can't fight them or make them listen. They wouldn't even take me seriously if I tried. It's not fair. My hands clench into fists, my nails digging into my palms, feeling utterly powerless. But I know someone who can stand up to them—my father. I just need to bring him back to his usual self.
I look over at him. Father is still kneeling on the ground, shoulders slumped, his face hidden behind a veil of grief and guilt. The way he trembles, it's like he's given up. But I won't let him. Not like this.
"Father," I call out, my voice trembling but firm. "Are you just going to continue doing nothing? Are you going to let them arrest you like this? Are you really going to leave Chris and me here, alone, with no one to protect us?"
He doesn't respond. His eyes stay fixed on the ground as if he's drowning in his guilt. But I won't stop. I know why he's acting this way—he's afraid of us, his own children. He's afraid that we hate him for what he did, for killing someone, even if it was to protect us. But he's wrong.
"Father, listen to me," I say, my voice growing stronger. "I know you. I know that you did what you did to protect me, to protect Chris. I don't care what these knights think about you or what the world will say. To me, you'll always be the father I love and respect. So stand up! Stand up and be the man I know you are! Don't let these pieces of trash make you into a victim."
For a moment, there's silence. My words hang heavy in the air, like a challenge, daring him to act. Slowly, Father lifts his head. His eyes are red and swollen, glistening with tears, but there's something else there now—a spark, a flicker of the man he used to be. He meets my gaze, and I can see the walls of his grief begin to crack.
When he speaks, his voice is soft but steady. "Will… Thank you." He wipes his face with the back of his hand, standing taller now, the weight of his despair lifting slightly. "I'm sorry that your father had to rely on you for this. You shouldn't have had to see me like that." He lets out a shaky breath, but then his expression hardens with resolve. "But don't worry anymore. Leave everything to me from now on."
He turns to face the knights, his back straightened, his presence commanding once again. The air around him shifts. He's no longer a broken man—they're facing the William they should be afraid of.
One of the knights steps forward, his hand on the hilt of his sword, a smug look crossing his face. "Are you done with your father-son talk?" He sneers, his eyes cold. "If you're finished, then make it easy on yourself and come quietly. Don't fight back if you still treasure your life."
There's arrogance in his voice, as if he truly believes Father has no choice, that he's already won. The other knights nod in agreement, their expressions unreadable behind their visors.
But Father just looks at him, calm and unbothered, as if the knight's threats don't scare him in the slightest. "Who said I'm the one who's going to be arrested?" Father asks, his voice low, almost casual.
The knight scoffs, disbelief flashing across his face. "Huh? Have you gone mad? Who else would get arrested here if not you? You killed a man with your magic, right? Only you." He throws his head back and laughs, as if it's the funniest thing he's ever heard. His comrades laugh along with him, their chuckles echoing through the empty street. It's a cruel sound, full of mockery.
But Father doesn't flinch. He doesn't react to the laughter. Instead, he reaches into his coat, pulling out his leather wallet. The laughter begins to die down as the knights watch him with confused expressions, unsure of what he's doing. Slowly, methodically, Father opens the wallet and pulls out a small card. It's plain and unassuming, but when he holds it up for the knights to see, their reactions are immediate.
The knight who had been laughing the loudest goes completely pale. His eyes widen in horror, his confident smirk vanishing instantly. It's as if he's seen a ghost. The other knights step back, their armor clinking, shock written all over their faces.
"You... You're..." The knight stammers, unable to form a complete sentence.
Father's voice cuts through the knight's stuttering. "I didn't want to have to show this," he says, his tone still calm but now with an edge of finality. "But it seems you've left me no choice."
The knight's body stiffens, his hand dropping away from his sword as if it suddenly weighed a ton. The other knights are whispering to each other now, glancing nervously between the card and Father, their earlier bravado completely shattered.
The change in atmosphere is palpable. The arrogance that once filled the knights has evaporated, replaced by fear and uncertainty. Whatever that card is, it holds power, more power than any of them anticipated.
The knight, trembling now, tries to stand his ground, but his voice betrays him as it rises in a mix of disbelief and fear. "Y-you can't fool me!" he shouts, but his eyes dart nervously between Father and the card. "That card is fake! You, a lowly magician, don't even have the rights to face the Quarter family, so there's no way you can possibly have that! It's... it's a fake!" His words come out rapid, panicked, as if he's trying to convince himself more than anyone else.
Father stands tall, his presence commanding, every inch of him exuding a quiet confidence that makes the knight's denials sound ridiculous. He holds the card higher, allowing the knight—and everyone else around—to get a better look. The small object seems to radiate power, as if its mere existence is enough to turn the tides of this confrontation.
"Unfortunately for you, this is a genuine one," Father replies calmly, his voice steady, each word carrying the weight of absolute authority. "And with just one word from the Quarter family, I can tell them exactly what happened here." His eyes narrow, and the coldness in his gaze is enough to freeze anyone in their tracks. "With just a single order from them, the knights of this city could be sent to the battlefield for ten years… or worse, you could all be sentenced to death."
The shift in the atmosphere is instant. The knight's face drains of color, his mouth slightly agape, as if Father's words have reached deep into his soul and ripped out all sense of defiance. He's no longer the smug, arrogant knight he was a few moments ago; now he's just a man facing a power far beyond his control. The other knights exchange nervous glances, the tension palpable, as if they know that their fate hangs by a thread.
I don't fully understand what that card is. It looks like nothing special to me—just a small, plain piece of paper. But the reaction it gets, especially from these knights, tells me that it's owned by someone of such high status that even the bravest soldiers fear them. I don't know how Father got his hands on something like that, but whatever it is, it's changed the whole situation. Now, Father is the one in control of the conversation.
Father steps forward, his tone icy, eyes locked on the knight. "So, what would you say now, you lowly knight?" His words are sharp, each one cutting into the knight's composure.
The knight, who just moments ago stood tall and full of arrogance, now crumbles under the pressure. His legs give out, and he drops to his knees, bowing his head to the ground in complete submission. "I-I'm sorry," he stammers. The other knight, clearly shaken, quickly follows suit, also falling to his knees in front of Father.
Father's acting is so convincing, so intimidating, that if I didn't know him better, I'd be scared of him too. He's using a side of himself I rarely see—a side that commands respect, fear, and absolute authority. It's like watching a stranger, but at the same time, I know this is the man who will do anything to protect me and Chris.
Before the knights can respond, Carson, still standing to the side, steps forward with a confused frown on his face. "What's happening here?" he asks, his voice incredulous. "Why are you bowing to him all of a sudden? What's that card for?"
One of the knights, his head still bowed, snarls in frustration. "Shut up, you criminal!" he barks, not even lifting his head to look at Carson.
Carson's eyes widen in shock. "Huh? What? Just a moment ago, you were on my side! And now you're calling me a criminal?"
"I said shut up!" the knight growls, his voice full of venom, his eyes flashing with an intent to kill. The glare he shoots Carson is enough to make him go silent, the words dying in his throat. Carson is left speechless, clearly shaken by the knight's sudden change in tone.
Father, now fully in control, steps forward once more. "The House of Quarter ordered me to arrest Carson," he says, his voice level but laced with authority. "He was attempting to start a revolution. I allowed my niece to be kidnapped so that I could observe how the knights would react if something like that were to happen. But you've disappointed me."
The knights remain still, their eyes cast downward, too afraid to even breathe loudly. They know now that one wrong word could seal their fate. "Just one word from me," Father continues, his voice dangerously soft, "could change your entire future. So, I suggest you watch what you say."
"Y-yes, sir!" one of the knights blurts out, his voice shaking with fear. The other knight quickly echoes the sentiment, desperate to stay in Father's good graces.
Father doesn't react to their desperation. He looks at them with cold calculation, speaking as if he's simply discussing business. "I tried to kill Carson because the order I was given was to bring him in dead or alive. But when his henchman interfered, I accidentally killed him instead. However," Father pauses for effect, letting his words sink in, "I'm offering you both a good deal."
The knights' heads lift slightly, hope flickering in their eyes. Father steps closer, his voice low and threatening. "If you refuse, I'll inform the House of Quarter about everything that happened here. But if you accept my offer, I'll keep my mouth shut. So… what will it be?"
The knights don't hesitate. "We agree!" they shout in unison, their voices trembling. "We're thankful for your consideration!"
"Good," Father replies, a satisfied smile creeping onto his face. "Now, go and report that Carson was the one who killed that man." He gestures toward the lifeless body lying on the ground. "Arrest Carson and ensure his name is tied to the crime. And remember—don't ever mention my involvement in this. This is an undercover mission. Do you understand?"
"Y-yes, sir!" the knights stammer, clearly terrified of what might happen if they fail.
Carson, now fully grasping the betrayal unfolding before him, steps forward again, his voice desperate. "Hey! Are you really going to follow this guy's orders? Aren't you knights? Why are you obeying him? Are you seriously going to pin his crime on me? Where's my justice?"
"Shut up!" one of the knights snaps, silencing him before stepping toward Carson with cuffs in hand.
"We're leaving now," Father says, turning away. "Do exactly as I've told you, and I'll hold up my end of the deal."
"Y-yes, sir!" the knights shout in unison again, their voices quaking with fear.
After that Father shifted slightly as he adjusted his grip on me, carrying me effortlessly despite the day's exhaustion weighing heavily on all of us. Chris walked close beside him, her small frame silhouetted by the dim light from the mansion's corridors. The eerie silence of the place was almost oppressive, as though the walls themselves had witnessed too much blood and betrayal for a single night.
As we approached the grand exit of the mansion, curiosity gnawed at me. The fear that had dominated the knights' faces earlier kept replaying in my mind, and I couldn't shake the memory of that card Father had flashed. The moment was burned into my thoughts, and I finally gathered the courage to ask.
"Father," I began softly, my voice barely above a whisper as it broke the stillness around us, "what is that card?"
For a moment, Father remained silent. His brow furrowed slightly, and I could see the weight of the question pressing on him. He hesitated, his steps faltering for the briefest of seconds, before he glanced down at me with a soft smile. Despite everything, his smile still carried warmth and reassurance, as if the terror of the night hadn't just unfolded before us.
"You're mature enough now," he said, his voice laced with an odd mixture of pride and weariness. "So, I'll tell you." He paused, adjusting his grip on me once more. "That card... it's proof that I am in service to the House Quarter."
"House Quarter?" I echoed, the name unfamiliar but carrying a sense of gravity.
"Yes," Father said, nodding, "one of the four great noble houses of the kingdom." He exhaled as if saying the name alone held a weight of its own. "That's why those knights suddenly became so terrified of me. Anyone who serves them is not to be trifled with."
As Father spoke, I could sense the hidden world of power and influence that existed beyond my understanding—an invisible web of noble houses and the privileges that came with their names. The thought of Father being connected to something so vast and powerful made me look at him in a new light, though it didn't erase the questions swirling in my mind.
"But..." I hesitated, unsure how to phrase what was bothering me. "Is it true? What you said earlier… that you were ordered by the House Quarter to kill Carson?"
Father's eyes darkened slightly as I mentioned it, and he shook his head with a sigh. "No," he replied quietly. "That was a lie. I made it up on the spot. I had no orders from the House Quarter to kill anyone."
I blinked in surprise. "So… why would you say something like that? Isn't it dangerous to lie about something so serious?"
Father nodded, his expression somber now. "It is. That's why when we reach the capital, I'll need to visit the House Quarter personally. I'll have to apologize and explain what happened. If I don't..." His voice trailed off, and I didn't need him to finish the sentence to understand. The penalty for lying to or involving one of the great houses without their consent was no doubt severe—possibly fatal.
The air grew heavier between us, the reality of what Father had done sinking in. He had risked not only his life but potentially all of ours by using the name of the House Quarter. It made me wonder what drove him to such a risk in the first place.
"Why did you take that risk, Father?" I asked, my voice soft as I searched his face for an answer. "You could've been killed."
For a moment, Father's expression softened, and he glanced down at me with a mixture of affection and determination. A small chuckle escaped his lips before he spoke. "Because you risked your life, Will. What kind of father would I be if I couldn't do the same for my son?" He let out a heartier laugh, the tension momentarily broken by his warm demeanor. "Hahaha! I'm your father. It's only right that I take risks to protect you."
A small smile crept across my face as I heard his words. Despite the chaos and danger, Father was still Father—reliable, protective, and willing to face anything for his family. The warmth of his laugh reassured me, even though the weight of the night still lingered heavily in my mind.
As we walked, Father turned his gaze to Chris, who had been walking silently beside us, her face pale and her eyes distant as she stared at the ground. "Chris," Father said gently, his voice softening further, "I'm sorry you had to see something like that today." His tone was filled with regret. "But I want to thank you for standing up for me. You were brave."
Chris looked up at him, her eyes glistening with a mixture of fear and gratitude. She hesitated for a moment before speaking, her voice trembling slightly but resolute. "No, Uncle William. You… you only did it to save me and Will, right?" She managed a weak smile, though her voice cracked under the weight of her emotions. "I'm still scared… but that doesn't change how thankful I am to you."
Father smiled down at her, a rare softness in his expression. "Thank you, Chris. I promise that next time, I'll make sure you won't have to go through something like this again."
As we continued toward the exit, the three of us fell into a comfortable silence. We didn't need to say much more—the weight of Conrad's death lingered in the air like a shadow over us all. I could feel it, gnawing at the back of my mind, but I chose not to bring it up. Not now. I knew Chris and Father were thinking about it too, but we were all keeping quiet. We understood, without needing to say it, that there was nothing we could do to change what had happened.
The mansion loomed behind us as we made our way through the last stretch of the corridor, and the heavy wooden doors that marked the exit came into view. The lights outside was visible through the cracks in the doors, and with every step we took closer to it, the suffocating atmosphere of the mansion seemed to lessen.
We continued to talk about trivial things as we walked, our words light and almost aimless—a way to distract ourselves from the grim thoughts lurking in our minds. Chris made a quiet joke about the weight of Father's clothes, and I laughed, the sound feeling foreign in the heavy night air.
But in the back of all our minds, we knew the weight of the night would not so easily be shaken.