Outside, the cold night air made Merlin pull his coat tighter around himself as he followed Platt, walking about a hundred meters to an old, weathered wall. Suddenly, Platt stopped and turned to Merlin, saying, "Master Merlin, this is it."
Merlin looked where Platt indicated and saw, just a short distance away, a strange wind spiraling in a vortex, producing the eerie, wailing sound of a crying infant.
"How odd; there's no wind elsewhere," Merlin muttered, furrowing his brow. It was indeed a peculiar wind, appearing only in this small area. He took a few steps closer, noting how the vortex seemed to follow a certain pattern, as if controlled by some mysterious force.
"Master Merlin, be careful. This strange wind is quite strong. A few of our knights tried to investigate it once, but they were injured by stones flying in the vortex. When the wind stopped, nothing unusual was found—it's baffling," Platt warned.
Merlin, however, had already begun examining the vortex with his mental energy. He sensed numerous wind elements swirling violently, yet they were restrained by an orderly force, as though some power was controlling the wind elements in a structured way.
This controlled flow of elements was a hallmark of magic! Spells directed elements to follow specific rules. The Fireball spell Merlin had learned, for example, concentrated fiery elements into a small sphere to unleash destructive force.
The strange wind before him seemed to be some form of magic.
However, the power of this spell was faint and unfocused, affecting only a small area. This suggested it wasn't being cast by a spellcaster, but rather by an enchanted object that had been left to release its magic automatically.
Such magical tools, like wands or scrolls, were highly valuable and typically crafted by powerful mages. Even Old Etta, whom Merlin had learned from, hadn't possessed any magical tools.
The possibility that an enchanted object was creating this strange wind excited Merlin. Any magical tool was something spellcasters coveted.
Though his mind was racing with excitement, Merlin kept his expression neutral and said calmly, "Uncle Platt, wait here. I'll take a closer look."
Platt quickly advised, "Be careful, Master Merlin. Don't get too close to avoid injury."
Merlin nodded and stepped closer to the swirling wind. The icy wind stung his face like a blade, but he pressed on, releasing his mental energy to search for the source.
Only by pinpointing the source could he locate the enchanted item creating the vortex.
"Platt and the others have searched here before and found nothing, which means this tool might be buried underground," Merlin deduced. Using his mental energy, he traced the vortex to a spot beneath a wall corner, confirming his suspicion that something was buried below.
He memorized the location of the source, planning to return during the day to retrieve the item. Having made his decision, Merlin stepped back. Platt quickly approached, illuminating Merlin's face with a candle, and asked with concern, "Master Merlin, are you alright?"
Platt had thought Merlin might have been hurt by the strange wind, seeing him stand still for so long.
Merlin shook his head. "I'm fine. Let's head back."
Relieved, Platt followed Merlin back toward the castle. Halfway there, they heard the distant sound of hooves approaching at speed—a group of riders was heading straight for the castle.
Platt's face brightened, and he exclaimed, "The baron must be back! Master Merlin, let's go meet him."
"My father?" Merlin murmured, feeling a mix of emotions. He had been in this world for some time now, and he would finally meet Baron Wilson.
Baron Wilson was Merlin's closest relative in this life. Merlin didn't know if his father would detect anything unusual about him.
"Master Merlin, let's hurry. The baron often speaks of you, even here in the territory," Platt said, urging Merlin forward.
"Alright, let's go."
The castle came alive as numerous servants lit lanterns and candles, brightening the halls in preparation to welcome Baron Wilson.
"Baron!"
Platt stepped forward, kneeling on one knee to pay his respects as Baron Wilson rode into the courtyard.
Seated on his horse, Baron Wilson wore black armor, his towering frame exuding a fierce, almost beast-like presence. His thick brows and powerful gaze only added to the intimidating aura.
A large sword rested in his hand, its blade still stained with blood, suggesting he had just returned from battle.
"Hm? Merlin?"
Baron Wilson's gaze finally settled on Merlin. His previously fierce aura softened, replaced with a warmth that felt comforting and familiar to Merlin.
"Father!" Merlin took a deep breath and stepped forward, calling out.