Episode 697

“Hm?”

Rubbing his sleepy eyes, the relief soldier who had just come on duty let out a puzzled sound. Normally, everyone would be rushing to wrap up and get some rest, complaining about how exhausted they were. But here they were, all gathered in a circle, whispering to each other. So engrossed that they hadn’t even noticed him arrive.

He slid closer and poked his head in, causing everyone to jump in surprise and scatter.

“Hey.”

“Ah—ahhh!”

“What are you all doing? Not heading in?”

“Uh, it’s already shift change time.”

“Is something wrong? Why do you all look so pale?”

The soldiers crouched down and grabbed his arm, as if to pull him in and let him hear what was going on. Their faces were drawn and weary as they whispered.

“Something happened at the palace overnight.”

“What? I slept soundly.”

If there had been an emergency, how could he have slept through the whole night? The soldiers hushed him, lowering their voices even more.

“So, it was around 4 a.m.”

Four in the morning—the cruelest hour for a sentry. Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, you just can’t fight off the creeping sleep. One soldier scratched his head, recalling the events of that early morning.

“I must’ve dozed off without realizing it. Then suddenly, I felt something near my ear…”

“Felt something?”

“Someone whispered.”

“What did they say?”

The soldier’s face drained of color. That eerie voice, the cold fury that had flowed through it—it was still vivid in his mind.

“Those who fail to keep their post—”

Gulp. The soldiers instinctively hunched their shoulders.

“Death!”

“What?”

The relief soldier laughed in disbelief, but the soldiers who had stood watch overnight shuddered and shook their heads.

It made sense—everyone who had nodded off that night had heard that voice.

“You’re crazy.”

“I’m telling the truth! I woke up startled, but no one was there.”

“The guards at the north and south gates heard it too.”

“Come on, you’re all overreacting.”

“It’s not over yet.”

The real story was just beginning. The soldiers looked up cautiously toward the railing where the temporary Magic Department was set up.

“…The Magic Department.”

Suddenly, a deafening roar came from that direction. The entire Kalamath Castle trembled with a massive vibration.

Startled, the soldiers clung to each other, but the relief soldier replied irritably.

“It’s just the usual tremors. Some magician—Acapella or Accordion or something—doing experiments.”

“Hey! Have they ever done this this early in the morning?!”

“Uh, well, last night the soldiers heard that strange sound all at once and caused a small commotion. Naturally, we reported it to the Magic Department.”

“And?”

“Well, you won’t believe it. All the magicians were sprawled out, unable to get up!”

“Maybe they were just tired. It was 4 a.m., after all.”

“No, it wasn’t that. It’s frustrating!”

How could you not tell the difference between being exhausted and being knocked out for some other reason? The soldier recalled the scene from dawn and pinched his nose.

“There was a terrible stench too.”

“A stench…”

“Like poison. So I ran straight to the minister’s office!”

Tap tap tap!

The soldier dashed down the empty hallway, fear gripping him so tightly he might have knocked on the door a bit too hard.

But inside, there was no response. The soldiers exchanged worried looks. They’d heard rumors that even if everyone else fell asleep, the Magic Minister never did—some said it was magic, others said he was just incredibly resilient.

Either way, if they couldn’t reach the minister, that was a serious problem.

“Excuse me, Minister Ian. This is a guard from the south gate. The magicians in the Magic Department aren’t waking up.”

Creak.

“Also, there was an incident where soldiers simultaneously heard an unidentified voice. You might want to check on that…”

Scratch scratch scratch.

In the pitch-black room with no light, the eerie sound of a pen scratching on paper filled the air.

The soldiers recoiled, stifling internal screams. Minister Ian was scribbling something frantically with a vacant look in his eyes. The sight was so strange that the soldiers swallowed hard.

“Um, Minister Ian?”

“…You said you’re guards from the south gate?”

“Y-yes, that’s right.”

“The closest gate here is the north gate. Why are you reporting here?”

“Ah, well, that is…”

The pen stopped moving abruptly. Slowly, the minister lifted his head. His eyes shone bright gold, flashing like a beast’s.

Appearing suddenly from the darkness, the soldiers instinctively stepped back.

And then—

Clatter.

Something rolled toward them. In the dim light, they could just make out what it was—

“Ahhh! Ahhh!”

“G-gah…”

An eyeball.

The soldiers fainted on the spot, collapsing backward. They were left there until the sun rose, when passing attendants finally found them.

The relief soldier, having heard the story, shuddered as if he finally understood.

“So they fainted in the minister’s office? That’s a scary incident.”

“No! That’s not it!”

The soldiers quickly interrupted.

“Minister Ian went out last night and never came back. So we were the ones who fainted in the office until dawn.”

“…Gasp.”

“Think about it. If it were the minister, would he have just left us lying there? Of course not—he would’ve called for help.”

That made sense! The relief soldier finally opened his mouth in surprise.

Then who exactly was the Ian they saw last night? Why were the magicians sprawled out like that? And most importantly, what was the voice the soldiers all heard at once?

A heavy silence fell. The morning sun was warm, but a chilling atmosphere lingered.

“Hey.”

“Ahhh!”

It was Xiaoxi.

They had been chatting in a cluster and ended up tumbling over each other, clutching shoulders. Xiaoxi frowned, clearly wondering what was going on.

“It’s past shift change time.”

“Ah, sorry, sorry!”

“Don’t waste your energy. You’d better go get some rest.”

Saying that, Xiaoxi turned away.

Rumors were swirling everywhere after last night’s chaos—ghosts, curses on Kalamath, and so on. Xiaoxi sighed quietly as he reached the stairs leading to the Magic Department.

“Ahhh! Ahhh!”

A scream tore through the air, sharp enough to make your ears bleed.

Without hesitation, Xiaoxi flung open the door and immediately covered his nose from the stench.

“You awake?”

“Ahhh! My head feels like it’s splitting!”

“Ugh, ugh. Someone please rub my back…”

“Hey, you idiot, don’t puke here… ugh!”

“Seriously. Just kill me now.”

“Ugh, magic, magic! Isn’t there something we can use right now?”

“…How about we just strangle each other?”

The hungover magicians babbled nonsense, staggering about. What kind of drinking binge had they been on outside to cause such a scene? And these were magicians, no less—completely forgetting their status and acting like this.

Xiaoxi closed his eyes tightly, then, clearly fed up, opened all the windows.

“The smell is terrible. If anyone else smelled this, they’d think it was poison.”

“Come on, it can’t be that bad.”

“Everyone’s already mistaken it for poison.”

“Joking aside, I don’t remember anything from last night.”

“Me neither. The last thing I recall is meeting Taoma at the tavern.”

Xiaoxi looked over the magicians. Given that they were in the Magic Department inside the palace, this was bad enough. If he’d met them on the street, they’d look like beggars.

The dazed magicians caught Xiaoxi’s gaze and met his eyes.

“So, what happened to us yesterday?”

“Minister Ian contacted me and sent my men to bring you here.”

To preserve the magicians’ dignity, it was done very discreetly.

The magicians, smacking their dry lips, suddenly looked alarmed.

“What about Ian? Did he settle things with that Taoma guy?”

“I don’t know about that, but there’s no need to worry.”

Xiaoxi recalled Ian’s appearance the night before. Asking to bring his men looked perfectly normal—slightly flushed cheeks, a bit of a slur at the end of his words.

“But just to be sure, I have to ask.”

“What?”

“Did anyone crack my skull while I was asleep?”

“Didn’t you just fall yesterday?”

“Could’ve been Beric.”

Assured that Ian was fine, the magicians flopped back down, groaning. Then, suddenly, the door burst open and Akorella stormed in.

“Hey, you troublemakers! Having fun getting wasted and passed out?”

“Ah, Captain.”

“I brought a hangover cure just for you lot, so open wide.”

“Ugh! No, really, I’m fine!”

“Me too. Oh, you’re so kind.”

It was no easy task for the hungover magicians to escape Akorella’s grip. They rolled around until one was finally caught by the collar. He flailed his limbs, struggling.

“If it’s something Minister Ian can take, I’ll have some!”

“Ian doesn’t need it.”

“Huh?”

“He looked fine to me.”

Though you’re still asleep, you’re nothing like the mess those brats made! You’re lying there neatly, tucked in properly, your skin soft and fresh, and there’s this faint, pleasant scent about you.

Xiao Xi couldn’t bear to watch any longer and strode out the door.

“Well then, please take care of the cleanup. There’s no way to cover up the use of the magical artifact, so I told Lord Ian that it simply wasn’t in the castle. Just stick to that story, and it should be fine.”

“What? What do you mean? Lord Xiao Xi! Please don’t just leave us—help us out here!”

“Ahhh! No! Waaah!”

“Oh my, how cute! Eating so well!”

Screams of the wailing mages echoed behind him as Xiao Xi shook his head and glanced toward Ian’s bedroom. Beyond the neatly closed door, all was silent and still.

Rustle.

Meanwhile, at that moment—

Ian woke up to a pleasant breeze. Bright sunlight streamed in, sheer chiffon curtains fluttered gently, and the bedding was spotless. It was a perfect morning.

Except for a slight, nagging headache.

“…”

Ian stared up at the ceiling, then shifted his gaze to the table beside the bed. There lay a voice-amplifying magical device and a crumpled piece of paper—soaked with alcohol, unmistakably the contract with Taoma.

“…?”

The document detailed Silask, Laromedia, and the mana stone illustrations. That part was fine, but—

“Death penalty?”

What was this? Ian frowned, trying to piece together his memories, but they were patchy and blurred.

The clearest image was of soldiers collapsing in shock in the minister’s office. He’d wanted to help but was too weak, so all he managed was to catch Lady Darci’s eye. And then, the next thing he knew, he was waking up here, in bed.

Sliding his eyes over the papers on the desk, Ian blinked. All the approvals that had been overdue were now signed off. He double-checked for any issues but found everything surprisingly flawless.

Though puzzled, he decided not to question it. Someone had helped his drunken self last night.

“…Well.”

A single line about Silask and a gold coin. Not bad. The content wasn’t perfect, but considering it was written by someone not in their right mind, it was definitely helpful.

Ian folded the contract neatly and set it aside, closing his eyes again. There was a commotion downstairs—thuds and noises—but he chose to ignore it. After all, it was proof everyone had returned safely to the castle.