Chapter 19
Her complexion had turned pale blue.
The arrogance from earlier had vanished without a trace; her shoulders trembled like a cornered mouse.
A thick, violet darkness spread from Sylvan, fanning out around him like wings.
“Then now… it’s time to take responsibility…”
“I-I’ll formally apologize on behalf of the family…”
Marie Faydell didn’t even have the chance to finish her words before the oppressive darkness crushed her.
Instinctively, she tried to draw out black magic to resist, but as someone more a seasoned politician than a true dark sorcerer, she had no way of withstanding Sylvan.
To her, it felt like she was desperately holding shut the gaping maw of a serpent trying to swallow her whole.
“T-this kind of… private… punishment… undermines the Grandmaster’s authority…”
Clutching at straws, Mari turned toward Meitenche, gasping for breath.
“……!”
But Meitenche never even spared her a glance. His eyes, filled with inscrutable curiosity, only observed the remnants of Kalmia’s spell as though they were an experiment.
And in that moment, Marie understood.
All her desperate struggles, her frantic pleas, meant absolutely nothing to him.
As if… his sole interest had been watching Kalmia Hamrlohren’s magic from the very beginning.
“Ughhh…”
Her black magic defenses collapsed.
Sylvan’s darkness seeped into her body, gnawing away at her senses.
Through her blurred vision, Marie saw Andromalius approach.
“Oh my, young master! This is far enough. Picking a fight with a branch family head is one thing—but actually slitting her throat? That carries an entirely different weight, doesn’t it?”
“Different, huh… isn’t that exactly why I’m doing this?”
“Spoken like a true devil! But everything needs its proper procedures, doesn’t it? Let’s do this by the book.”
Sylvan said nothing.
“Otherwise, I’ll have no choice but to process you… by the book, too.”
The splitting agony in Marie’s skull vanished instantly.
But in its place came something far more revolting—a clammy, suffocating cold that coiled around her body.
Andromalius’s serpents.
Coughing and gasping for air, Marie croaked out,
“W-what… what are you doing…”
“Family Head Faydell! I’ll give you this—you used a rather unique method. Worthy of praise, really! But… the more unique, the easier it is to trace the route back to its source!”
“Ugh…”
“While you were busy exchanging words with the young master, I was ‘refining’ Manager Max. And as for the Galekcho supply chain—we already secured proof long ago. So really, you left me no choice!”
“W-what…”
“If you’re going to smear yourself with soot, you should’ve made sure it stayed hidden all the way. A shame, really! Now then—let’s go.”
Even before overwhelming terror, Marie’s mind kept racing.
Even if Sylvan suspected her collusion with Max, tracing the Galekcho route in mere hours was impossible.
Which meant…
He knew from the very beginning.
In the distance, the shadow of a jet-black elder loomed.
And Marie realized with bone-deep certainty:
For him, all of this had been nothing more than a game.
Like children playing “Passing the Darkness.”
Marie Faydell thought she had secretly shifted the darkness—but she had failed.
That was all there was to it.
Now, the Faydell name would vanish from the noble register. Not as aristocrats, nor even as dark sorcerers.
It was the fate of the defeated.
“The conclusion is clear. Put forth the motion to have Kalmia Hamrlhoren sent to the main house.”
Meitenche’s words struck Marie’s heart like a burning brand.
Kalmia was carried away for treatment. Audrey approached her younger brother.
“Goodness, you’ve had a rough time, Sylvan.”
Sylvan said nothing.
“Kalmia will be fine. Children who hit Core Stage Two often collapse because they can’t control their own mana. My child was the same back then.”
She smiled softly, making sure to slip in a reminder that her own daughter had reached the same stage at a young age.
“Raising a daughter alone must be hard. Call me anytime. I’ll be going.”
“Yes.”
Next came his older brother.
“Looks like it won’t be long before I see Kalmia at the main house too. Until then.”
“Thank you.”
Even Durin, his mind clearly busy with calculations, offered only a perfunctory farewell before leaving.
At the exhibition, every other child had been incapacitated, and the sole victor had collapsed.
The awards ceremony was skipped, and the noble families began dispersing, each carrying their own thoughts about this “new variable.”
Left alone in the Great Hall, Sylvan stared blankly for a moment before turning to the window.
He rubbed the glass with the tip of his darkness, and an image flickered across it.
The cold, smiling face of an old man appeared.
[So your skills haven’t dulled even while cooped up in that room. To recognize me right away… impressive.]
“What is it you’ve called me to say…”
[That’s my line. Don’t you have something you want to say to me?]
Sylvan’s expression twisted into weary disgust.
“Digging traps… tightening leashes… that’s your way, Father.”
Silence.
“No matter… even if you pretended ignorance while knowing everything… there was nothing I could have done anyway.”
[Doesn’t that make you angry?]
“There’s never a time when I’m not angry with you, Father… so your question is meaningless.”
[Hahahahaha!]
His father was the type to indulge small rebellions—so long as they weren’t bothersome.
But when a manager’s mischief crossed the line, he could eliminate both the fool and the entire faction that supported him without a second thought.
That was the absolute authority of the Hamrlhoren Patriarch.
Sylvan had no interest in politics.
But lack of interest did not mean ignorance.
He knew the exact limits of his father’s tolerance—and what authority he, as a direct heir, could exercise.
And he knew how far he could move for the sake of his daughter.
But now was not the time.
“I must go see Mia… I’ll take my leave.”
Wasting energy raging at his father was pointless. He turned his back and walked away.
A ten-year-old boy with moss-green hair hopped down from his chair, his emerald eyes wide.
It was Audrey’s son, Emil.
“What? Uncle Sylvan’s daughter won the exhibition?”
“Yes, young master…”
“Strange. I heard she hadn’t even awakened her Dark Core until recently. And now she wins?”
The attendant bowed.
“More than that… she awakened directly at Dark Core Stage Two.”
“What.”
Emil’s brow furrowed.
“That’s… unexpected.”
“……”
“Nothing else? What did Grandfather say?”
“Only that the motion should be made to send Lady Kalmia to the main house.”
“I see…”
With a wave of his chin, Emil dismissed the servant.
Then he turned to the dark-haired boy beside him, who hadn’t spoken a word the entire time.
“Hey, brother. Isn’t this a big deal? It’s the same as Grandfather when he was young.”
The boy finally lifted his amber eyes from his book. Emil’s cousin—Durin’s son, Lusca.
“So what.”
“They’re saying she’s a genius! Just like Grandfather—awakening at Stage Two right away. Doesn’t that worry you?”
“She’s still only six.”
“But still…”
“Genius or not… let’s see if she can survive it.”
Lusca’s indifferent gaze flicked to a nearby empty chair.
The one usually occupied by another child not present today.
Emil slapped his hands together.
“Ah, right! ‘Intan’ won’t leave her alone, huh?”
Lusca said nothing.
“Been so long since we had a new face, I almost forgot. Poor girl…”
For the record, “Intan” was short for Inseong Patan—“Personality Ruined”.
