The Powerless Mage -3-
In the original story, Mihail's mother was dead. She'd abandoned her child, swollen with dreams. To live just a slightly better life, she'd made the choice to part ways. It wasn't a complete abandonment. She'd realized maternal love too late, after all. She must have promised to come find him.
Mihail's mother had gone searching for his biological father—the man with whom she'd shared a passionate love before he vanished without a trace. He'd ignored countless letters, but finally sent a reply. Following the conditions he laid out, she'd abandoned Mihail and gone to him alone.
"...Just wait until I've secured my position."
She'd clung to that promise with no end in sight. To hide her status, she was treated like a maid in the mansion. Their meetings grew rarer, the persecution endless. It was as if they were shoving her out the door themselves. The ignoring, the abuse—it never stopped.
One day, Mihail's mother saw a single line in the newspaper and knew her fate.
What came back to the mother who'd abandoned her child for him? A handful of coins clutched in her hand and a cold warning not to show her face again.
"Pack your things and get out. Now."
"...How can you do this to me?"
"Don't call me that. I'm not like you."
"But you said you loved me...! You promised we'd be together till the end, that you'd convince your family..."
"Pfft... Me?"
"Darling, please don't do this. Do you know what I gave up for you?"
"Watch your words. I didn't force you into anything. Right? And I've never had a wife like you anyway. Don't act like we're close. I'm not some hotshot you can block the path of..."
"Our child... Can't you at least take our Misa...? I'll be fine, just..."
"Misa? Ha..."
"Adopt her, at least. She's smart—she could definitely help you..."
"Hey, that's not my kid. It's the one you popped out, you commoner wench."
"Let go!"
"Don't let me see your face again. And don't spread weird rumors. If you pull any stunts, I'll kill you and your brat. Got it?"
It was a grim tale. The all-too-common story of a woman duped by a noble's sweet lies. The story of a woman fallen victim to a scheme to eliminate loose ends—that was Mihail's birth mother's tragedy.
In the novel, Mihail reunited with his birth mother. Not a touching reunion, but one born from an "accidental" encounter. She'd kept searching for him relentlessly, and they finally met. The outcome was predictable.
"I've never had a mother like you."
"..."
"You dumped me when I needed you most, and now you wanna play mom? Is it 'cause I've made it big? You promised you'd come, made me wait my whole life, and now you want me to let you live as my mother?"
Mihail coldly dismissed his birth mother. He spat out his sorrow and rage, unleashing his fury. She collapsed to the floor, sobbing. Their reunion in the novel ended with him telling her never to come back—but his mother burned her last spark of maternal love and met her end. She'd died in his birth father's place to save the child who'd nearly died by his hand.
I didn't want to dwell on the details. I'm the type who's far removed from depressing thoughts, and with plenty of time left, I didn't feel like racking my brain over grim stories.
"..."
That's what I'd thought—until I ran into her here, of all places. What a twisted fate.
I stared coldly at the fuming little brat's eyes. I knew blaming a child for their parents' sins was pointless, but in the novel, that kid went dark and slaughtered countless people. Hard to feel any fondness.
He's still clueless now, but as someone who knows how he'll destroy his whole family later... no affection stirred.
Hmm.
I knew how deep the Wolfgang family's ties ran to the shadows. As a possessor, I was aware they'd built their power through bribes, backroom deals, and every dirty trick in the book.
Who knows.
I let out a small sigh, gazing at the bristling young lady.
"Young Lady."
"Hold on."
The Young Lady was counting on her fingers.
"One lanky head. Two. Three. Four."
She nodded slightly at the sword-bearing knights and the elderly butler, then said,
"Ricardo."
"Yes."
"Should we kill them?"
"Why?"
"They're looking down at me all arrogant-like."
The Young Lady crossed her arms, exuding noble dignity. Like a scarf lizard puffing up to say our house outranks yours.
"Just 'cause you own one lousy canal... You think you can look down on me?"
"You are pretty small, Young Lady."
"Eeeeek!"
The Young Lady nodded.
"True."
"Right?"
"But their eyes are disrespectful."
"That they are."
Her mind sharpening within the noble's frame, the Young Lady narrowed her eyes mischievously.
"Let's kill 'em!"
"Patience."
"Ung."
We bantered for a while, and the pint-sized terror—amped up by her reinforcements—puffed out her chest, eager to hasten their doom.
"Hey!"
Thoroughly provocative. Looked like she wouldn't live long.
The kid glared fiercely, as if daring her to repeat her words, and spat in his haughty tone,
"Why're you quiet? Scared?"
"..."
"Now you know who my dad's connected to, right? Get on your knees, apologize, and scram..."
The moment the brat's provocation crossed the line, the Young Lady's eyes turned icy. She muttered softly,
"How do you even raise a kid to talk like that?"
I whispered in her ear,
"Not something you should say, Young Lady."
"Huh?"
"Yeah. You'd have fireball'd his face by now."
"True."
"This one's at least trying words first. Practically a gentleman."
"Hmnya."
The Young Lady nodded, admitting her slip. Even she wouldn't claim the high ground against the product of rotten upbringing.
She tossed her head haughtily and spoke again.
"Hey."
"Hey?"
"Not you, you dimwit."
The Young Lady looked up at the elderly butler peering down at her.
He'd been all "young master" deference earlier, but now his shoulders were squared, eyes full of contempt.
Irked by the insolent old man's gaze, she stared at his bewildered face and repeated,
"Didn't you hear a noble speaking to you?"
"Ah... My apologies."
"Apologies?"
The Young Lady strode forward with sharp clicks of her heels, locking eyes with the old butler.
"Your whole family's a disgrace."
As her guards moved to intervene, I issued a low warning.
"Don't move."
"..."
At my single word, the knights froze, hands on their sword hilts. They flinched, shoulders trembling—wanting to protect their lord but unable to release the grips. I chuckled dryly and continued,
"The moment you draw, you're dead."
"..."
The knights released their swords. The old man glared at his immobilized knights, then bowed low. A knight who could suppress his family's guards meant the girl before him was high nobility, no doubt.
"..."
The old man smirked slyly and opened his mouth.
"I apologize for not recognizing the noble's heir. I am Rud, butler of House Wolfgang..."
"Shut it!"
The Young Lady turned up her nose primly.
Not interested.
True to her villainous roots, she'd tossed elder respect to the dogs. I nodded at her splendid example.
That's my evil lady.
I loved her consistent villainy—equal opportunity malice over half-hearted evil.
She fixed him with cold eyes.
"Where does a lowly Western noble get off staring me in the eye?"
-Crunch.
"Oh?"
The Young Lady raised a brow at the knight clenching his fist and the brat.
Once her switch flipped, she sniffed out insults faster than anyone.
"Unclench that fist."
Like at the Academy, she unleashed her savage tongue.
"If something bugs you, say it. Don't curse under your breath."
"...Haha."
"Laughing?"
"With all due respect, our house..."
The Young Lady turned to me.
"Ricardo."
"Yes."
"What do you say to that?"
"Hm..."
Even tempered, naming Desmont might stir dangerous rumors later. A late child for Desmont? Gossip fodder.
I stepped forward with a small smile.
"I'll handle it."
"Ung. Beat 'em up."
"That might be tricky."
"Eek... Fine, I'll go punch the brat."
"Who?"
The Young Lady rolled up her sleeves at the kid sticking out his tongue from behind the old man.
"Be right back after I kill him."
"Just make sure he can walk."
"Ung. I'll try."
Once the Young Lady left, the old man stared me down squarely.
"Hmm..."
With the noble gone and a fellow servant appeared, his pride swelled. He lifted his lids, eyeing me, and spoke in a gravelly tone.
"Which house are you from?"
"Senior."
"At least you have manners. A step above your master."
"Didn't feel that chill, senior?"
"...Hm?"
"That instinct when you've poked something you shouldn't. When it feels off, you bow—that's a butler's creed, isn't it?"
"...Cheeky bastard."
"We learned the same trade. No need to play rookie."
The sky darkened.
-Rumble.
I looked up at the brooding heavens.
"You've arrived."
The old man twitched his brows, lifting his head. He'd sensed the unnatural mana approaching.
House Desmont was blessed with magic's favor. Innate talents that made even the Tower Master yield, packed with monsters beyond category. Cranky dispositions. Teetering on the edge between shadows and light. A house even the Emperor dared not touch.
"Oliiiiviaaaaaaa!!!!!"
It was the Desmont house I served.
"Hmnya?"
The Young Lady, mid-stomp on the brat, gaped wide-eyed at the middle-aged figure soaring through the sky and threw open her arms.
"Daddy!!!!"
Cracks spiderwebbed across the old man's face.
"...Desmont."
They'd poked history's worst house.