Lucas
“Don’t let anyone in. Not my father, not my mother, not even Yonas. No one should come here. Send someone who doesn’t know me at all to attend me. If they ask who I am, tell them I’m a sinner who committed a grave crime.”
“Do you really have to go that far…?”
“I’m already dead. Farewell.”
Isaac stared blankly at the ceiling. He tried to empty his mind and sink into meditation, but it wouldn’t come as he wished. The last conversation with his father resurfaced. It had been twenty years, yet it felt as vivid as if it had happened yesterday. He could still recall every word, not a syllable out of place. They hadn’t exchanged many words, but both Isaac and his father knew each other’s hearts well. It was in the silence, in the heavy air that settled between them, that more was said than words could convey.
Isaac didn’t want to grow weak. He didn’t want to hurt his loved ones anymore. He didn’t want to lose them. And so, he resolved never to see them again.
After that, he shut himself away, devoting himself entirely to the study of magic. He focused solely on escaping his fated curse. That was his form of atonement, his way to forget the pain.
“Are you awake, young master? It’s morning outside now.”
“……”
“Young master?”
At that moment, a sturdy-built man with a gentle face entered the room.
“What’s on your mind?”
It was Lucas, the only person in the manor who could still converse with Isaac.
“Just… old memories.”
“How old?”
“About twenty years ago.”
“That’s ancient history. Why not savor some fresh cheese full of flavor instead of musty old recollections?”
Lucas held up a basket of food.
“I brought a few of the books you mentioned, too. A scholar from the Blue Tower published a new one.”
“He’s long-lived. It’s been over twenty years since he diagnosed my unique constitution. Nothing happening outside? Everyone healthy?”
“Yes, of course. His Excellency, the Madam, and the young master Yonas are all well. As for detailed news, per His Excellency’s orders…”
“Father said not to tell me outside news. So I wouldn’t worry unnecessarily.”
“Yes, exactly.”
“Got it. Just checking.”
“Thank you for understanding.”
Lucas scratched the back of his head sheepishly.
“Hoo.”
Isaac sighed. He could vaguely guess at outside affairs even without Lucas spelling them out. Recent books on magic studies were heavily focused on destructive spells. Papers Isaac had published under Yonas’s name while holed up underground were frequently cited. Some major destructive spells and even magitech weapons were built on their foundational principles. War was surely looming—or already upon them. The frustration was not knowing who was fighting whom, or how deeply his family, the Goetes, were involved. He’d pressed Lucas on it several times, but the answer was always the same.
“Don’t worry too much. If the Goetes were caught in a war, they couldn’t afford to look after you like this.”
Lucas was right.
“More important than continental politics is what you need to focus on, young master.”
“……Yeah.”
Isaac nodded. Solving his constitution came first. It was the path he’d chosen. His father, the Goethe Count, had done right by him. Isaac had made his choice. Now he had to commit. Everything else was unnecessary noise.
Twenty years on, his unique constitution—the mana rampage—remained unsolved. No room to look elsewhere. He knew it was too late to turn back. Even if he overcame it, nothing would change. Yet Isaac didn’t give up. He wouldn’t, not until his life ended. Possibility and impossibility didn’t matter. If he fell, he’d rise. That was all. That was Isaac. The blood of the Goetes ran true in him.
As Isaac skimmed the books, Lucas began cleaning the room. He emptied the chamber pot, cleared the laundry bin, and replaced it with neatly folded fresh clothes and towels. Over a decade of the same routine had made him swift.
“Time to get up.”
“Done already?”
“Yes. You trained your stamina yesterday. Sword practice today, I suppose.”
“Gonna be bruised all over.”
Isaac chuckled wryly. If there was anything more enjoyable than researching magic, it was these sessions.
“Huff, huff.”
Before long, Isaac collapsed against his wooden sword, gasping for breath. Sure enough, his body was a map of bruises.
“Hoo, I ask every time, but seriously—why aren’t you a knight? Why waste your talent babysitting me?”
“I told you. My level’s barely above a foot soldier who swings a sword decently.”
“I’m sick of that canned answer. Got anything new?”
Isaac had trained under Lucas for over a decade now. Not from laziness on his part, nor poor teaching from Lucas. Lucas was an excellent instructor. But Isaac still couldn’t touch Lucas’s heels. Lucas dismantled every strike without moving a step, countering effortlessly. After ten years of wooden sword beatings, Isaac had developed an eye for it. When border knights visited the manor for lessons, he could tell: Lucas was exceptional. Maybe beyond that.
“How about this? I, Lucas, swear by the name of a warrior to serve Isaac von Goete.”
Lucas suddenly stood his wooden sword vertical and dropped to one knee.
“What’re you doing?”
“Can’t you tell? Oath of loyalty. Congratulations. You’re a knighted man now.”
“Cut the crap.”
“No difference. You’re the one I serve, and I already do. From the day you saved me, I’ve been your knight.”
“You’re no fun.”
Isaac smacked his lips.
“That was my best shot at a joke.”
Lucas said it without a hint of humor.
“Joke? That’s the funniest thing you’ve ever said.”
Isaac shook his head.
“I’m not joking about you saving me. If you hadn’t covered for me then, I’d be dead.”
Twenty-one or twenty-two years ago. Lucas had tried stealing a family elixir to save his fever-stricken wife. Caught by the head servant, the honest Lucas had frozen. Isaac, not yet secluded underground, claimed he’d ordered Lucas to dispose of the elixir, covering for him. Lucas was cleared, even earning a reputation for loyalty to Isaac. After years serving at the border fortress Winterband, he heard Isaac’s previous attendant had quit. He bombarded the head servant with letters—why he should serve Isaac, how he could help. Thick pages crammed with script flooded the manor office. The next year, Lucas got his wish, despite Isaac’s request for a stranger.
“I told you, the elixir was useless to me anyway. Tasted like shit. I dumped it ‘cause I didn’t want it.”
“Didn’t you get whipped until you passed out for that?”
“That happened? Too long ago; I don’t remember.”
“And yet you never said a word about me. Just stuck to ‘I dumped it ‘cause I didn’t want it.’”
“I was dying of pain. Too annoying to explain.”
Isaac shrugged.
“You’re a good man, young master.”
Lucas said earnestly.
“Now that’s a fresh joke.”
Isaac looked away. He didn’t want to hear it. Those who cared for him always ended up as sacrifices.
“You know it’s not a joke… cough.”
“Lucas!”
But Lucas suddenly coughed up blood. Hematemesis. A symptom of mana poisoning. From staying too long by Isaac’s side. Even without explosions, Isaac’s vessel was always cracked, mana leaking constantly. The Goetes were a mage family; their innate mana density was extraordinarily high. To those with weak resistance, Isaac’s mana was poison. Especially for Lucas, exposed daily, for years.
“Spouting nonsense gets you puking blood. Get out—now!”
Isaac handed him a towel and supported him to the door.
“Heh, young master, you’ve got no noble airs.”
“……Rest for a while.”
“No. Who’ll attend you without me?”
“Some pretty maid’ll do better. Rest till the poisoning clears. At least a month. Don’t come near me till then. Got it?”
“Can’t do that. You’ve got no friends, young master.”
“I’ll kick you out for insult.”
“I’ll be back soon.”
“Don’t. Come back unhealed, you’re fired. Don’t wanna see your ugly mug in my nightmares too.”
“That’s a novel threat.”
Lucas smiled weakly.
“No bullshit—go, before you really die.”
Isaac set him down outside and shut the door.
“Don’t worry. You know me. You’ve exploded dozens of times here, and I’ve never lost a hair. You won’t find anyone like me while I’m gone.”
Lucas’s voice came from beyond the door.
“Life’s one-and-done. Dodged dozens, but one slip loses everything. Don’t come back; it’s fine. Pass the hassle to someone else, focus on your kid. Don’t worry Anna.”
“Your nagging’s worse than my wife’s.”
“Be a proper knight. Anna’d prefer that. ……Now scram. Meditating; don’t disturb.”
“Yes, young master. It’s been… a pleasure.”
Isaac heard but pretended not. Pondering those words might weaken his resolve. Still, he listened until Lucas’s footsteps fully faded—worried mana poisoning might seize him midway out.
“Shouldn’t have grown attached.”
Once Lucas’s presence vanished, Isaac muttered and gave a hollow laugh. He’d said the same twenty years ago. No progress at all. Cursing his unchanging self, he still prayed blessings for Lucas’s unborn child. May it not live like him. May it grow loved, like Lucas had.
And another year passed.
“Huff, huff, huff.”
Isaac woke from another nightmare, cold sweat chilling his brow. The dreams were always the same. Hans, Nanny, and two maids dead from mana explosion. They prepare dinner together. Outside, a winter blizzard rages. Inside, it’s warm and merry. Hans hums as he loads dry logs into the fireplace. The maids sing along, prepping food. Nanny sets the table—cloth, glasses, forks, spoons, knives. Isaac chats old tales with them. Cozy. Heartwarming. Yet unease stirs. Something’s wrong, intuition writhing beneath the cheer.
Thud, thud, thud. Someone pounds the wooden door. A man bundled in fur cloak. Snow piled thick on head and shoulders from the trek.
“Sorry I’m late. Dinner’s still on, right?”
He removes his hood. Lucas.
“Oh dear, you must be freezing. Come in!”
Nanny welcomes him warmly.
“No—don’t come in!”
Isaac screamed in despair. But Lucas was already inside.
“Long time, young master.”
Lucas beamed. Isaac’s face twisted in horror. The dream ended there. The same every night for the past year.
Isaac wiped sweat, staring blankly at the wall mold. A year since Lucas left. Lately, butler Schrader personally filled his role. Isaac asked after Lucas repeatedly, but Schrader only repeated that he’d quit, no further news.
A month more passed. An unexpected visitor found the hidden underground chamber. The Goethe Count.
“It’s been a while, Father.”
“Your face… it’s haggard.”
Father and son exchanged brief words, then stood in silence. Neither relished the reunion. It only recalled wounds they’d inflicted. Nothing resolved, just wasted time. After long quiet, the Count spoke.
“Lucas… is dead.”
The still air began to sizzle, like something boiling. Isaac’s vessel was cracking again.