Mystical Fantasy : The Lazy Real Young Master [EN]

Norvalien Residence

A grand colonial-style villa stood majestically within the elite district of Makazhar City. Crystal chandeliers glimmered across the vast hall, casting a cold, almost oppressive light that seemed to seep into the shadows and fill the space with unease. On this particular night, however, that delicate tranquility was shattered by an arrival most unexpected.

From a swirling vortex of dark mist, Daraka emerged, accompanied by his followers. A mystical hum resonated through the walls, making the very air vibrate with tension. Between them, two bodies were carried—Rudi and Jogo.

Their forms bore the marks of a violent assault, partially burned and scarred by injuries that spoke of unnatural force. Their eyes remained open, yet vacant—empty glassy orbs where life and spirit had once shone. The anguish that radiated from them was not merely physical; it was a deep, internal shattering, a soul fractured beyond recognition.

A middle-aged couple rushed out from within the villa, their footsteps echoing across the marble floors, their breath ragged and panicked. Behind them came a flurry of servants, workers, and bodyguards, all converging on the scene in alarm.

”What… what happened, Mr. Daraka?”

The heavy, trembling voice belonged to Darius Norvalien, Rudi’s father. Though he tried to maintain authority, the edge of fear and disbelief betrayed him. Beside him, Rudi’s mother stood frozen in shock, her hands clutching her mouth as her body trembled violently, unable to comprehend the horror before her eyes.

Daraka’s gaze was cold, unflinching.

”Lay them down.”

The two young men were lowered gently onto the opulent red carpet that stretched across the front hall. Darius and his wife moved closer, horror etched into every line of their faces. Pale-faced and trembling, Mrs. Norvalien’s grief erupted in a torrent of tears as she collapsed onto the floor beside her son, wailing in anguish at the sight of his ravaged body.

”I told you not to involve Rudi with those charlatans!” she screamed, her voice raw and hoarse, each word soaked with fury and despair. ”Look at what you’ve done to our child!”

Darius remained silent, watching his wife’s breakdown, teeth clenched as he struggled to contain a storm of guilt and anger. He allowed her the space to vent her outrage, then turned his attention to Daraka.

”What has happened to Rudi and this Karagara boy…? Tell me, what happened?!” he demanded, desperation lacing every syllable.

Daraka’s eyes studied them with a sorrowful, almost pitying detachment. His gaze carried the weight of someone confronting fools oblivious to the gravity of the situation. Slowly, he began to explain.

”This… this is the work of the child you targeted. He is the one responsible for this.”

”What? You mean the orphan named Al?” Darius asked in disbelief, confusion twisting his features.

Daraka nodded.

Darius rose, eyes wide, face drained of color. His expression conveyed a mixture of incredulity and disbelief, as though Daraka had just delivered the cruelest joke imaginable.

”Wait… wait a moment! Are you telling me…? You said Rudi and Jogo could surpass David Virellano in every conceivable way, and now you’re saying that all this… all this devastation is because of that orphan? Daraka, don’t joke with me! Look at the state of my child!”

Daraka simply turned, lifting his shoulders slightly in a gesture of casual indifference toward Darius’ frenzied emotions.

”Just like you,” Daraka replied softly. ”I didn’t expect it either. But it seems… he is no ordinary child.”

”What do you mean?” Darius asked, a tremor of disbelief threading his voice.

Daraka exhaled slowly before responding, his words deliberate.

”At first, I saw him as nothing more than a normal human. No trace of magical energy, no threat at all—merely a fortunate rat who happened to stumble upon an escape route. But…”

Daraka pivoted, his gaze piercing through Darius.

”…after what transpired, it is clear that he is indeed a mage of considerable power. No, not just considerable—he is immensely strong. Now it all makes sense why I could not detect any magical aura from him until now.”

”A mage? How is that possible?!” Darius gasped, jaw slack, cold sweat beading at his temples.

”Who would have guessed? And I believe that back then, he was the one who easily brought down my subordinates, and his appearance in the hidden warehouse was no longer a coincidence. He may have even been the one to destroy our hideout,” Daraka replied, his tone tinged with irritation.

Darius could only stand in stunned silence, chest heaving as he struggled to draw breath through the suffocating air of dread.

”We witnessed his power firsthand,” Daraka continued. ”And he is the one who reduced Rudi and his friend to this state. This is no longer ordinary damage—it is a shattering of the soul. It seems that only high-level sacred magic could possibly save them.”

Darius could not bear to accept the reality. His hands trembled as he pounded on Daraka’s chest, tears streaming freely. His grip on Daraka’s robe conveyed all the raw, desperate emotion of a father facing helplessness.

”No matter what… but you said… you promised… everything would be fine!”

Daraka casually brushed Darius’ hands away, his gaze icy, slicing like a blade of frost.

”And what right do you have to protest now, Darius?! You gave me incomplete information. You told me he was merely a child!” Daraka’s tone was sharp, accusatory. ”I acted based on the information you provided—and it was all gravely mistaken.”

Darius released his grip and stared down at his child, limp and fragile in his mother’s arms, before returning his gaze to Daraka.

”But… you saw him with your own eyes! You also believed he was just an ordinary child,” he countered.

Daraka remained silent. His face, frozen and expressionless, betrayed nothing. He understood that, in this matter, nothing had gone right. And now, Al had become an immense threat to them.

A tense silence settled over the hall, broken only by the relentless ticking of a clock. Then a weak, trembling voice pierced the stillness.

”Mom… Da… Dad…” Rudi’s voice was fragile, uneven, laced with agony. His lips quivered, eyes brimming with tears. ”P-Please… it hurts… it hurts so much…”

Darius immediately sank to his knees, clutching his child with desperate force, as though he could stave off death itself. Mrs. Norvalien’s hysteria escalated further. She clawed at the floor, her screams deafening.

”Forgive me, my son… I will avenge you… I will destroy that child!” Darius whispered, voice choked with tears.

But the moment Al was mentioned—

Rudi reacted violently. Jogo followed suit.

”N-NO!! DON’T!!!”

”STOP TALKING ABOUT THAT CHILD!!”

”I… I WON’T TAKE IT ANYMORE!!!”

Their bodies shook, muscles tense, faces flushed with fear. Eyes darted wildly, breaths shallow and rapid. Hands scratched at the floor, mouths foaming. Panic and trauma consumed them utterly.

”My Rudi… my child?!”

Mrs. Norvalien tried to restrain her son, but Rudi thrashed like a cornered beast. His shrieks were so violent that the windows rattled in their frames.

Daraka shook his head slightly.

”His soul… may already be fractured.”

”WHAT?!!”

Rudi’s parents shouted simultaneously, their voices reverberating across the hall, thick with panic and fury.

Mrs. Norvalien released her hold and stepped forward to strike Daraka.

SLAP!

But her hand was intercepted by Daraka.

Daraka’s eyes locked onto hers, sharp and menacing, the intensity of his stare slicing through the air like a dagger. The room seemed to still under his gaze. Mrs. Norvalien shivered instinctively.

SLAP!

This time, Daraka struck back, sending the woman sprawling to the floor. Servants gasped in shock, some covering their mouths in disbelief.

”What are you doing?!” Darius shouted, lunging again for Daraka, only to be stopped by Daraka’s subordinates.

Mrs. Norvalien glared, rage and pain mingling in her expression.

”How dare you strike me!” she roared, blood mingling with tears at the corner of her lips. ”Guards! Seize him!”

A contingent of bodyguards advanced, surrounding Daraka. Some relied on their bare hands, others wielded tasers and standard combat equipment.

Daraka’s followers quickly formed a protective formation around him. The sound of boots striking marble, the tension in the air… it all coalesced into the threat of imminent battle.

Yet—

”Stop!” Darius’ command sliced through the chaos.

The bodyguards froze mid-advance, confused by the sudden contradiction of orders.

”What do you mean, Darius?” his wife seethed, eyes blazing, expression dark. Tears streamed down her face as blackened anger seemed to envelop her entirely. ”Look what he’s done to our child! And look at what he’s done to me!”

Darius surveyed his wife on the floor, then glanced at Rudi struggling in the care of several guards, and finally at Daraka, who stood smiling faintly in the center of his followers protective formation.

”Calm yourself,” Darius said softly. ”Look at our child. Do you think this is mere physical pain?”

”What are you implying?” she spat, still fuming.

”Didn’t you hear Daraka say this is a shattering of the soul, something only a high-level spell could remedy?”

She fell silent, eyes locked on Rudi writhing in agony.

”Do you think I can believe in such things?” she murmured, trembling yet still struggling to accept her child’s suffering.

”I don’t fully understand it either, nor do I know if we should believe it. But first… Daraka might now be the key to our child’s recovery. So do not touch him recklessly. And second…”

Darius’ words were cut off as hysteria erupted around them.

”Arghhhhh!”

”Urrrggghhh!”

Screams of bodyguards filled the hall. Those who had cried out collapsed, black smoke spilling from their bodies. Limbs convulsed violently, eyes rolling, sending shivers down the spines of all witnesses.

”...Daraka would not associate with a family of our stature if he were just an ordinary charlatan,” Darius continued.

All eyes turned to Daraka, who now smirked mischievously, dark smoke curling from his hands. He was the one who had incapacitated the bodyguards with a cursed spell.

Some remaining guards began to tremble in fear, cold sweat dotting their brows. Servants and workers alike realized that the man before them was far from ordinary.

Silence fell once more.

Daraka’s gaze sharpened, and he stepped forward, dark smoke swirling around his hands. The air grew thick and heavy; crystal lights quivered as if threatened to extinguish. His eyes glowed red, a silent harbinger that something terrible was about to unfold.

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