Mystical Fantasy : The Lazy Real Young Master [EN]

Daraka approached Rudi’s father and mother with an expression that was difficult to decipher. His face was impassive, almost like carved stone, yet his eyes carried a weight that pierced down to the very marrow of their bones—cold, oppressive, and suffocating. That gaze alone was enough to confuse Darius and his wife, leaving them shaken with an unease they could not put into words.

Fortunately,

”Unfortunately, I am a shaman whose expertise lies solely in curses, not in the art of healing, much less in the purification of souls,” Daraka finally replied in a chilling tone. His voice was low and heavy, resonating through the air as though it carried with it a haze of dark mist that instantly thickened the atmosphere in the room, plunging it into a stifling silence.

Darius fell quiet for a brief moment before exhaling a breath of relief. At the very least, Daraka did not seem intent on harming them directly. However, his statement also carried with it news that was far from comforting.

”So then… what must we do to cure Rudi?” Darius asked again, this time with a more subdued voice. His shoulders slumped, his hands trembled ever so slightly, as though he were a man whose compass had been lost.

His wife still seemed on the verge of protesting. Her swollen eyes glistened with unshed tears, her lips parted as though to scream in desperation.

But Darius shot her a sharp, commanding glare, a look that silently pleaded—no, demanded—that she remain quiet for now. The weight of the silence pressed heavily on her chest, and only the pounding of her own heartbeat seemed to fill her ears. That was enough to make her understand that, for the moment, she must not say a word.

”I cannot say for certain,” Daraka muttered. ”I will try to find someone who might be able to help him. For now, however, there are several crucial matters we must deal with first.”

”And what would that be?” Darius asked.

Daraka turned his gaze toward Rudi and Jogo. His stare was sharp, penetrating—like that of a predator evaluating prey that was already cornered and weakened.

”Secure them immediately. Their condition is far too unstable.”

Rudi’s parents both turned to look at their son—his mind fractured, thrashing about on the floor like a deranged beast even while several bodyguards restrained him with all their strength.

Rudi’s scream tore through the air, high-pitched and distorted, a sound that could make the hair on anyone’s neck stand on end. His mother’s breath caught in her throat, her body trembling violently, as though her very soul was being ripped apart at the sight of her child’s misery.

Darius and his wife boiled with helpless rage, but in the end, all they could do was nod.

”Take them to the underground chamber,” Darius ordered. ”I will contact Jogo’s father after this and explain the situation. Hopefully, they will not make matters worse than they already are.”

And thus, Rudi and Jogo were dragged down to the hidden chamber beneath the Norvalien estate. The heavy footsteps of the bodyguards echoed through the halls, accompanied by Rudi’s muffled wails and groans. His mother followed behind, unable to remain in the same room as Daraka—the man who, in her eyes, was one of the reasons her son had been reduced to such a pitiful state.

When the others had left and silence reclaimed the room, the only remnants were the lingering stench of iron, sweat, and faint traces of blood. Darius clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white before slamming them into the wall with a resounding crack. Dust scattered from the impact, fragments of stone crumbling under the force. His knuckles split, droplets of blood smearing across the wall, but the sting of pain was nothing compared to the torment his child was suffering.

”Arrrrgghhh…!!!”

His eyes burned red with fury, veins bulging along his neck, his face contorted with a mixture of rage and despair.

”I SWEAR… I WILL KILL THAT BOY! I SWEAR IT UPON THE BLOOD OF MY FAMILY!”

His oath reverberated into the night sky, as though even the heavens themselves paused to listen. The wind stilled, and only the faint chorus of nocturnal insects dared to answer his furious vow.

Daraka exhaled slowly, rubbing his weary face with one hand, as if the weight of everything pressing upon him had finally begun to gnaw at his patience.

”Secure this place immediately,” he instructed coldly. ”Increase the layers of protection and tighten security severalfold. There is a small chance that boy might come here tonight. Even though I doubt he is in any condition to act, we cannot afford to be careless.”

Darius nodded, though his mind was clouded, his thoughts spiraling chaotically like a storm.

”That boy… is he injured as well? If so, then why did you not seize the opportunity to finish him?”

Daraka shook his head, his eyes dimming with a wariness that rarely surfaced in him.

”Of course, I considered the very same thought. But he is not an opponent who can be underestimated. Even if he were alone, even if his body were battered and bleeding, I cannot say with certainty that we could defeat him.” Daraka’s voice carried a weight of reluctant respect.

”Is he truly that strong?” Darius asked in disbelief, still unable to comprehend that the boy they had long dismissed as nothing more than a bothersome insect had revealed himself to be a looming threat—perhaps even a foe they never should have provoked in the first place.

Regret seeped into his expression. He could only curse his own folly, and Rudi’s reckless arrogance, for constantly provoking Al from the very beginning. His head sank, his hands clawing into his own hair as if he could rip the roots of regret out of his very skull. If only he had raised Rudi with a stricter hand, perhaps things would have turned out differently. But such thoughts were meaningless now. The die had been cast, and only one course of action remained—Al had to be eliminated.

Daraka nodded grimly.

And so, the night pressed on in the Norvalien residence, which bustled with frantic activity. Above, the sky was a suffocating black, the stars hidden away, and the mansion itself loomed like a fortress awaiting the storm to come.

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Elsewhere, at Makazhar Elite Hospital.

Yura sat in one of the chairs within the waiting area, still wearing the same clothes she had worn earlier. Her eyes were fixed on the glowing screen of her phone, waiting anxiously for any news from Devy. Her leg bounced restlessly, while her fingers tapped lightly against the armrest of the chair—small, nervous gestures that betrayed the inner turmoil she could not conceal.

Beside her sat Zaza, Karen, and Armin—faces pale and filled with lingering fear, their expressions shadowed by worry. Fortunately, the three of them had only suffered minor injuries, nothing beyond small scratches and bruises, and had already received light treatment from the hospital staff.

Directly across from them, however, lay Rina and Johan, who were still undergoing care. Their wounds were considerably more severe, enough to warrant concern, yet both of them were seasoned fighters whose bodies were trained to withstand pain and endure injuries that might have incapacitated others.

The rhythmic beeping of medical monitors echoed faintly, steady and reassuring, marking the stable cadence of their heartbeats. And yet, despite that steady rhythm, the pallor upon their faces cast a heavy weight over the atmosphere, pressing against everyone’s chest like an invisible hand.

Before long, the sound of the door creaking open broke through the silence.

Devy had arrived. The sterile white light of the hospital corridor framed her figure, and with each measured step she took, she carried an air of calm authority. Her presence exuded a quiet but undeniable dignity, drawing every gaze in the room toward her without effort.

The moment everyone noticed her arrival, a sense of relief washed over them. Yura, in particular, could not contain the light that sparked in her eyes. She rose swiftly from her seat and approached her without hesitation. Her gaze brimmed with relief, though her voice, when it left her lips, was quick and hurried, unable to mask the impatience burning within her.

”Devy—you finally came back. Tell me, how did it go? Did you manage to annihilate those two monsters and rescue Al—hmm… I mean, that orphan boy?” Yura’s words spilled out in a rush, her tone betraying the urgency of her desire to know.

Devy looked at Yura, then shifted her gaze to sweep across the room, briefly resting upon her companions, and finally on Johan and Rina, who remained unconscious upon their hospital beds. Her eyes were gentle yet deep, as though she wished to instill calmness and steady their hearts before speaking.

And in that quiet pause, a single thought seemed to hang in the air—Would she reveal the truth of what had truly transpired? Would she unveil Al’s true identity?

The answer she was about to give… would be the kind that changed their expressions into something strange, something that none of them had expected to hear.

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