Chapter 15: Sleep With One Eye Open

*Kiro's POV*

After a few minutes since Istella was dragged down to the dungeons, the room finally went quiet again. I stayed beside the Duchess, listening to her uneven breathing. The black ooze on her arm twitched every now and then like it had a pulse of its own.

With nothing left to do but wait, I tried to focus on the basics I’d been studying.

Mana itself wasn’t something I could see. At its core, it came from lifeforce—the aura every living being naturally leaked out. If someone pulled out too much of that aura, their lifespan would shorten. But if they drew it out and retracted it instantly, the connection wouldn’t fully break. It would just leave behind a faint, mist-like trail.

That mist wasn’t mana yet.

To turn it into mana, it had to mix with magical energy—the natural energy found in everything around us. When that mixture condensed properly, it became usable mana.

I’d read about different branches of magic—Elemental, Psychic, Condensing, Hemo, Articulated—but all of those required fully formed mana first.

I thought I was already using magic, but right now, I was still stuck at the starting line, by using mana you link magical energy to part of your lifeforce, allowing the magic casted to recognize you and not damage you, no wonder I felt cold and hot when I used fire and ice, if I had not taken the liberty of protecting myself using psychic magic, I would've been burned.

I exhaled and reached my hand toward the Duchess’s corrupted arm. A thin strand of my aura leaked from my fingertips, barely there and colorless.

“Slow… steady…”

I guided the strand closer, trying to see if it would stabilize the ooze or react to it somehow.

The moment it touched, the black ooze twitched violently and swallowed the strand whole—corrupting it instantly. The connection snapped like a rope eaten through.

I yanked my aura back and shook my hand out.

“Yeah, no. Definitely not touching that again,” I muttered under my breath. “Doctors can deal with it. Not risking her life just to pretend I know what I’m doing.”

I leaned back in the chair and let out a long sigh.

With nothing else to focus on, I reached into the small pouch tied to my belt and pulled out a single coin. I pushed a bit of my aura into it— enough to turn it into mana, just right for me to manipulate it.

The coin lifted and floated above my palm.

No matter how many times I did this, the feeling never got old. It's pretty cool.

Just thinking about an object… and making it move without even touching it really makes this fantasy stuff feel unreal.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

I closed my hand around the coin.

“It’s open,” I said.

The door pushed open and my mother stepped inside, carrying a bucket of fresh water and a pile of clean towels. She looked tired, but her expression was the same calm one she always wore while working.

“Where’s Sir Reginald?” I asked.

“He went to fetch the doctors himself,” she said. “After handing Istella over to the guards.”

As she stepped closer, the coin slipped from my hand and rolled across the floor until it went in between her feet. She bent down, picked it up, and handed it back to me.

“Careful,” she said.

“Yeah… thanks.”

I forced a yawn.

“Go get some sleep,” she said. “I’ll watch over the Duchess tonight.”

I nodded and started walking toward the door. We passed each other in the middle of the room—and the moment our backs crossed.

I sharply turned around fingers curled in, just as a blade stopped a hair’s width from my eye—frozen in place, the attacker paralyzed in mid-motion as my pupils flared.

“WHY CAN’T I MOVE?!” the impostor shouted.

Levitating the coin infront of her, I made it eminate a faint glow as I spun it around to taunt her.

I winked, and the entire room burst with warm blue light.

She struggled harder. “How… how did you know?!”

I slipped the coin back into my pouch.

“You knocked three times.”

Just then, a blur of darkness flashed across the window.

Before I could react, the glass exploded inward, and slammed both me and the impostor and we hit the wall hard. My ears were ringing. My vision spun. For a second, I couldn’t even tell which way was up.

I forced myself onto my elbows, fighting the dizziness.

The intruder was already sprinting toward the Duchess, twin blades drawn.

I exhaled sharply, letting my aura flare out again. The air hummed. My eyes burned and the blue glow returned.

“Stop—!”

I thrust out my hand, the other supporting me, and the assassin froze mid-air a heartbeat before his blades reached the Ducchess.

But something flickered at the edge of my vision.

I turned—too late.

A second blade came flying toward my direction

I raised my other hand on instinct, catching the blade with aura—but the force still drove it straight into my palm, but it didn't go through.

Pain detonated up my arm.

I almost screamed, but I gritted by teeth and bit my down so hard blood dripped from both sides.

My mother, no. The assassin pretending to my mother had a huge smirk on her face. I snapped back at the other intruder across the room.

The frozen intruder’s wrist clicked.

A hidden crossbow snapped open.

“No—!”

Three arrows shot straight toward the Duchess.

I threw both hands forward. My mana snatched all three arrows in mid-flight—stopping them, the arrows barely grazing the Duchess’s throat.

And in that instant, I left myself wide open.

The impostor lunged at my neck.

But something grabbed her from behind—and a fiery arm wrapped in blue light slammed her head into the floor so hard the wood cracked, her skull went down through the second level.

Standing above her was my real mother.

I stared, stunned.

I didn’t even have time to turn back to the intruder before Sir Reginald was already there. He grabbed all three arrows with one hand and with the other—

Crack. Crack. Crack. Crack.

He broke every joint in the assassin’s limbs before the man could move. Then he crushed the jaw, pried it open, and plucked out a molar with a small capsule inside.

Poison.

The intruder’s scream shook the entire wing of the manor—louder than the explosion that shattered the window.

My aura flickered and died. I collapsed to my knees.

My mom rushed to me, lifting me into her arms.

“Kiro—are you hurt?!”

“I’ll… be fine…” I managed through clenched teeth.

She held my face, tears gathering in her eyes. “Thank God.”

Then she coughed—harshly—and blood spilled onto her hand. The glow in her eyes dimmed, fading completely.

“Mom?”

“Not now,” she whispered, wiping her mouth. “We move, now.” 

I nodded back.

She supported me with one arm and stood, keeping me steady.

The room shifted from chaos to command the moment boots thundered in.

Guards and staff burst through the doors, weapons already drawn, shields raised, eyes wide with confusion and fear as they took in the wreckage — the shattered window, the blood on the floor, the assassin pinned and broken under Sir Reginald, and my mother holding me up by the shoulders.

Sir Reginald didn’t waste a second.

“SECURE THE PERIMETER!” he roared, voice echoing off the walls like a blast of iron. “Move the Duchess to the main hall—NOW! I want guards outside, inside, every window, every stairwell, EVERY DOOR!”

He pointed at the mages with a sharp snap of his fingers.

“MAGES! Light up the entire estate and sweep for foreign mana! I WANT NOTHING HIDING IN THIS DARK!”

The shift was instant.

Mana surged across the estate like a wave breaking free.

Lamps flared to life — one by one — hallway, corridor, staircase, balcony, even the sconces mounted high on the pillars outside. Shadows curled away and vanished as if fleeing.

Warm light swallowed every corner that could hide a blade.

My mother turned to the maids with a fire I rarely ever saw in her eyes.

“BRING THE YOUNG MISS!” she commanded. “Cast a sleeping spell on her — she is NOT to see her mother like this!”

The maids froze for a heartbeat, then scrambled out the door, skirts swishing, slippers slapping against the polished floor.

A runner sprinted the opposite way, pushing past armored guards.

“Contact the royal palace!” Sir Reginald barked behind him. “Tell them we request immediate refuge!”

“Yes, sir!”

Meanwhile, four guards gently lifted the Duchess, still pale and hardly breathing, onto a stretcher. They covered her with blankets, making sure none of the blackened veins touched cloth or skin. I watched them carry her out of the room, slow and careful, like she was made of glass that had already cracked.

The main hall was transformed within minutes.

Futons were laid out across the entire grand staircase — thick bedding, blankets, pillows. A fortress of rest and vigilance built from the softest things the manor had to offer.

Before anyone could set their futons up, they had to be inspected for weapons and their mana checked by the mages so that they can be identified as an ally.

Everyone stayed close — guards, mages, butlers, maids, kitchen staff, even gardeners who had rushed inside when the alarms were triggered. They surrounded the Duchess and the Young Miss placed at the center, all of them forming a living, breathing barrier of bodies.

Some people tried to sleep on their futons.

Most couldn’t.

Elmario stomped into the hall carrying a pot so huge it looked like he ripped it off the stove with both hands. He slammed it down on the floor so hard it rattled the staircase.

“If I get my hands on those bastards,” he growled, voice thick with rage and worry,

“I’LL COOK ‘EM ALIVE.”

Someone snorted.

Someone else laughed behind a hand.

And suddenly, several people laughed — tired, angry laughs, but real ones. A brief break in the panic.

The kitchen didn’t rest after that.

They set up a station at the base of the stairs and piled it with steaming bowls, fresh bread, cooked meat, hot broth. Every few minutes, a maid or kitchen boy ran back with more pots.

It kept everyone warm.

The mages never let their aura drop, every now and then I'd see them chugging blue liquid from a glass bottle from a crate they brought in. They stood at the edges of the hall, hands clasped or hovering by their chests, eyes glowing faintly as they continuously spread their mana through every wall, every floorboard, every roof tile. I felt the mana brushing over me each time — checking, confirming, memorizing.

They built a mental map of the estate:

allies, allies, allies…

and anything else dies on sight.

No one closed their eyes for long.

We all stayed there — every single person in the estate, except the prisoners in the dungeon — sitting, standing, pacing, whispering prayers, sharpening blades, clutching their kids, or watching the Duchess’s breathing.

Together.

Guarding the Duchess.

Guarding the Young Miss.

Guarding each other.

As the night stretched on, heavy and cold, there was one unspoken vow held in every clenched fist, every drawn blade, every flicker of mana burning through the air:

No one else was dying tonight.