Chapter 135: The Meaning of Dreams
“What the…?”
The door slammed shut behind Billy with a resounding bang, cutting off his startled exclamation. He whipped around, heart pounding, only to hear Sherman’s voice echoing from the other side.
“Sorry, Billy! Sally and Rudy begged me, and our senior told me to help them out, so I didn’t have a choice!”
Sherman’s shouted apology grew fainter as his footsteps retreated. Billy, dumbfounded, slowly turned his head, his gaze settling on the only occupied table in the room. There, alongside Sally and Rudy, sat another figure.
Silver hair that gleamed like moonlight, a face as exquisitely carved as an ice sculpture, and the unmistakable uniform of the Red Hawk Knights.
Damian Vandermir. Aracila’s husband.
The moment Billy recognized him, the blood drained from his face, leaving it ashen. Guilt gnawed at him, and his reaction was only natural.
“W-what’s going on? Why’d you bring me here…?”
“Hey, Billy. Be honest,” Sally snapped, leaping to her feet and fixing him with a piercing glare. “That night at the alumni gathering, you stole the lab key from my bag, didn’t you?”
Billy flinched but shook his head frantically, his voice rising in denial. “N-no! What are you talking about? I didn’t steal anything!”
“Don’t lie!” Sally shot back. “You took the key, gave it to Travis, and sabotaged the lamp Aracila made for Her Highness the Princess!”
Rudy strode forward, grabbing Billy by the collar with a grip that radiated fury. He was livid, seething at the underhanded tactics of Billy and Travis’s clique.
“You filthy rat,” Rudy growled. “Pulling these dirty tricks behind our backs. Aren’t you ashamed? And you call yourself a mage?”
“Rudy! Watch your mouth!” Billy shouted, his voice cracking with desperation. “You got any proof I stole the key? Huh? Any proof?”
Sally let out a derisive snort. “Oh, yeah. I’ve got proof. What’re you gonna do about it?”
“W-what…?” Billy stammered.
“Someone saw you rummaging through my bag, you thief!”
It was a bluff, but Sally delivered it with such vivid conviction that it might as well have been true. Rudy’s grip on Billy’s collar tightened, and Billy’s face, already pale, turned ghostly white. He looked like he might collapse on the spot as his mind raced. A witness? Should he just admit it?
No… no way.
To stay under Travis’s—and by extension, Fernando’s—protection, he had to deny everything to the end. Billy clamped his mouth shut, his lips pressing into a stubborn, petulant line.
“Oh, come on, Billy,” Sally said, her tone dripping with mock sweetness. “Just confess and beg for forgiveness while we’re being nice. We might—just might—go a little easy on you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Billy muttered.
“Stop playing dumb! You stole it!” Sally yelled.
“I said I don’t know anything!”
Billy clung to his denial, repeating the same line like a mantra, unfazed even as Rudy shook him by the collar or Sally tugged at his hair in frustration. As their accusations failed to break him, Sally and Rudy grew more aggressive, their patience fraying.
“Spit it out, you jerk!” Rudy roared.
“I don’t know anything!” Billy shouted back.
“Ugh, this guy!” Sally raised her fist, ready to land a sharp rap on his head in exasperation.
“Enough.”
Until that moment, Damian had been silently observing the scene. Now, he rose from his seat, his heavy footsteps echoing as he approached. The sheer weight of his presence made Billy, Sally, and Rudy freeze. Even without a word, his aura was suffocating.
Damian stopped in front of Billy, towering over him, his expression unreadable. Billy’s lips trembled, his eyes darting nervously. There was no hint of emotion on Damian’s face—no anger, no pity, nothing. That blankness made him all the more terrifying.
“If you won’t talk, so be it,” Damian said, his voice low and deliberate.
“What… what are you going to do?” Billy managed to choke out.
“I’ll kill you.”
“W-what?!” Rudy gasped, his eyes wide with shock. Billy’s scream was silent, trapped in his throat. Only Sally remained calm, unfazed by the threat.
“Just killing him would be a loss for us,” she said coolly. “Do you have a plan in mind?”
“He’ll write a confession detailing all his crimes, then stage it as a suicide,” Damian replied matter-of-factly.
Sally nodded, as if approving the idea. Billy’s face turned a sickly shade of gray, as though he’d already died once.
“Wait, hold on!” Rudy interjected, trying to keep a grip on reason. “Calm down, Sally. Sir Vandermir, are you serious right now?”
Billy’s eyes latched onto Rudy, glimmering with desperate hope, as if he were his last lifeline.
“Do I look like I’m joking?” Damian said coldly. “If you dared to harm my wife, you should’ve been prepared for the consequences.”
“You’re… you’re serious,” Rudy muttered, letting out a short, resigned groan before nodding and stepping back, abandoning any attempt to intervene.
Billy stared at Rudy, his expression a mix of betrayal and disbelief. How could you give up so easily? his eyes seemed to scream. Rudy only shrugged, raising his hands in a gesture of helpless surrender.
As the obstacle cleared, Damian’s hand rested on the hilt of the sword at his waist. The killing intent radiating from him held not a trace of pretense.
Realizing he might actually die, Billy let out a scream and bolted for the door. “Nooo! Somebody help! I don’t want to die!”
“Stop him,” Damian commanded.
“Got it,” Sally replied. With a flick of her wrist, she cast a binding spell that ensnared Billy. Just inches from the door, he collapsed with a thud and was dragged back to his original spot. He struggled desperately to break free, but Sally’s magical prowess far outstripped his own. His efforts were futile, and he flopped like a fish caught on a line, thrashing wildly.
“You think you can kill me and get away with it?!” Billy shouted, his voice cracking with panic. “My family won’t stand for it, and neither will the Mage Tower!”
“And?” Damian’s voice was cold, cutting through Billy’s bluster.
“W-what…?” Billy stammered, caught off guard.
“What are your family or the Mage Tower going to do to me?” Damian’s lips curled into a mocking smirk as he pressed his boot onto Billy’s shoulder. It wasn’t a hard push, but Billy froze, barely daring to breathe.
“Why… why are you going this far…?” Billy whispered, his voice trembling.
“I’d do anything for my wife,” Damian said simply. “That’s a husband’s duty.”
Billy fell silent, his face drained of color.
“You’ll be dealt with as someone who, overwhelmed by guilt, left a confession and took his own life,” Damian continued. “I’ll use every connection I have to ensure neither the Mage Tower nor your family can dig into your death.”
For a sword master from the Vandermir ducal house, no task was impossible, and Damian’s resolve made it clear he would follow through on his words. His icy gaze fell on Billy, whose pants were now visibly soaked with fear.
“Can you bind him with his limbs spread out?” Damian asked Sally. “It’ll make this quicker.”
“Yes, sir,” Sally replied. “But where are you planning to strike to stage it as a suicide?”
“A man consumed by deep guilt doesn’t need a gentle death,” Damian said. “A gut wound will do.”
“Got it!” Sally said with grim enthusiasm. “I’ll hold him tight so he can’t move when you cut his stomach!”
Her magic tightened around Billy’s limbs, pinning him in a rigid, spread-eagled position, unable to so much as twitch. The metallic shing of Damian’s sword being drawn echoed in the room. The blade, infused with the aura of a sword master, glinted a cold, steely blue under the tavern’s dim lights.
Billy screamed until the veins in his neck bulged, but no one came to his aid. Sally and Rudy stood on either side, their faces impassive, watching him with chilling detachment.
I’m going to die. I’m really going to die!
As Damian raised his sword high, Billy squeezed his eyes shut and shrieked, “Agh! Okay, I did it!”
“Did what?” Damian’s voice was calm, unyielding.
“I—I stole the key!” Billy sobbed, his confession spilling out like a dam breaking. He wailed like a child, tears streaming down his face as he begged, “I’m sorry! Please, spare me! Hic!”
“Finally, some sense,” Damian said, sheathing his sword with a swift, practiced motion.
He had never intended to kill Billy—not truly. The threat was a calculated ploy to terrify him into confessing. What would have happened if Billy had held out longer was anyone’s guess.
“Travis put you up to it, didn’t he?” Sally pressed.
“Hic Y-yes!” Billy blubbered. “Travis—hic—he told me to steal the key!”
“Ugh, I knew it!” Sally exclaimed, clicking her tongue in disgust. Rudy shook his head, equally exasperated, as they watched Billy sob uncontrollably.
Damian pulled a chair over and sat beside Billy’s head, his voice low and commanding. “You’ll keep this meeting a secret. Not a word to Travis. If you breathe a hint of it, I’ll make sure you face a retaliation so thorough you’ll wish you’d never been born.”
“Y-yes, I understand,” Billy whimpered, nodding frantically. “I won’t say anything.”
“And from now on, you’ll do exactly as we say,” Damian added.
Billy nodded so vigorously it seemed his head might come loose. A faint, satisfied smile crossed Damian’s lips.
“Good. Then start by bringing us the purchase records for your lab from the last six months.”
* * *
Aracila’s talent for magic first manifested when she was four years old. The marquis and marchioness, eager to give their children unique experiences, had invited a mage to their estate as a guest instructor. The mage taught Aracila a simple spell, one that Iris could only mimic with her voice before failing. Aracila, however, mastered it on her first try.
That was the beginning.
“Wow, that’s incredible!” her father had exclaimed. “I don’t know the first thing about magic, but my Ari’s a genius!”
“They say only those born with mana can become mages—a chosen profession,” her mother had added, beaming. “Our daughter’s one of the chosen!”
“You’re amazing, Aracila!” Iris had cheered. “Do it again! Again!”
The praise from those around her made Aracila’s small shoulders lift with pride, her chest swelling with joy. She was the only one in her family with this gift—a talent uniquely hers. From a young age, she carried a quiet confidence in her ability to wield magic. And like anyone with a gift, she burned with the desire to hone it, to excel.
She vowed to become a powerful, brilliant, and awe-inspiring mage.
But as she grew older, the expectations of those around her shifted. They no longer wished for her to become a great mage. Instead, they wanted her to be a refined, demure noblewoman.
Like her older sister Iris, they wanted Aracila to be poised and gentle, diligently trained from childhood in the arts of a proper bride. With her charming, delicate beauty, she was expected to become the quintessential noble lady, basking in the admiration and attention of all.
“Aracila, you’re such an idiot,” her friend Penelope had said. “My mom says magic is useless, even if you’re good at it. What matters for a girl is running a household well and taking care of her family.”
“That’s not true!” Aracila had shot back. “Magic is useful. If a monster showed up, I could protect my family with it!”
“Sure, but…” Penelope hesitated. “Monsters hardly ever show up. And protecting the family is Dad’s job, not Mom’s. When we grow up and get married, we’ll be moms.”
“Tch, then I’ll just be the dad!”
“You’re really dumb! Girls can’t be dads!”
After that heated argument with her friend, Aracila stormed home and flung herself onto her bed, fuming. This was before Adrian was born, and Marquis Hugo, ever doting on his youngest daughter, grew worried when he saw her skipping meals and sulking. He went to her room, his heart heavy with concern.
“Ari, what’s wrong?” he asked gently. “You haven’t eaten, and now you’re lying face-down on your bed.”
“…I met Penelope today,” Aracila mumbled, her voice muffled by the pillow. “She said learning magic is stupid. Her mom told her it’s useless for getting married.”
Marquis Hugo chuckled, watching his daughter puff out her cheeks like walnuts, her eyes brimming with indignant tears. “Oh, is that why you’re crying? It’s okay, hush now. Penelope’s got it all wrong.”
“Really?” Aracila sniffed, lifting her head slightly.
“Of course,” the marquis said, pulling out a handkerchief to gently wipe her tear-streaked cheeks. “You’re not learning magic to land a good marriage, are you?”
Aracila shook her head, and her father continued, his voice warm and reassuring. “You’re learning it because it’s fun, exciting, and thrilling. Because your dream is to become an incredible, powerful mage.”
“Exactly!” Aracila’s eyes lit up. “I’m going to be the greatest mage in the world, save people, and become a legend!”
“Haha, that’s my girl—always aiming high,” the marquis laughed heartily, ruffling Aracila’s small, round head with affection.
“Aracila,” he said, his tone softening, “dreams are important. They can fill a person with hope or plunge them into despair. They can make you happy, sad, joyful, or angry. Dreams are everything.”
“Mm, I think you’re right, Dad,” Aracila said, nodding solemnly.
“That’s why your mom and I want you to keep dreaming,” he continued. “It’ll make your life so much richer.”
His warm words carried a weight of wisdom, and as he spoke, the marquis suddenly dabbed at his own eyes, overcome with emotion. “And honestly, I don’t want to give you or Iris away to anyone. The thought of my little bunnies growing up and leaving with some stranger—it’s enough to make me cry…”
Aracila, faced with her father’s sudden tears, rubbed her own eyes with the back of her hand and nodded determinedly.
Yes, magic was her dream. It was the thing she was best at, the thing she loved most in the world.
She didn’t want to grow up to be a refined noblewoman. She wanted to be a great mage, respected and admired by all. So she threw herself into her studies with renewed vigor and enrolled in the Academy.
“You must be Aracila Hugo,” a voice said when she arrived. “Joseph’s told me a lot about you.”
And there, she met Philip.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
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