Chapter 10: Meant For Magic

"Hey, my lord," Clyde chirped as they strolled back into the manor, "ever unleashed those magical muscles like you did today?"

Vyan's mind wandered back to the moment when Goddess Hecate gifted him his powers, and poof! Goodbye, marketplace.

Maybe this was the sort of incident Clyde was asking for, so he spilled the magical beans to Clyde.

Like a smart detective, Clyde assumed, "Hmm, maybe that was just one of the Ashstones' powers—destructive magic. It's inherent like your fire ability, by the way. But let's not jump to conclusions. What if it was just a mana tantrum?"

Vyan raised an eyebrow. "And if it was?"

"Your mana is like a nuclear reactor, my lord—too strong. That residue could stick around longer than a family of houseguests. It could turn that patch of land into a no-go zone for mana-allergics."

"Oh, delightful," Vyan deadpanned.

"So, can Benedict go to that location and use this over the land?" Clyde whipped out a peculiar, orb-shaped contraption.

"What's that, a fancy paperweight?" Vyan joked.

Clyde rolled his eyes. "It's a magical gizmo I whipped up. It sniffs out what flavor of magic was sprinkled somewhere."

"Wait, you whip up magical artifacts?" Vyan's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Clyde nodded casually. "Yep, but it's about as thrilling as watching paint dry. That's why I'm handing in my resignation to the Tower of Magic tomorrow," he declared, as if discussing his lunch plans.

"Hold up! You work at the Tower of Magic?" Vyan's jaw nearly hit the floor.

"Did, my lord, did! But not for long. Now, my sole mission in life is to mold you into the magical prodigy you were always meant to be," Clyde chirped with an unsettling amount of enthusiasm.

Vyan couldn't wrap his head around it. This guy was ditching his day job to be his personal Yoda. Talk about—

"Don't fret it, my lord. That place was a pressure cooker, anyway. I prefer the serene life of a mentor," Clyde cut in, brushing off any sense of guilt Vyan might have felt.

"I wasn't fretting," Vyan snapped back. "I was contemplating how alarmingly carefree you are."

Clyde chuckled, clearly not catching Vyan's drift. "Well, thanks for the backhanded compliment."

"It wasn't a compliment—not even backhanded," Vyan retorted. "It was more like an observation of your lack of adulting skills. Honestly, I even find it hard to believe that you had a job, to begin with."

Clyde gasped. "What? That's so offensive. Did you think I was a lazy bum who mooched off of his father?"

"Yes," Vyan responded in a heartbeat.

Clyde dramatically placed a hand on his chest, gasping louder this time. "I am so offended!"

"Good. That was my intention." Vyan suppressed his urge to chuckle at Clyde's puppy-like withered expressions.

But the next moment, Clyde perked up again like a bundle of sunshine and steered the conversation elsewhere. "Hey, you never asked me about my inherent magic. Go on, guess!"

Vyan shot him a glare. "I would have, but now I'm reconsidering."

"Aw, come on, don't be a spoil-sport! Ask me!" Clyde nudged, undeterred.

"Fine. What's your inherent magic, then?" Vyan relented.

With a mischievous grin, Clyde waved his hand, and Vyan was suddenly swept off his feet by a gust of wind.

"Take a wild guess now," Clyde teased, and Vyan concluded in his mind that this man was like a tornado. Literally!

"Wind magic. Got it. Now, kindly put me down," Vyan grumbled, thoroughly unimpressed.

"Nope. Allow me to give you the grand tour of the manor, all while carrying you like royalty. I can't have My Lord breaking a sweat," Clyde beamed, his enthusiasm bouncing off the walls.

"I have feet, I can walk—"

"No, no, my lord. My father drilled it into me, you know, 'Don't let Lord Vyan tire himself out."

"I highly doubt he meant for you to hoist me around like a sack of potatoes," Vyan shot back, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity.

"Oh, speaking of which, I have been snooping around in your life's file. Former knight of House Estelle, weren't you?" Clyde interrupted, his curiosity practically oozing out of him. "I bet you were a real shining star on the battlefield, huh?"

Vyan's expression turned to stone. "You could not be more wrong. I was about as useful as a one-legged man in a marathon."

Clyde caught the shift in mood and decided to lighten things up by giving Vyan an impromptu spin through the air, much to Vyan's dismay.

"Hey, put me down! I am not auditioning for a circus monkey!" Vyan yelled, his protests falling on deaf ears.

"Relax, my lord," Clyde reassured him with a grin. "Swords weren't your thing, anyway. Your hands were meant for weaving magic, not swinging metal. Trust that Clyde Magnus recognizes a gem when he sees one. You are destined for greatness as a mage, and I give you my word for it."

At first, Vyan retreated into his shell, reverting to his old timid self. But then, a fire ignited in his eyes.

"You know what? You are right. I will be the mage this empire never saw coming."

"That's the spirit!" Clyde cheered, pumping his fist in the air.

From that moment on, Vyan resolved to walk with his head held high. No more playing small.

If arrogance was half of what made a nobility, then that's what he would build on. He was going to master such high levels of skill that his confidence would be called arrogance by his enemies. This was another one of his declarations to the world.

———

"Here, wear this cloak, Master," Benedict insisted, handing Vyan a sleek black number with a hood. "You cannot be too careful, especially in the capital."

"Right, because nothing screams inconspicuous like a hooded cloak," Vyan quipped, slipping into the cloak before stepping out of the carriage. "I can't forget I am a fugitive."

"And nobody would care about that if they find out you are the heir to the Grand Duke," Benedict fretted, trailing behind Vyan like a worried hen. "I told you, I could handle this alone. There is no need for you to risk tagging along."

"But I need to see the aftermath of my little magic show. I didn't get a chance to take a bow," Vyan reasoned, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"Curiosity killed the cat, Master," Benedict muttered, shaking his head.

Vyan paid him no mind as he hustled towards the marketplace.

Sure enough, the entire area was cordoned off, with folks outside gossiping like a gaggle of geese.

"I bet it was an explosion."

"An explosion? Please, that's so basic. How can a simple explosion blow up everything so neatly within 500-meter radius?"

"This has got dark magic written all over it. Must be some witch."

Vyan's eyes widened at the speculation. His magical outburst had caused all this destruction? Or was it some dormant destructive magic unleashing for the first time? Either way, he missed a golden opportunity to obliterate Estelle Manor.

"Looks more like cursed energy to me," someone piped up.

Vyan's heart skipped a beat at the mention of cursed energy. He had been so caught up in two possible outcomes that he hadn't considered a third—a game-changer that could make everything he had done pointless.

"Master, are you still with us?" Benedict's voice cut through Vyan's swirling thoughts.

Vyan shook his head, trying to shake off the mental fog. "Yeah, yeah, I'm here," he mumbled, regaining focus.

"Should we head to the center of it?" Benedict suggested, his tone cautious.

"Why bother? We can use Clyde's gizmo right somewhere in the corner and avoid getting under the radar of the investigating officers," Vyan muttered, shooting a glance at Benedict.

Benedict signaled to the knights trailing behind them. "Keep following us discreetly."

Sneaking past the investigation tape, they approached the blast's edge, where the once-vibrant marketplace now resembled a scene from a zombie apocalypse movie.

Vyan shuddered at the desolate sight but shook it off, brandishing Clyde's magical doodad like a detective on a mission.

Clyde had wanted to tag along, but duty called—he had a resignation letter to hand in at the Tower of Magic.

Following Clyde's instructions, Vyan planted the mana detector and held his breath, bracing for the worst.

Whether it was a mana outburst or his latent destructive magic, whatever it was, it just couldn't be any cursed energy. It made him start overthinking everything.

What if it was a misunderstanding and whoever talked in his head was not Goddess Hecate but a mage playing tricks inside his head and put a curse on him—

"Vyan?"

His heart lurched as a voice sliced through his thoughts, a rude interruption to the eerie silence that had settled over the scene.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, he turned to face the source of the disruption, his eyes landing on the figure striding towards them, every step echoing with a sense of authority.

It was the vice-commander of the Imperial army—Iyana Pearl Estelle.