The Head Butler’s mind spiraled into a dark pit as he sat cross-legged, his thoughts heavy with fear and dread. The toll of repeatedly channeling his mana into the symbol weighed on him, leaving him to wonder if his body could endure such strain for long.
The faint red glow of the symbol on the Young Miss’s back pulsed softly, serving as a reminder of his daunting responsibility.
While the Head Butler fought his own internal battle, the Duke had other concerns occupying his mind. Sitting with his recovering daughter in his arms, he could not rest easy with just signs of improvement—he desired nothing less than her complete recovery.
Turning his intense gaze toward Ashok, he broke the silence. "If this symbol is drawn to buy time, then how long will it take until my daughter is completely cured?"
The Duke, though heartened by the visible signs of recovery in his daughter, could not content himself with just progress. His heart longed for her full recovery—a return to the life she once had.
"If we talk about time then… based on my estimations, it will take somewhere around six months." Said Ashok.
The words barely left Ashok’s mouth when the Head Butler, drained and fatigued, reacted sharply. "You mean I have to continue that mana channeling process for half a year?" His voice betrayed his disbelief and frustration as he froze in the middle of clearing his mana veins.
Ashok, however, remained composed, his tone unbothered but measured as he addressed the room. "It could take less," he clarified, his calm eyes briefly meeting the Head Butler’s.
"Maybe five months—or even four—depending on the circumstances. If I can acquire the necessary resources promptly and things go smoothly, the timeline could shorten. That said, based on my calculations, it shouldn’t take longer than six months."
The Duke’s voice was resolute, his determination clear as he pressed Ashok. "Tell me what resources you speak of. I can arrange them within moments. Just start the cure, and I will ensure every single material is provided," he said firmly, his gaze unwavering.
Ashok, standing with his arms crossed, looked at the Duke with a faint smirk, his tone carrying his usual detached calm. "If you could arrange those materials, I would have mentioned them from the very start instead of resorting to drawing that symbol.
The reason I created it is because certain items I need for the cure are simply not available—not here, and not easily. That’s why the symbol is necessary, to buy time."
"Can you at least name those resources?" the Duke asked, unwilling to let the matter drop. The small flame of hope that Ashok had kindled in his heart was now growing into an inferno. He refused to waste even a single moment if there was any chance of expediting his daughter’s recovery.
Ashok let out a weary sigh, his sharp gaze fixed on the Duke. "What do you think the cure is?" he began, his voice steady, cutting through the thick silence of the room.
"In simple words, the cure for your daughter is to remove the entity’s soul from her body. But do you think I need some sort of elixir or potion to achieve that?"
"Everything is far more complicated than it seems," Ashok continued, his tone turning heavier. "Even Ascended beings struggle when it comes to matters of the soul. Take the Sword Emperor, for example—he has mastered the Soul Sword, an unparalleled mastery over sword that can cut through souls with precision.
Yet, even he cannot stitch them back together. The intricacies of a soul are far beyond even his abilities.
In your daughter’s case, the challenge is greater. You have to extract the entity’s soul without causing even the slightest harm to hers. It is her body, and her soul must remain unscathed—a feat that is anything but simple.
Perhaps an Ascended Black Magician might be capable of doing such a thing. But don’t mistake them for saviors. Most black magicians are Hell Bringers—those who delve into the dark arts of Demon Summoning and Necromancy.
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To them, souls are mere tools, and they would never leave your daughter’s soul intact, even if they could remove the entity’s." Said Ashok.
The Duke became silent hearing that.
Ashok, standing with his usual air of calculated detachment, exhaled softly before continuing. "In this world, not a single Ascended can help you," he declared, his tone carrying an edge of finality. "But if you’re intent on hearing about resources, then who am I to deny you? I’ll give you three choices—pick any one that you think can work."
He paused briefly, his sharp gaze moving to meet the Duke’s. Then, with a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, he laid out the first choice. "First," he began, "the beings who understand souls more deeply than anyone else in this world. The beings who exist above the Ascended—Gods."
The room seemed to grow colder as Ashok’s words hung in the air, reverberating with a weight that could not be ignored. "If you want to cure your daughter, summon a god to descend into the mortal world. A single descent, and they could cure her within seconds."
Ashok’s smirk deepened, his tone turning sharper. "But do you think you have the power to make that happen? You could try, if you’re feeling ambitious."
The Head Butler and Cassius exchanged uneasy glances, their faces stiffened by the enormity of what Ashok had said. The Duke’s silence deepened as he absorbed the impossibility of the suggestion.
A descent of a god was no small matter—such an event had been recorded only once in the annals of history, when the world was about to get annihilated. Even then, the cost of that descent had been extraordinary, paid in sacrifices far beyond what any mortal could bear.
Seeing the Duke remain silent Ashok continued "It seems the first option is impossible. Then the Second one, it is far easier then the first one".
Ashok’s calm yet sharp voice echoed in the chamber, piercing through the heavy silence as he continued, "It seems the first option is clearly out of reach. Very well then, the second one—far easier than summoning a god."
He paused, allowing his words to simmer in their minds before delivering the next part. "Just bring me one drop of the blood of the ’thing’ that resides within dimensions. The moment you hand me that drop, I will extract the entity’s soul from your daughter’s body. Instantly."
The room was struck by an uneasy tension. The Duke and Cassius exchanged puzzled glances, their brows furrowed in confusion. Ashok’s words were cryptic, shrouded in an enigma that neither man could decipher. But before they could question him, a faint and trembling voice broke the silence.
"H-How do you know about that?" came the shaky inquiry, cutting through the air like a knife. The voice belonged to none other than the Head Butler.
Both the Duke and Cassius turned to face him, only to find that the normally composed man looked as though he had just seen a ghost. His face had gone pale—alarmingly so—as if he had been thrust into the depths of some terrible, long-buried memory.
His body seemed to tremble faintly, his weary frame suddenly overtaken by a chilling dread. It was clear that whatever Ashok had alluded to had struck a deep and unspoken fear in the Head Butler, dredging up something he had desperately tried to forget.
Ashok’s smirk widened, his sharp eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and intrigue. "Well! Well! It seems the old man knows exactly what I’m talking about," he said, his voice carrying a teasing edge that only deepened the tension in the room.
The Head Butler’s reaction was immediate and visceral. His voice, shaky but rising in urgency, broke through the charged silence. "Don’t listen to him!" he exclaimed, his tone laced with both fear and desperation.
"He’ll get us all killed!" His body trembled as he instinctively began dragging himself backward, as though trying to distance himself from the mere idea Ashok had presented.
Cassius moved swiftly to the Head Butler’s side, his firm grip stopping the older man’s trembling retreat. With a steady hand, he offered a glass of water to the Head Butler, his tone calm and reassuring as he tried to ease the palpable tension.
"Please," Cassius said softly, his voice carrying both a plea and determination, "tell us what this ’thing’ is that the kid speaks of."
At first, the Head Butler remained tight-lipped, his pale face set with clear resistance. His gaze darted nervously toward Ashok, whose smirk seemed to taunt him silently.
Despite the Duke and Cassius pressing him repeatedly, the Head Butler hesitated, wrestling internally with whether to reveal what he clearly deemed forbidden knowledge.
Finally, after prolonged pestering and the Duke’s unyielding resolve, the Head Butler let out a defeated sigh, his voice shaking as he broke his silence.
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"I don’t know how this kid came to know of information on ’that’ thing," he admitted, his tone weighed down by the gravity of his words, "but only the upper echelons of the Magic Tower are privy to such information."
Both the Duke and Cassius exchanged glances, their confusion evident, as the Head Butler pressed on reluctantly. "There’s a reason the Magic Tower maintains such strict control over Space Mages," he continued, his gaze distant as though recalling a memory he’d rather leave buried.
"And why they forbid them from fighting amongst each other or using offensive Spatial Magic under any circumstances."