Chapter 003
“Young Master? Mind your tongue. Ahem!”
“Ah!”
Dorothy covered her mouth in surprise.
Wilson revealed himself. After giving Dorothy a stern look, he bowed to Ian.
“Good morning, My Lord. Did you sleep well last night?”
“I told you to stop calling me that.”
“I’m afraid I must insist now more than ever. Today marks My Lord’s first official act as head of the Oracle household.”
Ian disliked being called “My Lord.” It somehow felt like it would prevent his parents from ever returning.
Dorothy, who he was more comfortable with, called him “Young Master” instead.
“With all due respect, every tradition has its purpose. You now embody the Oracle household itself, My Lord.”
Wilson was a strict butler. Principles and discipline meant everything to him.
So Ian always took a step back in such matters. After all, Wilson had served his parents loyally.
“Still, cut me some slack today. It’s not every day I get to go out after so long, right?”
“My Lord is most wise. What need have you for experience? The kingdom shall soon marvel at your brilliance.”
“Feels like you two are ganging up on me.”
Ian finished dressing and turned around.
“How’s this? Does it look alright?”
“If I may…”
Wilson adjusted his glasses and inspected the outfit carefully.
The expensive fabric had been worth the strain on their finances.
The Oracle household suffered chronic deficits. Without lands to their name, their financial situation was far from ideal.
“Far from ideal” was putting it mildly—it was downright terrible.
Yet butler Wilson had scrimped and saved for this day when Ian would enter the Academy. Now Ian wore the fruits of those efforts.
“Mr. Damien’s craftsmanship is excellent, but it’s truly My Lord who brings it to life. I’ll prepare additional outfits soon.”
“Don’t overdo it. I know how things stand with our house.”
Even as he said this, Ian knew Wilson wouldn’t listen. The butler would find ways to economize elsewhere to afford these luxuries.
“Speaking of which, My Lord, there’s somewhere we must visit before your departure for the Academy.”
“Where?”
“Long ago… your late father gave me special instructions. I believe it’s time to share that with you now.”
The revelation came completely unexpected.
Ian rarely showed anger toward either of them, but now he couldn’t help but frown.
“Father told you? Why wait until now?”
“Forgive me. He instructed me to speak of this only upon your Academy enrollment. Hence my timing now.”
“……”
Ian couldn’t press further.
He’d delayed his Academy admission until the last possible moment. During all that time, Wilson must have kept silent out of loyalty to his father’s wishes.
The butler had probably wanted to say it a hundred times—a thousand: My Lord should enter the Academy sooner.
Perhaps Wilson had suffered more through this than Ian himself.
“Let’s go!”
“At once, My Lord.”
Wilson bowed deeply and led the way. Ian followed silently behind.
What could Father have left for me?
Ian burned with curiosity. He couldn’t understand why this needed to wait until Academy admission either.
But his doubts soon faded.
His father had been the kingdom’s greatest theoretical mage—he wouldn’t have done this without reason.
Father always had reasons for everything.
Soon Wilson opened a door, revealing—unexpectedly—his father’s old study.
Wilson removed several books from the packed shelves, revealing a hidden mechanism.
“Please channel your mana here, My Lord. This device responds only to Oracle lineage mana.”
Without question, Ian complied.
Clank!
A rough metallic sound echoed from within as something unlocked. Hypnotized, Ian pulled the lever.
A small compartment opened.
“What’s this?”
Ian stared blankly at the revealed object—a pair of aged spectacles.
“This is an Oracle family treasure. Your father insisted I deliver this to you personally when the time came. That day is today.”
“I never knew our house possessed any treasures.”
“My apologies, My Lord.”
Ian felt no anger—only renewed appreciation for Wilson’s loyalty.
“If it’s a treasure, it must be an artifact. What kind of glasses are these?”
“I cannot say for certain.”
“Did Father ever use them?”
“That too I don’t know… but he did say they would help you.”
Help.
Terribly vague. Yet Ian could guess what that might mean.
Could these solve my mana problem?
Though born to brilliant mage parents, Ian carried a fatal flaw—terribly inefficient mana manifestation through spellforms.
He’d had no choice but to delay Academy admission until adulthood. Better mocked as an adult than a child.
But Academy enrollment remained his last privilege as nobility. Now an adult, Ian could delay no longer.
Just then, the family treasure fell into his hands.
“Would you care to try them on?”
“Very well.”
Ian carefully donned the spectacles. Plain lenses with no prescription. Nothing new entered his vision.
Mana amplification, then?
Ian immediately gathered mana and formed hand signs.
“Light.”
Fwoosh!
A handful of light bloomed in the dim room. But Ian’s expression showed no satisfaction. The spell differed little from what he’d cast earlier in bed.
“No change in mana output. What exactly are these?”
Removing them, Ian studied the fragile-looking antique.
“I’m certain you’ll discover their purpose. Might I suggest studying them at the Academy?”
Wilson offered a glasses case.
He was right. His father had never given direct answers before, watching patiently until Ian reasoned things out himself.
Perhaps this too was Father’s teaching.
The thought made Ian’s heart race. He longed for the Academy immediately.
“Thank you, Wilson.”
“Only doing my duty, My Lord. The carriage awaits.”
Nodding, Ian pocketed the spectacles.
An ornate carriage halted before the mansion gates. Dripping with opulent decorations, the Hamel Merchant Guild crest adorned its door.
“This house today,” murmured the man drawing back the curtain, a smirk playing on his lips.
Felix, Hamel Guild Chief Director. Known in business circles as “The Reaper”—a title earned through fear alone. Fear wasn’t enough, though—he operated with underhanded methods. Rumors tied him to underworld connections.
“The Oracle household,” said the second man inside. His expression mirrored Felix’s—calm, yet with lips curling upward.
“At last we see fruits of long preparation. You scouted them days prior?”
“Indeed. Seasoning meat properly before cooking makes it more tender.”
“Quite so.”
“Preparations are complete?”
“As always, nothing amiss.”
“Then proceed.”
The carriage passed through the gates straight to the mansion steps.
Just then, Ian and Wilson emerged, spotting them simultaneously.
“Hamel Guild!”
Recognizing the crest, Wilson shook visibly. Ian noted his expression—something was wrong. No visitor notice had come.
Unwelcome guests, then.
As carriage doors opened, Felix and his subordinate stepped out, arms spread wide in greeting.
“Why, I never dreamed such distinguished persons graced the Oracle household!”
“You’re from Hamel Guild?”
“Indeed we are!”
Likely household business—most matters Wilson handled to free Ian for magical studies. Yet clearly something had gone wrong.
Assuming his role as family head, Ian spoke with authority:
“We received no notice of visitors. Might we have introductions?”
“Ah, pardon. First meeting—I’m Felix, Hamel Guild Chief Director. This is my deputy.”
Chief Director ranked high—next only to guild masters themselves.
“An honor. Hamel Guild needs no introduction in this kingdom. To what do we owe your visit?”
Almost as if waiting for this question, Felix’s eyes gleamed like a predator spotting prey.
“Urgent matters for family head discussion. We’ve come despite impropriety.”
“Now isn’t good. I must depart for the Academy shortly.”
“Ah, yes! Heard of your Royal Academy enrollment. Congratulations! Quite a difficult decision, hmm?”
That upward inflection—an irritating speech pattern. Yet Ian remained composed.
“Gratitude, but unless urgent, matters can wait. We’ll send word later.”
“Alas, the matter presses. Might you postpone departure briefly?”
“Felix, there’s no need for—”
“Perhaps you should step back, incompetent butler sir?”
Instantly, Ian’s eyes turned sharp. Gross disrespect—but such boldness suggested serious trouble for their house. To ignore it would disgrace their name.
Ian stepped forward:
“Mr. Felix. This rudeness. Wilson serves our household. Dare you insult the Oracles?”
“Oh, certainly not!”
Felix bowed repeatedly. Yet nothing about him seemed apologetic—if anything, mocking.
“Deepest apologies, Lord Ian. Pray forgive our impropriety.”
“Enough. What business brings you here?”
“Perhaps a private discussion? The matter proves graver than you think.”
Felix gestured to his deputy, who produced documents from an envelope. With a smirk, Felix fluttered the papers:
“Concerning your predecessor as family head.”
“Predecessor?”
“Baron Lefebvre.”
At his father’s name, Ian’s eyebrows furrowed.
