After leaving the dinner table, Kael moved quickly through the castle corridors, his footsteps echoing against the stone floors. Four additional guards followed him, and together with his own two guards, they numbered six in total.
He left the indoor halls and passed swiftly through the castle gardens, which were lit by mana lamps. The castle dungeon was located at one corner of the fortress. To reach it, one had to pass through the gardens first. There was another route, but Kael had no time for that—he was in a hurry.
The dungeon lay deep beneath the ground. The path leading down consisted of long stone stairs. Kael descended quickly, his pace causing some of the guards to fall behind, visibly tired. Soon, he reached the bottom of the dungeon. He glanced at one of the guards his mother had assigned to him.
The guard understood and stepped forward, leading the way toward the cell.
Please don't be him, Kael thought again.
When they reached the cell, the guards stationed there tried to stop Kael from entering. However, the leading guard leaned in and whispered something to them—something Kael did not hear and not care. After that, the guards stepped aside and opened the way.
The iron doors groaned open.
Inside the cell sat a single figure—shirtless, exhausted, with black hair and a trained body. His hands were chained behind his back, and a mana-blocking collar was fastened around his neck, nailed to the wall from both sides. His eyes were closed, like a man who had already accepted his fate.
The moment Kael entered, the man noticed him and slowly looked up. After studying Kael for some time, making sure he was not imagining things, he spoke.
"Young master… so you finally came."
Kael stepped inside.
So it was really him.
"Why…?" Kael's voice trembled. "Why did you betray me?"
His hands clenched at his sides.
"I thought you as my teacher. I thought you as my friend. " His breath came uneven. "I trusted you. So why? What reason could you possibly have for betraying me?"
His gaze burned as it locked onto the man before him.
"I suspected you during the incident," Kael continued hoarsely, "but I refused to believe it. I told myself you would never betray me. Never."
His voice dropped to a broken whisper.
"So tell me… why did you betray me, Master Joran?"
Master Joran did not answer immediately.
For a long moment, the only sound in the cell was the faint clink of chains and Kael's uneven breathing. Joran slowly lifted his head, his eyes—once sharp and full of discipline—now dulled by exhaustion and regret.
Kael's jaw tightened. "Answer me."
Joran let out a hollow laugh. "I… I don't think I have an answer that would satisfy you."
"Try," Kael snapped. "You owe me that much."
Joran's gaze drifted to the door behind Kael, as if looking at something far beyond the dungeon stones. "I taught you how to hold a blade. How to stand your ground. How to never bow to fear." His lips trembled. "And yet… fear is exactly what broke me."
"Fear of what?" Kael demanded, ordering the guards to close the door.
"Losing my daughter," Joran whispered.
Kael froze. I thought he didn't have a family. He never spoke of them—even when I asked. I thought he was never married, and that his parents were already dead.
"…Continue," Kael said, still staring into his eyes.
"Before I came here to serve as a sword instructor and martial arts teacher, I roamed the world," Joran began, his voice low and distant. "I traveled to the Eastern Kingdom of Sylasin, the Northern Republic, the Dwarven Kingdom of Valemir, and even the wild lands of the Beastkin in Tharok. Yet, it was in Duskhelm—the kingdom of the elves—that I found my love."
"I fell in love with an elf named Elia," Joran said, his voice trembling. "I found her near the Demon Lands—she was running from that direction, wounded, with demon beasts on her heels. I saved her… and we fell in love. We lived together for several years and had a daughter."
He paused, swallowing hard. "But our happiness didn't last. She was from a noble elf family… and while I was away, her own family killed her." His voice cracked. "Our daughter… she was gone too. I searched for her, hoping against hope, but I thought she had died as well. I lived with that shame every day."
He looked up at Kael, eyes burning. "Then, one day, I went out and met him—the Nocthyr. He showed me a photo. It looked just like her mother. He told me my daughter was alive, living in an orphanage. And he said… if I didn't do as he commanded, he would kill her."
Joran's hands shook in chains behind him. "I've always lived with the shame that I couldn't protect my family. That's why I betrayed you. I tried to run… because I wanted to find her."
"I understand now, and I don't resent you like I did before," Kael said quietly. "If I were in your shoes, I might have done the same. But I cannot forgive betrayal. And for that… you must die. And I want to be the one to kill you."
He took a dagger from his belt, stepped closer to Master Jorah, and looked him straight in the eyes.
"I'm sorry, Master Jorah," Kael said softly. "But every action has consequences. And this consequence… is me."
Master Jorah did not resist. It was as if he was relieved—perhaps even happy—to die by Kael's hand. Still, he wanted to say one last thing before the end.
"Young—no… Kael," he said weakly. "Before I die, I want you to tell my daughter that I'm sorry. Sorry for not being with her… and for letting her mother die."
Kael stopped.
"What is her name?" he asked.
"Rina."
That was the last word Jorah spoke before Kael sliced his throat.
Killing had never truly bothered Kael. The first time, there had been some discomfort—but after that, killing assassins and even that elf hadn't affected him at all. It had simply happened.
This time was different.
This time, it hurt deeply.
Jorah had been the person Kael trusted most outside his family. He had betrayed him. The reason might have been important—but it was irrelevant in the face of betrayal. So Kael killed him.
Everything has consequences.
After that, Kael left the room without hurrying, not caring about anything else, lost in his own thoughts.
Six guards followed him closely as they left the dungeon corridors.
Behind them, there were still others. The guards stationed at the cell entrance looked inside and saw the man lying dead, his throat sliced open, blood dripping down onto the stone floor. They glanced at each other.
One of them spoke quietly. "I think the young lord has a hobby of killing people in dungeon cells."
The other guard smacked the back of his head. He was older, more experienced. "Don't say anything about the lords out loud," he warned. "Those words could put a rope around your neck."
The younger guard simply shrugged it off. After all, there were only the two of them—and no one else was there to hear.
In this place, even death leaves traces… and powerstones remember everything.