Chapter 1: Genius (II)
The Dark One
Author: Broken Army Wang Jing
On a summer afternoon, the sunlight felt bright yet languid.
On the lawn in the garden courtyard, a group of finely dressed boys and girls stood gathered in a circle.
At the center of the circle lay a little girl in rough cloth clothes. She looked no more than six or seven years old. Curled up on the ground, she clutched her head with both hands, eyes tightly shut, her small body trembling from time to time.
The boys and girls laughed loudly. Every so often, someone stepped forward to kick her.
"Just like her cheap mother. Like a dead dog," a tall girl sneered. "This is boring."
"I know there are two whips in the storage room used for punishing lazy servants," a boy suggested eagerly. "Should I go get them?"
"Isn't that a bit too much? What if she dies… If Father finds out…" a younger girl said hesitantly.
"What are you afraid of?" A chubby boy spoke up. His tone carried authority; he was clearly the leader of the group. "Plenty of servants have been whipped. None of them died."
"Big Brother is right. I'll go get them now," the boy said excitedly.
"…No!"
The little girl on the ground finally spoke. Her voice trembled violently. "Please… spare me…"
"Oh? The dead dog can talk," the fat boy mocked. "I thought you were really dead. So you were pretending."
Laughter broke out all around.
"Let me see if this bastard is dead or not." The troublemaker walked forward, grabbing the little girl by the hair as if to yank her up.
Bang!
A small ball of light struck the boy squarely in the face and exploded with a flash. His vision went white. The next moment, he collapsed unconscious onto the grass.
The sudden change shocked everyone.
They turned and saw a boy standing not far away, watching them with cold indifference.
He looked about ten years old. Thin, handsome, his skin pale as if he rarely stood in the sun. Unlike the others in their ornate clothing, he wore only a simple, somewhat worn robe similar to that of a young magician.
The courtyard fell silent.
In front of this boy, the arrogance that had filled the air moments before seemed to vanish.
"…Ah, dear brother," the fat boy forced a stiff smile. "Long time no see. How is your magic research progressing?"
"I came out for some air," the boy said coldly, taking two steps forward. "Instead, I found something unpleasant."
"Yes, yes," the fat boy said hurriedly. "That wild brat is disgusting. I'll have her dragged away."
"Wild brat?"
The boy ignored him and walked straight toward the little girl. "That's not a proper name. What is your name?"
The little girl slowly lifted her head, trembling. She knew who he was. She had heard his name countless times. That knowledge made her even more afraid.
But his gaze was deep and steady. She found herself unable to look away.
"…An… Angela…" she whispered.
"Angela? I seem to recall that name." He thought for a moment, then nodded. "If I'm not mistaken, we share the same blood."
Angela looked at him in shock.
No one had ever acknowledged that connection before. It was something never mentioned.
"Your face is bleeding. Wipe it."
A handkerchief dropped gently onto her knee.
"My name is Rezard," he said calmly. "If anyone in this family mistreats you again, tell them my name."
With that, Rezard turned and walked away.
He had spoken those words in front of everyone, as though the others were invisible.
"…Wait, Rezard!" the fat boy suddenly shouted. "I know you're a magic genius! I know Father's title will belong to you! I know you've never cared about us! But why? Why protect this little bastard? In your eyes, are we worth less than her?"
"Bastard?" Rezard let out a faint, mocking smile. "I see no difference in blood. What I see is that you are weak, foolish, lazy, and arrogant. She, at least, understands what hard work means."
Angela had already finished washing the clothes. Now she carefully hung them out to dry, one by one.
"My name is Rezard. If they treat you like this again, tell them my name."
Thinking of how he had introduced himself that day, Angela couldn't help but smile softly.
He said he had just learned her name.
But how could she not have known his?
No one in the Carles family failed to recognize Rezard. He was a renowned magic genius, the one destined to inherit the Count's title.
And she—Angela—was only the daughter of a maid. Though she carried the Carles surname, she existed in a different world. When the other children played, she and her mother did chores.
When her mother died, she was still very young. Yet she forced herself to handle every task she could—sweeping floors, washing clothes, carrying dishes. Day after day, her thin body bore the burden.
She did not long for praise.
She only hoped her brothers and sisters might acknowledge her, even with a nod or a faint smile.
But no one ever did.
They called her "bastard." They insulted and beat her for their amusement.
She had almost lost hope. She believed that no matter how hard she worked, no one would ever treat her kindly.
And yet, that day—
The magic genius. The brother she never dared to call by name.
In front of everyone, he acknowledged her effort.
More importantly, he acknowledged their blood relationship—something that had always been denied.
He had spoken only a few words.
But from that day on, no one in the family openly dared to bully her again.
Angela understood exactly why.
She decided then that she would stand by her brother's side in the future.
The following year, she heard that Rezard had entered the Frensberg School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
From that moment on, she began studying magic in secret. She devoted every spare moment to practice. Years later, she was finally admitted to the academy.
She still clearly remembered the surprised expression on Rezard's face when he saw her among the new students.
That had been the happiest day of her life.
And she believed that every day from now on would be just as happy—
As long as she could remain by her brother's side.