With that, he was ignored. This was a time of war, and they were extremely busy. Wasting their time on a single spy, no matter how odd-looking, would not be fruitful. Another member of the queen’s guard escorted him out of the room and back to his small cell. It wasn’t that far on the same floor.
Locked behind the door, Damian walked up to the small barred window and looked down at the people walking below in a slow, deliberate pace.
‘Who told you about my spell, boy?’
Hm? What the…? That was so creepy. The commander certainly did not care if he had a heart attack from the sudden voice in his head or not.
“Ah… Sorry about that… didn’t know you were keeping it a secret,” Damian said out loud, unsure if he could send his thoughts to her.
‘If they really have sent you, they have made a huge mistake… You will not be going back, kid…’
“Yeah… Whatever… Not like you’ll believe anything I say…” Damian retorted.
‘A kid with abilities like you cannot be a normal one… That is, if you are a kid at all…’
“Demon spawn?” Damian laughed bitterly.
‘Why would you draw a rune on your hand…? That’s barbaric…’
“Not everyone has a hundred years to master chanting, Commander…” Damian snapped back.
Then there was radio silence. Head-wave silence. Spell-magic silence… No, that was dumb.
The night was difficult to get through. All he could think about was how his life would be magicless if he ran away and lived as one of the mundanes, he could still use his runic scrolls, but without mana learning new spells will be really difficult, his Eyes of truth also needed mana to work. And, of course, he thought about the lashes he was going to receive once morning came.
It took a lot of effort, but eventually, he made himself fall asleep. However, a dream of being buried in the cold mountains with roots growing out of the abyss pulling him down scared the living daylights out of him. That’s what happens when one forces themselves to sleep.
When his eyes opened, a maid of Eldoris origin, pretty with blonde hair, stood at the foot of his bed with a homemade dust mop. She looked even more surprised than him because he woke up so suddenly, as if receiving an electric shock.
‘Breathing heavily’
“Ahh… Sorry…” Damian apologized.
“Uhm, no… It’s fine…” She replied, resuming the cleaning of the small room.
Damian closed his eyes, thinking about what he had just seen. Then he sensed the familiar mana signature from the upper floor. The commander was on the floor above him, most likely sleeping. Damian stayed in bed until a soldier came to fetch him for his punishment. Before leaving, however, the pretty maid showed him the way to the washroom so he could at least freshen up.
For a criminal, he was treated relatively well, aside from the impending lashes in the cold morning.
A small wooden platform was set up with two standing handles for him to grab as he would be punished.
Escorted by the soldier, Damian walked to the platform in the center of the open square in front of the large commander’s building. Aramis, along with some other high-ranking nobles, including the Kiyama siblings, stood to the side of the platform. The front of the platform was filled with soldiers and knights eager to watch the spectacle.
Damian’s white shirt was removed by one of the soldier as he stood in the middle of the two pillars, facing the cold wind with his bare chest, awaiting the lashes. He did not see who else came onto the platform, or who held the whip as he was too busy cursing the cold wind in his mind.
With a crack like thunder, the first whip landed on his small back, leaving a blood-red mark and eliciting a blood-curdling scream from Damian.
It hurt like hell, as if molten lava had been poured on his back while a freezing wind chilled his chest. The same thing happened ten times, each whip making Damian grunt and scream loudly in response. It was painful, no doubt, but not enough for him to lose control and curse out loud. With each lash, people expected him to break down and beg for mercy, but he only grunted, nothing more.
His back was already bleeding, and many more lashes had yet to come.
Out of the corner of his eye, Damian noticed Aramis turning away and leaving. Was he satisfied with this..?, impressed..?, or disappointed by the lackluster show? Damian didn’t know. He was just trying his best to endure the pain as quickly as possible, keeping his mind calm and breathing heavily, trying his best to control his breathing and ignoring the burning pain on his back.
At last, the ordeal ended, and two soldiers lifted him and delivered him to one of the decorated rooms, he was barely conscious at that point somewhere in Lady Vidalia’s quarters. Damian began to feel warmth behind his back as he opened his eyes, realizing that three healers were chanting simultaneously to heal his wounds.
Feeling somewhat better, Damian closed his eyes again and let himself drift into unconsciousness.
____________________________________________________
When he woke up, he was back in his cell. His back was no longer bleeding, but it still hurt like hell. His body might have recovered with the help of magic, but his mind couldn’t be fooled; he still felt the lingering pain despite the healing. This world truly had a perfect way to torture people if they wanted to.
Damian was just grateful they didn’t consider him important enough to inflict even greater suffering.
The small room was now cleaner and emptier than he remembered. As was becoming his habit, Damian focused on his mana sense and realized many powerful mana signatures surrounding the wooden building and inside were gone. Even the lady commander was absent. Where had they gone? To defend against another attack, perhaps?