The Duke's youngest son is Unbearable

Asher felt a sudden chill crawl up his spine. The study room, once warm and familiar, now felt off—the air heavier, the silence deeper.

Something was wrong.

His mind began replaying the events from before, pulling at the loose threads he had ignored. At first, he had brushed them off as coincidences, distractions. But now, they clicked together like pieces of a puzzle he hadn't realized he was solving.

Why had he threatened Elvin with his mother?

Jealousy? Spite? No—that wasn't him. Even at his worst, he wasn't someone who would target a person's family. And more than that, how did he even know about Elvin's mother in the first place? It was clear from his father and Arthur's reaction that it wasn't common knowledge. Had he overheard it somewhere? No, no matter how hard he tried to recall, there was nothing. A complete blank.

And then, there was Elvin's reaction.

The guy had never lost his temper before, no matter how much Asher provoked him. So why had he snapped then? More importantly—why had he looked shocked after stabbing him? The words Elvin had said, the guilt in his eyes… they didn't match up with someone who had acted on pure anger.

This wasn't just about some petty rivalry.

Something else was at play.

A strange unease settled in Asher's chest. What had really happened that day? And more importantly—who was pulling the strings?

---

Asher didn't know the answer—but he would find out.

His gaze shifted to his father, who sat in stiff silence, his expression unreadable. The only sign of his thoughts was the way his piercing eyes had narrowed ever so slightly, locked onto Asher as if dissecting something far more complicated than just his words.

A sudden weight pressed against Asher's chest, and he swallowed against the growing unease.

"Father… I think something is wrong."

He explained everything—the strange gap in his memory, the unnatural way he had acted, and Elvin's reaction. The anger, the attack, and the shock and guilt that followed. The more he spoke, the heavier his chest felt, like the realization itself was suffocating him.

When he finished, silence settled over the room.

His father remained still, his expression unreadable.

Arthur, however, was not as patient.

"I have another question," his brother said, his voice sharp, gaze locked onto Asher like he was trying to see through him. "Why didn't you defend yourself?"

Asher blinked. "What?"

Arthur's stare didn't waver. "You were strong enough to react. Even if you weren't expecting an attack, you should've at least dodged, blocked—something. But you just stood there and let it happen."

His voice was calm, but underneath it was something else—something tense.

Something that had been bothering Arthur since the moment he saw Asher return from the dungeon.

Asher opened his mouth to argue—then stopped.

His stomach twisted.

Now that Arthur said it… he was right.

Why didn't I move?

Even if he had been careless, a trained fighter like him should have at least reacted. He should've felt the danger, filled his body with aura instinctively, shifted his stance even slightly.

But he hadn't.

He had just stood there.

His breath slowed. It wasn't just that he hadn't reacted—it was like his mind had forgotten how.

A cold, creeping dread curled in his chest.

Something was very, very wrong.

---

Asher clenched his fists and forced himself to steady his breathing.

"I… don't know," he admitted, his voice quieter than before. "I just… forgot."

Arthur's expression darkened.

"What?" His voice was edged with disbelief. "How do you just forget something like that? That doesn't make sense, Asher."

His father, who had been listening in silence, finally spoke.

"Something is wrong."

His words were measured, heavy.

Arthur's jaw tightened. "You think someone messed with his mind?"

Their father nodded. "It's possible." His sharp gaze lingered on Asher for a moment before he continued. "Someone may have interfered—altered his thoughts, made him act in ways he normally wouldn't."

Arthur's eyes narrowed. "Magic… a hypnosis spell?"

His father leaned back slightly, fingers tapping once against the armrest of his chair. "Perhaps. But if it were magic, it would leave traces." His voice grew colder, more calculating. "A lower-level spell would have flaws, things Asher would have noticed sooner. And a high-level one would leave fluctuations in the ether—something the academy's professors should have detected before you all entered the dungeon."

Arthur nodded. "But they didn't."

Silence.

Asher felt his heartbeat quicken.

His father exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable. "There's another possibility."

Arthur glanced at him sharply. "What is it?"

His father's gaze turned cold. "Someone who doesn't use magic—but can still tamper with a person's mind."

Arthur stiffened.

His father's next words sent a chill through the room.

"An anomaly."

---

The Third Path

Arthur's mind churned as he processed the implications.

In this world, people followed two main paths to strength—the way of the sword, and the way of magic.

But there was a third path.

A path that didn't belong to either.

Anomalies.

Also known as the Awakened.

They were rare—people who had been born different or had gained strange, unnatural abilities in ways no one understood. Unlike mages, who used spells, some anomalies could command fire, ice, or lightning with mere thought. Others had even more abstract abilities—control over life, decay, emotions, shadows… and minds.

Arthur exhaled sharply. "An anomaly that can manipulate thoughts?"

His father nodded slowly. "It's a strong possibility."

Asher, who had been silent until now, shivered.

The idea that someone had reached into his mind—altered his actions without him realizing—sent a sickening sensation through him.

His father didn't let the tension sit for long.

"For now," he said, his tone shifting, **"let's focus on something else."**His gaze landed on Asher once more.

"You said your ether core shattered."

----

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