Free Web NovelChapter 774: A Man’s Obsession (2)
"I want to witness dark magic directly."
Liam did not answer.
Thion’s voice lowered slightly, not in secrecy, but in intensity. "When you are fully recovered. Under conditions you choose. With limits you decide beforehand. I want to observe how your darkness moves when you call it deliberately, how it forms, how it holds shape, how it responds to your will, how it behaves when merged with fire. I want to see whether it resists, obeys, flows, condenses, anchors, or devours Myst differently from other affinities. I want to watch it breathe, Liam, instead of reading another dead report written by someone who feared it too much to understand what they were seeing."
There it was.
For the first time, the calmness almost fully cracked.
Not loudly.
Not violently.
But enough.
His eyes were too bright. His fingers had gone still. His voice, though quiet, had gained the rough edge of a hunger that had been denied for decades.
Thion Layenhart still looked like the Headmaster of the Dark Knight Academy, composed, intelligent, dignified, but beneath that image stood a man who had spent much of his life chasing the ghost of his grandfather’s magic through ruined records and fearful lies.
Liam saw it clearly.
And he did not trust it.
"No," Liam said.
Thion did not seem surprised.
Liam continued, blunt and steady. "I am not becoming your research subject. I will not perform dark magic because you miss what your grandfather represented. I will not hand you pieces of myself because you spent decades reading incomplete records."
Thion watched him.
Liam’s tone remained calm, but his words sharpened. "If you want a demonstration, ask a mage who likes attention. If you want a report, use what the academy already has. If you want something personal from me, then understand that I have no obligation to satisfy it."
For several seconds, Thion said nothing.
Then his smile slowly returned.
Not offended.
Pleased.
"Good," he said.
Liam’s eyes narrowed.
Thion leaned back again, and for the first time since the conversation became personal, he looked almost relaxed. "That is the correct answer."
"You expected refusal."
"I hoped for caution," Thion said. "There is a difference."
Liam stared at him.
"If you had agreed immediately," Thion continued, "I would have been disappointed. It would have meant you were either careless, eager for approval, or too naive to understand what you carry. You are none of those things, clearly."
"That does not make your request better."
"No," Thion agreed. "It only means you understand its danger."
Liam remained silent.
Thion’s thoughts moved quickly behind his composed expression. The refusal did not frustrate him as much as it should have. If anything, it sharpened his interest. Liam had drawn the line immediately, cleanly, without fear and without posturing. He understood that knowledge itself could become a weapon in the wrong hands. He understood that allowing someone to observe his magic meant granting them more than a spectacle. It meant allowing them to learn how to think about him. That caution, Thion thought, was exactly why the boy remained alive.
Liam’s own thoughts were less generous.
Thion was dangerous.
Not because he hated dark magic.
Because he did not.
The Headmaster did not flinch from darkness. He leaned toward it. He wanted to understand it from the inside as much as someone without the affinity could. That made him harder to manage than bigots, harder to predict than cowards, and far more patient than anyone driven by simple fear.
After a long pause, Liam spoke again. "If I ever consider it, there is a condition."
Thion’s eyes sharpened with immediate interest, though he kept his tone measured. "Name it."
Liam did not answer right away. He studied Thion, judging how much the man would actually be willing to offer for the chance to see what he wanted.
Then he said, "I am never to be formally asked or expected to lead my peers because of rank."
Thion blinked once.
It was small, but genuine.
Of all the things he had expected, that had not been one of them. He had expected knowledge, perhaps. Secrecy. Access to restricted archives. Protection from certain political pressures. Privileges. Conditions on observation. Perhaps even a demand that no record be kept. Instead, Liam Hunter was asking to be removed from authority.
Thion’s surprise lasted only a moment before fascination replaced it.
"Explain," he said.
Liam’s gaze remained steady. "Even if I become rank one again, the leadership role among the second years should go to Sheila Granger. Always."
"Always is a heavy word."
"For this year," Liam corrected. "Within the academy."
Thion rested his hands together, watching him more closely now. "You do not want command over your peers."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because they do not follow me."
Thion said nothing.
Liam continued, "They obey me. There is a difference."
The office grew quieter.
"My classmates fear me, distrust me, hate me, or think refusing me is dangerous," Liam said. "That can make them move if I give an order. It does not make them align with me. It does not make them trust my judgment. It does not make them work as a unit because they believe in the direction I am giving."
Thion watched him with a thoughtful stillness.
Liam’s voice remained flat, but there was no uncertainty in it. "Sheila can make them move because they trust her. They want to trust her. Even the ones who dislike her understand what she represents. If she leads, they are more likely to listen without resentment poisoning every decision. If I lead, they may still act, but they will do it under pressure."
"And pressure has value," Thion said.
"In emergencies," Liam replied. "Fear can be useful when there is no time for trust. But if you treat fear as normal leadership, it becomes poisonous. People obey until they find a way not to. Or until the fear turns into hatred strong enough to make them stupid."
Thion’s expression was calm, but inwardly, he felt a sharper thrill than he expected.
The boy understood it.
Not emotionally, perhaps. Not in the sentimental language instructors often used when discussing teamwork. But structurally. Socially. Politically.
Liam understood the consequence of his own presence within a group that feared him. He understood that command built on terror was efficient only in the short term and unstable in the long term. That kind of awareness from a sixteen-year-old should not have surprised Thion anymore.
Yet it did.
"You asked for this because of the ranking reaction," Thion said.
"It confirmed something I already knew."
"And what did it confirm?"
"That the class was relieved when Sheila returned to rank one."
Thion leaned back slightly. "They were."
"I know."
"You were not offended?"
"No."
"Most students would be."
"I am not most students."
"No," Thion said softly, almost to himself. "You are not."
For a moment, Thion considered the condition with genuine care. The request was not unreasonable. In fact, from an administrative perspective, it was practical. The academy already preferred stable student structures during large-scale exercises, and Sheila Granger’s return to rank one made her the obvious representative.
Liam’s rank would still exist. His performance would still matter. But formal leadership could be directed elsewhere without creating much resistance.
Still, Thion would not lie.
"I can agree within realistic limits," he said.
Liam waited.
"The academy will not formally place student leadership responsibility on you because of rank," Thion said. "If a class representative, group leader, or year-level command figure is needed among the second years, Sheila Granger will be treated as the preferred choice. Your rank will not be used to force that role onto you."
Liam’s eyes remained on him.
"However," Thion continued, "I cannot promise that the world will never force you to act in a crisis. If circumstances arise where your strength, judgment, or position make you necessary, no administrative preference will erase that. I will not pretend otherwise."
"I am not asking you to control the world," Liam said. "Only the academy."
Thion’s smile returned slowly. "Then yes. Within the academy, I agree."
Liam studied him, searching for the hidden hook in the answer. There would always be one with someone like Thion, even if it was not obvious. But the agreement itself sounded realistic. Not absolute enough to be a lie. Not vague enough to be useless.
"That does not mean I have accepted your request," Liam said.
"I know."
"I will consider it once I have recovered."
"That is all I am asking for."
Liam’s eyes narrowed faintly. "No. You are asking for much more than that."
Thion’s smile deepened, and for the first time, it looked almost genuine. "True."
The honesty was somehow more unsettling than deception.
Liam rose from his chair.
Thion did not stop him. frёeωebɳovel.com
For a moment, they looked at each other across the desk, both understanding that nothing had truly been resolved. A condition had been set. A possibility had been left open. A boundary had been drawn. But beneath all of it, the real danger remained exactly where it had been from the beginning.
Thion wanted to understand Liam’s darkness.
Not as a weapon to fear.
Not as a curse to condemn.
As something alive he had been starving to witness again.
Liam understood that now, and the knowledge did not comfort him.
At the same time, Thion watched Liam with quiet satisfaction, feeling the old hunger settle back beneath his ribs. He had waited decades for something the world insisted was gone. He had read lies, fragments, fearful guesses, and dead scholarship until the words themselves became ash. And now a living dark mage stood before him, guarded, dangerous, intelligent, refusing to be owned, refusing to perform, yet not fully closing the door.
That was enough.
For now.
"I will wait," Thion said.
Liam paused near the chair, his hand briefly touching the back of it. "For what?"
"For you to decide whether the answer is still no."
Liam looked at him for a moment, then turned toward the door. "Do not expect it to change easily."
"I would be disappointed if it did." freewёbnoνel.com
Liam opened the door and stepped out without another word.
Thion remained seated after he left, his gaze resting on the closed door for several seconds. Then he reached for the report again, but he did not immediately write. His fingers hovered over the paper, his calm expression returning piece by piece, hiding the intensity beneath it as neatly as ever.
Outside the window, the academy grounds continued moving under the afternoon sun.
Inside the office, Thion Layenhart smiled faintly to himself, looking every bit like a composed Headmaster and nothing like the man who had spent decades starving for the sight of living darkness.
