The Sinful Young Master

Chapter 219: Nytheriaʼs warning

After her daughter had departed, Ivyona moved to her scrying pool.

With a wave of her hand, the waters shimmered and revealed the Midlands. She focused her divine vision, searching for this Jolthar who had captured her husbandʼs attention.

When she found him, Ivyonaʼs breath caught in her throat.

The boy appeared ordinary enough—tall and of average build with silver snow hair and eyes that seemed too old for his youthful face. He was now lying on a bed with bandages.

But surrounding him was an aura she had never witnessed before. It wasnʼt normal, not like the strong humans. It wasnʼt the mark of a deivruta, which she could recognize all too well.

This was something utterly different—ancient, perhaps, but also new, as though the very cosmos had decided to try a different form of creation.

”What are you?” Ivyona whispered, finding herself strangely drawn to the mystery.

As she watched, Jolthar got up and sat on his bed. The aura around him was shimmering like a mirage in the desert, constantly shifting and changing colours. It was as if he was a vessel for some heavenly power, one that defied explanation and left Ivyona intrigued.

The Queen of Deities pulled back from the scrying pool, her mind racing. The strange aura around him made her frown deeply, and she pondered the boy named Jolthar.

Ivyonaʼs lips curved into a contemplative smile. Perhaps this boy was not another one of Inadrysʼ indiscretions, after all. Perhaps he was something far more interesting—a player on the cosmic board that not even the King of deities had anticipated.

”Well, Jolthar of the Midlands,” she murmured, ”it seems you have Illumarhenʼs attention now. Let us see what secrets you hold.”

—— ∗ ——

Jolthar sat on the edge of his modest bed in the eastern wing of Count Hamenʼs castle, wincing as he adjusted the bandaged left arm that hung in a sling around his neck.

He looked up, as he felt something or someone was watching him. But he didnʼt dwell on it.

The wound throbbed beneath the wrappings, a constant reminder of his limitations. At eighteen years of age, tall but still growing into his frame, he possessed power that unsettled even himself—yet remained frustratingly insufficient.

”Only tier six,” he muttered, flexing his right hand and watching as the faintest shimmer of energy danced between his fingers before fizzling out.

”Not enough. Nowhere near enough.”

His chamber in the castle was simple.

Jolthar preferred it this way—plain stone walls, a single window overlooking the training yards, and few distractions. The less comfort he allowed himself, the more focused he was on his thoughts.

While he was deep in thought about the recent battle, the room suddenly started to fill in with a mist of a light blue colour. Like the water had been sprayed into the room.

Jolthar frowned as he observed the change silently.

Then, a figure formed in the mist, taking the shape of a woman.

”Jolthar,” the woman called. It was Nytheria, in her human form; she floated before him.

”Itʼs you; I thought you left for good.”

She failed to notice the light tone in his voice as she replied, ”No, why would I leave you? I was just running some errands.”

”But you have been busy,” she said, noticing he was covered in bandages around his abdomen and his left hand.

”Yeah, a little skirmish,” he replied, as he watched her mist form. It looked fascinating to him. He poked a finger at her bosom, making her question, ”What are you doing?”

Jolthar looked at her face and said, ”Nothing, just checking if you are real.”

”Enough now, I have come here to warn you,” she said as her expression turned serious. ”There seem to be some eyes from the Illumarhen turned towards you after the battle. You have to be careful from now onwards. Qalena is still busy in her realm, and she said she canʼt meet you for the time being. So, be on your guard.”

”Oh, is that so? I will be careful.” Jolthar nodded, wondering who it was.

”I will come to you as soon as I am done with my work. Till then,” she disappeared after she said that.

Jolthar stared at the empty space where she vanished along with the mist she came with. The room looked just like before. And Jolthar fell into his thoughts again.

Illumarhen, it was the place of deities, their home. He thought about his recent events; there was nothing he recalled that would make the deities show interest in him.

A knock at the door interrupted his brooding.

”Enter,” Jolthar called, straightening his posture by instinct.

Count Hamen stepped through the doorway, his imposing figure filling the frame.

”Youʼve recovered?” The Countʼs voice carried a surprised tone. It had been two days since the battle, and Jolthar was already moving. The healers said that it would take a week for him to stand again, but he was already moving.

”The healers said you should be resting that arm, not testing it.”

Jolthar offered a tight smile. ”Iʼm not sure I know how to rest, Count Hamen.” Normally, he should have called Hamen my lord, but Jolthar didnʼt bother.

Nor did Hamen.

”Hamen,” the Count even corrected him. ”Just Hamen when weʼre speaking privately. Come, walk with me. The physician has arrived for Wymar, and I promised Iʼd be present.”

Jolthar rose, carefully adjusting his sling. ”How is he?”

”Stubborn as ever. The spell backlash took more out of him than heʼs willing to admit.” Hamenʼs expression darkened slightly.

”His mana circuits are a mess. He overused his mana, but he is recovering now.”

They walked in silence through the stone corridors of the keep, servants and guards bowing respectfully as they passed.

Jolthar noticed how the Count acknowledged each person individually—a nod here, a question about a family member there. It was one of many reasons the people of Godeylet would follow Hamen into fire if he asked.

Outside the physicianʼs chambers, they found a space to wait while the renowned healer Matron Selwin worked her arts on Wymar. The courtyard was quiet, with only the distant sounds of training soldiers and the occasional call of a hawk circling overhead.