Chương 60: Black Fire Above Two Graves

Sieghart remained kneeling among the ruins while First Aid continued pouring useless mana into the remains gathered before him. The spell dispersed every time it encountered a separation between the recovered pieces. It could close wounds, restore damaged tissue, and encourage a living body to heal. It could not decide how scattered parts were supposed to fit together. Sieghart wiped his eyes with one soot-covered arm and returned to the debris.

Crying made everything harder to see, but he refused to leave anything behind. He searched every corner of the destroyed bedroom, lifting stone with sand and moving broken wood with carefully controlled wind. Each discovery tore another piece from whatever remained inside him. The stranger watched from outside the ruined room. He no longer attempted to stop Sieghart, although his expression grew more troubled with every recovered piece. Sieghart ignored him completely.

He found Elara's remaining leg beneath part of the collapsed wall. Edric's other arm rested several meters away, thrown through the broken doorway by the explosion. Their bodies had not merely been crushed when the house collapsed. Something had detonated close enough to tear them apart before the debris buried the room. Sieghart gathered every part and carried them toward a relatively intact section of the farmhouse. He used Wind Magic whenever something was too heavy for his small arms.

The process required time because he refused to treat them like ordinary debris. Every movement became slow and precise despite the trembling in his hands. Sieghart placed Edric and Elara beside each other. He arranged the recovered pieces according to their injuries, relying upon his knowledge of the human body and what First Aid allowed him to sense. The spell had taught him how mana moved through blood vessels, muscles, bones, and organs. That understanding became unbearable when applied to people he loved.

Sieghart aligned the bones first. He used thin streams of water to remove soot and dust before bringing each broken surface together. When he placed his hands against Edric's chest and activated First Aid, the spell entered the body but dispersed at every severed connection. Sieghart adjusted the position of an arm by several centimeters and tried again. Mana flowed farther before encountering another interruption. That small response gave him something to pursue.

Sieghart continued repositioning every piece until the spell recognized them as portions of the same damaged body. He then poured mana into First Aid without restraint. Flesh slowly reconnected beneath his hands. Bones joined, blood vessels closed, and burns faded from skin that no longer possessed any warmth. The magic repaired everything it could identify as physical damage. Sieghart maintained the spell until Edric's body looked nearly untouched. He repeated the process with Elara.

First Aid restored her missing limbs and closed the terrible wounds left by the explosion. The burns covering her skin gradually disappeared as mana repaired them. Sieghart worked until both bodies appeared whole. For one impossible moment, hope returned. He pressed one hand against Edric's chest and the other against Elara's. First Aid entered them without encountering any remaining physical injury. Neither heart began beating.

Their lungs did not move, no pulse returned beneath their skin, and their eyes remained closed. Their bodies had been repaired, but life did not follow. Sieghart increased the mana output. First Aid continued maintaining perfectly restored flesh without producing any other response. More mana changed nothing because mana had never been the missing component. Sieghart concentrated on the blood vessels and forced the spell to move through them.

He strengthened the hearts, repaired the nerves, and restored everything he understood. Nothing happened. His grandparents were no longer wounded people. They were intact bodies without whatever force had once made them Edric and Elara. Sieghart bent forward while tears fell onto their restored hands. He had refused to accept the truth until nothing physical remained for him to heal. Infinite mana could reconstruct what had been destroyed. It could not call back the people who once inhabited those bodies.

The stranger approached slowly, stopping several meters away.

"I'm sorry." Sieghart did not respond. The words were probably sincere, but they possessed no value. Apologies could not reverse time or return the dead. Sieghart remained beside his grandparents until the eastern sky began lightening. The fire had destroyed most of the house, but dawn arrived exactly as it always had. Birds eventually began making noise beyond the fields. Farm animals shifted inside the barn, frightened but alive. The world continued with insulting normality.

Sieghart looked toward the remains of the bedroom. Now that the fire and smoke had faded, he could examine the destruction more clearly. Most of the room had been blasted outward from a point beneath the bed. The floorboards bent away from the center, while sections of the walls had traveled in opposite directions. The first explosion in Sieghart's room had come from above. The blast that killed his grandparents originated directly beneath them. A single accidental fire could not produce those patterns.

Even exploding magical equipment would not place separate detonations inside two bedrooms. The attacks had been positioned deliberately. Someone knew where each person slept. Someone had placed or directed enough force beneath Edric and Elara's bed to kill them before they could wake, defend themselves, or call for help. The explosion in Sieghart's room had been equally overwhelming. If he had remained asleep or reacted one second slower, the collapsing ceiling would have buried him beneath burning debris.

The later explosions destroyed the remaining structure and eliminated evidence. Whoever planned the attack wanted everyone inside the farmhouse dead with no chance of escape. This had not been intimidation. It had been an execution. Sieghart stared at the destroyed rooms until the pattern became undeniable. His sadness remained, but something darker began forming beneath it. His grandparents died because someone wanted him dead. Edric and Elara possessed no enemies capable of arranging an attack like this.

They were farmers who rarely left their land and treated strangers with kindness. Sieghart had attracted attention during the war. He had killed the Firian commander, revealed several forms of magic, and healed injuries previously considered difficult to treat. Perhaps the explosions were retaliation for the enemy leader. Perhaps someone inside the kingdom considered Sieghart a threat. The identity did not matter yet.

Whoever ordered the attack had murdered the two people who raised him, fed him, protected him, and treated him like family when his parents refused. Sieghart carefully lifted Elara's body with wind. He carried her beyond the ruins toward the edge of the farm, where an old tree overlooked the fields. Edric had occasionally rested beneath that tree during the hottest afternoons. Elara usually brought water and complained that he used age as an excuse to avoid work.

Sieghart remembered their harmless arguments as he placed her beneath the branches. He returned for Edric and laid him beside her. The stranger watched from a distance while Sieghart prepared the graves. His damaged legs had begun recovering, but he continued moving with a slight limp. Sieghart extended both hands toward the ground. Earth shifted beneath his magic. Two deep openings formed beside the tree as sand and soil rose in controlled layers. Sieghart lacked coffins.

Most of the available wood had burned, and he refused to place his grandparents inside boxes assembled from the ruins of their home. He recovered two partially burned blankets instead. Sieghart cleaned them with water before wrapping Edric and Elara carefully. He placed Elara's ring back on her restored finger. Edric's repaired boot remained with him, despite being more patches than original leather. Those details seemed foolish and important at the same time.

Sieghart had no idea what followed death, but he could not bury them without the belongings that made them familiar. He lowered their bodies into the graves with Wind Magic. The spell moved them gently, unlike the violent blasts he used during training. Sieghart stood between the openings and attempted to speak. Nothing came out. He wanted to thank them for caring for him. He wanted to apologize for bringing danger into their lives and failing to protect them.

No sentence felt large enough to contain six years of memories. Words became meaningless compared with the empty farmhouse behind him. In the end, Sieghart lowered his head.

"I'm sorry." His voice barely traveled beyond the tree. Sieghart moved the earth back into place. The soil covered his grandparents gradually until the blankets disappeared from sight. He compressed the ground carefully, ensuring that rain and animals would not disturb the graves. Two raised sections remained beneath the branches. Sieghart gathered stone from the ruined foundation and created simple markers. His earth control could not carve elegant letters, so he shaped the names slowly with Wind Blade.

EDRIC ELARA The letters were uneven, but readable. Sieghart stood before the graves until the rising sun reached the fields. Fresh tears continued falling, although his expression gradually stopped changing. The stranger waited near the broken fence. He neither approached nor attempted to leave, apparently understanding that Sieghart would eventually demand answers. Sieghart turned toward him. The man stiffened immediately.

Sieghart's red hair was wet with soot and water, while the blond tips of his fringe clung against his forehead. His sleeping clothes were torn and blackened. He remained small enough that most adults could lift him with one arm. Nothing else about him looked like a child. Sieghart's green eyes carried an expression so cold that the morning seemed darker around him. The grief inside them had sharpened into something far more dangerous. Mana stirred through his body. One black Fireball appeared beside Sieghart.

Then another formed above his shoulder. Within seconds, dozens of dark flames surrounded him. The fireballs spread across the air above the two graves like miniature black suns. More continued appearing. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. The surrounding temperature climbed while shadows moved across the fields. Grass near Sieghart's feet darkened beneath the heat. The stranger lowered his center of gravity.

He did not reach for a weapon, but the muscles beneath his damaged clothing became tense. Sieghart walked toward him as the fireballs followed.

"Who are you?" The man remained silent. Sieghart created more flames. The number of fireballs exceeded what he had used against the Firian leader. They filled the sky above the ruined farm and waited for a single command.

"Why were you here when this happened?" The stranger looked from Sieghart to the graves behind him. His hesitation lasted long enough to make the nearest fireballs drift forward.

"Someone asked me to watch the farm."

"Who?"

"I can't tell you yet." Sieghart raised one hand. The fireballs moved closer.

"That answer is going to get you killed."

"I was asked to observe you," the man said quickly.

"More specifically, I was ordered to find out what you could do and whether you were dangerous." Sieghart's fingers remained raised. The man continued before the flames could move again.

"Rumors spread after the war. Some people began asking whether the ignored son of the Crimson Sword King might become a problem someday." Sieghart heard the description without reacting. Being called ignored felt more accurate than abandoned, although neither changed his situation.

"You watched me?"

"For almost a month." The admission made the fireballs burn brighter. The stranger kept both hands visible as he explained.

"I saw you training with water, wind, earth, and fire. I watched you create that cloud, use the bow, and practice near the edge of the fields."

"You watched my grandparents."

"I watched the farm. I had no reason to harm them."

"You were here for a month, and they died while you watched." The accusation struck more effectively than Earth Bullet. The man's expression tightened, and guilt appeared behind his eyes.

"I wasn't close enough when it happened. I used a grove beyond the northern fields as an observation point, and I had fallen asleep." Sieghart remembered the grove. The distance allowed someone to observe most of the farm while remaining concealed among trees and uneven ground. The stranger could have watched Sieghart train from there without entering the range of his limited awareness.

"The first explosion woke me," the man continued.

"I reached the house after the attack began. I pulled you out because another blast was about to kill you." Sieghart studied him while keeping the fireballs ready. His thoughts remained clouded by exhaustion and grief, but the explanation made sense. The man's appearance matched someone who reached the house after the first explosion. More importantly, if the stranger had planned the attack, he possessed better opportunities.

After watching for a month, he would know when Sieghart trained alone, when Protection weakened, and how far his elemental control extended. He could have killed Sieghart in the fields with a silent long-range attack. Poisoning food or attacking during sleep without setting the house ablaze would also have been easier. Instead, the stranger risked himself to drag Sieghart away from multiple explosions. He endured Earth Bullets and a Wind Blade without retaliating.

He was hiding information, but he probably was not responsible for the attack. Sieghart lowered his hand slightly. The fireballs remained.

"You didn't see anyone approaching?"

"No."

"Then how did they place the attacks?"

"I don't know." The stranger looked toward the ruins and narrowed his eyes.

"I checked the surrounding area before sunset. Nobody approached along the road, through the fields, or from the forest while I was awake."

"You fell asleep."

"I did. That was my failure." His willingness to admit fault prevented Sieghart from immediately dismissing him. The stranger looked toward Edric and Elara's graves before continuing.

"Even asleep, I should have sensed someone moving close to the farm. Whoever did this concealed their presence from me completely."

"What kind of Aura do you have?"

"One suited for sensing people and tracking movement." Sieghart glanced toward the ruined bedroom. An attacker capable of bypassing a specialized observer without leaving visible tracks was not ordinary.

"The explosions were too precise," the stranger said.

"One struck your room, another detonated beneath your grandparents, and the remaining charges destroyed the house."

"Charges?"

"That is my guess. They may have used enchanted devices, delayed magic, or an Aura capable of creating explosions from a distance." The man crouched near the closest impact mark without turning his back completely toward Sieghart.

"The placement suggests a professional assassin. Someone entered, prepared everything, and left without allowing me to sense them." Sieghart looked toward the surrounding fields. If the assassin remained nearby, the person could be watching their conversation from beyond his range. The black fireballs rotated around him, ready to strike anything that moved. Even their combined heat failed to ease the cold inside his chest.

"Why would a professional assassin want me dead?" The stranger stood slowly.

"You demonstrated an extraordinary amount of mana during the war. You defeated the Firian commander, survived attacks that should have killed you, and healed wounds most people considered fatal."

"..."

"You are also the son of the Crimson Sword King. Some people may fear what House Emberhart could become if you develop your magic." Sieghart almost laughed, but the sound never emerged. Those people had murdered his grandparents because they feared a family that did not even want him. His father had attempted to hire him as a servant. His mother had not visited in years, and his sister probably did not know he existed. Yet outsiders might see only bloodlines, political influence, and military potential.

From their perspective, a powerful mage supporting the Crimson Sword King could threaten the balance between noble houses.

"Someone wanted all witnesses dead," the man added.

"Your grandparents were not collateral damage. The attacker deliberately ensured that nobody nearby survived." Sieghart stared at the two graves. The explanation pushed fresh pain through the numbness. Edric and Elara had been killed because someone wanted to erase him without leaving witnesses. His hands tightened. The fireballs above the farm expanded slightly before Sieghart forced them back under control. His father came to mind first.

The timing followed Sieghart's refusal, and Alaric possessed enough authority to hire skilled killers. However, the conclusion did not fit. Alaric had just offered Sieghart a profitable position inside the estate. Killing him after a refusal would waste a useful resource and create questions if anyone connected the events. More importantly, Lord Emberhart could have issued a direct order for Sieghart to return. He did not need to destroy a farmhouse secretly.

Sieghart disliked his father, but hatred did not justify abandoning logic. Alaric remained cold, shameless, and practical rather than pointlessly murderous. The attack was probably connected to the war. Sieghart had acted to defend human territory, yet killing the Firian leader might have harmed plans extending beyond the battlefield. Someone within the kingdom could have wanted the eastern defense to collapse. A rival noble might benefit if the Emberhart family lost land, soldiers, or influence.

The Firians themselves could have sent an assassin in retaliation, although their previous attacks favored overwhelming heat instead of concealed explosive devices. Sieghart possessed too many possibilities and no evidence. His head felt filled with smoke, while every attempt at reasoning returned to the same two graves.

"You cannot remain here," the stranger said. Sieghart looked at him.

"The assassin may still be nearby. Even if they left, whoever ordered this will learn that you survived."

"Good."

"That isn't good."

"They can try again." The stranger stared at the countless fireballs surrounding Sieghart.

"You want them to." Sieghart did not answer. Part of him wanted another attack immediately. If the assassin appeared, Sieghart could follow them back to whoever gave the order. He could burn answers from every person involved until nothing remained between him and the one responsible. The stranger approached carefully.

"I can take you home." Sieghart's expression changed. The black fireballs moved toward the man before he hurriedly clarified.

"Your father's home. The Emberhart estate."

"This was my home." The stranger went silent. Sieghart looked back at the destroyed farmhouse. The walls that remained standing would probably collapse before another night passed. His books had burned. His room was gone, the kitchen was buried, and the table where they shared meals lay shattered beneath the ruins. The building had been destroyed, but that was not what ended his home. Two stone markers beneath an old tree had done that.

"I won't go to that house."

"Lord Emberhart can protect you."

"I don't need his protection."

"You nearly died tonight." Sieghart glared at him. The stranger did not look away. The man was right, which only made his words more infuriating. Sieghart possessed destructive power, but he lacked experience, information, and the ability to detect hidden enemies. The assassin had entered the farm, prepared several attacks, and vanished without being noticed. Infinite mana offered no protection against an enemy Sieghart could not find. That weakness had already cost him everything. Sieghart closed his hand.

The black fireballs began shrinking. One after another, they dispersed into streams of dark mana until the morning sky became visible again. The temperature around the farm gradually decreased, although scorched circles remained across the grass beneath several of the larger flames. Sieghart turned away from the stranger. He walked past the ruined fence and started along the road without gathering supplies. Almost everything he owned had burned inside the house.

His magical bow might still remain beneath the wreckage, but searching for it felt meaningless. The weapon belonged to the life that ended during the night. Sieghart wore torn sleeping clothes and had no shoes. Mud covered his feet, while dried blood and soot marked his skin. He did not know where he was going. The town offered the closest source of information, but the runesmith had warned him to remain away. That disappearance might also connect to the attack.

The Emberhart estate possessed records and soldiers, but entering it would place Sieghart beneath his father's authority. He refused to exchange one cage for another. The capital contained magical knowledge and professional organizations, but reaching it alone would be nearly impossible for a six-year-old child. None of those problems changed his objective. Sieghart would discover who planned the attack. He would find the assassin, the person who provided the weapons, and whoever gave the final order.

Then he would kill all of them. He did not care how long the search required or how powerful the people involved became. Infinite mana gave him time to develop whatever strength he lacked. The stranger limped after him.

"I won't tell you that vengeance brings no good." Sieghart continued walking.

"I won't tell you that your grandparents would want you to forgive the people responsible, either. I didn't know them well enough to use their memory against you." Sieghart slowed slightly but did not turn around. The stranger's voice remained steady behind him.

"However, going alone in your current condition will accomplish nothing. You have no supplies, no information, and nowhere safe to sleep."

"I'll manage."

"You are a kid."

"I killed the Firian commander."

"And someone still destroyed your home without giving you a chance to fight." Sieghart stopped. The words struck the exact wound he had been trying to ignore. Power meant nothing if an enemy could choose when and where the battle began. The stranger remained several steps behind him, keeping enough distance to avoid another sudden attack.

"Come with me," the man said.

"I will introduce you to the person who asked me to watch you." Sieghart looked over his shoulder. The stranger's employer might be another enemy, a noble seeking leverage, or someone involved in the attack. Following him carried obvious risks. It also represented the first real lead Sieghart possessed. For the first time since burying his grandparents, Sieghart hesitated.