Mystical Fantasy : The Lazy Real Young Master [EN]

Far from that place—

Al had already reached the edge of the coastline. The beach was cloaked in a dim, heavy darkness, the kind of stillness that only came in the dead of night.

The clock had long passed three, and his body felt like a husk drained of vitality. His eyes had returned to their normal color, though fresh traces of blood still lingered at the corners, staining his lashes like fading war paint.

The faint, echoing voices of his subordinates still trickled through the glyph connection, but he hadn't answered a single one. Not yet. His focus wasn't on them; it was on himself.

He ran his senses over his body, checking for abnormalities. Nothing seemed out of place. And yet, the previous event… everything about it had been utterly strange.

He lowered his gaze to the ancient sheet of parchment clutched tightly in his hand, the surface cold and rough against his fingertips.

His mind replayed what had just happened—an image of that artifact's energy swallowing him whole, golden and black colors swirling violently around him like a storm devouring the sky. He didn't even understand what he had been looking at.

One blink, and everything had gone dark. When he opened his eyes again, the sphere of energy was gone, the dark energy had been neutralized, leaving only himself and that man behind. With no other choice, Al had left the place.

And now here he was—standing on this desolate beach with that same man.

The man looked as though he were in pain. His body seemed fine on the surface, but Al could sense something else—something fractured, something wrong with the man's soul itself. Kneeling down, Al placed a hand against the man's forehead, his expression unreadable.

"It must be connected to that Axis magic earlier," Al muttered to himself, infusing a soft stream of healing energy into the man. "His soul's been shaken… it's a miracle he's even alive."

The man's breathing steadied a little, though he gagged once, briefly retching against the sand before regaining some composure.

Slowly, his eyes fluttered open. He took in his surroundings—the lonely shore, the endless sea—and then focused on Al, who was sitting cross-legged beside him with an air of detached calm. He tried to push himself upright, lowering his head awkwardly toward Al.

"Y-You saved me… sir. Th-thank you." His voice cracked as he forced the words out.

Al didn't bother with a smile. His tone was flat, almost absentminded.

"Don't strain yourself. Just rest. Your body's in no condition to push any further right now."

The man hesitated but obeyed, easing himself down at Al's side, as if simply being near him lent some kind of reassurance. For a while he stayed silent, breathing in the salt-tinged air, before guilt began to claw at his expression.

"S-Sir… forgive me. Because of me, you ended up—"

Al cut him off before the apology could spiral.

"I had no intention of saving you. Don't mistake this for heroism. Think of it as luck. You just happened to be where I was."

The man's lips pressed together, his face twisting awkwardly at the bluntness of the reply. He decided not to push the matter further.

"A-Alright, sir. Oh, right… do you know where that thing is? That paper? Did you take it, or did they manage to get it back? Or maybe… it's missing?"

Al's eyes flicked toward him, something sharp stirring behind his gaze.

"Wait a second," he said slowly. "You're not acting shocked at all. Not confused, not panicked. You know who they were. And... you know about that artifact. Am I right?"

The man flinched, instinctively leaning back under the weight of Al's words. It was true—his demeanor was far too calm for someone who had just survived an encounter with monsters.

Instead of answering, he crawled a little closer, his fingers trembling as they clutched at Al's sleeve.

"Sir… sir, please help me," he said, his voice breaking, eyes wide with fear.

Al blinked at the sudden desperation.

"Oi! What's gotten into you?"

"Please, sir… I think you're the only one who can help me now." The man's voice cracked, his grip tightening as he shook Al's arm.

With a fluid motion, Al freed himself from the man's hold and stood, brushing sand from the back of his pants.

"Calm down. I don't even know what your problem is yet, so stop shaking me," he said curtly. "And besides, why should I help you? I already saved your life. Isn't that enough?"

But the man remained persistent. Despite the pain twisting through his body, he dragged himself forward, collapsing at Al's feet and clutching at his leg like a drowning man clinging to driftwood.

"I beg you, sir…" His voice was shorter this time, frayed by pain, his body trembling under the strain.

Al exhaled through his nose, a sound somewhere between irritation and reluctant pity. It wasn't the man's injuries that stirred something inside him—he'd seen countless wounds before—but something deeper, something far worse lurking beneath the surface.

He crouched down, his hand gripping the man's shoulder.

"It's not that I refuse to help you," Al said quietly. "But do you even realize how bad your condition really is right now?"

The man blinked at him, confused by the sudden question. But there was something in Al's tone that told him this wasn't mere guesswork. He decided to test the waters.

"My body hurts from everything that just happened, and…?"

"That's not what I'm asking," Al interrupted sharply. "I'm talking about the disease you're carrying."

The man froze, his eyes widening slightly.

"Ah… so you know. I should've guessed you weren't just some ordinary person," he murmured, his gaze dropping.

"I… I have an illness. It's been spreading for a while now, and truthfully, I'm not supposed to live much longer." His voice lowered even further, like a confession whispered to the tide.

"But… I should still have a few months left. Haha…" He tried to laugh, forcing some brittle strength into his words.

Al simply shook his head.

"No. After what just happened, I'm not even sure you have more than twenty-four hours left," he said flatly, his tone devoid of sympathy.

"Sir!" the man gasped, panic rising. "What do you mean? Please… don't lie to me. I'm begging you."

Al stood again, reaching down to haul the man up with him.

"Believe me or not, that's your choice," Al said calmly. "But whether it's a month or a day, why should I help you if, in the end, it won't make any difference? Unless…" He paused, his expression unreadable. "Unless you're asking me to erase your disease entirely, to give you a longer life. Unfortunately… that's something I can't do."

The man could only lower his head. He wasn't ready to believe it—but deep down, he knew the person standing before him might very well be telling the truth.

"That's not what I meant, sir. Forgive me. But this isn't about my illness. By the way… my name is Basri. Basri… Akabar," he said haltingly, his voice trembling.

At that name, Al's eyes opened slightly wider. It rang a familiar bell in his memory.

"Basri Akabar?" he repeated, narrowing his gaze. "Do you mean the last descendant of the Akabar family—one of the four underground rulers of Eastern Indorosia?"

The man—Basri—nodded quietly.

Al remained skeptical, but something in Basri's tone made him choose to believe it, at least for now. If the claim was true, it could actually be useful to him later.

The Akabar family was once infamous, a shadowy household not widely known to the public but greatly feared among the underworld. They controlled most of the sea routes used for smuggling illegal weapons—and, more dangerously, magical artifacts. Their hands reached far beyond what anyone could trace.

But that same obsession with magic eventually led to their downfall. Over fifteen years ago, something happened—no one knew what exactly—but a massacre wiped out the entire family. Rumors said it was because of a deal gone wrong, involving a forbidden artifact the Akabars had refused to sell. In the end, only one young survivor remained.

"So you're that boy who survived the massacre?" Al asked, his tone calm yet probing.

He remembered reading about it once. The records described how a mysterious organization had annihilated the Akabars after they refused to hand over an artifact of great value. And now, the final heir of that bloodline stood before him, alive.

Basri nodded slowly. "You might not believe me, sir, but… I really am that boy."

Al raised an eyebrow, half amused. "You look more like a beggar than a man who inherited a fortune."

He remembered the report clearly—the massacre never touched the Akabar family's wealth. That had puzzled the police for years. All the money and assets had remained untouched, which meant the sole heir—Basri—should've inherited a fortune worth trillions.

Basri chuckled awkwardly and scratched the back of his head.

"Haha… yeah, you could say that. I did live as an elite once, but I was too young when the inheritance came. Imagine a sixteen-year-old kid—spoiled, lost, and reckless—suddenly receiving an absurd amount of wealth. I drowned myself in luxury and meaningless pleasures. And before I realized it… I'd already lost everything."

Even Al couldn't hide a faint look of disbelief. "Even so, wealth of that scale doesn't just disappear. Don't tell me someone—"

"Yup," Basri interrupted, lowering his head again. "It was her. My ex-wife." His voice trembled slightly.

"She was… the light that filled my emptiness back then. She gave me the happiness I thought I'd lost forever. She changed me. Made me believe I could start over." His hands clenched into fists, eyes glistening.

"But in the end… it was all a mask. A lie. What she really wanted was my money. And when she got it… she left. That's how I ended up here, broke, and living on the streets."

"Wait," Al interjected, slightly exasperated. "You don't have to share your entire tragic life story with me. Or... don't tell me you want me to go avenge you against that woman?"

Basri quickly shook his head.

"No, sir. I would never dare ask something like that from you. What I want… is something else." He lifted his head slowly, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. "Please, sir… could you help me… No. I mean... help my daughter?"

"Your daughter?" Al asked, his tone softening slightly.

Basri nodded and began to explain. He told Al that he had a daughter with his ex-wife. Both of them had been abandoned and cast out years ago. Sadly, his daughter had been born with a mysterious illness that even doctors couldn't identify. She'd been hospitalized for over a year, confined to a hospital bed in the city, her condition worsening day by day.

Al listened in silence, arms crossed, connecting the threads in his mind as Basri spoke.

"So everything you did tonight—the reckless deal, the risk—you did it for her?" Al asked.

Basri nodded again, his expression pained.

"Can you tell me what happened?" Al asked.

Basri then start to explain,

"A few weeks ago," he began, "some people from that group approached me. I don't know how they found me, or how they knew about my family's past with magical artifacts. I refused at first. I didn't want to be involved in that kind of madness ever again."

He sighed deeply, shoulders sinking.

"But then they offered me something… something I couldn't ignore. They said my daughter was suffering from a spiritual illness, one that no ordinary medicine could heal. And they promised they could cure her—if I helped them retrieve what they wanted."

"And you agreed?" Al asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yes," Basri said without hesitation. "If it's about my daughter, I'll take any risk. I don't care what happens to me."

Al let out a faint, ironic smile. "You must be a devoted father. I almost envy that."

"Ah… do you have children too, sir?" Basri asked innocently.

Al chuckled faintly. "It's the other way around, actually. Don't think too hard about it. Just finish your story."

Basri nodded obediently and continued.

"In the end, with what little knowledge and skill I had left, I managed to find the item they were looking for."

"This thing?" Al asked, raising the small torn piece of paper in his hand.

"Yes," Basri replied quietly.

"Then why is this still with you?" Al questioned, his tone calm but probing.

"They wanted proof back then," Basri began, his voice tightening. "So they dragged me along to the location where that object was hidden. When we finally managed to retrieve it, instead of keeping their promise and paying me as agreed, they tried to kill me right there." His voice trembled slightly, bitterness seeping through every word.

Al said nothing. His gaze stayed on the man, silent yet sharp, urging him to continue.

"With magic, they attacked me," Basri went on, lowering his shirt collar slightly to reveal a long, faint scar beneath his left armpit. "Luckily, the spell didn't hit any vital spots. I threw myself into the river, pretended to be dead… and fortunately, they believed it and left."

"I see," Al murmured, his tone neutral. "And then?"

"I survived," Basri continued, his breath shallow. "But they never realized that before I escaped, I managed to tear that paper apart."

"Huh? You tore it?" Al's brows furrowed. "You could actually do that?"

"Yes, why wouldn't I, sir?" Basri asked, genuinely puzzled. "Even if it's some kind of magical artifact, it's still just a piece of paper, isn't it?"

"Ah… I suppose you're right," Al replied, not pressing the topic further. "And after that, they realized you'd escaped and started hunting you again? What about your daughter?"

"Yeah." Basri nodded heavily. "Once I sensed the danger closing in, I managed to take my daughter out of the hospital and hide her somewhere safe. Luckily, I hid her before they found me again earlier. And… the rest, well, you've seen it yourself."

"I understand," Al said slowly. "Then what is it you want from me regarding your daughter?"

"Please, sir," Basri pleaded, his voice breaking. "Can you take me to her? I can feel it—just like you said, my time is running short. My body… it's getting weaker by the minute. I'll explain everything once we get there."

Al let out a deep breath, still uncertain whether he should agree. But pity had already settled in his chest, weighing heavier than reason.

Al wasn't sure if the man was telling the truth or not. But for now, there was no reason to doubt him.

I just hope this is the right decision, he thought to himself before finally agreeing.

"…Alright," he finally muttered.

And with that, they set off toward the place Basri had spoken of.

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