'Since when has a child been held accountable for the sins of the father?'
He scrutinized the nobleman, weighing his chances. If the man were merely a typical aristocrat, Unwan's odds of victory would be practically zero. But what if he possessed a grimoire? Unwan's eyes narrowed, scanning every detail until he found it: a small pouch, perfectly camouflaged against the fabric of the man's suit. It was barely a pouch at all; it held only one thing. A Grimoire.
To avoid drawing unnecessary attention, Unwan kept his own grimoire firmly in his hand. In this state, it didn't emit its characteristic violet glow, but its distinct hue was still visible through his fingers.
— So, boy, are you actually going to fight me? I thought you were going to make me bite the dust.
— Did I ever say I had a change of heart?
The nobleman let out a sharp laugh. He slowly opened his pouch and took his grimoire. The cover was etched with stars, featuring a sun and a crescent moon fused at the center.
— Do you have any idea what kind of grimoire this is? This is a Grimoire of Space. Tell me, do you want me to blast you into the heavens?
— So what? Your grimoire isn't all that impressive. Besides...
A cold, mocking smile spread across Unwan's face.
— ...If your grimoire and your power were truly so formidable, why are you wasting away in the cohorts instead of joining the Night Curse? The reason is simple: you're terrified of the Night Creatures. You know perfectly well that your strength only works against helpless civilians. Am I right?
Unwan was intentionally provoking him. It was a gamble, dangerous, perhaps even reckless, but it was calculated. First, he needed his opponent to lose his head; when rage takes over, reason departs. Second, he had noted the grimoire's tier. A second-tier Grimoire of Space meant there was a five-tier gap between the nobleman's power and Unwan's. In a magical duel, even a single tier could decide life or death.
The nobleman's face flushed with fury. He released his grip on his grimoire, letting it hover. Unwan mirrored the gesture. The two books floated before them, pages fluttering open, one primed for an all-out assault, the other prepared to deceive and defend.
— You brought this on yourself, kid. Space spell: Earth Detachment!
Before Unwan could process the spell, the world blurred. He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, and when he opened them, he was suspended high in the atmosphere. Then came the drop. He was plummeting at a terrifying speed. His horizontal position hadn't changed; he had simply been catapulted vertically into the sky.
'Is this what you call 'good' spell? If this is it, then Grimoire of Space Owners have no chance against me.'
He was falling fast, yet there was no terror in his eyes. Only a slight shadow of concern, not of death, but of miscalculating his power and breaking a leg upon impact. That was the worst-case scenario. Back at the academy, Unwan had experimented with a theory: if he didn't direct his spells toward an external object, it would affect his own body. He focused his mind and activated Changing Spell.
***
Down on the ground, the nobleman was howling with laughter, staring at the empty spot where Unwan had stood, convinced his opponent was about to become a red smear on the pavement. He turned to the gathered crowd, his voice dripping with arrogance.
— If anyone else wants to die like that brat, feel free to interfere in my business!
But the crowd was eerily calm. Some watched the nobleman with hollow eyes, others looked up at the tiny point in the sky that was Unwan. No one seemed to care, not even the boy Unwan had tried to save.
Suddenly, that point in the sky began to change.
***
Unwan's Changing Spell took hold. Initially, his falling speed increased as he manipulated the gravitational pull. He couldn't use Negative gravity, that would send him drifting into space. But he needed a controlled landing. He visualized his weight decreasing. He couldn't use hand motion in this state, so he relied purely on mental intent. The descent slowed, but not enough. He dialed it back further, and further still. Finally, Unwan felt as light as a cat.
He drifted down gracefully. With about fifty meters left, he looked down to see the nobleman already back to his old habits, shouting at and striking the debtor boy.
'Did this filth really just abandon the fight halfway through? Was my death that much of a certainty to him?'
'To be honest, I expected you to die too. Anyone else would have been screaming and begging for their life, yet you kept that same indifferent face. Perhaps you really are a monster?'
'Who said monsters don't feel fear?'
He touched down with relief. The market crowd gasped in surprise, but Unwan didn't miss the look in their eyes. There was no relief, only envy and spite. Realizing the danger, some even tried to warn the nobleman.
— Sir... Sir Polgan! He's—
— Who gave you permission to speak to me, you dog?
The next moment, the man in that crowd disappeared.
Unwan gave the crowd a thin, chilling smile before addressing the noble.
— Sir Polgan, I believe we have some unfinished business.
The nobleman jumped, nearly leaving his skin. Unwan could almost see the words "How?!" flashing in the man's mind. He spun around, eyes wide.
— How... how are you alive?
— I'm under no obligation to explain that to you. Therefore...
— Light Wave!
A brilliant surge of light erupted from the hovering grimoire, lashing out toward Unwan. It nearly caught him, but sensing the build-up of energy, Unwan moved aside. In a normal state, he might have been too slow, but he realized he had forgotten to deactivate his Changing spell. His body was still incredibly light.
'Wow, such light movements. Can this spell really be used this way?'
As Unwan dodged, the wave of light, no larger than a palm streaked past him. Regaining his footing, Unwan let out a sinister grin.
— That's your third spell gone. You're out of options, Sir Polgan.
Unwan deactivated the spell. A look of pure fear finally washed over Polgan's face.
— Do you really think you can kill me and walk away scot-free? I have connections that will make sure even your corpse doesn't find peace!
— Who said I was going to kill you? I'm simply going to teach you a lesson. A person's origin or race is no excuse for humiliation.
Unwan activated his Changing Spell once more, but this time, he reversed the target. Polgan's body suddenly became unimaginably heavy. His knees buckled, slamming into the dirt as he was forced into a kneeling position. Unwan rarely took pleasure in the humailiation of others, but this was an exception.
— Hah. Why is it that you can look down on us, but we aren't allowed to do the same to you? Who would have thought... a nobleman, kneeling before an orphan boy.
— I'll kill you! I'll let you rot in a dungeon! No, I'll do worse! Just you wait, you filthy brat!
Unwan didn't bother answering. Instead, he increased the pressure. The nobleman collapsed entirely, pinned to the earth. For several agonizing seconds, his screams filled the air before he finally went quiet. Unwan released the spell and walked over to the debtor boy.
— Get up. You're free now, I suppose.
Unwan reached out a hand to help him. But the boy slapped it away, his eyes burning with resentment.
— Nobody asked for your help! What right do you have to stick your nose into other people's business?
'What? I saved you. I literally fell from the sky for you, and this is what I get? A 'thank you' wouldn't have killed you.'
'What did you expect? This is a surprise gift for the [unliked].'
The boy turned and walked away. Unwan watched him go, a weary sigh escaping his lips.
— Well... I guess you really can't do anyone a favor these days.