The Weight of Powerlessness
A month passed since we interrogated William.
The days moved forward quietly on the surface. The city recovered. Trade resumed. Smiles returned to places where fear had briefly taken root. To anyone watching from the outside the Grand Duchy looked unchanged.
But underneath it all, something had shifted.
We finally had a name.
The Nameless Order.
And those who served it were called the Nameless.
The existence of such an organization alone was dangerous knowledge. One that could not be allowed to spread. If the news leaked it would cause panic. Worse it would invite other powers to interfere under the excuse of protection or investigation. So the truth was sealed away.
Only my father, the Knight Commander, and a handful of officials who had served the Duchy for decades were informed. Men and women whose loyalty had been tested over years of war, famine, and politics. They were told what little we knew. That an organization was targeting the Grand Duchy. That infiltrators existed. That this was not an isolated incident.
Meetings were held behind closed doors. Maps were spread across tables. Patrol routes were adjusted. Background checks were repeated on servants and guards alike. Quiet changes that would go unnoticed by most.
We still did not know why.
Was it revenge for old wars. For burned territories. For choices my father had made under imperial command in his youth.
Or was it something colder.
A calculation.
Reducing competition. Weakening a rival power before the balance of the continent shifted.
No matter the reason one thing was clear. We were no longer blind.
That alone was progress.
And yet for me personally things were only getting worse.
I could no longer use magic.
At first I had convinced myself it was temporary. A side effect of regression. A backlash from the star. Something that would fade with time.
It did not.
No matter how many days passed. No matter how many times I tried. I could not form any spells.
I could still sense mana. That much was clear. It flowed through my body as it always had. I could circulate it. Compress it. Reinforce my muscles. Strengthen my body beyond what a normal man could manage.
But when it came time to release it. To weave it into a spell. It vanished.
It was a devastating blow.
More than half of my combat power was tied to magic. Gravity had been my greatest weapon. The thing that let me face enemies stronger than me. Older than me. More experienced than me.
Against William it had been enough. He was young. Talented but unrefined. I could overwhelm him even without relying fully on spells.
But against a true swordmaster. Or a veteran archmage. Or one of the elites of the Nameless.
My chances would be slim.
Dangerously slim.
I had to get my magic back.
During the month I tried everything I could think of.
I visited healers in the city under false names. Clerics who specialized in curses and divine afflictions. Mages gathered in the adventurer’s guild. Scholars who dealt with mana circulation disorders.
Some examined me carefully. Others watched in silence. A few whispered theories among themselves.
All of them reached the same conclusion.
There was nothing wrong with me.
No illness. No corrupt mana. No damaged circuits
My body was healthy.
Too healthy.
In the end there were only two people left I could consult.
The court physician.
And the court mage.
So today I called for them.
Not as the heir seeking urgent treatment. But under the excuse of a routine checkup. I had recovered from my injuries a long time ago after all.
They arrived in the afternoon.
A knock sounded at my door.
“You may enter.”
The door opened and both men stepped inside.
The court physician was first. An elderly man with kind eyes and careful movements. He had served the Duchy since before I was born. He had treated me through fevers, scraped knees, and battlefield wounds alike.
Behind him came the court mage. Tall. Thin. Robed in deep blue. His expression was already confused. He had not been informed of any magical incidents recently. That confusion would not last.
I was seated in the sitting area of my room when they entered.
“Please take a seat,” I said.
They did.
The mage studied me openly. His gaze lingered longer than politeness allowed. The physician simply smiled as if this were any other visit.
“How may we assist you today my lord,” the court physician asked.
I leaned back slightly.
“Ever since the night of the banquet,” I said, “I have been unable to cast spells.”
Both of them froze.
The court mage straightened at once.
“Unable,” he repeated.
“Yes.”
I chose my words carefully.
“I can still sense mana. I can circulate it through my body without issue. But when I attempt to cast a spell, it does not form.”
I left out many things.
The regression.
The star.
The broken ray.
Those truths were not for them.
The court physician moved first. He began his examination without hesitation. Checking my pulse. My breathing. My eyes. My limbs. He pressed fingers against my chest and wrists. Listened. Observed.
The mage did not interfere. He closed his eyes and extended his mana sense toward me. His brow furrowed slightly as he focused.
Minutes passed in silence.
Finally, the court physician stepped back.
“There is nothing physically wrong with you my lord,” he said. “Your body is functioning normally.”
The court mage frowned.
“I sense no abnormalities either,” he said slowly. “Your mana flow is smooth. Your reserves are stable.”
He hesitated.
“May I ask you to attempt a spell.”
I nodded.
I stood and walked toward the window.
I stopped before it and extended my hand forward.
I drew in mana.
It flowed easily. Comfortably. Like it always had.
I shaped it. Compressed it. Directed it outward.
Nothing happened.
No distortion. No reaction. No formation.
The mage’s eyes widened.
“Stop,” he said sharply.
I did.
He stepped closer. His mana sense sharpened.
“I see it,” he murmured. “Your mana leaves your body but when it reaches the external space needed to weave a spell it vanishes.”
He looked unsettled.
“It is being devoured.”
The physician looked between us.
“So his condition is magical in nature,” he said.
“Yes,” the mage replied. “But not in any way I recognize.”
He turned to me.
“It is as if the space around you rejects spell formation,” he said. “Or rather consumes the mana before it can stabilize.”
I nodded slowly.
“And my body,” I asked.
“Perfectly fine,” the physician said. “There is no illness. No damage.”
I thanked them both.
“For now,” I said, “this matter is to remain confidential. Even from my father.”
They hesitated.
Then they bowed.
“We understand my lord.”
Both of them left.
“Complications have arrived.” I thought to myself.
After they left, the rest of the day passed quietly.
I spent the afternoon practicing the sword.
Again and again.
Footwork. Strikes. Guards. Transitions.
Sweat soaked my clothes. My arms burned. My grip ached. I did not stop.
Without magic I needed steel to be flawless. Every mistake now carried weight. Every opening could be fatal.
In the evening, I left the castle in disguise.
It had become something of a habit now. Walking the streets. Blending in. Listening. Watching.
At first I had done it to search for clues. To observe suspicious behaviour. To feel the undercurrent of the city.
Now it was almost comforting.
The people laughed. Argued. Traded. Complained.
Children ran through narrow alleys. Merchants shouted prices. Life moved forward unaware of how close it had come to ending.
They were alive.
And for now, that was enough.
I returned late.
Later than usual.
When I finally slept it was deep and heavy.
Too deep.
The knocking dragged me out of it.
Loud. Persistent.
Annoyed I turned in bed.
“Come in,” I muttered.
The door opened.
Sebastian stepped inside.
His expression was tense.
“What is it,” I asked rubbing my eyes. “Why are you knocking like that.”
“My lord,” he said, “messengers have arrived from the Aurelian Empire.”
The fog vanished instantly.
I sat up.
“Where is my father.”
“In the main hall,” Sebastian replied. “He is already receiving them.”
I stood at once.
“Prepare my clothes.”
I dressed quickly. My movements sharp. Focused.
When I entered the main hall I felt it immediately.
The atmosphere.
Polite. Warm. Controlled.
My father sat comfortably speaking in a friendly tone with the visitor. Courtiers stood nearby. Guards at ease.
Laughter drifted through the hall. It sounded genuine.
At first, I saw only silhouettes.
Then I walked closer.
And I saw her.
She turned.
Our eyes met.
The world narrowed.
Long blonde hair.
Sharp golden eyes.
A smile that had once been familiar. That I had once trusted without question.
My breath caught for a fraction of a second.
She smiled.
“Well, aren’t you quite the late riser, my dear fiancée.”
