Chapter 64
The old servant, unaware of the storm he'd just stirred, continued his tale in a distant voice as if reliving a forgotten memory. "After the boy's memories were taken, something in him changed. He began to hate the room—the very one he used to cry in. He locked it with a spell of his own making, swearing never to set foot in it again. Said it reminded him of everything he'd lost. No one was allowed near it either. The boy made sure of that. Only the Master could override the lock, but he never did. That door has remained sealed for years."
The Shrouded One remained silent, his expression unreadable. The old man looked up at him, his eyes distant but kind. "I wonder what became of that boy… If he ever found peace."
Little 9 gave a strained smile. "Thank you. That story... helped."
Then he turned and walked away before his voice could crack, before his face betrayed the truth. His mind swirled with fury and disbelief. The boy was him. There was no longer any doubt. He had locked the room with magic he didn't even know he could use. He had cried for parents he could no longer remember. He had been turned into a weapon by the very man who tore his family apart.
The rage built slowly, burning in his chest like an ember fanned to flame. The Master had lied again and again. Lied about his past, about his family, about his very identity. Every word, every command, every look of false affection—it was all part of the manipulation.
Something inside him snapped.
He didn't go to his room. He didn't sit down to think. He didn't even try to reason with himself. He walked straight to the Master's chamber, and without knocking, threw open the door.
The Master was seated at his desk, calmly reading an ancient scroll, but he looked up the moment the door crashed open.
"I will no longer be your son," Little 9 said through gritted teeth. "And I will never do your bidding again."
The Master narrowed his eyes. "What nonsense are you speaking?"
"You lied to me!" he shouted, fists clenched. "You killed my parents! You took me like some beast snatching prey in the dark. And when I couldn't handle the pain, you wiped away the only thing that made me human—my memories."
The Master stood now, calm but alert. "I did what needed to be done. You were weak, broken. I made you strong."
"You made me hollow!" the Shrouded One snapped. "But not anymore."
Without waiting for a reply, he stormed out of the chamber. His fury burned hotter with each step. The air around him crackled with energy. Servants fled as they saw his eyes glowing with rage. The mansion—once his prison, his training ground, his home—would be his first act of revenge.
As he stepped into the open courtyard, he didn't hesitate. He raised a single hand toward the towering structure behind him, a ball of fire forming in his palm. With a roar that echoed across the entire estate, he hurled it toward the heart of the mansion.
The explosion came in a blink—walls bursting into flame, windows shattering with force. Fire engulfed the halls, and screams erupted from every corner as people ran in every direction, trying to escape the chaos. Smoke billowed into the sky, thick and dark, blotting out the sun.
From his balcony, the Master looked on in disbelief.
Little 7 and Percy were the first to rush outside, their faces stricken. Flames licked the rooftops, and the air was filled with panic and confusion.
"Who did this?" Little 7 demanded.
But the Master didn't need to ask. His eyes followed the silhouette walking away from the burning estate—unhurried, unashamed, and utterly resolute.
"Little 9…" he whispered, a bitter taste in his mouth. "He's turned against us."