Chapter 8: The Name Drop of Doom

Chapter 8: The Name Drop of Doom

After much hushed debate and exchanged glances, Orlan and Reynard finally decided to confront the alleged “demon-torturer.” They straightened their uniforms, took a deep breath, and stepped into the detention room.

Sitting in the middle of the room was the young individual they’d been debating about. Long, dark blue hair framed a face so striking it could have been sculpted by the gods. Light blue eyes, tinged with purple, seemed to shimmer under the room’s dim lighting, and their delicate features exuded a soft, serene beauty. The figure sat with an air of grace, their chin resting lightly on one hand, their other hand drumming absently on the table.

Though undeniably beautiful, there was something inherently unsettling about the calm, detached expression they wore—like someone who either didn’t know or didn’t care about the weight of the situation.

Orlan took a step forward, clearing his throat. “Ahem. You there, young lady—I mean—young... person. May we have your name?”

Yamauca blinked at them, tilting his head slightly as if confused by the formality. “It’s Aetrial Ranolf,” he said plainly.

Silence.

The weight of the name hit them like a thunderclap. Reynard’s eyes widened, and Orlan stiffened, his face growing pale. The infamous Ranolf family—a lineage notorious for their mastery of dark magic and their terrifying reputation across the kingdom. Their name was synonymous with power, danger, and ruthlessness. Though not considered a "great family" politically, the Ranolfs were feared because of their unmatched destructive magic and their willingness to use it when crossed.

Rumors of their cruelty spread like wildfire; stories about the carnage left behind by previous generations of Ranolfs were told to scare even the bravest warriors. Their influence was a looming shadow in the noble hierarchy, and their name alone demanded a mix of respect and fear.

Reynard swallowed hard, his earlier confidence shaken. He glanced at Orlan, whose expression was grim.

“Wait,” Reynard broke the silence, his voice trembling slightly, “if you’re Aetrial Ranolf... then you’re a man, right?”

Yamauca blinked again, confused by the question but answering truthfully. “Yes.”

Reynard shot Orlan a sharp side-eye, his expression practically screaming I told you so! Orlan coughed into his fist, trying to regain his composure.

“Mr. Ranolf,” Orlan said, his voice cracking slightly, “we’ve, uh, cleared up the... misunderstanding. You are free to go.”

Yamauca hesitated, glancing between the two men. “Oh... okay. Thank you?” He stood, brushing off his clothes. His butler and maid, who had been waiting nervously outside, quickly entered to escort him out.

As the trio left, Reynard turned to Orlan, his expression serious. “Commander, I’m telling you—something’s off. That guy doesn’t match any of the rumors about Aetrial Ranolf. He’s supposed to be cruel, arrogant, and self-centered. But the person we just talked to? He looked like he’d apologize to a bug for stepping on it.”

Orlan stroked his chin thoughtfully. “You think it’s split personality?”

“It has to be,” Reynard insisted. “The rumors can’t all be wrong, right? But that Aetrial in there didn’t have an ounce of malice in him. He was... peaceful. Kind.”

Orlan nodded slowly. “If that’s true, we need to figure out which personality is the ‘real’ Aetrial. If the kind one is genuine, we’ll do everything in our power to help him regain his rightful reputation.”

“But,” Reynard said cautiously, “if the cruel personality is the real one, and we just got played...”

They both shuddered at the thought.

---

Outside the Detention Room

Yamauca climbed into the carriage, still bewildered by the whole ordeal. “That was strange,” he muttered.

The butler chuckled. “Master Aetrial, it seems your charm has once again left people speechless.”

Yamauca frowned. “Charm? What are you talking about?”

The maid giggled, covering her mouth. “Oh, nothing, young master. It’s just... you have a way of leaving lasting impressions.”

Yamauca sighed, slumping back in his seat. “I don’t get it. All I wanted was to figure out if they had pie.”

As the carriage rolled away, Reynard watched from the window, still grappling with his conflicting thoughts.

Orlan placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “Let’s keep an eye on him. If he really is the kind one, we’ll help him. If not...”

Reynard nodded grimly. “Then we’ll deal with it. But first,” he said, his voice dropping to a mutter, “I need to figure out something.”

And so, the misunderstanding deepened, leaving Yamauca blissfully unaware as he daydreamed about pie.