Infinite Mana Exorcist
Chapter 34: Fey’s Goal

Chapter 34: Fey’s Goal

Mass release 1/5

Fey lay in the soft, comforting embrace of the lamb-fur-covered bed. It was unbelievably comfortable, almost too much so. As he sank into its warmth, he curled up slightly, feeling himself shrink. Whether it was out of shyness or the overwhelming tide of nostalgia washing over him, he couldn’t tell.

He turned his gaze around Asher’s room, his sharp eyes scanning the space. It wasn’t grand—not in the way one would expect from royalty—but compared to the run-down homes most exorcists lived in, this was a palace. The wooden furnishings, polished to a smooth shine, and the thick curtains blocking out the harshness of the world outside gave the room a sense of warmth that felt oddly unfamiliar to him.

This surely brings back memories, Fey thought, lowering his head as the image of his father surfaced in his mind.

His father had once been a high-ranking exorcist, a man of great renown, whose name was spoken with both admiration and respect. He was the leader of one of the most formidable exorcist teams in recorded history, a group that had stood against terrors beyond comprehension. It was because of his leadership that countless battles had been won, and yet, it was also his leadership that had led him to disappear, swallowed whole by the darkness of war.

Fey remembered the last time he had seen his father alive. The Queen had personally summoned him and his team, assigning them a mission—one that should have been routine. They were to hunt down a third-grade Spirit, an entity so powerful that it was ranked alongside Boss Night Terrors, creatures capable of razing entire cities to the ground.

But to a team of their caliber, it was supposed to be an easy mission.

That was what they all thought.

Until the remnants of his father’s team staggered back into the village, battered beyond recognition. Some were missing limbs, their bodies grotesquely mangled; others were carried in, lifeless, their corpses wrapped in cloth, brought home only so their families could mourn them properly.

Fey had stood among the crowd, waiting—just like all the others—for his father’s return. He had held onto hope, gripping tightly to the belief that any moment now, his father would walk through those gates, weary but alive.

But he never came.

At first, Fey had been confused. He didn’t understand why the surviving exorcists refused to meet his eyes, why whispers followed him wherever he went. Then, as the grieving families gathered around him, their eyes brimming with rage and sorrow, realization came too late.

The moment the first insult was hurled, the floodgates burst open.

They spat curses at him, venomous words laced with years of love lost. They blamed him. Hated him.

And when words were no longer enough, their fury turned physical.

Fey had been beaten within an inch of his life that day. The people, desperate for someone to bear the weight of their pain, had chosen him—the son of the man who had led their loved ones to slaughter.

His father had been the one to lead them into an ambush, where they had been forced to battle hundreds of grade-three beasts. The mission had been doomed from the start. But his father had made a choice, one final act of self-sacrifice.

Instead of allowing the creatures to descend upon a defenseless village, he had drawn their attention to himself and his team.

A noble sacrifice.

But nobility was meaningless to those who had lost everything.

In their eyes, Fey’s father had doomed them all. And so, Fey had been left to rot.

From that moment on, he lived alone, shunned by everyone, an outcast in the village he once called home. The other children tormented him, and the adults looked at him with nothing but contempt.

But if they thought their hatred would break him, they were wrong.

His father’s status as a high-ranked exorcist had at least given him one advantage—wealth. While no one would dare extend a hand to help him, the money left behind was enough to ensure his survival. And survival was all he had.

He trained relentlessly, pushing himself far beyond his limits. Every battle he fought, every exorcist kid he challenged—it was all to prove a single point.

I am not my father’s failure. I am not weak. Even if the world rejects me, I will rise above them all.

And then, one day, he had set his sights on Asher.

At first, his only goal had been to disgrace him. To humiliate the defective son of the Royal House, the one everyone whispered about behind closed doors. If he could defeat Asher, he would humiliate not just the royal family but every single exorcist who had ever looked down on him.

But the battle hadn’t gone the way he expected.

Asher wasn’t weak.

He was hated, just like Fey.

And as they fought, something strange happened. Fey recognized a part of himself in Asher—the same loneliness, the same fire, the same relentless determination.

That was when everything changed.

With every passing day, Fey found himself drawn to Asher—not as an enemy, but as someone worth standing beside. The kindness, the resolve, the quiet strength Asher carried within him—it was unlike anything he had ever seen.

He’s different. Not like the others. A wild card I would like to—

The door swung open, its hinges groaning under the strain, snapping Fey from his thoughts.

Asher stepped in.

"Wow, you didn’t even touch anything," Asher noted, his voice laced with amusement. "Not that I have anything mesmerizing in here, though."

He crossed the room with ease, making his way to the bed before settling down beside Fey. Their gazes met, and for a moment, silence stretched between them.

Fey shifted uncomfortably under Asher’s stare, feeling as if he was being interrogated without words. He broke eye contact almost immediately.

"It’s a nice room..." he muttered before hesitating. "I don’t mean to pry, but... I hope you aren’t in any trouble with the Queen?"

The moment the words left his lips, Fey saw the change in Asher’s expression.

A shadow passed over his face. His hands folded together, fingers curling slightly as he dropped his gaze to the wooden floor.

"I’m not in trouble," Asher said slowly. But there was a weight in his voice, something unspoken lingering between the lines.

Then, almost hesitantly, he asked, "What would you do if I disappeared for about six years?"

Fey’s heart clenched. The question was heavier than he could have imagined.

Asher... disappearing?

The thought alone sent a shiver through him.

His response was immediate. "I’d find you. You’re my friend—I wouldn’t let you go anywhere without me."

Asher’s lips curled into a small, genuine smile.

He truly is loyal.

"Then you will disappear with me," Asher said firmly, "but not as the first member of my party, Fey. Do you understand?" He lifted a single finger, signaling that he wasn’t finished. "It won’t be a luxurious journey. We’ll just be away from the kingdom for a while. The other exorcists our age will be doing the same, so it’s not exactly a special event."

Fey absorbed his words, nodding slowly.

"As long as we travel together, that’s enough for me," he admitted. But then, his expression hardened. "But I have a condition."

Asher frowned slightly. "A condition?"

He tried to guess what Fey could possibly want. There wasn’t much Asher had to offer, and yet Fey was framing this as something significant.

Fey’s gaze burned with intensity. "Until I defeat you—and until I’m strong enough to take my revenge—that is the only reason I will stay by your side."

Asher’s eyes widened.

Revenge?

Something about the word sent a chill through him.

His instincts flared, and he activated the Eye of Insight.

{There is no information you can see at this level.}

Asher’s curiosity deepened.

"Who do you want revenge on?" he asked cautiously.

Fey’s expression darkened.

"I can’t tell you that," he admitted. "But there’s a certain someone I have to kill."