Chapter 105
The new combat earning points that the royal guild forced the academy to adapt was being contested by my nobles, as they felt it was rather excessive for their children. Petitions flooded the office of the royal court. These nobles and aristocrats are still oblivious to what is currently happening. The moment the gorge was purged by the gatekeepers, something was awakened. The guild adventurers, hunters, and players encountered these new creatures; they were violent and lacked remorse and reason. These creatures just attacked. Enjoy killing.
Quests from many guilds from every town, city, and village were sent out to investigate and eliminate these new threats. The kingdom was on high alert as rumors spread of a possible invasion; these new variant monsters are mutated, and they multiply at a rapid rate.
The guilds were scattered thinly all over the region; news about these creatures moving toward the north is being confirmed. The Royal Guild, headed by High Commander Grandmaster Eledran, wanted to ensure that the students at the Royal Academy can survive on their own; sending soldiers to save them upon the request of their parents will increase the death toll among the civilians, as he very much knows how narrow-minded and selfish these people are.
Grandmaster Eledran, raised to the ranks based on his accomplishments and leadership skills, knew that it was crucial to prioritize the safety and training of the students in order to prepare them for the impending threat. He believed that empowering the next generation of warriors was essential for the survival of their society.
But as he already knew what would happen, the parents of this elite new generation were stopping the new combatants from earning points and participating in clearing quests in the guilds. The implementation has already started, but no students have ventured out yet. The dorms where the students resided were filled with noise as many of the elites and nobles continued doing what they always did after class: they would feed their indulgence and just ignore everything..
Gilded halls echoed not with the clashing of weapons or the chants of spellcraft, but with laughter, music, and idle gossip. The recent decree from the Royal Guild forcing the Academy to implement the new combat point system, was met not with discipline or resolve, but outrage. The noble houses, long accustomed to bending rules in their favor, saw the system as a brutal overreach, an affront to their status. Petitions flooded the Royal Court, cries of protest from lords and ladies who had never held a sword but believed their gold should shield their children from hardship.
The common students, those without titles or lands, watched with clenched fists as the elite ignored every warning sign. The children of dukes, barons, and ancient houses lounged in silk robes, sipping imported wines, playing card games that gambled not for money but for status. Training halls gathered dust in their absence. Simulations and sparring arenas stood empty.
To them, battle was beneath their station. Danger was something others faced for them.
A few complained of the smell of sweat drifting from the lower floors, where the lesser-born trained feverishly day and night. They mocked the bruises of those who dared to take the new point system seriously. Why earn points when their family names alone granted them guild ranks and fake prestige?
High Commander Grandmaster Eledran watched all this from afar with steely calm. Raised not by privilege but by trial and fire, he understood the price of survival. He knew what was coming—and he knew the folly of expecting mercy from an enemy that lacked reason or remorse.
Sending soldiers to coddle the nobles' children, as requested by their parents, would only drag more trained fighters from the frontlines, risking civilian lives. He had already refused the requests. This generation must fend for itself.
And yet, they feasted.
They laughed, unaware that every moment of comfort they clung to only deepened the debt they owed to fate.
The debt would be paid in blood.
Those who were somewhat influenced by Dane and Melgils action faded among the lesser nobles out of fear of getting killed, and because the upper elite showed no reaction as if they are excluded from this, they continued to live in ignorance of the impending danger. The divide between the classes grew wider as the threat loomed larger, creating a sense of unease that simmered just beneath the surface of their extravagant gatherings.
The number of student that were easily swayed again was rather normal , but the students that truly respected and idolize Dane and Melgil's current achievement remained in their heart and mind , as these 40 students were truly dedicated to learning and being true and honorable.
While the Academy's upper floors echoed with laughter and the clinking of crystal goblets, a quiet resolve stirred at the edge of the training fields—on a hill overlooking the west garden. It was a modest place, overgrown with wild grass and surrounded by wind-bent trees, far from the ornamental beauty of the courtyards. But for a few, it had become a sanctuary.
Here, where Dane Lazarus and Melgil Veara Gehinnom once came to train, meditate, and speak of honor, five students now sat in silent reflection—five out of the forty who still held their teachings close. The others had already scattered to prepare for their assignments, but these five gathered for more than coordination, they came for strength.
Thalen Merrow, long-limbed and quiet, leaned on his spear like a walking stick, staring out at the cloudy skyline. "They really think this storm will pass over them," he muttered. "As if their coin will shield them from claws and fangs."
"They're afraid," Ysil Thorne said, brushing a strand of silver-blonde hair behind her ear. "But not of the monsters. They're afraid of losing comfort. That's what makes them weak."
Ormin Vos Sithe, arms crossed and half-dozing with his back against a tree trunk, opened one eye lazily. "Funny, isn't it? We all saw what Dane did, what Melgil stood for, and still, half the nobles are pretending nothing happened."
"They saw," said Lora Sithe—Ormin's younger cousin, seated beside him with a training dagger across her lap. "But seeing doesn't mean they understood. For them, it was entertainment. A story to tell over drinks. Not a call to change."
Galen Althus sat slightly apart from the group, sharpening his sword with slow, deliberate strokes. The sound of metal against stone punctuated the wind. "Let them rot in their ignorance," he said.
"We have a quest."
Thalen turned toward him. "Still in the Hallowtree sector?"
Galen nodded. "South ridge. Reports of mutated crawlers—five sightings so far. Rapid regeneration, no known weakness. No Guild party has made it past the third nest."
"They want students clearing that?" Lora raised a brow.
"No," Galen replied. "They expect students to fail clearing that. Eledran's not playing favorites. He's pushing those he thinks can adapt."
"Then we don't fail," Ysil said, her voice steady. "We finish it, like Dane would've."
For a moment, silence took over again. The wind passed between them, rustling their cloaks, stirring the grass where Melgil once sat to meditate. There was an energy to this place, still lingering, like the memory of a flame.
No one said it aloud, but they all felt it: the weight of being among the few who chose to remember. Who still believed in the principles Dane and Melgil tried to ignite.
"I don't want to become like them," Thalen finally said. "Those upper-floor idiots. Smiling while the world burns."
"You won't," Ormin said. "Because you already chose the harder path."
Ysil stood, tightening the bracers on her arms. "We move out in the morning. Minimal rest, no luxuries. We finish the quest, bring back proof, and maybe, just maybe, others will wake up."
Lora smirked. "Or we'll die trying."
Ormin snorted. "Always the optimist."
But no one laughed.
Because deep down, they all understood.
This was no longer about impressing professors or earning guild ranks.
This was about survival and proving that not all students at the Royal Academy had forgotten what it meant to fight with honor, when Melgil casually walked toward them and asked if they were willing to accept them in their team.
This was no longer about impressing professors or earning guild ranks.
This was about survival, and proving that not all students at the Royal Academy had forgotten what it meant to fight with honor.
The wind shifted.
A faint rustle of footsteps came from behind them, soft but certain, like silk brushing against the earth. Lora's eyes narrowed. Ysil stood a little straighter, her hand drifting instinctively toward the hilt at her waist. Galen halted his sharpening, tilting his head. No one expected anyone to approach this place, not now, not when so many ignored what it stood for.
Then a familiar voice broke the stillness.
"Is there room for one more?"
They turned, and time seemed to still.
Melgil Veara Gehinnom stood at the crest of the hill, dressed not in the fine robes typical of her noble peers, but in worn traveling leathers. Her long, silky white hair was braided back for battle, her expression calm but unreadable. She carried no visible weapon, but her presence was sharper than any blade.
The five students stood up immediately, unsure whether to bow, salute, or speak first.
"We weren't expecting," Thalen began.
"I know," Melgil said softly. "That's why I came quietly."
She looked at each of them one by one, not with superiority, but with something rare: acknowledgment.
"You five are planning to take the Hallow Ridge assignment, which is outside the kingdom, yes?"
Galen nodded. "We are; it's actually near my home, the day after tommorow, First Light."
"How did you know?"
Melgil exhaled, then stepped closer, and pointed at the ripped parchment quest poster Galen placed on the ground. "Then I'm asking... may we join you?"
A stunned silence settled over the hill. Even Ormin's usual sarcasm faltered. Lora looked at her brother, then at Ysil, unsure if this was a test or a dream.
Ysil finally found her voice. "You both ... want to join us?"
"Yes," Melgil said plainly. "Because you haven't forgotten. And that matters."
She turned slightly as another figure emerged just behind her. Tall. Calm. Cloaked in mystery, as many still can't understand his unpredictability, Daniel Rothchester
Unlike Melgil, Daniel said nothing at first. He merely stood at her side, surveying the group with eyes that seemed to read every twitch, every breath, every ounce of hesitation.
Then, quietly, he spoke.
"She chose you."
The words were simple but weighty.
"She watched. Listened. While the others dined, you trained. When the elites mocked, you endured. That's rare now," Daniel continued, stepping forward.
"We don't need squads filled with brutes or nobles. We need people who can grow, who can learn to lead when no one else will."
He looked at Galen, the de facto leader. "You've taken the initiative. That alone already sets you apart from seventy percent of the Academy."
Then to Thalen and Ormin: "You balance each other, impulse and caution."
Then Lora. "Loyal, but sharper than you let on."
Then Ysil. "Conviction without pride. You carry it well."
Melgil tilted her head slightly toward Dane. "He said it better than I ever could."
"But... why?" Lora asked finally. "Why us, and why now? You two could take on a whole region by yourselves. Everyone knows that."
Melgil's eyes grew more serious.
"We're strong, yes. But we're not enough. This threat isn't about personal glory anymore. It's about rebuilding a culture of strength with principle. If we keep fighting alone, we'll win battles—but we'll lose the future. That's why we need a team... not of elites... but of examples."
Dane nodded.
"Your success will echo. Others will follow if they see it's possible. Real courage doesn't start with a sword. It starts with choice."
Silence followed. A weight settled in the air—but it wasn't heavy. It was solid. Unifying.
Galen broke the silence with a nod. "Then you're welcome with us. Both of you."
Thalen chuckled, shoulders relaxing. "Hope you don't mind doing some legwork, though. We're not like the fancy squads."
Ormin leaned back with a grin. "No silk beds, no warm towels. Just mud and mutated crawlers."
Melgil smiled faintly. "Sounds perfect."
Ysil nodded. "Let's move at dawn, then."
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, the unlikely team sat together on the hill. Not as nobles and warriors. Not as legends and followers.
But as comrades ready to step into the unknown, shoulder to shoulder.
And for the first time in weeks, hope stirred at the Royal Academy.
Daniel had already informed Duchess Elleena Rothchester about the true purpose of the combat earning point system—a strategy not born from tradition or training reforms, but a trap. A calculated lure, designed to draw out the hidden assailants lurking within the academy's hallowed walls. He had no delusions that the threat was over. What they failed to accomplish before... They would attempt again.
He could feel them watching.
From the edges of courtyards, from the high windows of vacant halls, behind the faces of too-friendly servants and too-curious instructors, prying eyes, veiled by layers of influence and old money. These were no ordinary spies. They belonged to a quiet faction of nobles ones who had long seen Duchess Elleena as an obstacle to their ambitions.
Her power, her name, her unmatched influence in the Royal Court—it was too much for them to ignore. And now that her adopted son had risen with unexpected might, their plans had begun to unravel.
They needed him gone.
Cassien Eladar had only been their first pawn. On paper, he was nothing more than a prideful student. But during the Academy's last combat trial, Daniel saw through the ruse. The boy's aggression wasn't simply personal. It was orchestrated. The way he moved, the unnatural spike in his mana output, the wild look in his eyes—it was the behavior of someone possessed by something greater. Or controlled.
And then there was the dagger.
Cassien's weapon had reeked of ancient malice. A summoning dagger not meant for human hands—especially not those of an aristocrat born into comfort and ignorance. The curved obsidian blade was inscribed with long-forgotten glyphs and pulsed with energy that shouldn't exist within Academy grounds. When Daniel shattered it mid-duel, a flash of raw summoning energy exploded outward, like a scream into the aether. And worse... He could still feel it.
Lingering.
Even days after the trial, traces of the dagger's mana remained scattered across the Academy. Behind walls. Beneath stones. Near fountains where no one walked. Daniel didn't need to say it out loud, someone had planted them.
Someone wanted to bring those creatures back.
Melgil, ever vigilant, had tried to trace them using her innate ability to detect hostile intent. Normally, no one could sneak past her. She could sense bloodlust in a crowd. She could read the subtle flicker of killing intent behind a smile. But now... She felt nothing.
She had told Dane two nights ago, her voice tight with unease.
"It's like... I'm walking through glass. Everything feels too clean. Too still. Whatever's hiding here, it's being masked by something ancient."
A concealing artifact. High-tier. Possibly relic-class. And more than one.
The enemy weren't just watching anymore; they were hunting.
But this time, they weren't targeting Daniel alone. They had gone further. Deeper.
The duchess's real son, her biological heir, had vanished years ago under suspicious circumstances. A carriage crash. A fire. An accident. That's what the public was told.
In order to isolate Elleena, to corner her in grief and uncertainty, and to permanently destroy the power of House Rothchester, the child was taken or stolen by the same group that later orchestrated Duke Rothchester's assassination under the pretext of political "destabilization." Dane, formerly Daniel, had discovered what the reports would not publish.
They were terrified now that Daniel was standing up in her honor and consistently proving himself in combat. They were worried that the son she had selected would overshadow any heir they believed they had previously buried.
So they watched, with so many questions and eager to find the right answer.
Waiting for the right moment.
From behind enchanted veils and puppet servants, from the upper echelons of the Academy faculty, some of whom were quietly replaced with loyal agents. Their goal wasn't merely sabotage. It was erasure. To remove Daniel. To silence Melgil. To leave the Duchess alone and powerless once more.
But Daniel wasn't actually the child they thought they killed and survived; in their mind, he was just a child they had overlooked.
He was building something they could not stop.
All he had to do was bait them out just once. And when they stepped out of the shadows to strike, he'd be waiting. With steel. With truth. And with allies who believed.
The bell tolled once more, sharp and echoing across the sprawling stone courtyards of the Royal Academy, cutting through the murmurs of lingering conversations and the rustling wind. Break time had ended, and with it, the momentary stillness of the hill where they had gathered.
Thalen, Galen, Ormin, Lora, and Ysil rose wordlessly, their expressions now focused. Beside them, Dane Lazarus adjusted the strap of his black staff across his back, while Melgil remained just a pace behind, ever watchful. They moved in sync, heading down the hill toward a class most students had long since dismissed: Combat Theory and Awareness, taught by Instructor Matheo Roclus.
To the elite, it was a useless subject.
"Why should we dirty our hands?" they had scoffed. "We are nobles. We hire swords, not swing them. Let the guards and mercenaries bleed. We'll remain in command."
And for years, that belief went unchallenged. The classroom remained a ghost hall—its seats untouched, its sparring dummies collecting dust, and the training circles unused. Instructor Roclus stood before an empty room more often than not, his voice echoing off stone walls with no one to hear him.
That changed the day Daniel Rothchester walked through the door.
He said nothing. He didn't make speeches or try to rally others. He simply sat down, alone at first—and listened. After a day, Melgil joined; she added she was supposed to accompany Daniel on the first day, but she got distracted by the smell of food in the cafeteria and forgot about the class. She bowed and apologized to the teacher and also asked Daniel to forgive her,
Then others came after a few days when the two started challenging the social structure at the academy.
And now seven students filed in as one, their footsteps firm, their presence unshakable.
Instructor Roclus looked up from the training circle as the door opened. His eyes, sharp and tired from years of being overlooked, lit faintly with recognition. He stood tall, his cloak light and worn, his leather gloves creased by age and battle.
"Ah. The hilltop seven. Welcome back," he said, his voice deep and gravelly but not unkind. He gestured to the circular formation of sand-filled tiles at the center of the room. "Take your positions."
As the students arranged themselves, Daniel gave a small nod. Matheo returned it. He had long since understood that beneath the Rothchester boy's cold stare and composed exterior beat the heart of someone who chose to be here when so many others did not. A heart that understood duty, not as a burden, but as a guiding flame.
And that, Matheo believed, was worth everything.
Today's lesson began with little ceremony.
"Combat alertness," Roclus began, pacing the edge of the circle, "is not merely being awake. It's being aware of what is not there... but could be."
He turned to face the students. "It's the tension you feel before a dagger is thrown. The silence that follows the last footstep. It's the instinct to move before the arrow is loosed."
Ormin raised a brow. "So it's paranoia?"
Matheo smirked. "Paranoia is fear without control. Alertness is fear you've mastered."
He motioned to Galen. "Galen. Take the red blindfold. You'll stand center."
Without hesitation, Galen took the cloth, tied it across his eyes, and stepped into the circle.
"The rest of you will surround him," Roclus instructed. "One of you will make a move. A single step. A sharp breath. A flicker of killing intent. He must respond—not with violence—but with awareness."
The others circled Galen slowly, fanning out around him like wolves testing prey.
"Begin," Roclus said.
They moved. No one spoke. Even the sound of boots on tile was muted.
Then snap Ysil exhaled too sharply through her nose.
Galen flinched left, pivoting with an instinctive shoulder drop—not an attack, but an evasion.
"Correct," Roclus said, pleased. "You felt that. Not with ears or eyes. With intent."
He turned to Daniel.
"Tell them what happens to soldiers who lack alertness, Lord Rothchester."
Daniel's voice was calm, almost clinical.
"They die before they draw their sword."
A silence followed. Melgil gave the faintest nod.
Roclus continued, voice grave. "There was a young knight I trained years ago. Brilliant on paper. Perfect form. But in real battle? He couldn't feel the shift in air when an assassin stepped into his blind spot. Died his first deployment. His last words were, 'I didn't see it coming.'"
He walked to the edge of the circle, crossing his arms.
"This world does not wait for you to be ready. You either sharpen your instincts... or they dull your legacy."
The class remained still. Focused.
The kind of focused Roclus had only dreamed of seeing here.
"I'll ask you again tomorrow," he said, his tone softer. "And next time, I expect Galen to dodge before Ysil even exhales. Class dismissed."
The students filed out, but as Daniel lingered, Roclus placed a hand on his shoulder—not heavy, but firm with respect.
"You're changing this place, Lord Rothchester," he said. "One step at a time."
Daniel didn't reply, but the faintest flicker of a nod passed between them.
As he left with the others, the empty classroom behind them felt... not so empty anymore.
A quiet legacy was being forged there on old tiles and tired wood, one class at a time.