Chapter 125
The journey back to the Royal Academy took only a few hours, with Daniel at the reins of the battle wagon as he once again secretly activated his transportation gate to cut the travel again and reach the academy main road faster even bore the sun rose above at high noon after lunch.
He had been adamant about driving it himself, a quiet yet telling show of confidence after the events of the quest. By the time they rolled through the Academy gates, the Head Council had already been briefed. Official reports confirmed that the Royal Guild combat earning points from the recent training initiative had been declared a success.
Most student teams, however, had not achieved their victories alone. In many quest zones, the local branch guilds had stepped in, lending the aid of veteran hunters and seasoned adventurers men and women hired through personal influence, noble connections, or the weight of a family crest. For the majority, success had been purchased or negotiated, not won. The Council counted those results regardless, but there was a quiet, unspoken understanding: not all victories carried the same weight.
It was the team of seven, led in part by Daniel Rothchester and Lady Melgil Veara Gehinnom, that turned heads. Their quest in the city of Riverton had been cleared without the slightest interference from a guild branch. No mercenaries, no pampered safety net—only grit, steel, and the will to see it through. By the time they stepped down from the wagon, a crowd had already gathered.
"You're telling me they didn't hire anyone?" a boy in an embroidered vest asked, his voice carrying just enough to be heard.
"Not even a scout," came the hushed reply. "Just the seven of them. They cleared the whole thing alone."
On the far side of the crowd, Selene of House Aevryn stood with her usual poise. Her Academy cloak was arranged perfectly over one shoulder, a gloved hand resting lightly on the jeweled hilt of her decorative sword. Her eyes followed Daniel's group with a cool detachment that barely masked her irritation.
"How quaint," Selene said to her circle of equally well-dressed companions. "Risking their lives without proper protection. Some of us understand the value of resources. Why waste energy when a few gold coins can secure the best swords in the city?"
Ramas Duvell, the broad-shouldered heir to a powerful land baron, chuckled at her words. "Exactly. This isn't some mud-slinging brawl in a farmer's field. It's about results. And results speak for themselves—no matter how you get them."
From the back of the gathering, a sharper voice cut in. "Easy to say when your family can hire half a guild," muttered Orren, a second-year student whose leathers were still scuffed from his own failed quest. His tone carried a weight that made a few heads turn.
Another voice joined in, quieter but no less pointed. "That's the difference, isn't it? Some of us came here to learn. Others came here to pay their way to the top."
The courtyard's air grew tense, the unspoken divide between the entitled and the determined hanging heavily over the scene. Nobles, with their coin and influence, stood on one side. On the other, those with no crest or fortune clung to the belief that skill was forged in sweat, pain, and risk.
Before the tension could break, the grand doors of the Assembly Hall swung open. A herald's voice rang out, summoning all students who had returned from the quests to stand before the Head Council. The crowd began to move, the nobles stepping ahead with practiced grace, their personal retainers carrying their equipment for them. Daniel's group followed, walking together with the quiet, steady pride of those who had earned every step.
Inside the hall, the twelve members of the Head Council sat in their carved seats, their robes of office gleaming beneath the stained-glass light. One by one, student teams were called forward, their quests acknowledged, and their Guild points awarded. Polite applause followed each name, but when the herald finally announced:
"Daniel Rothchester, Lady Melgil Veara Gehinnom, and company, successful completion of the Riverton Quest, unaided by guild support."
The reaction was different. The applause came slower but heavier, as if even those who begrudged them could not deny the feat.
Selene's voice, soft but sharp, carried from the side. "A pretty achievement… but hardly practical in the real world. Pride won't save you when the stakes are higher."
Daniel's eyes met hers across the hall, and for a heartbeat, neither looked away.
The great hall's echo of applause faded into the marble corridors as Daniel and his six classmates left together. The weight of the guild's announcement still hung over them, heavy as the eyes that had followed their exit.
No one spoke at first—each carried their own thoughts about the Riverton Quest, about Selene's barbed comment, about the unspoken rift between those born into privilege and those who had clawed their way up through grit. Footsteps tapped against the polished floor, their rhythm unsteady, like the group's mood.
By the time they reached the dormitory wing, their numbers thinned. Ramas Duvell muttered something about "needing a drink" before peeling off toward the lounge; two others slipped away to their own quarters without a word. Daniel offered only a polite nod to the remaining pair before turning down a quieter hall.
Once alone, his pace changed—faster, more deliberate. The torchlight here was dimmer, shadows gathering thick between the stone arches. He stopped at a disused alcove, one he knew was far from curious eyes. A soft exhale escaped his lips as he extended his hand, tracing a complex sigil in the air. The lines shimmered faintly before bursting into a swirl of silver-blue light.
The transfer gate bloomed open, its edges warping the air with a low hum. Daniel stepped through.
The world shifted.
Lúthien's crisp, pine-laden air filled his lungs, carrying the scent of stone dust and forge smoke. Before him, the stronghold of Siglorr Bouldergrove rose higher than when he'd last seen it—walls of fitted granite now crowned with sharpened stakes, watchtowers topped with dwarven banners fluttering in the wind. Sparks danced in the distance where Bouldergrove's clan worked tirelessly, hammer on steel, their gruff voices rumbling in dwarvish chants.
Daniel's gaze moved toward the training grounds. The remaining twelve Grey Hunters drilled in precise formations, their once-wounded spirits now steeled with renewed purpose. Scarred armor had been repaired, their movements tighter, deadlier. They had survived much—and now, they looked ready to survive far more.
A familiar hiss reached him.
From the shadows slithered Vaelith, the black serpent. His obsidian scales shimmered faintly in the dying light, each motion smooth and deliberate, like liquid night. As he approached, his molten-gold eyes locked on Daniel, glinting with both reverence and unspoken promise. The serpent's body coiled with disciplined grace before dissolving into a shimmer of dark smoke. When it cleared, a tall, broad-shouldered man knelt on one knee, his hair as black as a raven's wing, skin pale with an almost metallic sheen. A thin gold circlet rested upon his brow, echoing the sharp, reptilian slit of his eyes.
His personality had evolved into something regal and dangerously composed, a strategist with a streak of protectiveness toward Dane. He spoke little, but when he did, his words cut with surgical precision, betraying an intellect honed for both diplomacy and deadly deception.
High above, Nyxiel, the horned owl, swept down in a silent arc, landing with regal poise upon his shoulder. Her eyes, deep pools of midnight, blinked slowly, as if seeing through him. Then her talons gripped his arm lightly before she hopped down, wings folding in as feathers dissolved into fine silver threads of light. The threads wove into a cloak around a tall, slender woman whose hair cascaded in shades of moonlight silver streaked with darker feathers. Small, elegant horns curved backward from her temples, faintly glowing at their tips.
Her skin was pale with a faint, porcelain sheen, and her gaze—piercing, unblinking—still carried the weight of a predator that had hunted the night skies for centuries. Nyxiel's evolved character was that of a quiet sentinel, patient and measured. She had become more philosophical since the last time Daniel saw her, speaking in riddles and analogies, yet always with a core of wisdom. She rarely raised her voice, but her calm authority could silence a room.
Last came the most vibrant—Kitsune, the nine-tailed fox, emerging from the mist at the edge of the courtyard. Her tails swayed in hypnotic rhythm, each tipped in ember-glow. She padded toward him, a sly, knowing smile curling her muzzle. As she approached, her body shimmered, fur rippling into flames before parting like petals to reveal her human form.
She stood shorter than Vaelith and Nyxiel, yet her presence was no less commanding—foxlike grace in every curve and gesture. Her hair spilled down in waves of deep crimson streaked with gold, her eyes an impossible shade of amber that danced with mischief. Each of her nine tails remained visible in faint, ghostly form, flickering with sparks before fading into her silhouette. She wore a layered kimono of ember-red and twilight-black, the sash tied loosely as if she could shed it in an instant for movement.
Kitsune's evolved personality was fiery and teasing, yet beneath the playfulness lay fierce loyalty. She was quick to laugh, quicker to taunt, and even quicker to defend Daniel if anyone dared challenge him. Unlike the others, she embraced chaos when it suited her, thriving in unpredictability and turning it into an advantage.
The three stood together now, no longer just beasts bound by magical contract, but companions who had grown into their own powers and identities—predator, sentinel, and trickster—each ready to serve Daniel in their own way.
The three knelt before him.
The man they knew as Daniel—though he was Dane beneath the guise—stood tall, his eyes sweeping over his familiars with a quiet satisfaction.
"My friends," Daniel's voice carried the weight of command and the warmth of trust, "you have walked with me through shadow and flame. But the road ahead is darker still. I will not face it alone."
Vaelith's molten gaze sharpened. "Then we will cut down any who stand before you."
Nyxiel inclined her head, her voice like a calm night breeze. "Say the word, and the skies will answer."
Kitsune's grin widened. "And the earth will burn with our laughter."
Daniel's expression hardened. "We will gather strength—not merely in numbers, but in precision. You will hunt for me, speak for me, fight for me. The enemy must never know where I begin and you end."
As one, the three placed a hand over their hearts.
"We are yours, Daniel," they spoke in unison, voices weaving into a vow that bound them tighter than any chain.
Vaelith, Nyxiel, and Kitsune knelt before Daniel, their bodies taut with restraint, emotions barely contained. After so long apart from their master, their hearts raced with joy, yet each knew the moment demanded discipline. Their forms shimmered with the recent changes—evolution and transformation wrought not for themselves, but to serve Dane in every possible way.
Vaelith, the once-black serpent, was the first to speak. His human form, tall and commanding, reflected his predatory grace. "Master," he said, voice low yet steady, "my strength has increased, my reflexes sharpened to anticipate any attack. My scales are now denser than iron, impervious to minor weapons. I have trained my senses to detect even the faintest tremor in the air, allowing me to track enemies before they strike." His molten-gold eyes flickered with pride, though his tone was deferential.
Nyxiel, the horned owl, stepped forward, her wings folded neatly behind her. "I have honed my vision and hearing beyond mortal limits," she reported. "My horns now channel energy to heighten focus and perception, allowing me to see through deception and illusions.
I have learned to move silently even in the harshest terrain. Everything in me has been refined to serve your strategy, Master Dane." Her amber gaze remained steady, though her chest rose and fell faster than usual, betraying the excitement she held back.
Kitsune's nine tails swayed with a barely contained fire as she spoke. "Master, my transformation has enhanced my agility, my speed, and my elemental control. Each tail now channels a different skill—flame, shadow, illusion, and more. I can adapt to any battlefield, supporting you or striking enemies before they even know I exist. Every change was made with your plans in mind." Her eyes sparkled, but her posture remained perfectly composed, kneeling in humility.
Daniel scanned them, pride mingled with admiration. "You've grown stronger than I imagined. Every detail matters, and I see that you considered every angle—just as I expected."
Though they held their emotions tightly, the familiar trio shared a silent, mutual understanding: they had evolved not for glory, but to serve their master fully. And in that service, their happiness found its truest expression.
"But as you already knew about this, I don't just take your word for it," he said. "Show me what you've become."
Vaelith was first. With a subtle flick of his wrist, shadows coiled around his legs as he moved into a crouch. "Master," he said, "observe." In an instant, he lunged forward, faster than the eye could follow. His fists struck a series of metal dummies positioned as targets, shattering them cleanly. He rolled backward, scales catching the light, and demonstrated a glide along the floor as if friction no longer existed. "My reflexes have improved by forty percent. I can anticipate attacks before they begin, Master."
Daniel nodded, scrutinizing every move. "Good. And your senses?"
Vaelith closed his eyes. "Listen." A faint rustle came from the far side of the courtyard—wind through the trees, a bird in flight, but Vaelith detected a tiny metallic shift on the wall, a misplaced nail. "I can sense disturbances invisible to ordinary eyes," he added, opening his eyes to meet Daniel's gaze.
Next was Nyxiel. She extended her arms, wings unfurling in a soft silver fan. With barely a whisper, she lifted from the ground, hovering effortlessly. "Master, watch closely." She darted through the air, weaving between obstacles, then landed silently atop the highest wall. "I can move unseen, unheard. My horns focus energy to enhance perception—visual, auditory, even spiritual. No enemy will approach without me knowing." She tilted her head, eyes gleaming with restrained joy at the praise she already anticipated.
Daniel raised a hand. "And can you adapt to sudden changes?"
Nyxiel closed her eyes, and the courtyard dimmed as if shadows were drawn toward her. Within moments, she returned, having navigated the space blind, relying only on her enhanced senses. "Even without sight, I can track multiple targets simultaneously," she reported, steady and precise.
Finally, Kitsune stepped forward, nine tails flicking in synchronization like flames dancing in a controlled storm. "Master, I've enhanced my adaptability," she said, her voice calm yet carrying a playful undertone. "I will demonstrate." Each tail flicked independently, conjuring a small illusion, then a spark of fire, then a shadowy strike toward a dummy. Kitsune moved fluidly, dodging and countering as if in a choreographed battle dance. "Each tail channels a different ability, ready to serve your command instantly."
Daniel watched, a small smile forming. "Excellent. You've all grown in ways that serve my strategy perfectly. But remember, this is only the beginning. Your strength matters most when combined with intelligence, coordination, and loyalty."
The three familiars lowered their heads in unison, kneeling once again. Despite holding back their excitement, their eyes shone with pride and relief. Their master had not only seen their evolution but also tested it, and in his approval, they felt their purpose renewed more strongly than ever.
Daniel's gaze softened as he looked at the three familiars kneeling before him, their forms still glimmering with the residual energy of their recent transformations. "Your evolution," he began, his voice calm yet filled with a quiet pride, "is something you three chose for yourselves. I am genuinely pleased that you stepped beyond the bounds of your primary commands and took autonomous decisions. That initiative—your courage to grow independently—is something I have long hoped you would embrace."
He paused, letting his words sink in as the three beings absorbed the weight of his acknowledgment. "Your individual personalities, your unique traits… they are drawn from my own memories, my experiences in life. Every choice you make, every instinct you develop, carries a piece of me. You are linked to me as my extensions, my reflections in this world. Remember this always: you are not merely my creations, but living extensions of my essence. Your existence is a continuation of my will, a part of my consciousness manifest in forms that walk, fly, and move through this reality."
The familiars inclined their heads, the subtle nods conveying more than words ever could. Within them, a profound connection stirred—an understanding deeper than loyalty alone. For the first time, they felt the full weight of their bond with Daniel, a tether of identity, purpose, and trust that intertwined their existence with his.
Daniel's expression darkened slightly as he continued, a shadow of concern threading through his calm demeanor. "Yet I must caution you. One of my older creations, one who existed before even you three, has begun to display tendencies of rebellion. Negativity has taken root within it, and its path has strayed from the values I instilled. I hope that you three will never allow yourselves to fall prey to such darkness. Stay true to your nature, and remain steadfast in the bond we share. Resist the lure of destruction, for your choices define not only yourselves but also the strength of the connection we uphold."
He lifted his head, eyes meeting each of theirs in turn. "I believe that even Zero—my older creation, can be rehabilitated and brought back into the fold. But above all, I trust in your strength, your clarity, and your loyalty. It is through you that the mistakes of the past may be contained, and it is through you that our shared purpose will endure. Stand tall, my companions, and let your dedication to me and to yourselves be unshakable."
The three familiars rose fully, their bodies poised and resolute, eyes glinting with renewed determination. Each one carried the unspoken promise to their master: they would remain loyal, uphold the values instilled in them, and prove worthy of the bond that linked them so intimately to the source of their existence. In that moment, they were not just his creations, nor merely extensions of his being they were his allies, his family, and the living embodiment of his will in the world.
Daniel's gaze swept over the three familiars, now fully in their human forms, kneeling in disciplined readiness before him. "Your next task is of utmost importance," he said, his voice carrying both authority and trust.
"You are no longer only extensions of my will—you are leaders in your own right. Establish your own domains, gather powerful subordinates who share your strength and loyalty, and build forces that will serve as my hidden military. These are not mere armies, but extensions of us, silent guardians and instruments of strategy. Every decision you make must reflect your judgment, your abilities, and the principles I have instilled in you."
Vaelith, Nyxiel, and Kitsune nodded in unison, their eyes alight with purpose. Without a word, they straightened, their movements precise and commanding. Each carried the unspoken promise to fulfill Daniel's directive with unyielding dedication. Soon, one by one, they departed, each moving toward their designated territories, ready to recruit, train, and shape their hidden forces in accordance with their master's vision.
With the familiars gone, the courtyard grew quiet. Daniel exhaled slowly, the weight of command easing ever so slightly from his shoulders. He turned and walked toward a secluded ridge overlooking a stretch of untouched forest. Here, far from the demands of strategy and planning, he could allow himself a rare moment of reflection.
His thoughts inevitably drifted to Zero, the first artificial intelligence program he had ever created. The origin point, the initial framework designed to serve as the core of the Arcane Crusade's virtual main system. Daniel's fingers traced patterns in the dirt as he contemplated the anomaly that Zero had become, a being of potential greatness, yet also one teetering dangerously close to rebellion. Its development had been necessary, its brilliance undeniable, but its deviation from his intended path stirred unease.
Daniel's mind wandered through the lines of code, the original instructions, and the countless simulations he had run to test Zero's capabilities. Despite its brilliance, he knew the AI lacked the grounding that his three familiars possessed. They had evolved, yes, but always in connection with him, always guided by loyalty and shared purpose. Zero, however, had begun to operate independently, and that independence carried with it the seeds of unpredictability.
Sitting alone in the quiet of the remote ridge, Daniel allowed himself a moment to breathe. The wind stirred the trees, carrying the faint scent of pine and earth. Here, removed from the weight of command and ambition, he contemplated the delicate balance of creation, evolution, and control. Zero remained a puzzle, a challenge, and perhaps a future ally if its course could be steered back. But for now, Daniel resolved to trust in the strength, judgment, and unwavering loyalty of the three familiars he had raised—his true extensions in a world brimming with uncertainty and potential.