POV: Priam Lockhart
I woke to the sound of bells.
Not gentle morning chimes, but deep, resonant tolls that vibrated through the stone walls and seemed to shake my bones. The enchanted clock above my door showed 5:30 AM—ninety minutes before the mandatory opening ceremony.
My body protested every movement as I forced myself upright. The bruises from the whipping had turned a spectacular shade of purple-yellow, and my muscles felt like they'd been replaced with rusty wire. But there was no time for rest.
[System Notification]
[Daily Quest Available: Morning Routine]
Objective: Complete Lady Seraphine's morning preparations flawlessly
Reward: +25 XP, +1 Seraphine Loyalty
Failure Penalty: -5 Seraphine Loyalty, possible physical punishment
Great. Even the system is reminding me my life depends on making tea correctly.
I washed quickly in the communal bathroom—a grim affair with freezing water and questionable drainage—then donned my formal butler's uniform. The black jacket with its silver buttons had been pressed and laid out by some kind soul, probably one of the laundry servants from last night's meeting.
The network already helping. Good.
The Valois suite was three floors up. I took the servants' stairwell—narrow, undecorated, and deliberately uncomfortable to discourage lingering. Other servants rushed past me, all heading to wake their masters and mistresses.
I knocked on Seraphine's door at exactly 6:00 AM. Three soft raps, evenly spaced.
"Enter." Her voice was crisp, already awake.
The sitting room was dimly lit by pre-dawn light filtering through the enchanted windows, which currently showed a view of sunrise over distant mountains—probably not real, just an aesthetic choice. Seraphine sat at her vanity, still in her nightclothes: a black silk robe embroidered with silver thorns.
Her silver hair hung loose down her back, and without her usual severe styling, she looked younger. Almost vulnerable.
Then she turned those violet eyes on me, and the illusion shattered.
"You're punctual. How refreshing." She gestured to the wardrobe. "Crimson and black ensemble. The one with the phoenix embroidery. Today requires making a statement."
I moved to the wardrobe, a massive thing made from blackwood and inlaid with silver. Inside hung dozens of outfits, each more expensive than most families earned in a year. I located the specified dress—a stunning creation of crimson silk with black phoenix patterns that seemed to move in the light.
As I laid out the dress and its accessories, Seraphine spoke. "Tell me, Lockhart. What do you know about the Opening Ceremony?"
Is this a test? I drew on Priam's inherited memories and my game knowledge. "All first-year students gather in the Grand Amphitheater. Headmaster Aldric gives the welcome address. Then students are sorted into academic tracks based on their magical affinities and family status. Finally, the Crimson Oath is administered—pledging loyalty to the academy and the Empire."
"Adequate. But you missed the most important part." Seraphine stood and moved to the mirror, beginning to brush her hair with methodical strokes. "The Opening Ceremony is theater. Every student is being evaluated by every other student. Alliances form, hierarchies establish, and reputations solidify—all within three hours. One misstep can define your entire academy career."
She met my eyes in the mirror's reflection. "House Valois has many enemies. They'll be watching for any sign of weakness. Any crack in my armor."
"Then we'll give them none, my lady."
A slight smile touched her lips. "We. You said 'we.'" She paused her brushing. "Interesting choice of words for a servant."
Shit. Too familiar. "I meant—"
"I know what you meant." Seraphine resumed brushing. "And you're correct. Your behavior reflects on me. If you appear incompetent, I appear unable to manage my household. Therefore, 'we' is accurate."
She finished with her hair and stood, letting the robe slip from her shoulders.
I immediately turned away, focusing on the dress.
"Oh, how chivalrous," Seraphine's voice dripped with amusement. "But unnecessary. You're a servant. You're no more significant than the furniture."
That's what she tells herself, I realized. It's easier to be cruel if she convinces herself we're not really people.
"Even furniture can be valuable, my lady," I said carefully. "An antique chair is still treated with care."
A long pause. Then: "Are you comparing yourself to an antique chair?"
"I'm comparing myself to something worth maintaining rather than discarding."
Another pause, longer this time.
"Help me with the corset."
I turned back to find her in an underdress, holding the elaborate corset that accompanied the formal gown. My hands shook slightly as I helped her into it, lacing the back with practiced movements that came from Priam's muscle memory.
This close, I could smell her perfume—something expensive and complex, with notes of night-blooming jasmine and something darker. Myrrh, maybe.
"Tighter," she commanded.
"My lady, if I lace it any tighter, you won't be able to breathe properly during—"
"Tighter."
I obeyed, pulling until the corset compressed her ribcage into an hourglass shape that looked painful. She didn't flinch, didn't gasp. Just stood there, perfectly still.
Control. It's all about control. Control her appearance, control others' perceptions, control everything she can because there's so much she can't control.
The dress came next, a process requiring careful attention to ensure every fold, every drape, every detail was perfect. Then jewelry: silver earrings shaped like twisted thorns, a choker necklace with a single black diamond, and rings on three fingers.
Finally, her hair. I braided it into an intricate pattern I'd seen in Priam's memories—a style that required weaving silver ribbons through the plaits to create a crown-like effect.
The entire process took forty-five minutes.
When it was done, Seraphine examined herself in the full-length mirror. The transformation was complete: from the girl who'd cried alone in her room to the Ice Queen who terrified the nobility.
"Acceptable," she said. "Now, your appearance."
"My lady?"
She turned to me, eyes narrowing. "You look like a corpse. The bruises are visible on your neck, you're moving stiffly, and your uniform, while clean, is poorly fitted." She moved to a drawer and extracted a small vial of pale cream. "This is glamour balm. It will conceal the bruising for approximately six hours."
I took the vial, surprised. "Thank you, my lady."
"Don't thank me. You're a reflection of my household. Your poor appearance suggests I'm either cruel or incompetent. This way, I'm neither."
But she'd given me medicine. Had spent her own supplies to help me.
She's not as heartless as she pretends.
I applied the balm, watching in fascination as the bruises faded from view. It didn't heal them—I could still feel the pain—but visually, they disappeared.
[System Notification]
[Daily Quest Complete: Morning Routine]
+25 XP
Seraphine Loyalty: 12 → 14 (Cautious Interest)
Progress. Slow, but progress.
"Come," Seraphine said. "We're expected in the Grand Amphitheater in thirty minutes. I refuse to arrive early like some eager provincial, but we won't be late either."
We descended through the academy's main halls rather than the servants' passages. This time of morning, the corridors were crowded with students in formal attire, all heading toward the Amphitheater. Servants trailed behind their masters like shadows.
I noticed the reactions as Seraphine passed:
Students parted to let her through, conversations dying mid-sentence. Some stared with open fear. Others with calculation. A few with hatred barely concealed.
No one greeted her. No one smiled. No one wished her good morning.
Completely isolated. How long has she lived like this?
The Grand Amphitheater was a marvel of magical architecture. Built into a natural bowl in the academy grounds, it could seat two thousand people comfortably. The seats were arranged in concentric circles descending toward a central stage, and the whole structure was covered by a dome of crystalline magic that kept out weather while allowing light to filter through in spectacular patterns.
Already, most of the first-year students had arrived. The amphitheater buzzed with conversation, nervous energy, and the occasional flash of magic as students showed off their abilities.
Seraphine made her entrance like she owned the place—spine straight, chin high, expression coldly serene. She descended the stairs to the front section reserved for high-ranking nobles, and I followed two steps behind.
We passed Prince Cedric, who sat surrounded by a cluster of admirers. He inclined his head politely to Seraphine. "Lady Valois. You look radiant this morning."
"Your Highness." Seraphine's curtsy was perfect, neither too deep nor too shallow. "You're too kind."
Cedric's amber eyes flicked to me briefly, assessing, then dismissed me as irrelevant. "I trust you're settling in well?"
"Adequately."
A polite fiction. They both knew she had no friends here, no allies, no real chance of "settling in well." But nobles spoke in fictions.
We continued to our seats. Seraphine chose a spot near the front but off to the side—visible but not center stage. Strategic positioning.
I stood behind her seat, as servants were required to do. From this vantage point, I could observe the entire amphitheater.
Duke Roland Vayne sat in full formal armor—ceremonial, but still impressive. His blonde hair was pulled back, and he looked every inch the noble knight. Around him sat other military-minded nobles, all discussing tactics and training regimens.
Lady Clarisse D'Argent held court in the opposite section, surrounded by noble ladies who hung on her every word. She wore powder blue and white, looking like an angel descended to earth. As I watched, she laughed at some joke, the sound carrying across the amphitheater—light, musical, utterly false.
Her eyes met mine for just a moment. She smiled.
It was the smile of a cat spotting a mouse.
Lord Garrick Thorne sat alone, reading a book—or pretending to while actually observing everyone else. Thomas stood behind him, looking nervous. Every few moments, Garrick would make a note in a small journal.
Gathering intelligence. He's categorizing everyone, figuring out who's useful and who's disposable.
Lady Elise Fontaine, the shy healer, sat in the back rows looking overwhelmed. Kira stood protectively behind her, glaring at anyone who looked their way too long.
And there, entering just before the ceremony was set to begin—
Liana Hart.
She'd changed since yesterday. Gone was the patched gray dress. Now she wore academy-issued formal robes—simple compared to the noble finery, but clean and well-fitted. Someone had styled her rose-gold hair into an elegant updo, and she'd applied subtle makeup that enhanced her natural beauty without looking like she was trying.
Someone helped her. Someone with money and knowledge. But who?
She scanned the amphitheater, those doe eyes taking in everything. When her gaze landed on Seraphine, something flickered across her face—recognition, calculation, and something darker.
Then she smiled, sweet and innocent, and moved to find a seat in the commoner section.
[System Notification]
[Plot Event Triggered: The Opening Ceremony]
[Warning: Key character interactions imminent]
[Hidden objectives may become available based on your choices]
The bells tolled again, three deep peals that silenced all conversation.
Headmaster Aldric Vane emerged onto the central stage, and presence alone commanded attention.
The Headmaster was an old man—at least seventy—but age hadn't weakened him. He stood straight as a sword, his white beard neatly trimmed, his robes deep purple edged with gold. His eyes, sharp and penetrating, swept across the assembled students.
In the game, Aldric had been a background character, mostly irrelevant to the plot. But now, seeing him in person, I realized that had been a mistake. This was a man who'd held power for decades, who'd trained multiple generations of nobles, who knew every secret in this academy.
Dangerous. Extremely dangerous. Don't underestimate him.
"Students of Crimson Imperial Academy," Aldric's voice boomed without magical enhancement—pure trained projection. "Welcome."
The amphitheater fell silent.
"Three hundred years ago, Emperor Aldmoor the Third founded this institution with a single purpose: to transform raw potential into refined power. To take noble children and forge them into leaders worthy of ruling an empire." He paused, letting that sink in. "Some of you will succeed. Many will fail. A few will die."
Nervous shifting in the crowd.
"The Academy does not coddle. It does not forgive weakness. It does not accept excuses." Aldric's gaze swept the crowd again. "You are here because your families believe you have potential. Prove them right, or prove them wrong. Either way, history will remember your choices."
He gestured, and magical light coalesced above the stage, forming a massive crest: the Empire's symbol, a crowned dragon wrapped around a sword.
"The Crimson Oath binds you to this academy and to the Empire itself. Speak the words, and you pledge your magic, your mind, and your future to serving Erathia. Refuse, and you will be expelled immediately."
No one mentioned that expulsion part in the game.
"Repeat after me," Aldric commanded.
As one, two thousand voices spoke:
"I pledge my magic to the Empire's glory,
My mind to wisdom's pursuit,
My strength to Erathia's defense,
My honor to the Crimson Academy.
May my power serve the throne,
May my knowledge illuminate the darkness,
May my legacy endure eternal.
This I swear upon my blood and name."
The words resonated with power. I felt magic surge through the amphitheater—not from me, but from every student simultaneously. The air crackled with energy as oaths bound themselves to souls.
Several students gasped. One girl in the back fainted.
Seraphine's face remained impassive, but I saw her hands clench the armrests of her seat.
When the magical surge faded, Aldric nodded in satisfaction. "You are now bound. Remember that."
He gestured again, and scrolls materialized in the air, hundreds of them, each one floating toward a specific student.
"These scrolls contain your academic track assignments," Aldric explained. "You have been sorted based on magical affinity, academic aptitude, and family recommendations. Your track determines your classes, your dormitory section, and your future prospects. Study the assignments carefully."
A scroll drifted down to Seraphine. She plucked it from the air with practiced ease and unrolled it.
I glimpsed the contents over her shoulder:
Student: Seraphine de Valois
Track: Arcane Combat & Theoretical Magic (Advanced)
Specialty: Dark Arts (Restricted Study)
Class Rank: Top 10 Percentile
Advisor: Professor Nyx
Dark Arts. Of course they'd assign her to that. It reinforces her "villain" reputation whether she wants it or not.
Around the amphitheater, students were opening their scrolls with varying reactions—excitement, disappointment, confusion.
Prince Cedric's scroll marked him for Imperial Leadership & Combat Strategy.
Duke Roland's assigned him to Advanced Combat & Military Tactics.
Lady Clarisse received Social Dynamics & Healing Arts—perfect for the "saintess" image.
Lord Garrick got Strategic Studies & Intelligence Analysis.
And Liana Hart, the commoner girl who supposedly shouldn't even be here, received:
Track: General Magic & Combat Fundamentals
Special Notation: Potential for Advanced Placement
Advisor: Headmaster Aldric (Personal Supervision)
The Headmaster himself is supervising her. That's not normal. In the game, he never directly mentored students.
Murmurs of surprise rippled through the crowd.
Clarisse's perfect smile faltered for just a moment.
Seraphine's eyes narrowed.
Cedric looked... intrigued.
"Special assignments," Aldric announced, "indicate students with unique circumstances or exceptional potential. These individuals will receive personalized instruction beyond standard curriculum."
Liana's face showed perfect humility, but I caught the glint of satisfaction in her eyes.
She planned this. Somehow, she maneuvered herself into the Headmaster's attention. But how?
[Quest Update: "The Faceless Girl"]
New Information: Liana Hart has high-level patronage
Investigate: Who sponsored her? Why?
"Classes begin tomorrow at dawn," Aldric continued. "Today, you will attend orientation sessions with your academic advisors, receive your textbooks and supplies, and familiarize yourselves with academy facilities." He paused. "One final matter."
The atmosphere in the amphitheater shifted, tension coiling.
"Combat tournaments," Aldric said, and excited whispers erupted. "At the end of each term, students compete in ranked duels. Victory brings honor, advancement, and rewards. Defeat brings... lessons."
The tournament arc. Every isekai has one. In the game, this was where Liana would start defeating nobles, earning their respect or hatred.
"Rankings will be posted weekly. Challenge anyone within five ranks of your position. Winners rise. Losers fall." Aldric's expression was stern. "These tournaments are not optional. Every student must compete or face expulsion."
More nervous shifting.
"But understand this," Aldric's voice dropped to a dangerous level. "Combat here has consequences. Maiming is discouraged but not forbidden. Death, while rare, occurs. The Academy provides healing, but some wounds cannot be fully repaired." He let that sink in. "Show restraint, or don't. But accept the results of your choices."
They let students potentially kill each other. This is darker than the game portrayed.
"Dismissed," Aldric said. "Orientation groups are posted at the exits. Do not be late."
The spell holding the crowd in rapt attention broke. Students surged toward the exits, voices rising in excitement and anxiety.
Seraphine remained seated, letting the crowd thin.
"My lady?" I asked quietly.
"Patience, Lockhart. Rushing makes one appear desperate."
After several minutes, she rose gracefully and moved toward the exits. I followed, scanning the crowd for threats out of habit.
We'd almost reached the door when it happened.
"Lady Seraphine!"
A voice, sweet and bright, cut through the noise.
Liana Hart approached, maneuvering through the crowd with surprising ease. Up close, I could see the calculation behind her innocent smile.
"I wanted to thank you," Liana said, stopping a respectful distance away. "Your servant saved me from a terrible situation yesterday. I'm in your debt."
Trap. This is a trap. She's establishing a social obligation in front of witnesses.
Seraphine's expression remained neutral. "My servant acted according to House Valois standards. No debt is owed."
"Still, I'm grateful." Liana's smile widened. "Perhaps we could—"
"Lady Seraphine." Another voice, male and commanding.
Lord Edric Renault pushed through the crowd, his red hair disheveled, his face flushed with barely contained emotion. He stopped directly between Seraphine and Liana.
"A word," Edric said, his voice tight. "Privately."
Oh no.
Seraphine's eyes flashed. "I'm occupied."
"It's about yesterday's... incident." Edric's hands were shaking. "About your servant's interference in matters that didn't concern him."
The crowd around us slowed, people trying to eavesdrop without being obvious.
He's been stewing on this all night. Working himself into a rage because his father probably berated him for showing "weakness."
"My servant prevented a scene that would have reflected poorly on all involved," Seraphine said coolly. "I fail to see the issue."
"The issue," Edric hissed, stepping closer, "is that a mere servant dared to question a noble's judgment. That commoner"—he jabked a finger toward Liana—"defiled sacred space. She deserved punishment, and your pet interfered."
Liana's eyes widened, fear blossoming across her face. "Please, I didn't mean—"
"Silence!" Edric's hand ignited with flames.
Everything happened at once.
Duke Roland appeared from the crowd, his hand on his sword. "Renault. Stand down."
Prince Cedric moved to Liana's side, placing himself between her and Edric. "Threatening a student under the Headmaster's personal supervision is unwise."
Lady Clarisse watched from a safe distance, her expression carefully neutral but her eyes gleaming.
And Seraphine—
Seraphine's violet eyes flashed with genuine anger. "How dare you approach me with demands, Renault. House Renault survives on scraps from greater families. You have no authority to question my decisions."
She's making it worse. Edric's already unstable, and she just attacked his family honor.
Edric's flames blazed brighter. "My family has honor! More than the cursed Valois line! Everyone knows what you are—a dark witch, a monster wearing human skin!"
The crowd gasped.
Seraphine's face went pale, then flushed with rage. Her hand moved toward her own magic—
And I knew, with complete certainty, that if she attacked Edric here, surrounded by witnesses, it would be used against her for the rest of her academy career. Clarisse would ensure the story spread. Cedric would express "concern" about her stability. Roland would see her as a threat to justice.
Everything would begin the slide toward her execution.
[Emergency Quest Activated: Crisis Point]
Objective: Prevent Seraphine from attacking Edric
Failure: Major reputation loss for Seraphine, acceleration of original plot
Success: ???
I moved without thinking.
Stepped between Seraphine and Edric.
Dropped to one knee, head bowed.
"Lord Renault," I said loudly enough for the crowd to hear. "I humbly beg your forgiveness."
Silence descended like a physical weight.
"The interference yesterday was mine alone," I continued. "Lady Seraphine had given no such order. I acted on my own initiative, presuming to understand her wishes without instruction. This is unforgivable hubris from a servant."
What are you doing? Seraphine's voice in my head, or maybe my imagination of it.
Saving you. Saving both of us.
"I recognize that I overstepped," I said, still not looking up. "If punishment is required, I accept it willingly. Please, let your anger fall on me, not on my lady who is blameless in my foolishness."
Edric stared at me, confusion replacing some of the rage. "You... admit fault?"
"Completely, my lord. I am prepared to receive whatever discipline you deem appropriate."
The crowd murmured. This was unexpected. Servants didn't volunteer for punishment. They didn't accept blame to protect their masters.
Prince Cedric spoke up, his voice smooth. "How noble. A servant willing to accept consequences for acting to prevent violence. Lord Renault, surely such honest contrition deserves mercy?"
Cedric's co-opting this. Making himself look magnanimous while forcing Edric into a corner.
Roland nodded. "Agreed. The servant acted to maintain order. Punishing such initiative seems counterproductive."
Edric looked between them, trapped. If he insisted on punishment now, he'd look petty and cruel. If he showed mercy, he'd look weak.
His jaw clenched. Flames flickered and died.
"Fine," he spat. "But stay out of my way, servant. Next time, I won't be so forgiving."
He stormed off, shoving through the crowd.
The tension broke. Conversations resumed. The show was over.
I stood slowly, turning to face Seraphine.
Her expression was unreadable. "Come. We're late for orientation."
She walked away without another word, and I followed.
Behind us, I heard Liana's soft voice: "That was brave. What's his name?"
And Cedric's reply: "Priam Lockhart. Interesting fellow. We should keep an eye on him."
[Quest Complete: Crisis Point]
Reward: +100 XP, +5 Seraphine Loyalty, New Title Unlocked
New Title: "Self-Sacrificing Fool"
Effect: +10% chance of gaining loyalty from protective actions
Level Up! Level 1 → Level 2
New Skill Point Available
Warning: Multiple factions now aware of you
Threat Level: Elevated
We walked in silence to the orientation hall assigned to Seraphine's academic track. Other students gave us wide berth.
Finally, when we were alone in a corridor, Seraphine stopped and turned to me.
"Explain," she said quietly. "Why did you do that?"
"Because if you'd attacked Edric, you would have been labeled dangerous and unstable. Your enemies would have used it against you. I couldn't let that happen."
"You could have been killed."
"But I wasn't."
Seraphine studied me for a long moment. "You're either incredibly stupid or incredibly calculating. I haven't decided which."
"Can't I be both, my lady?"
A ghost of a smile touched her lips. Then it was gone. "Don't do it again. I don't need a servant who plays hero."
"Understood, my lady."
She turned away. "Liar. You'll do it again the first chance you get."
And she was right.
[Seraphine Loyalty: 14 → 22 (Reluctant Trust)]
Progress.
End of Chapter 3 - Part 1