Away from the structured calm of the academy corridors, into a dormitory that stood in stark contrast to the standard student quarters.
This was no ordinary room.
The space was vast and opulent, its interior designed with a refined blend of polished marble floors, gold-lined furnishings, and tall glass panels that revealed a sweeping view of the academy grounds below. Soft ambient mana lights glowed along the walls, casting a warm and controlled illumination that spoke of wealth, status, and influence.
At the center of the room—
A young man with neatly styled green hair knelt on one knee.
Cedric Beaumont.
His posture was rigid, his head slightly lowered as though standing upright itself would be inappropriate in this moment.
Before him, a holographic projection flickered into existence, stabilizing into the image of a middle-aged man seated behind an ornate desk. The man's features were sharp, his presence commanding even through the projection, and his green hair—streaked faintly with age ,mirrored Cedric's own.
Marquis Beaumont.
"Cedric…"
The moment his voice sounded, Cedric's body stiffened further.
The single word carried enough weight to make the air feel heavier.
Cedric's hands tightened slightly at his sides.
"Y–yes, father," he replied immediately, his voice controlled but unable to fully hide the tension beneath it.
The Marquis did not raise his voice.
"The Emperor has not been pleased with Duke Valecrest for quite some time now," he said calmly, his tone measured and deliberate, as though discussing a matter already decided. "And you were given a simple task… to add pressure on the Duke by exposing the… less flattering nature of his heir."
A faint pause followed.
"And yet…"
Cedric's heart pounded.
He lowered his head further.
"Forgive me, father," he said quickly, the words leaving him almost too fast. "Who could have known he was hiding such power? No one even knew whether he possessed a resonance or not…"
The Marquis's gaze sharpened slightly.
"Do you truly believe," he said slowly, "that the son of the Dragon Sword Duke would be without a resonance?"
The question was not asked in curiosity.
It was asked in judgment.
Cedric froze.
"The first lesson of ruling a territory," the Marquis continued, his voice as calm as ever, "is to never base your decisions on the idle rumors of the noble circles."
Cedric clenched his fists slightly, his nails pressing into his palms.
"U–understood, father," he replied, his voice tighter now.
The Marquis watched him for a moment.
Then his expression shifted, though only slightly.
"Was today the first day of your classes after the examination?"
Cedric hesitated for the briefest moment.
Then he nodded.
"Yes, father."
The Marquis leaned back slightly in his chair.
"And yet you did not attend," he observed, his tone unchanged. "That is… not ideal, is it?"
Cedric swallowed.
"No, father."
A quiet hum of thought passed through the projection.
Then—
"Hmm…"
The Marquis spoke again.
"Cedric, my son…"
The words sounded almost gentle.
But the weight behind them was anything but.
"Do not repeat your mistakes."
A faint pause followed.
"You are not my only heir… are you?"
Cedric's eyes widened.
For a brief moment, he looked up instinctively, shock flashing across his face before he quickly lowered his gaze again.
His fists clenched tightly.
"Yes… father."
The Marquis gave a small nod, as though the matter had already been concluded.
"Then attend your lectures regularly from tomorrow onward."
The projection flickered and vanished, as the room fell silent.
Cedric remained kneeling for a few seconds longer, his body still locked in place as though the presence of his father had not yet fully disappeared.
Then—
He exhaled.
A long, shaky breath he hadn't realized he had been holding.
Cold sweat dripped down the side of his face.
His hands trembled slightly as he slowly rose to his feet.
His expression was dark and jaw tightened.
"…It's all because of that bastard…! Just wait..!"
***
Not far from the towering walls of Crownspire Academy, a small city had grown almost organically over the years, shaped by necessity, ambition, and opportunity.
What had once been a modest settlement had gradually transformed into a bustling hub of activity, its streets alive with merchants, adventurers, craftsmen, and opportunists who all thrived in the shadow of the academy. The constant influx of students—many of them nobles—brought with it an endless demand for luxury goods, specialized equipment, rare ingredients, and entertainment, while the prestige of the academy itself attracted traders and factions eager to establish influence.
By day, the city hummed with commerce.
By night, it came alive in a different way.
Lanterns lit the streets in warm golden hues, laughter spilled out from open doorways, and taverns became the beating heart of the city's social life, where information flowed just as freely as alcohol.
Inside one such tavern, the atmosphere was thick with noise and life.
Wooden tables were packed with patrons, mugs clinked loudly against each other, and the air carried the mixed scents of roasted meat, spilled ale, and smoke from low-burning mana lamps.
"Have you heard?" one man said, leaning forward across his table, his voice lowered just enough to make it seem important. "A new fourth-level breach opened in the elven territories just a few days ago."
The man across from him snorted, waving his hand dismissively.
"What are you talking about? If something like that happened, it would've reached the capital already," he replied before taking a long drink. "Stop making things up."
At another table, laughter erupted loudly.
"Hahaha! Where the hell have you been?" a burly man asked, slamming his mug onto the table.
"Been busy," his companion replied with a grin.
"Busy doing what?"
The man leaned closer, lowering his voice just enough to make it more suggestive.
"I got married last week."
A moment of silence—
Then the table exploded with laughter.
"Hahaha! So that's where you've been! Warming the bed, huh?"
"Shut up, you bastards!"
The noise blended together into a chaotic but familiar rhythm, one that masked countless smaller conversations and unnoticed exchanges.
At the bar counter, a bald man wearing a simple apron stood quietly amidst it all, his large hands moving methodically as he wiped down a glass with practiced precision. His expression was neutral, almost indifferent, as though the noise around him had long since become nothing more than background static.
Then—
A hooded figure approached.
The movement was subtle, almost unnoticeable in the crowded tavern, yet the man behind the counter did not look up immediately.
The figure stopped in front of him, and spoke.
"I'll have a Verdant Ember Distillate with crushed star-anise root, layered over aged frostberry extract, finished with a single drop of nightshade essence and stirred exactly seven times before being poured."
The bald man did not stop wiping the glass.
"For whom is this drink?" he asked calmly, his voice low enough that it would not carry beyond the counter.
The hooded figure reached into their cloak and placed a sealed envelope on the bar.
"A Valecrest."
The man's hand paused for the briefest moment.
He set the glass down slowly and picked up the envelope, his fingers sliding over its surface until they reached a small black symbol stamped faintly on the seal.
The moment his eyes caught it—
He looked up.
For the first time, his expression changed.
"Can you handle the black rose flavor?" he asked quietly.
But the man was no longer there..
***
The academy grounds at night carried a completely different atmosphere from the bustling energy of the day, as the wide pathways lay mostly quiet beneath the soft glow of mana lamps that flickered gently along the walkways, their light casting long, shifting shadows across the neatly maintained gardens and open spaces.
A cool breeze drifted through the park within the academy grounds, rustling the leaves of carefully arranged trees and carrying with it the faint scent of night-blooming flowers, creating a calm that almost felt detached from the chaos that had unfolded earlier.
Damon walked along one of the stone paths, his hands resting casually in his pockets as his gaze moved lazily ahead, his expression far more relaxed than it had been during the day.
His tongue pressed lightly against his teeth as he tried to dislodge something stubborn.
"There were too many carbs in today's meal…" he muttered under his breath, his tone carrying mild annoyance rather than any real complaint.
His steps remained steady.
I'm getting used to this academy life…
The thought surfaced quietly in his mind.
It's calm…
For a brief moment, there was something almost unfamiliar about that realization.
He continued walking, passing by a bench where a figure dressed in a white coat lay sprawled across it, their pink hair spilling loosely over the edge like a splash of color against the dim surroundings.
Damon didn't even spare them a second glance.
He simply walked past.
Would that woman still be waiting for me?
The question lingered faintly as his thoughts drifted back toward the events of the previous day.
Then—
Damon's steps paused.
Something had pulled at the corner of his T-shirt.
At the same moment, a soft, drawn-out yawn echoed behind him.
"Owahhhh…"
A lazy voice followed, still thick with sleep.
"Hmmm…"
There was a small pause.
"Aren't you… a first-year student that I taught a few days ago?"