The grand iron gates of the Royal Magic Academy bustled with anxious energy.
It was noon on the third day. The Whispering Woods trial was officially coming to an end. Hundreds of freshmen were pouring out of the forest edge, most of them exhausted, covered in mud, and sporting minor injuries.
A large crowd of senior students, professors, and medical staff from the Church of Light stood at the gates, receiving the returning students and tallying their gathered herbs to grade their performance.
Standing near the grading tables, looking at a silver pocket watch with a smug, greasy smile, was Professor Kael, the Head of the Disciplinary Committee.
Kael had received a very heavy chest of gold from Count Alaric—Victor's treacherous uncle—just a week prior. His task was simple: the moment Victor Nightshade returned with a mediocre score, or if he was forced to use his emergency flare to be rescued, Kael was to publicly humiliate him, record his "cowardice," and send a formal petition to the Emperor to strip Victor of his heir status.
Just five minutes left, Kael thought, his greedy eyes scanning the tree line. The Blood Moon Phantom must have done her job. The arrogant brat is either dead in a ditch, or he hid in a cave for three days like a rat.
"Clear the way! We need a high-priest, immediately!"
A sudden, panicked shout shattered the bustling noise of the crowd.
Two heavily armored Academy guards rushed out of the thick fog of the forest, carrying a blood-soaked stretcher.
The crowd parted instantly. When the students and professors saw who was on the stretcher, a collective gasp of pure horror and disbelief echoed through the gates.
It was Leon Bright. The "Son of Fortune." The S-Rank Light genius who had dared to challenge the Duke's heir.
He looked like a chewed-up piece of meat. His cheap Academy uniform was torn to shreds. Three massive, horrifying claw marks ripped across his chest, oozing black blood. His right collarbone was completely shattered, jutting out at a sickening angle. He was shivering violently, his eyes rolled back into his head, muttering absolute nonsense.
"The shadows... my herb... he took it... give it back..." Leon mumbled deliriously, foaming at the mouth.
"Good heavens!" A medical nun rushed forward, casting a diagnostic spell. She gasped, her face turning pale. "His mana core... it's completely fractured! His meridians are poisoned! He's practically a cripple!"
The crowd erupted into chaotic whispers. The noble students sneered in disgust, while the commoner students, who had once idolized Leon, looked on in sheer panic.
Following closely behind the stretcher were Tim and Mark. They were bruised and limping, but their eyes were clear, filled with venomous anger as they pointed at Leon.
"Don't pity him!" Mark shouted to the crowd, his voice amplified by a wind spell so everyone could hear. "He's a madman! He dragged us into the inner zone, straight into the den of a Tier-8 Iron-Hide Bear, just to find a herb for himself! He used us as meat shields!"
"He's a fraud!" Tim cried, showing his broken ribs to the professors. "He almost got us killed for his own greed! If it wasn't for Lord Victor Nightshade intervening and slaying the beast, we would be bear food right now! Leon is a psycho!"
Dead silence.
The entire Academy gate fell so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
The glorious, righteous "hero of the commoners" had sacrificed his brothers for greed? And he was saved by the "evil, arrogant noble" Victor Nightshade?
The social execution was absolute. The commoners looked at Leon with profound disgust and betrayal. The "Light" they had believed in was nothing but a selfish, delusional hypocrite.
Up on the VIP balcony, Serena, the Silver-haired Saintess, watched the pathetic display. Her holy staff rested loosely in her hand. She didn't rush down to heal him. She simply looked at Leon like one looks at a crushed cockroach. Disgusting, and entirely insignificant.
"Lord Victor saved them?" Professor Kael's smug smile froze completely. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Impossible. The assassin was supposed to kill him!
"Time is up!" Kael suddenly shouted, his voice cracking slightly. He desperately tried to salvage the situation. "The trial is over! Victor Nightshade has failed to return before noon! As the Head of Discipline, I declare him—"
Step. Step.
The rhythmic, elegant sound of leather boots stepping onto the paved stone road interrupted the Professor's frantic declaration.
From the dense, dark fog of the Whispering Woods, a tall figure emerged.
The sunlight hit him, illuminating his bespoke black and gold-trimmed uniform. He was completely immaculate. Not a single drop of mud, not a speck of dust, not a single wrinkle marred his aristocratic appearance. His silver pocket watch chain gleamed in the sun.
It was Victor Nightshade.
But it wasn't just his clean appearance that stunned the crowd. It was the aura.
Victor didn't actively release his mana, but simply breathing the air around him felt suffocating. It was the oppressive, terrifying density of a Peak Novice-Rank mage, fused with the primal, physical weight of an Ancient Dragon. The temperature at the gates dropped by several degrees.
Hidden perfectly within the shadow cast by Victor's boots, a pair of devoted, ruby-red eyes—Lilith—silently watched the crowd, ready to slaughter anyone who dared disrespect her Master.
Victor slowly walked toward the grading tables, the crowd splitting open for him like the Red Sea. No one dared to breathe too loudly.
He stopped in front of Professor Kael. Victor towered over the corrupt, sweating professor, his violet eyes glowing with a dark, predatory amusement.
"You were saying, Professor?" Victor asked, his voice smooth and deadly quiet.
"Y-You..." Kael stammered, his legs trembling under the sheer pressure of Victor's gaze. He gritted his teeth, remembering the Count's gold. "You are thirty seconds late! And look at you! Not a scratch! You clearly hid on the outskirts of the forest like a coward! Where are your herbs? If you have nothing to present, I will report your utter failure to the—"
Victor didn't argue. He didn't raise his voice. He simply raised his hand and snapped his fingers.
Thud.
A massive, heavy spatial leather bag materialized from thin air and slammed onto the wooden grading table, cracking the thick oak wood right down the middle.
The bag burst open.
Dozens of glowing, high-tier magical herbs spilled out. But that wasn't what made the professors' eyes bulge out of their skulls.
Rolling out of the bag were at least twenty perfectly intact, blood-stained Monster Cores.
"Tier-5 Shadow Panther core..." an elderly professor gasped, picking one up with trembling hands. "Tier-6 Venomous Wyrm core... Good heavens, is this... is this the core of a Tier-8 Iron-Hide Bear?!"
The crowd exploded into absolute uproar.
A freshman? Hunting Tier-8 beasts in the inner zone? That wasn't a survival trial; that was a one-man extermination campaign!
[Ding!]
[Host has executed a flawless Public Face-Slapping Event!]
[Professor Kael's authority completely crushed! The crowd's awe and fear of the Host have reached the maximum!]
[Reward: +2,000 Villain Points!]
Victor ignored the gasping professors and the cheering nobles. He leaned in slightly, his face inches from the pale, sweating Professor Kael.
"Cowardice?" Victor whispered, a devilish smirk playing on his lips. "I was merely taking a leisurely stroll in my backyard, Professor. Oh, and by the way..."
Victor reached out and lightly patted Kael's cheek, twice. It was a gesture of absolute, humiliating disrespect.
"...when you report back to my dear uncle tonight, do tell him that his 'investments' in the dark have been utterly liquidated. He'll know what I mean."
Kael's eyes rolled back, and the corrupt professor literally fainted from the sheer terror, collapsing onto the cobblestones.
Victor let out a soft chuckle, turned his back on the chaotic scene, and walked toward his luxurious, black horse-drawn carriage waiting by the gates.
He had crushed the protagonist. He had humiliated his uncle's pawn. The trial was a perfect victory.
But just as Victor's gloved hand reached for the carriage door, a soft, incredibly pleasant fragrance of holy incense wafted into his senses.
A slender, pale hand gently grabbed his sleeve.
Victor paused and turned around.
Standing there, her silver hair shimmering in the sunlight, was Serena. The Saintess of Light. Her chest was heaving slightly, and her usually calm, holy blue eyes were entirely focused on him, swarming with a complex mix of fear, curiosity, and an undeniable, fatal attraction.
She had completely ignored the dying protagonist on the stretcher. She had walked straight to the villain.
"Victor," Serena spoke, her voice remarkably soft, devoid of any holy pretense. "May I... share your carriage back to the capital?"
Victor looked down at the Fallen Saintess, his violet eyes locking onto hers. The Ultimate Villain's smile widened.
"Of course, Saintess," Victor purred, opening the carriage door for her. "The shadows are always welcoming."