CHAPTER 126: THE PERFECT NIGHT FOR HUNTING

The rain never let up. Right from after the fight, till night fell over the campus, it poured from the sky in a steady curtain that drummed against roofs, rattled down gutters, and filled the courtyards of the academy with silver ripples.

Noah felt it in his bones as he walked the halls. The weather seemed determined to remind everyone that Camelot was not a kingdom of sunshine, but of gray skies and heavy clouds.

After getting patched up in the medical ward, he had returned to class.

But the session was already over. The other students filed out, some sparing glances at him, whispering among themselves. He couldn’t help but wonder how fast the rumors would travel this time.

So he went for lunch. The cafeteria was crowded, the smell of roasted meat heavy in the damp air, but even the scent couldn’t mask the tension.

Just like he’d predicted, every conversation he passed seemed to bend back to the same two points.

Arlo Kael. The principal’s grandson.

And Noah’s fight with him.

Everybody wanted in on the action of their apparent ’falling out.’

Their voices carried through the air, low at first, but when they thought he wasn’t listening, they grew louder.

"Imagine not knowing your friend was the grandson of the Principal."

"No wonder he was protected all this time."

"And Noah fought him. Right there in front of everyone. You should have seen it."

"They sure didn’t look like friends to me. It looked like ’someone’ wanted blood."

Noah ignored them all. He finished his meal without hurry, each bite tasting faintly of iron no matter what he ate.

Afterward, he made his way to Diplomacy & Rhetoric.

The lecture hall seemed bleak, with the students arranged in neat rows while the professor droned about tone, word choice, and the art of persuasion.

Noah sat in the back with his hood up, shadows curling faintly beneath his chair.

He took notes only to keep up the appearance of focus, but the words were useless to him.

He knew he’d never need to beg anyone with speeches or convince nobles with charm. When his time came, words would not matter.

Still, he noticed the way heads tilted toward him. The whispers hadn’t stopped. They slithered like snakes across the rows, brushing against his ears.

"Arlo’s blindfolded act was all for show. I’m sure he can see through that thing. Remember when the reaper kicked the sand in his eyes?"

"Noah beat him bloody."

"Maybe he hates the Principal too."

He kept his head bowed until the bell finally released them.

When he returned to his dorm, the rain was falling heavier, a sheet of water cascading down the tall windows.

He stood there for a long time, staring at it. Drops raced each other across the glass before being swallowed by the streams below.

The hooded leather cloak hung over his shoulders, already fastened. His reflection in the glass looked less like a student and more like a shade wrapped in dark leather.

Tonight was perfect.

Perfect for hunting.

He eased the window open. The cold wet air rushed into the room, brushing against his face. Without hesitation, he climbed out, pulling the window shut behind him with a soft click.

The rain slicked the stones, but he moved with purpose, slipping from shadow to shadow until he left the lights of the buildings behind.

The ground softened beneath his boots as he reached the treeline. The canopy above caught some of the downpour, but much of it still filtered through, dripping onto his hood and cloak.

The forest smelled of wet earth and old bark. Every step sank faintly into the mud.

Noah kept moving, his shadows tightening around him like a second cloak.

He walked for nearly half an hour, the academy’s silhouette shrinking behind him, until at last the woods around him grew darker and quieter.

There, beneath the shelter of an old oak, he drew out a piece of parchment from his pocket.

He shielded it under his cloak, the rain hissing against the leather as he unrolled it. The inked markings were still clear, holding the locations of possible monster sightings.

His first target? The region where Dark Bats had been spotted.

He moved with careful steps, deeper into the forest, the sound of rain drowning out all else.

Minutes later, a faint glow appeared at the edge of his vision. Noah froze instantly, pressing his back against a tree. His eyes narrowed.

Light.

He peered around the bark and saw them. Two guards trudging along the path, their shoulders hunched against the rain.

One carried a torch, its flame defying the downpour, the fire enchanted to burn no matter how wet the world became.

The guards were grumbling, voices rising above the patter of rain.

"Why do we have to check this far? Nobody’s mad enough to come out here tonight."

"Don’t complain. We’re done now. Just one more turn and we’re back at the guard house."

They laughed weakly, both eager to get out of the storm. The torch bobbed as they turned off the path, vanishing into the curtain of rain.

Noah waited, counted breaths, then stepped from behind the tree. His shadows dispersed silently, melting back into the night.

He continued forward.

The forest grew thicker. He scouted every hollow tree, every outcropping, every patch of darkness that looked darker than the rest.

He searched for signs of a nest, of guano, of the thin screeches of bats.

For nearly an hour, he combed the area. The rain never lessened. It drummed against leaves, slid down the back of his cloak, and blurred the edges of the parchment when he checked it again.

But the woods gave him nothing. He heard no screech, no flutter of wings, and no sign of Dark Bats.

At last he exhaled, the sound almost lost in the rainfall. His fingers tightened on the parchment, then loosened.

"Nothing."

He rolled the parchment back under his cloak, the shadows hissing faintly in irritation.

Turning away from the empty woods, Noah began walking back toward the main path. His boots splashed in shallow puddles, the rain pattering endlessly against his hood.

When he reached the clearing, he stopped once more. He pulled the parchment free, tilting it beneath the shelter of his arm.

The inked marks glistened faintly, pointing him towards the next location.

If the bats weren’t here, he would check the next.