CHAPTER 50: THREADS OF FATE

Chapter 50 – Threads of Fate

The training hall was nearly empty when I arrived.

Only the faint hum of mana-crystals embedded in the walls filled the silence, glowing faint blue to light the polished wooden floor. Outside, the sun was sinking past the horizon, casting streaks of orange through the high glass panes.

The Academy grounds were slowly falling into evening, but here the hall was a world of its own.

I drew my practice sword, letting the metal glint against the light. My muscles still carried the ache of today’s mana classes and rune study, but my mind refused to rest. The Ball was tomorrow. And with it... the scenario.

I exhaled slowly, gripping the hilt tighter.

"Form One. Swift Step," I whispered.

The first stance of Siekie Ryoku Arts was about acceleration—compressing energy into your legs and exploding forward in a burst. My foot slid against the floor with a sharp snap, body flickering a meter ahead. The afterimage trailed faintly with aura, unstable but visible.

Again.

Snap. Another meter.

Again.

Snap. My vision blurred with each movement, momentum building.

Siekie Ryoku Arts gift from Alastor Greythorn was not an ordinary style. Its six forms were designed not for long drawn-out battles, but for domination through speed, for cutting faster than the enemy could breathe. Even in its first form, the arts demanded precision. A mistake would tear muscle or shred tendons.

I halted after the fifth dash, panting lightly. Sweat clung to my forehead, rolling down the bridge of my nose. My aura flickered, unstable, but still there.

If anyone saw this, they’d gape. Aura,at my rank.

It was something I couldn’t let spread too far. But tomorrow... keeping secrets might no longer be possible.

I spun the sword lightly, shifting to the second form Twin Veil Cut. My body curved in an arc, blade sweeping diagonally. The air itself split with a faint hiss. My stance flowed into the next slash, then the next, a dance of crescents across the empty hall.

Shing—shing—shing.

Each cut bled aura into the air. The training dummy in front of me, reinforced with mana cloth, now bore faint cuts across its surface. The smell of singed fabric drifted up.

"Not bad,"

I muttered, lowering the blade.

"Still rough, but... progress."

I sheathed the sword and let my body drop onto the bench at the side of the hall. My heartbeat pounded through my ears, but it wasn’t just from exertion.

It was from the knowledge that tomorrow night, demons would walk this Academy’s halls.

In the game, the "Fresher’s Ball Massacre" event was one of the earliest hurdles. In the storyline, dozens of students died. Only ten survived. Maria Frostheart barely clung to life, saved by the protagonist at the cost of his own arm. Leon’s group survived through plot armor.

But this wasn’t the game anymore.

It was my reality.

And I had no intention of letting history repeat itself.

---

By the time I left the training hall, night had fallen. The path lights of the Academy glowed softly, guiding me down the marble walkway toward the cafeteria.

The air smelled faintly of rain the gardens must have been watered earlier. Student chatter drifted from the cafeteria ahead, lively and warm.

The cafeteria was its usual evening chaos laughter bouncing across walls, trays clattering, the air thick with roasted meat and spiced bread. I had just entered, tray in hand, aiming for my usual lonely corner when—

"Oi, Rank 1!"

Leon Lionheart’s voice cut through the noise like a warhorn. Half the cafeteria turned to look.

Sure enough, there he was, golden hair practically glowing under the lamps, waving as if we’d been lifelong comrades. Selena sat beside him, elegant as always, spoon resting in her hand like a scepter.

Eric was scribbling notes even at the dinner table, while Elara smiled softly, her silver hair catching the light.

Great. The Lionheart squad.

"Don’t pretend you didn’t hear me!" Leon shouted, grinning. "Get your heroic butt over here!"

I sighed. Declining would only make me look like a recluse. With reluctant steps, I carried my tray over and sat down.

"Finally!" Leon slapped my back, nearly knocking the mana milk out of my hand. "Thought Rank 1 was too noble to eat with commoners!"

I coughed. "I just... like quiet places."

Selena arched a brow, her tone sharp but not unkind.

"Yet here you are. Maybe you’re not as solitary as you pretend."

Leon ignored her and leaned forward, grin wide. "So, Michael still training with that Aura trick of yours?"

The table stilled slightly. Their eyes lingered on me. Aura wasn’t supposed to appear at my rank, but after the spar with Aiden in front of Instructor Alastor, the secret was out.

I poked my steak with a fork. "...I’m managing."

"Managing?" Leon barked a laugh. "You make it sound like it’s a cold! You basically had the whole arena buzzing! Even Alastor looked ready to faint!"

Elara’s eyes sparkled. "It was incredible... Aura at your level is unheard of. You really are special, Michael."

Eric muttered, not looking up from his notes, "Special or dangerous. Depends on perspective."

"Bah!" Leon waved it off. "Dangerous to demons maybe. To us? He’s a comrade."

I offered a faint smile, but before I could reply, Selena set her spoon down with a soft clink. Her gaze was sharper than usual.

"Speaking of comrades... tomorrow is the Ball."

The table quieted again. She folded her hands gracefully. "I’m curious, Rank 1. Who will you be bringing as your partner?"

The question hung like a blade.

Even Leon leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "Oho! Yes, tell us, Michael! Who’s the lucky girl? Don’t say you’re going alone that’s a crime against the gods!"

Eric glanced up finally, pen tapping against his notebook. Even Elara tilted her head, curiosity plain in her expression.

I chewed my bread slowly, deliberately drawing out the silence. Then, with a small, sly smile, I said,

"It’ll be a surprise."

"...A surprise?" Selena repeated flatly, narrowing her eyes.

Leon slammed the table with his palm, laughing so loud half the cafeteria turned. "Hah! I like it! Rank 1’s got some mystery in him after all!"

Elara covered her lips, giggling softly.

"How exciting... now I really want to know."

Eric scribbled something down in his notebook, muttering, "Bet it’s someone unexpected. He doesn’t move like the type to chase nobles."

Selena kept her gaze on me, unreadable, though the corner of her lips twitched almost imperceptibly. "A surprise, hm? Fine. Just don’t embarrass yourself."

I shrugged lightly, taking another sip of mana milk as if nothing had happened. "Guess you’ll all see tomorrow."

The group buzzed with speculation, Leon throwing out ridiculous guesses (the head chef, the principal’s granddaughter, even a second-year knight captain) while Elara tried and failed to stop laughing.

For the first time in a while, I felt... normal. Just another student, surrounded by peers, teased about something trivial.

But beneath that small warmth, I couldn’t forget the truth. Tomorrow’s Ball wouldn’t be a night of laughter. It would be a battlefield.

And my "surprise" partner Maria Frostheart was one life I had to protect.

---

Maria POV

Maria Frostheart sat before the tall mirror of her dorm room, brushing strands of silver hair. The night was quiet; frost from her window glittered in the moonlight.

Her thoughts, however, were not quiet.

"...Michael Willson," she whispered.

Today’s cafeteria scene replayed in her mind. The way Leon roped him in. The way Michael, awkward but calm, responded. He wasn’t arrogant like most Rank 1s. He wasn’t flustered, either. Just... grounded.

Maria’s lips curved faintly.

Most boys she met puffed themselves up or tried to flirt. Michael? He acted like none of it mattered.

It was refreshing. Maddeningly so.

She placed the brush down, leaning forward on the table.

"Still... you’re hiding something, aren’t you?"

Her icy-blue eyes narrowed. She had noticed the way his eyes sharpened at times, like a predator analyzing prey. The way he trained when no one was watching.

The Ball was tomorrow.

Maria Frostheart intended to see just what kind of person Michael Willson truly was.

---

OTHER POV

Deep beneath the Academy’s west wing, in a chamber long forgotten, Derisu Vengraud traced his fingers along a cracked rune circle.

The air was damp. Shadows coiled unnaturally around his form, his once-handsome features now marred by black markings crawling across his skin. His eyes glowed a sickly red, veins pulsing with demonic corruption.

He laughed softly, bitterly.

"They cast me out. Branded me mad for my research. Kicked me like trash..."

His laughter sharpened, echoing against the stone walls.

"But I have been chosen. By a far greater power than this pathetic Academy."

In his hand gleamed a shard-like artifact—black crystal pulsating with malevolent energy. The Demon Lord’s gift. With it, he had power to summon, to bind, to destroy.

He placed it into the circle. Mana flared violently, the runes igniting crimson.

Fwoooosh—

The barrier rose, invisible yet vast, enveloping the grand hall where the Fresher’s Ball would take place tomorrow. SSS -level. Impenetrable. No instructor would interfere.

Derisu’s lips curled into a jagged smile. "Tomorrow, their prodigies will drown in despair. Twenty soldiers... two lesser demons... enough to paint the hall red."

From the circle, claws burst upward, scraping stone. One after another, twisted demonic forms clawed into existence, their eyes glowing hellfire.

Derisu spread his arms, laughing.

"Dance for me, children of the Academy. Dance in blood. And when your corpses fall, my revenge will be complete."

---

Back in my dorm,

I sat at the desk, staring at my sword resting on the stand.

The Academy grounds outside looked peaceful. Too peaceful.

I clenched my fist.

Tomorrow, the Ball becomes a battlefield.

The system’s faint hum lingered at the edge of my thoughts, like a clock counting down.

And somewhere deep beneath, Derisu’s laughter echoed unheard by all, save the shadows.