CHAPTER 65: PRESS CONFERENCE

Chapter 64: Press Conference

The council chamber of Arcadia Academy was shrouded in tension. Golden chandeliers flickered above, their light catching on the polished mahogany table where the senior staff had gathered.

Principal Herald Crimson sat at the head, broad-shouldered and iron-willed, his crimson cloak a heavy weight over his chair. His sharp eyes swept over the room like blades. Beside him stood Vice Principal Sophia Emberheart, her expression calm but her folded hands betraying a quiet unease.

Around them, the instructors shifted in their seats—Alastor Greythorn leaning back with arms crossed, Sara Everheart fussing with the cuffs of her robe, Garrick Dawson glaring as though the very word "demons" was an insult carved into his skin.

The silence was broken at last by Herald’s voice, deep and steady.

"Report."

Alastor was the first to speak, his voice calm, almost flat. "The first-years fought with desperation. They held the demons long enough for reinforcements to arrive. It is... unprecedented." His gaze flicked sideways. "And Michael Willson is the reason they’re alive."

A ripple passed across the table. Cedric Ironguill coughed softly, muttering, "An E-rank child leading a counter-siege... absurd."

"Absurd," Garrick Dawson growled, "is that demons were summoned at all, inside our walls. If a group of children hadn’t bought us time, we’d be digging graves instead of holding meetings."

Sophia’s calm voice cut across the tension. "Blame will be assigned later. First, the facts: the summoning circle is destroyed, the barrier collapsed, and casualties all though heavy but were not totally. But... we must ask: who orchestrated this?"

The instructors murmured. Sara Everheart’s voice trembled slightly.

"It was too complex for students. Too precise. This was no prank."

Herald’s eyes narrowed.

"Indeed. Which means there is a hand inside these walls moving against us."

The words sank heavy into the chamber.

---

Sophia broke the silence again. "And Michael Willson?"

Alastor exhaled slowly. "Stable, but unconscious. His aura control and mana conversion surpassed anything I’ve seen at E-rank. He wielded ice and swordsmanship with lethal precision. If not for him..."

Cedric scoffed, adjusting his spectacles. "If not for him, perhaps Leon Lionheart would have led them instead, as he should have. Nobility cannot be outshone by... by chance anomalies."

Alastor’s eyes snapped open, sharp as a drawn blade. "Chance anomalies? That ’anomaly’ saved your precious noble scions, Ironguill. Without him, there would be corpses cooling on the ballroom floor."

The air between them thickened, sparks threatening to ignite.

"Enough."

Herald’s voice boomed, silencing the room. His gaze was unyielding, his tone final. "Michael Willson will not be punished for saving lives. Not while I am Principal."

The murmurs died. Some instructors nodded. Others frowned. But none dared to challenge the crimson authority in Herald’s voice.

---

The meeting shifted to policy. Increased warding. Heightened security. Additional inspections of artifacts and guests.

Reporters had already swarmed outside the gates, demanding explanations.

"Tomorrow," Herald declared,

"I will stand before the press myself. I will take full responsibility for this breach. And I will swear to the kingdom that Arcadia will never again suffer such an infiltration."

Sophia glanced at him, eyes softening briefly. Always the shield, Herald...

---

But as the instructors filed out, shadows clung to the corners of the chamber.

A faint chuckle echoed where no one should have been.

Derisu Vengraud leaned lazily against the stone arch of the window, unseen by their eyes, cloaked in veils of shadow. His lips curved into a smile, bitter and cold.

"How noble of you, Herald Crimson. To bear the weight alone." His voice was no more than a whisper in the dark.

His gaze turned inward, toward the infirmary halls where Michael slept.

"That boy... Michael Willson." Derisu’s smile twisted.

"An unexpected piece on the board. A fracture in the noble order. Perhaps even... a rival to Leon Lionheart."

He tilted his head, eyes glimmering with a fanatic’s light.

"How delightful. When pawns believe themselves kings, the game becomes so much more entertaining."

The shadows wrapped tighter, swallowing him.

"Play your roles well, children of Arcadia. For soon, you’ll all dance to my tune."

And with that, he vanished, leaving only the faint trace of malice behind.

The morning sun should have been gentle. Warm. Comforting.

Instead, Arcadia Academy awoke to a storm.

Not of rain, but of words.

Reporters crowded outside the iron gates, their voices rising like the cries of carrion birds. Quills scratched furiously across enchanted scrolls, crystal recorders shimmered as they captured images, and the air was filled with questions spat like arrows.

"Principal Crimson! Was the Demon attack truly inside Arcadia’s walls?"

"Is it true the freshmen were abandoned to die?"

"Rumors say Michael Willson, an E-rank nobody, saved the heirs of noble houses—what does this mean for Arcadia’s credibility?"

The guards struggled to hold the line. "Back! Stay behind the wards!"

The crowd only pressed harder.

---

Inside the hospital wing, the atmosphere was quieter—but no less tense.

Michael lay motionless, his breathing shallow, a network of bandages wrapping his torso and arms. The faint shimmer of healing wards pulsed along his body, fed by a Saint-class healer seated nearby. Her hands glowed faintly gold, channeling vitality into his veins.

Leon sat on the edge of his bed, grimacing as he tightened the bandage around his ribs. Lyra leaned against the wall with crossed arms, refusing to let the pain in her shoulder show. Aiden, for once, was silent—his laughter replaced with a scowl. Selena whispered prayers softly at Michael’s side, her voice trembling, while Elara stood still at the window, watching the chaos beyond the gates with unreadable eyes. Aurelia scribbled notes furiously in her little book, already anticipating the storm to come.

"...They’ll turn this into politics," Aurelia said at last, breaking the silence. "Mark my words. The nobles won’t celebrate his heroism. They’ll see it as a threat."

Lyra snorted. "Let them choke on it. Michael did more than any of them."

Selena lowered her gaze. "But she’s right. The more Michael shines... the more dangerous it becomes for him."

Leon’s hands tightened on the bandage. Michael... you carried us. But at what cost?

---

Meanwhile, in the Grand Hall, the press conference began.

Principal Herald Crimson stepped onto the dais, his crimson cloak dragging across the polished marble floor. He did not smile. He did not bow. His mere presence silenced the clamor, his aura a storm contained behind iron will.

The reporters bristled with anticipation. Their crystals flared.

Herald spoke.

"Yes. The attack was real."

The words fell like hammers. No denial. No evasion.

"Demons infiltrated Arcadia’s Freshers’ Ball. Students fought for their lives. Lives were nearly lost. This... was a failure of our walls. A failure of my leadership."

The crowd erupted shouts, gasps, the frenzied scratching of quills.

Herald raised a hand, and the hall fell silent again.

"I will not hide behind excuses. I will not silence witnesses. What happened was unacceptable." His voice sharpened, like steel dragged across stone. "And I swear before this kingdom, before every parent who entrusted their children to us—this will never happen again."

He pressed a palm to the sigil engraved on the podium. Crimson light flared outward, weaving into a binding oath. A magical contract. His words became law.

"By the authority of Arcade Academy’s Principal, I pledge: never again shall demons set foot within these walls unchallenged. Security will be doubled. Wards reforged. Staff reassigned. And if we must bleed for this oath, then I shall be the first to bleed."

The crimson light burned bright, then etched itself into the stone of the hall.

The reporters were stunned into silence.

Then chaos erupted again.

"Principal Crimson, what of Michael Willson?"

"Yes! Was he truly the leader of the counterattack?"

"What does this mean for Leon Lionheart’s position as heir and protagonist of the new generation?"

Herald’s gaze hardened.

"Michael Willson," he said firmly, "is alive, though wounded. He stood where many would have fallen. He commanded where many froze. He will receive no punishment—only recognition."

The crowd’s noise became a storm again.

And among the nobles watching through enchanted projections across the capital, faces twisted in fury.

---

In a shadowed manor in the Noble District, crystal screens flickered with Herald’s speech.

A heavy goblet slammed onto the table.

"Recognition?" snarled Duke Veylan, Selena’s uncle.

"That peasant boy threatens to outshine Leon, and the Principal shields him?"

Other noble lords muttered agreement, their voices venomous.

"If the common-born rise too high, what becomes of our prestige?"

"He will be dealt with. Quietly, if need be."

The seeds of conspiracy were sown, watered with jealousy and fear.

---

Far from their schemes, in the quiet of the infirmary, Michael stirred faintly. His lips moved, but no words came. His breath was shallow, fragile.

Leon leaned forward. "Michael? Can you hear me?"

No answer. Only the slow, steady glow of the healing wards.

Elara turned from the window, her silver eyes sharp. "The storm is only beginning."

And outside, in the deepening shadows of Arcadia’s walls, a laugh echoed cold and soft, carried on no wind.

Derisu Vengraud watched from afar, his eyes gleaming with malice.

"Yes," he whispered. "Dance for me, little extras. Dance until your flames burn out."