"That's w—"

Alaric's words halted mid-sentence.

His head turned sharply toward the banquet hall, eyes narrowing as an ominous, corrupt energy rippled faintly in the air like a whisper of doom. His expression hardened instantly.

The soft composure that usually framed his face was gone. What replaced it was the fury of an Archon.

The marble beneath his feet cracked, unable to endure the sudden surge of mana radiating from him.

A killing intent swept through the corridor.

"How dare these vile things step into the sacred academy?" His voice was low, calm, but every word carried the weight of a storm.

And then—he vanished.

Only the trembling of the air remained in the space where he once stood.

"Did they use a barrier?" asked the fairy Archon Yellindra, her delicate wings flickering faster in alarm as her eyes followed the direction he had gone.

"That is the most possible answer," the elven Archon replied, his deep voice steady but grim.

His golden eyes reflected the faint traces of demonic energy twisting above the banquet hall. "Someone from inside sealed the chaos… They planned for this."

He raised his gaze to the distant hall where the disturbance grew sharper with every passing second.

*****

Whoosh!

In the next instant, as if the air itself split apart, Alaric appeared in the banquet hall.

The moment he arrived, the chaos began to die down. Screams and shouts faded, not because the fear had gone, but because the crushing pressure pouring out of him made it impossible for anyone to even move.

Students froze where they stood.

Elizabeth, Nyverra, and the others finally let out a breath of relief when they saw him.

Behind him came the Archons, their presence sharp and overwhelming, like a wall between the students and the disaster before them.

While Raymond and Samuel fought the corrupted man, the rest of them had been busy dragging away unconscious cadets, protecting those affected by the demonic energy.

"Check every corner of the academy," Alaric ordered coldly, his voice like thunder. "Don't leave a single place unchecked."

At once, the instructors moved.

Seeing how furious Alaric was, none of them dared to waste even a second.

Mana flared under their feet, and one by one, their figures blurred and vanished, scattering throughout the academy to hunt for any remaining threat.

"Now, tell me what happened."

The weight that had been crushing everyone to the ground eased as Alaric withdrew his pressure, but even without it, his voice alone carried enough weight to make the room feel heavy.

"Calm down, Headmaster," the fairy said lightly, her delicate wings fluttering as she floated beside him. "The face you're making right now might end up scaring the students more than the demons themselves."

Alaric exhaled, his brows furrowing before he straightened his back. "…You're right. My apologies. I lost my calm for a moment there."

"It's fine, Principal," Raymond said, stepping forward. His clothes were torn in several places, and faint scratches covered his arms, but his voice was steady.

He began to explain everything that had happened. From the moment the green-haired man—David—lost control to the explosion of demonic energy that had erupted through the hall, and how, in the chaos, he and Samuel had managed to hold the corrupted man at bay.

Raymond described how the demonic energy twisted David's body, turning him almost monstrous, and how they had to hold their ground, preventing him from killing any students until they finally managed to bring him down.

"And… no casualties," Raymond concluded, his tone sharp but respectful. "We were able to restrain him just before he completely lost himself."

The hall went silent for a moment, the students listening, some still shaken, some staring at Raymond and Samuel with newfound respect.

Alaric's expression remained stern, but there was a flicker of approval in his eyes as he looked at the two of them.

However, Alaric's eyes narrowed, a sharp glint flashing within them.

"…Was all of this planned?" he muttered under his breath, though the words carried enough weight for those close to hear.

It was no coincidence. At the same time the academy was attacked, three other regions had fallen into chaos.

The first was Starlight Academy, the second most prestigious academy after Eldoria. An outbreak of corrupted beasts had forced their principal and instructors to mobilize, pulling away powerful defenders from their walls.

The second incident took place at the Western Bridge, where dozens of people had been found dead—blood drained from their bodies, leaving only pale shells behind.

The scene was too clean, too deliberate. Every trace pointed toward the infamous Dark Spades.

And the third was outside Aciton Forest, where entire patches of the forest's mystical creatures had been slaughtered.

The twisted aura lingering over the corpses there was something the scouts recognized instantly.

It was the work of Black Spirits.

All three disasters had unfolded almost at the same time.

The Archons had been forced to split their strength, drawn away from the academy. Some went west to the bridge, others toward the forest.

By the time the news of the banquet reached them, there were already reports of high-ranking demons and Spade members escaping into the wild.

The timing was perfect. Too perfect.

Alaric's fingers curled into a fist at his side as he pieced the implications together. His voice came out low, edged with cold fury.

"Whoever planned this… they knew exactly how we would move."

The room fell silent. Even the bravest cadets felt their throats tighten.

Elizabeth, however, barely heard him. While the others listened, she turned her gaze to the doors, her heart sinking.

'Where is Azhriel?'

She had not seen him since the chaos began.

"Good work. You all will be rewarded surely. You have saved the cadets and the future generation."

Alaric's voice softened slightly as he praised Raymond and the others, but before he could continue, heavy footsteps echoed through the hall.

An instructor approached, walking with a measured, steady pace.

Floating beside him, bound in a cocoon of mana, was Luke's lifeless body, his blank eyes wide open, frozen in terror even in death.

The room went silent.

"Sir," the instructor said, bowing his head slightly. "I found him in the old storeroom. Dead. I also searched the entire area… but there wasn't even a single trace of who did it."

The one speaking was Damien Floss.

He was a man built like a fortress, his blue hair cropped short, his black eyes sharp and cold. A scar ran jagged from below his right eye down to his cheek, a mark from a battle long past.

Broad shoulders and muscles like steel cables made him look more like a weapon than a man.

In Eldoria, few were as respected—or feared—as Damien Floss.

He was one of the academy's oldest instructors, known for his unshakable discipline and overwhelming strength. This year, he was tasked with teaching combat to the first-year cadets, due to some reasons which he didn't care about.

As he stood there, the faint hum of mana around him stilled the room even more.

Even without speaking further, everyone could tell. Whoever had done this had been precise, fast, and careful.

And not even Damien, with all his experience, could find a single clue.

Alaric's gaze sharpened, shifting from the body to Damien.

"…Not a single trace, you say?"

"Yes, Headmaster," Damien confirmed, his deep voice steady. "No signs of a struggle. No residue of magic, no broken furniture, no witnesses. It was clean."

Alaric's sharp eyes narrowed as he extended his mana, scanning Luke's corpse himself.

There was nothing. No residual mana. No traces of a struggle. Not even a hint of the attacker's presence.

Whoever had done this was frighteningly skilled—skilled enough to erase every sign of their actions.

A silence fell over the hall, heavy and tense.

Before Alaric could speak, Elizabeth's voice suddenly cut through the air, trembling and panicked.

"Grandpa! I—I can't find Azhriel anywhere!"

Her words struck like thunder.

Alaric's eyes widened, the weight of those words sinking in like a stone.

Azhriel? Missing?

For a moment, his thoughts raced.

Was this… for him?

No… Impossible. How could they even know he's alive?

Yet, the possibility rooted itself like a thorn in his mind, sending a chill down his spine.

The hall's already tense atmosphere became suffocating as Elizabeth's voice, thick with worry, echoed again, louder this time.

"Grandpa, please! I've searched everywhere. He's gone!"

The cane in Alaric's hand cracked under the force of his grip.

"Search the whole city," he ordered, his voice like steel, cold and final. "Leave no stone unturned. If a single clue exists, I want it found."

And in the very next second, Alaric's head snapped to the side.

His senses, honed sharper than any blade, locked onto something far away from the banquet hall.

A faint, thin thread of demonic energy.

It was distant—so faint that no ordinary people could have noticed it—but to him, it was as clear as a beacon in the dark.

His face twisted, his usually composed expression replaced by a raw, seething fury.

How dare they…

That cursed, tainted energy was like oil on the flames already raging in his chest.

*****