That fucker… Edward gritted his teeth so hard his jaw ached, his fists curling at his sides as he stared at the retreating figure of Kazik Nathan. His shoulders trembled with barely contained fury, his breath coming out in sharp, uneven bursts. Every step Kazik took away from them felt like a thorn digging deeper into his chest.
After a few moments, Kazik's back disappeared into the distance, swallowed by the shadows at the end of the path. Edward's burning glare lingered there for a heartbeat longer before he whipped around, his eyes locking on his sister.
"Sigh…" He dragged a hand through his hair, frustration brimming in his voice. "Haven't I told you—again and again—to tell all of this to Uncle?"
His voice cracked like a whip, loud and sharp, filled with a rage that made the air itself heavy. Salena flinched as though struck. Her pale face turned even whiter, her lips trembling as she struggled to form words. Her hands twisted together nervously, fingernails digging into her own skin.
Beside her, Charlotte leaned in, wrapping a gentle arm around Salena's shoulders, trying to steady her. Her brows were furrowed with worry, but her voice was soft as she whispered soothingly. Still, Edward's anger was like a storm—impossible to ignore, impossible to calm so easily.
Salena lowered her head, unable to meet his gaze, tears beginning to pool in the corners of her eyes.
"What did he say?" Vern turned his attention toward Charlotte, his tone steady but edged with curiosity. His gaze sharpened, urging her to answer.
"Um… umm, how should I put it?" Charlotte fidgeted, her fingers nervously brushing a strand of golden hair behind her ear. "He said something like… he needs her to achieve what he wants. And that if he succeeds or whatever, then—" she shook her head quickly, her words stumbling out in a rush, "I don't know! Don't ask me, I couldn't even understand what he meant. It was all nonsense—just blabber."
Her voice trailed off, frustration mixing with confusion.
"Hm." Vern's eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable. But inwardly, the pieces were beginning to align.
Kazik Nathan… the youngest son of House Nathan. His chances of succeeding his father were slim, almost nonexistent. His elder brothers outshone him in talent and status. That kind of desperation could drive a man to cling to anything that might tip the scales in his favor.
Vern exhaled slowly, his suspicion sharpening into certainty. So he's trying to tie Salena to himself…
The thought was bitter, but it made sense.
Although under normal circumstances it shouldn't have been possible, perhaps Kazik had leverage—something he could use to blackmail Salena. Something so binding that she couldn't reveal a single word about him.
"Salena, tell me… what did he say? And why are you hesitating to say anything against him?" Edward stepped forward, his voice firm but not harsh this time. His eyes, usually so sharp, softened with concern as he crouched slightly to meet her gaze.
Salena's shoulders trembled. She sniffled, her hands clenching tightly at the hem of her dress. Her watery eyes flickered between Vern and Edward, as if silently begging them to understand without her having to speak. She parted her lips once, twice—yet no sound came. Each attempt died in her throat, and her chin lowered in helpless defeat.
Edward's brow furrowed, his expression tightening. He opened his mouth to press her further, but before he could, Vern's calm voice cut through the tense silence.
"Edward, go with her," Vern said evenly, though his gaze lingered on Salena with quiet sharpness. "Ask her when she calms down."
Edward drew in a deep breath, then let it out with a slow nod. "…Well… that would be a good idea."
His tone held both reluctance and resignation. With careful steps, he placed a steadying hand on Salena's shoulder. She leaned slightly into him, still trembling, and Edward gently guided her away. Their footsteps echoed down the corridor until the two figures disappeared from sight.
Vern remained still for a moment, his hands clasped behind his back, his thoughts heavy and unspoken. Charlotte shifted beside him, glancing at him with worry, then at the floor where Salena had stood. The silence between them thickened, heavy with unease.
After a while, Vern's lips pressed into a thin line. "Let's go."
Charlotte nodded quietly. Together, the two turned and began walking toward their lodgings, the dim glow of lanterns casting long shadows across their path. Charlotte stole a sideways glance at Vern's composed face, but his expression betrayed nothing of what he truly felt.
*****
Vern sat cross-legged on the floor of his room, his posture straight, his hands resting on his knees. His breathing was steady, each inhale and exhale flowing in rhythm as he circulated his energy. The quiet hum of cultivation filled the small chamber, the faint pulse of spiritual energy lingering in the air.
After what felt like an hour, his eyes slowly opened, the glow within them dimming as he released a long, controlled breath. The heaviness in his chest refused to leave.
"Tsk." His tongue clicked against his teeth in frustration.
He leaned back slightly, tilting his head as his thoughts began to race. How to proceed…
The path ahead was clear in theory, but in practice, it was treacherous. He knew exactly what needed to be done—but execution was another matter entirely.
First, he needed a scapegoat—someone who could draw suspicion away from him once the plan was set into motion. Without that, everything would collapse before it even began.
Second, he had to create chaos. And that was the true obstacle.
Vern's fingers tapped lightly against his knee as his mind dissected the problem. Chaos couldn't be manufactured out of nothing—it needed cracks in the structure, opportunities born from instability. Yet here, in this institute, order was ironclad. Every instructor stood at least at the Fourth Severance, formidable existences who could see through ordinary schemes in an instant. Quite a few had already stepped into the Fifth Severance, their presence alone enough to deter reckless ambition.
And above them all loomed the principal—Bhism Sunkul.
Vern's eyes narrowed at the thought of him. The man was an impenetrable wall, a figure whose strength was whispered about with awe and fear alike. To stir chaos under such eyes was like playing with fire while drenched in oil.
He exhaled again, this time heavier. Still… it has to be done. No matter the risk.
Risk, huh… Vern's lips curved into the faintest of smiles, though his eyes were shadowed with thought.
In his previous life, he had avoided risks. Whenever danger loomed, he held back—not because he lacked ambition, but because of the few people he had treasured in his heart. The fear of losing them had chained his hands, making him hesitate, making him weak. He had told himself it was the right choice, that protecting them mattered more than anything else.
But over time… he had come to understand what he truly wanted. By the time that realization struck, it was already too late. His goals, his path, his very sense of self had slipped through his grasp, leaving him with nothing. And in that life, he died like a weakling.
Vern's eyes sharpened, a glint of cold determination flashing within them.
But now—now was different.
He had looked inward and understood himself completely. He knew what he wanted from life, what his goals were, what heights he sought to climb. And for those ambitions, he was willing to take risks—risks that would terrify others—yet he would embrace them with a smile.
Yes… this time, no hesitation.
His chest rose and fell with a steady breath, but the faint upward curve of his lips carried something almost frightening—a quiet, resolute joy in the danger that awaited him.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sound snapped Vern out of his thoughts. His brows lifted slightly, though his expression remained calm as he rose from the floor. Each step toward the door was measured, unhurried, as if he already knew who stood on the other side.
When he opened it, his suspicion was confirmed. Edward.
But the Edward before him was not the usual one—the one with a half-smile and careless words. His face was dark, his jaw clenched tight, eyes blazing with fury. He brushed past Vern without a word, his heavy steps echoing through the room like rolling thunder.
Vern closed the door silently behind him, his gaze calm and assessing, before walking toward the bed. He sat down, resting an elbow on his knee, his voice even.
"What did she say?"
Edward didn't answer. His fists trembled at his sides, knuckles whitening as veins bulged across the back of his hands. His breath came fast, like a caged beast ready to snap.
"Vern," he spat, his voice low but brimming with violence, "I'm going to beat that son of a bitch to death."
His teeth ground audibly as he spoke, and for a moment it seemed as if he might actually storm out that very second. His fury was raw, unrestrained—the kind that burned hotter the more he tried to hold it back.
Vern's eyes narrowed slightly, the only sign of reaction, as he studied Edward's shaking form.