At the same time, Ace sat outside his tent, calmly sipping his morning tea as though he hadn't been the center of last night's storm. Lucy sat beside him, idly munching on bread, looking more refreshed than most of the other students.
Elric's gaze lingered on him a moment too long. Ace, noticing, tilted his head slightly—those cold, pale eyes meeting Elric's just for a second.
Elric's heart skipped. He looked away at once, sweat prickling the back of his neck.
As breakfast continued, students whispered about today's flight toward Linton. Sarena gave her usual strict instructions. The mood was weary but calm.
But Elric's mind was anything but calm.
'Where are they?'
'What happened to my men?'
The thought gnawed at him. Somewhere, somehow, the cult's plan had been disrupted—but not by chance. Someone knew. Someone acted.
And for the first time, Elric felt as though the ground beneath his feet was no longer secure.
As Ace calmly sipped his tea, one of the Thornevale guards approached. His steps were deliberate, silent, his head bowed so no one else would notice. He bent low, his voice barely a whisper:
"My lord… the five intruders are dead. They severed their own tongues during questioning."
Ace didn't flinch. His pale eyes didn't even shift. He only gave a slow nod, as if he had already accounted for this possibility.
"I see," he murmured. "That's what I expected. You may return."
The guard bowed and left without another word.
Lucy, who had caught a fragment of the hushed conversation, blinked in confusion. "Ace… what—" She hesitated, her voice faltering when she saw his lips curve into an amused smirk. His gaze wasn't on her, but on Professor Elric.
The professor stood a short distance away, speaking stiffly with another teacher. His complexion was ghostly pale, eyes darting nervously across the camp, his hands twitching like a man expecting a noose to drop over his head.
Lucy clenched her teeth, curiosity burning inside her, but she stopped herself. Ace looked too entertained by Elric's distress, for her to break the moment with a question. So she stayed quiet, biting back her words.
Not far away, Emilia sat cross-legged on a patch of grass. But her emerald eyes flicked often to Ace, her brows faintly furrowed. Around her, faint whispers only she could hear swirled in the breeze — the voices of her contracted spirits murmuring warnings, tugging at her awareness. She tilted her head, lips tightening.
Soon after, Sarena called everyone together. Griffins lined up, restless wings flapping. The students, sluggish from constant travel and banquets, mounted up without the usual chatter.
By noon, the winged beasts soared down toward their next destination: Linton City.
At first glance, it was a mirror of Marlowe and Kelworth — pristine streets, towering walls gleaming in the sun, orderly markets filled only with smiling faces in new clothes. No beggars, no slums, no wandering merchants. Too clean. Too perfect.
The students stretched their legs as they were allowed a brief walk through the city. Some marveled at the neat plazas and polished statues, but a faint sense of repetition dulled their excitement.
To Ace and Lucy, the artificial perfection was obvious; to Emilia, disturbing. Pete, however, admired it all with unshaken admiration.
That night, the students retired early, eager for rest before the inevitable banquet.
The following morning, the grand hall of the Linton City Lord blazed with decorations. Nobles, merchants, and their finely dressed daughters paraded in, all eager to greet the Hero.
Pete was once again at the center of it all, receiving toasts, handshakes, and compliments. Yet unlike the first two cities, his enthusiasm seemed somewhat muted.
His responses were a touch slower, his smile occasionally strained. The endless flattery was beginning to wear even on him.
Still, when noblemen praised his strength or their daughters blushed shyly at him, Pete couldn't help but brighten, falling back into their rhythm.
The nobles kept pressing, the city lord kept smiling, and the same pattern unfolded again — to the frustration of those watching from the sidelines.
The morning sun spilled over the Linton as griffins were prepared for departure. Sarena called the students together, her voice clear over the bustle.
"Our next destination is Brixton, within the Thornevale Duchy," she announced. "It will take us two days' travel. Be ready, both in mind and body."
At the mention of Thornevale, Pete's eyes lit up, burning with an eagerness that hadn't been there before. His gaze lingered on Ace, and for a moment, it wasn't friendly.
His lips curled in a smile, but behind it was defiance. 'I'll show you… I'll show everyone how he treats his people.'
The rest of the students, however, exchanged weary looks. The endless banquets and forced politeness had drained them more than the travel itself.
Many secretly wished to return to the academy, to their comfortable beds and normal schedules. But none dared voice it — refusing to visit Brixton would be seen as an insult to the mighty Thornevale Duchy. Silence won over protest.
They flew through the skies until noon, when they landed at a temporary base for lunch. By evening, they reached their night camp — a fortified site with lavish tents, much like the last. Dinner was served, a hearty spread that should have been comforting. The students, though, ate in tired silence.
Then—
BOOM!
The ground trembled, shouts pierced the air. The clashing of steel rang from outside the perimeter.
One of the academy guards burst into the dining tent, face pale. "Beasts! The monsters are rampaging! Everyone prepare for battle!"
Chairs scraped, cutlery clattered as panic swept the students.
Just then, Sarena strode in, her expression calm but firm. "Stay here! Do not move! The guards will handle it. This is no place for students to be rash."
But Pete was already rising to his feet. His hand gripped his sword, eyes blazing with the fire of a speech waiting to happen.
With a deep breath, Pete's voice cut through the heavy silence, ringing like a bell through the hearts of his comrades.
"If we stand down now," his words rolled like thunder, "then what will we be? Protectors? Or cowards?" His voice didn't tremble; it surged with unwavering conviction, each syllable like a rallying cry. "The future won't remember the ones who turned away. It remembers those who stood firm, who fought with everything they had!"
His gaze swept over the room, locking eyes with students. The weariness in their expressions began to melt away, replaced by the flicker of something stronger: resolve.
Several students stood, emboldened. "He's right… We can't just sit here!"
Pete smiled, the weight of leadership settling into him like an old friend. "Now, let's go make sure the world remembers us."
The room erupted into a fierce cheer. It was a battle cry
Ace, however, didn't move. He casually tore another piece of bread, chewing as though nothing outside concerned him. Lucy glanced at him, then quietly returned to her own plate, following his lead.
Pete's eyes snapped toward Ace, his voice sharp, carrying over the students.
"Look! Even now, some would rather sit and eat than stand and fight! Is this the example we should follow?"
Ace finally turned, silver eyes flickering toward Pete with the calm of someone swatting away a buzzing fly. But before he could open his mouth, Sarena stepped forward, her tone cutting.
"Enough." She positioned herself between them. "This is dangerous beyond your strength. Do not mistake courage for recklessness."
Her words slowed some of the students, but Pete's face remained hard. He refused to sit.
"We cannot always rely on guards," he retorted. "If we are to become strong, we must face battle ourselves!"
He made to step forward, drawing the others with him—
But at that moment, another guard ran inside, panting. "The rampage is contained! The Thornevale warriors and our academy's forces have subdued the beasts!"
The tent fell silent.
Pete froze mid-step. The heroic blaze in his eyes flickered, smothered by sudden futility. Slowly, he sheathed his sword, his face flushed with embarrassment.
Around him, the students sank back into their chairs, relief mixing with awkwardness. The fire that had driven them seconds ago now felt foolish in hindsight.
Pete clenched his jaw, then threw a glance at Ace — frustrated, humiliated. Yet he forced his voice to rise again, his tone sharp with pride.
"A true warrior doesn't lean on others forever. Remember this — one must learn to fight their own battles, not hide behind stronger men."
He left the tent after those words, his steps brisk and shoulders stiff.
The students, still uneasy, exchanged glances but returned to their food. The clash of metal outside had ceased completely, replaced by the ordinary sounds of the camp.
Ace returned to his meal with the same unhurried calm, as though nothing had happened at all.
The night air outside was cool, but it didn't cool the storm boiling in Pete's chest.
"Why… why does he just sit there?" His fists clenched as he strode toward his tent. "Every time I rise, every time I act, he does nothing — yet somehow… it makes me look like a fool."
He replayed the scene in his head — himself standing tall, sword in hand, students stirred by his words. For a moment, he had them. They believed in him, admired him. Then the guard came with news of victory, and all his effort had crumbled into embarrassment.
Pete bit down on his teeth so hard his jaw ached. 'This is supposed to be my role. I'm the hero. I'm the one who should inspire them, lead them, protect them. Not his guards. "
He stopped in front of his tent, chest heaving.
The thought burned his pride like acid.
"No," Pete whispered under his breath, his hands trembling with rage and determination. "I'll show him. I'll show all of them."
His eyes hardened, glinting with something fierce. "Brixton. His own duchy. I'll show the world his true colors."
With that thought fueling him, Pete shoved into his tent, his heart pounding with wounded pride and rising resolve.
After the dinner, inside Ace's tent.
One of the Thornevale guards stepped in, his armor faintly scratched from the earlier battle. He lowered his head respectfully.
"My lord," the guard began in a hushed voice. "The rampage earlier… it wasn't normal. The beasts — wolves, boars, even the rock lizards — they came together. Prey and predator alike. It was as if something… was driving them."
Ace, who had been seated leisurely at the low table, set down his teacup. His pale white eyes glinted in the dim light, sharp yet unfazed. He leaned back, fingers steepled, and let the words hang in the silence for a moment.
Inside, his thoughts clicked together like puzzle pieces. So it begins… just as in the book. He could almost picture the description in those written lines: a cult mage wielding a demonic stone, twisting the natural order, luring monsters into unnatural frenzies. The target had always been the hero, Pete.