The morning sun filtered weakly through the tent's flap, casting a golden hue over the steaming cup in Ace's hand. He sipped his tea without hurry, eyes half-lidded, though his mind was anything but idle.
The battle last night should have gone differently. If things had followed the book, several students would have fallen, and Pete along with Sarina, Emilia, and Catherine would have fled into the wilderness—hunted down by the cult mage, yet miraculously surviving through the miracle of their bonds.
But none of that had happened. The monsters were slayed. The camp still stood. The script was broken.
"The cultist is still in hiding. Even in the book, there was never a description of where he concealed himself. Which makes him harder to find. "
The sound of boots crunching outside made him glance up. A Thornevale guard entered, bowing deeply.
Ace studied him a moment before speaking, his voice even, calm—yet carrying weight.
"The attacker," Ace continued, setting down his cup, " Will attack again tonight. That much is certain. Send a letter to our men in today's night camp—scatter around the camp. Anyone lingering nearby, anyone suspicious, arrest them on the spot."
The guard bowed. "As you command, my lord."
Ace waved him off, returning to his tea as though nothing more needed to be said.
After some time, with a sharp cry, a hawk, with a rolled letter bound to its leg, flew away at lightning speed from the camp that nobody seemed to notice, some academy master ranked warriors noticed but seeing the Thorenvale guards flew it, they just ignored it.
By the time the students were gathered at the breakfast tables, the camp seemed alive with an almost ordinary energy.
Some chatted to mask their nerves, others stayed unusually quiet, their eyes flickering now and then toward Ace's tent. The memory of him dismantling both Pete and Sarina lingered like smoke that refused to fade.
Pete sat at the breakfast table, his hands clenched tight around the cup in front of him. His jaw ached, his ribs burned with every breath, but none of that pain compared to the humiliation still burning inside.
Catherine sat beside him, smiling in a way that felt utterly foreign after the way she had raged against Ace last night. Her expression was light, almost relieved, like a heavy chain had been lifted.
Every time her lips curved upward, Pete's blood boiled hotter.
'Why is she smiling at him like that? ' He didn't know what Ace had said to her when he was dazed on the ground, but the sight gnawed at him.
Sarina, across the table, was quieter. Her eyes kept drifting to Ace's tent with something unreadable flickering in them—anger, confusion, maybe even a trace of caution.
She had fought him directly, felt his weight, his precision. She hadn't expected to be pushed back that far by a student. The realization unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.
Emilia, meanwhile, sat further apart with her elven guards, her composure intact but her gaze sharp. She had been furious with Pete's recklessness last night, furious with the way the students cheered the hero without thinking.
This morning, she kept her silence, only speaking in low tones to her guards. Still, her golden-green hair shimmered in the light, catching the glances of those who passed.
By midmorning, the guards and students were airborne once again on their griffins, as they cut through the skies toward Brixton.
At noon, they descended for a brief stop at a military outpost. Lunch was quick, pragmatic, the atmosphere tense as if everyone sensed storms gathering on the horizon. Then, with little delay, they launched again.
By evening, the formation descended once more, again in a camp where they would spend the night.
Ace sat in his tent. A guard entered quietly, setting a tray of dinner on the low table before bowing.
"Lord Ace," the guard reported, "we captured a sage earlier this evening. He carried a strange staff… with what seems to be a demonic stone fixed at its head."
Ace's eyes flicked up at that detail. He leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming once against the wooden armrest."Bring him to me," Ace ordered calmly, "but only after everyone is asleep."
The guard bowed again and left.
Outside, the camp was buzzing with awkward tension. Students kept their voices low, whispers darting from one to another, never straying far from last night's events.
Lucy, holding her plate, glanced around and frowned. The atmosphere felt suffocating, judgmental stares everywhere.
Hugging her food close, she turned toward Ace's tent. 'Better to eat with brother than deal with this…'
Just as she was walking, a voice called out from behind."Wait."
Lucy turned. Emilia was standing there with her own plate, her golden-green hair reflecting the firelight. Her expression was uncharacteristically soft, almost… hesitant.
"…I wanted to apologize," Emilia said, approaching slowly. "For our first meeting. My words back then were… unkind."
Lucy studied her carefully. Emilia's tone wasn't mocking, and her eyes didn't carry their usual sharpness. For once, it seemed genuine. Lucy gave a small nod."Don't worry about it. I've already forgotten."
Relief softened Emilia's shoulders. After a pause, she asked, "…Would you mind if we eat together?"
Lucy blinked, then chuckled faintly. "Actually, I was going to eat with brother. It's too weird out here." She tilted her head, a playful spark in her eyes. "Want to come along?"
Emilia hesitated—enter Ace's tent uninvited? But Lucy's casual offer made it harder to refuse. "…Alright."
Together, they walked up to the tent. To Emilia's surprise, the guards didn't stop them. Lucy pulled the flap slightly open."Brother, can we come in?"
From inside, Ace's even voice replied, "Enter."
They stepped in. Ace had just picked up his spoon when his eyes lifted. For the briefest second, surprise flickered across his face—Lucy he expected, but Emilia too? Both carried plates in their hands.
Ace set his spoon down and called, "Guard."
One of the armored men entered.
Emilia's face flushed hot. 'Is he going to throw me out in front of her? The humiliation alone would be unbearable.'
But instead, Ace said flatly, "Bring two chairs."
"Yes, my lord."
Within moments, the guard returned with chairs, setting them opposite Ace. Emilia blinked in shock. Lucy simply plopped down and began eating. Ace resumed his meal in silence, and Emilia—after a moment's hesitation—followed their lead.
The quiet stretched, broken only by the clink of cutlery. Eventually, Emilia couldn't restrain herself anymore."…Why didn't you kick me out this time?" she asked softly.
Ace looked at her, his expression unreadable. Then he returned to his food."I'm not a monster who throws out guests arrived with my sister," he said evenly. "And… last night, you were one of the most reasonable people among them."
Emilia's lips parted slightly, but no words came out. For the first time, she couldn't think of a retort. She lowered her gaze, finishing her meal in silence.
When they were done, both Lucy and Emilia left the tent. Emilia's thoughts swirled, her pride unsettled by the strange acknowledgment. Lucy hummed happily at her side, completely at ease.
The quiet didn't last. Not long after, the guards returned, dragging the captured sage into Ace's tent. His belongings were laid out on the table—trinkets, scraps of parchment, a few vials. But what caught Ace's attention was the staff, its top crowned with a jagged stone that pulsed faintly with dark light.
Ace's hand hovered above it, his pale eyes narrowing."…A demonic stone."
The captured mage knelt before Ace, his body trembling, his wrists bound so tightly that the ropes seemed to be cutting into his skin, drawing beads of blood. A gag, filthy and ragged, was tied across his mouth, muffling the desperate, choking breaths he struggled to control.
His eyes were wide, darting nervously toward the staff lying on the table, then back to Ace, who sat quietly observing the staff as if the man's life or death were of no consequence.
At last, Ace flicked his fingers."Remove it."
One of the guards stepped forward, and with a swift motion, the gag was torn free from the mage's mouth. The mage inhaled sharply, his chest heaving with ragged breaths, before collapsing forward, his forehead crashing against the cold, hard ground.
His body shuddered, and tears streaked his face, blending with the dirt and sweat.
"Forgive me! Please!" His voice broke as he spoke, raw and desperate. His words spilled from him like a river that could no longer be dammed. "I never meant to oppose the Thornevales! I swear—I only wanted the Hero! The Hero, not you! Not you! Please, let me go! I'll vanish—I'll disappear! I'll never cross your path again, I swear it!"
Ace's pale eyes flickered for a moment in the dim lamplight, his gaze piercing through the mage, cold and disinterested. He didn't answer immediately.
He leaned forward, just enough to be heard, his voice low and chilling. "You opposed us the moment you dared to strike at a camp protected by the Thornevale forces. Whether your target was the Hero or not… is irrelevant."
The mage flinched. His trembling grew worse. Then, as if realizing there was no escape, his jaw shifted. His tongue began to probe against his teeth, searching for the hidden capsule.
Ace's voice cut through the air like a blade. "The poison pill was already extracted."
The mage froze. His pulse thundering in his ears. His eyes went wide in horror, and he looked back at Ace, utterly defeated.
Ace's voice was smooth, unyielding. "If you had been a warrior, perhaps you would have tried to bite through your own tongue, to spare yourself the fate that awaits you. But you're a mage. And you'd never survive the agony long enough to succeed. Don't embarrass yourself."
The color drained from the man's face. He slumped, breathing raggedly.
Ace studied him for a long moment, then asked, "That staff. When you used it… did it corrupt your mind?"
The mage's entire body shook. He swallowed hard, trying to steady himself, but the truth was already spilling from him, uncontrollable as the madness that had gripped him since his first touch of the stone.
"…Yes. The stone whispers. It pulls at the mind. Even holding it too long is dangerous…"
Ace's lips curved faintly—not a smile, but something colder."Then why don't you be useful… until you die."
The mage's face contorted in confusion and fear. He didn't understand.
Ace didn't clarify. Instead, he gestured toward the guards."Keep him alive. Store the staff securely. When we reach Brixton, I'll ask for both."
The guards bowed sharply. "Yes, my lord."
They seized the mage and dragged him from the tent, his cries echoing briefly before fading into the night.
Ace's eyes lingered on the staff one last time. The faint, pulsing glow of the demonic stone reflected in his pale gaze.