"…Wait a moment. What do you mean by 'collecting payment'?"
Luina's gaze turned somewhat sharp.
"You're the one who's not making sense. If it weren't for this guy, I'd have had no reason to consume those items. Isn't it obvious he should pay for them? Personally."
"Are you saying you won't hand him over to the Inquisitors?"
Inquisitors.A group with an ancient tradition that began with the founding of the Empire and continues to this day.
An organization directly under the Emperor, whose top priority was to seek out and eradicate demons.
"To those useless relics who survive only under the name of 'tradition' without any real purpose?"
Though they once wielded immense power under the noble cause of demon extermination, that was all in the past.
A thousand years is a long—too long—time. During that time, demons had not shown any signs of resurgence, and the Inquisitors had lost their relevance.
And yet the system of Inquisitors was maintained for one reason alone: because the First Emperor had written it into imperial law.
That the institution must never be abolished, for the day would come when demons would rise again.
However, while it hadn't been abolished, its scale and authority had withered away to nothing.
"What are you doing right now?"
"I'm checking his condition."
Fernan held onto Berian's wrist and sent mana into his body to examine him. But he couldn't find any trace of demonic energy anywhere.
'I figured this would happen.'
Even if the prophecy didn't show how Berian's future would unfold, demons had been hiding and operating in secret for a thousand years without being exposed.
There was no way they'd leave such clear traces of themselves.
'Then why did he reveal himself to Aint?'
Was it because Aint was a descendant of the royal line that had overthrown them? Was he trying to crush a budding threat?
Unless you were the person involved, it was impossible to know. And it wasn't that important right now anyway.
"Go ahead and check for yourself. From what I can tell, there isn't the slightest trace of demonic energy."
"He released such an overwhelming wave of power, and yet you're saying there's none?"
"So you do believe in demonic energy, huh?"
"I've never felt anything like it before. If that wasn't demonic, then it was something completely unexplainable."
Though what I really want to know is… how you even recognized it.
Still suspicious, Luina checked his insides herself—and recoiled in shock.
"How could this be…?"
"If you hand him over to those ceremonial Inquisitors, I doubt they'll find anything."
Even if they did—don't you feel the slightest bit sorry for this guy?
Fernan looked at Luina with a gaze as cold as ice and continued.
"Marquis Kalburden will abandon him. In the end, he'll be discarded after being used as a demon's toy."
"Someone who's sold their soul to a demon doesn't deserve sympathy. And since when were you someone overflowing with compassion?"
"What if he hasn't sold his soul to a demon?"
"…What are you saying?"
Luina tilted her head, clearly confused.
"I mean, who can say if this guy just lost his mind, or accidentally came across something he shouldn't have, or really did make a pact with a demon? If you and I couldn't see it ourselves."
"…Have you gone mad?"
Fernan took a step closer. His firm, unyielding eyes made Luina flinch.
"We saw nothing, Ruina Berchef."
He placed his hands on her shoulders.
"Absolutely nothing."
"That's absurd…!"
"Neither you nor I felt any demonic energy from him. All that's left is a half-dead, pitiful body suffering the aftermath. What part of this screams 'demon' to you?"
"No matter how much you twist the truth, it can't hide reality."
Fernan shrugged.
"I'll extend your interest-free period by another six months."
"I will never…"
"Nine months."
"Never…"
"Fine, we'll make it a full year."
"…I saw absolutely nothing."
A noble knight gave in to money.
Not a single ray of light.
In pitch-black darkness, he could see nothing.
He just walked blindly.
When his mouth began to taste bitter and exhaustion set in, the darkness lifted.
The center of the sparring arena installed inside a lecture hall.
He was standing with a sword in hand, and before him stood a man with golden hair.
'Aint Armian…!'
His eyes were bloodshot.
The battle erupted in an instant.
He swung his sword. He threw everything he had learned into it. His strikes were fast and sharp.
But his opponent's sword was heavier. Every clash shaved away his aura.
Though both sides suffered losses, he was the one losing more.
'This can't be…!'
He screamed in desperation, but no sound came from his mouth.
His body grew heavier. His aura was running dry.
'If only I had done that differently back then! If only I had blocked that strike there!'
Maybe things would have turned out differently.
But in the end, he was the one who knelt—again.
"Victor! Aint Armian!"
The name called by the instructor was not his.
Everyone was stunned by the unexpected outcome. At the same time, the world flipped upside down.
Now it was the reception room—one reserved only for top-ranked students in the Rabidus Pavilion.
He anxiously scratched the back of his hand as he waited. After a while, the door opened and the second prince, Ludger, entered.
'A cri—'
Before he could say anything, the words slipped out on their own.
"…I'm sorry."
The prince silently stared at him. A second stretched like an hour.
How much time passed? Finally, the prince spoke.
"There's nothing to apologize for. I simply expected too much of you."
"I was unlucky. His mana was far denser and greater than I anticipated. Next time… next time, I'm sure I won't lose. Please believe me."
"Next time, huh."
The prince gave a faint smile and patted him on the shoulder.
"I think it's a bit early to talk about 'next time.'"
"Your Highness…!"
"For now, rest your body and mind. If there is a next opportunity, we'll speak then."
Without waiting for a reply, the prince stood up.
'Your Highness…! No—please, Your Highness!'
He cried out desperately at the prince's retreating back, but no sound escaped his lips.
The world around him shattered like glass, and once again, darkness returned.
Only then did he realize—these were memories of the past.
A past full of regrets… and one that could never be changed.
The world flipped again.
"Disappointing. No matter how much people sing your praises, calling you 'Armean, Armean'—you're just a toothless cat now."
"Father… that's…"
"No need for excuses. I am sorely disappointed."
This was no longer a memory of the past.
"To think you couldn't even complete a simple task. I'm deeply disappointed in you, brother."
A future that hadn't come yet—but just might.
The most dreadful future he could imagine.
'No…!'
A future that must never come to pass.
"No!"
The world collapsed.
And at the same time, the darkness vanished. A flash—and his eyes opened.
"Huff… huff…!"
Berian gasped for breath, his entire body drenched in sweat.
"…A dream?"
If it was a dream, it was a horrifying nightmare.
He was parched. He reached to the side for water but found none. Only then did Berian take in his surroundings.
"…Where am I?"
It wasn't the Rabidus Pavilion, nor a room in his estate.
"What was I doing…?"
"You're awake."
Startled by the sudden voice, he turned his head. Someone was entering through the door.
"…Senior Fernan Pellenberg?"
"You know me?"
"Who at the Academy doesn't know you, sir?"
"…Fair point. Here, drink this."
"Th-thank you."
Berian accepted the cup Fernan handed him and drank.
"But… where is this?"
"No. That's not what you should be asking right now."
"…Pardon?"
"Do you remember what happened?"
"…Well."
Berian grabbed his pounding head.
The memories were fragmented.
He had charged at Aint Armian—and lost again. He couldn't accept it. He did something disgraceful.
And then—
And then…
"…After that, I don't remember anything. What happened?"
"A gap in your memory—that's a sad thing. Allow me to enlighten you."
Fernan placed a small spherical jewel on the table.
It was a recording orb, the same kind that had been installed alongside the traps. It had captured the events at the scene.
Flash—
As he infused mana into it, the recorded footage began to play.
"…That's me?"
Berian recoiled in shock at the image of himself in the footage—he couldn't believe what he was seeing. And when it reached the end, his mouth hung open, frozen.
"…What is this?"
"You sold your soul to a demon and then attacked us."
"A demon? Th-that's ridiculous! I don't even really know what demons are. I've never even met one!"
Fernan knew that better than anyone.
But it didn't matter.
"Do you think the Inquisitors will feel the same after watching this? Or anyone else, for that matter? Like, say… Marquis Kalburden?"
"…That…"
Berian's face went pale. And he realized—the senior who had saved him hadn't come with good intentions.
"…What is it you want from me?"
"As you saw in the video, I had to use quite a lot of resources just to stop you."
"I'll repay it. Double. No—triple!"
"And the psychological trauma from fighting a demon's servant… that's no small thing either."
"…That…"
Fernan pulled a sheet of paper from his coat.
"What you need to do is simple. Sign this. And all of this will vanish—like it never happened."
Berian cautiously looked over the document.
"…This… this is outrageous. It's a total slave contract…"
"You seem to be under some sort of delusion."
Fernan leaned forward slightly.
"Do I look like I'm offering you a deal?"
His eyes turned cold.
"You have exactly two choices."
Be taken away by the Inquisitors.
Or sign the contract.
"Choose."
Die—or become a slave.
There was no need to waste money trying to bribe him.
The monsters' frenzy was far beyond normal levels, and the Academy's professors and assistants had to mobilize in full to quell the incident.
Fortunately, no students had died, though the midterm exam was canceled midway.
"You've all done well. I'm sure the sudden chaos was frightening, but all exams for the next two days are canceled, so rest and recover."
All injured students were moved to the Academy's medical center, and Aint returned to his dormitory unharmed.
This is quite strange…
Sir Gardner Alpenfarsen murmured.
There's no doubt the frenzy was the work of demons.
Faint but widespread demonic energy had been detected.
Humans may have forgotten the very existence of demonic energy over the last thousand years, but Gardner hadn't.
But then nothing followed. Why?
"Isn't that a good thing?"
Don't be careless. These are demons we're talking about. Foul, wretched creatures.
They never act without purpose. Everything they do has intent—and that intent is never in humanity's favor.
And if the demons are scheming something, and if they have a target… nine times out of ten, that target will be you, Aint Armian.
"…Huh? Why me?"
To demons, the name Armian is burned into their bones as a mortal enemy.
When they fell a thousand years ago, when their heads were severed one by one, the demons wailed:
"If only the First Emperor hadn't existed. If only Armean hadn't existed."
If I were a demon, I'd wipe out the Armean bloodline first.
"..."
Aint swallowed dryly at the sudden chill that crept up his spine.
Nothing happened this time, for some reason. But never let your guard down. Follow my guidance closely.
It's the only way you'll survive.
"Yes, sir. I'll remember that."
Still, something feels off. Could it be that someone unknowingly disrupted the demons' plan?
"That's an amusing thought."
Aint let out a dry chuckle as he stepped into his dorm.
And at that very moment, that someone—
"Guhhh…!"
Collapsed onto the bed, unable to endure the splitting pain in his head.
["Congratulations, Aint. You're amazing."
"Don't say that, Valoshi. Compared to you, I'm nothing."
"No, seriously. You are."
"Yeah. Going from 38th to 5th in just half a semester? That's insane growth."]
Someone suddenly chimed in.
A beautiful girl with short orange hair and striking emerald eyes.
"You're Aint Armean, right?"
"And you are…?"
"Aria Pridien. Magic Department."
[Knight Department core subject: Field Survival Skills.
After midterms, students were thrown into the southern forest for a week.]
"Actually, this works out. His Majesty the Late Emperor left something by the lake in this area. We should retrieve that…"
"Jackpot…"
Aint murmured.
A glowing elixir of dazzling color…
["A spirit beast? That thief's pretending to be the rightful owner! You can't handle this one—run for now!"]
["Mithril! It's a mithril vein!"]
Fragments of the sealed prophecy book were starting to overflow.