Damn Academy

In the Embrace of the Master (3)

The spire, with its bones exposed and roof vanished, stood as a testament to ruin. The attendant of the Markaponia family, perched atop, surveyed the desolation of Claridium with a sigh.

“It seems the god of death has passed through here.”

He then pulled out a telescope and raised it to his eyes.

He began by examining the crater that appeared to be the epicenter of the explosion. The shattered heart of Claridium was a sight that filled him with dread.

“Hmm?”

As he scanned the ruins, he spotted a strange shape and steadied the lens.

Amidst the debris of the shattered buildings, dark figures stood at intervals like gravestones.

He wondered if he was seeing things and took out a handkerchief to wipe the telescope lens vigorously.

Adjusting the focus back and forth, he peered again.

Now, he could see they were human forms.

“Am I… losing my mind?”

He folded the telescope and tucked it at his waist, moving forward without delay to report.

*

With a little over thirty knights and Countess Marcaponia, they pressed on at a brisk pace without a moment’s rest.

The Countess, her body heavy with excess, gasped for breath as she spoke.

“Is it true, truly, that there were survivors there?”

A servant followed closely behind, responding.

“Yes, I saw it with my own eyes.”

The Countess had one singular reason for leading her soldiers into the city ravaged by disaster: to find her son.

Since hearing the news from Claridium, she had not slept a single moment, personally arranging a vessel to reach this place.

Even with her pale complexion and dark circles under her eyes, her thoughts were consumed by her child.

“How much farther must we go? Stop dawdling and lead the way!”

“Just over this hill, my lady.”

“Hurry!”

The servant unfurled a map. Though the area was now a wasteland, reduced to ruins, on the map they were advancing through the most affluent and splendid district of Claridium.

As they crested the hill, a crater came into view.

And around it stood people.

The captain of the guard, who had been following beside the Countess, exclaimed in astonishment.

“Survivors. There truly are survivors.”

“Everything is in tatters, making it hard to distinguish on the map, but just ahead was where the ballroom stood. The very ballroom where the young master attended.”

The Countess shouted.

“Find out immediately where my son was! He may still be alive among the rubble!”

At her command, the servants began to move in unison, carrying shovels and stretchers forward.

The Countess turned her head frantically, and then, spotting something, she suddenly dashed toward the survivors, half-mad with urgency.

“My lady!”

The captain hurried after her, followed in a line by the knights.

The Countess was running toward one of the survivors.

“My lady!”

“I know. I know my son’s face!”

Those who followed felt a strange unease upon seeing the survivors.

They were scattered about, unmoving, twisting their bodies like sleepwalkers. Oddly, despite having survived such chaos, they wore clean evening gowns that seemed out of place amidst the devastation.

The countess approached a survivor, grasping his shoulder and turning him around. With a trembling voice, she spoke.

“David, it is you, isn’t it? Oh, my God!”

“…”

The captain of the guard hurriedly intervened, blocking the countess.

“Madam, you mustn’t approach recklessly…”

“Silence! I know what my son is like. No imitation can capture my son’s essence.”

Ignoring the countess’s fury, the captain called his men, instructing them to activate the Doppler detection devices.

One by one, the soldiers with the devices shook their heads. No response was detected. Only after confirming the absence of a Doppler did they finally relax their guard.

The countess seemed oblivious to the detection, moving closer to her son, caressing his cheek.

“Oh, my son, God has helped us. The goddess has saved us!”

“…….”

David scanned the sudden arrivals with unchanging eyes. There was no spark of life in those orbs.

“What are you doing! Bring blankets and food!”

As the countess shouted, the attendants rushed over, handing David a blanket and bread.

But he did not take them.

“…Mother…”

“Yes, you will stay with me, no need to go to Claridium and face such indignities. Finding you is enough. Let us escape this hellish place.”

The captain of the guard felt a strange unease, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his body twitching. He could not fathom why the countess’s son stood in such a state, nor why the distant survivors lingered there. It felt unreal. A sense of dread urged him to flee, yet without solid grounds, he could not act.

Survivors scattered around began to converge, as if drawn by some unseen force toward the place where the forces of Marcaponia stood. He could not understand why they had been so dispersed only to suddenly gather.

Moreover, David appeared unnaturally composed.

“Mother… Mother…”

“Oh, yes, my son, is the bread not to your liking? When we return to camp, there will be fresh pomegranates and wine.”

“I am… hungry.”

“Yes, let us go.”

“I am… hungry.”

Something soft was stepped on at the captain’s feet. Something lay covered beneath the debris. He kicked at the rubble, clearing the stones away.

A human ear and strands of hair emerged.

As he cleared more debris, a face became visible, features so mangled they were nearly unrecognizable.

The tunic covering the body up to its neck felt oddly familiar. Looking up at David, he saw the same embroidery stitched on his collar.

A sudden shiver coursed through him, as if struck by lightning.

“Madam, something is amiss!”

The captain of the guard, finally grasping the situation, drew his sword.

The figures of the survivors, drawing closer, began to writhe in a strange manner. It was then that the soldiers of the Marcaponia family realized something was seriously wrong.

“Step back!”

Ignoring the captain’s command, David moved closer to the countess, his mouth opening.

“I’m… hungry…”

*

The first creature encountered upon entering the northern sector of the Imperial investigation team, Claridium, was a rat. And there, they felt a peculiar sense of relief. The presence of rats meant that, at the very least, life could still persist.

Regilion had visited this place a few times, accompanied by a curious noble.

The northern part of Claridium was a place where the sun did not shine, backed by towering terrain. It was a land of alchemists brewing hallucinogens, mold, the impoverished, moss, rats and pests, immigrants and exiles.

Here, there was an underground prison for holding prisoners, and a neglected graveyard that no one visited, next to which brothels thrived.

The narrow, winding streets, along with the indecipherable graffiti and foul stench, remained unchanged.

And now, it had become the most intact area of Claridium, the only place where people could still live.

Imperial soldiers followed the rangers of the Mebwatch Guild, scanning the streets.

Barefoot refugees and the injured had set up makeshift tents, sprawled out like the homeless. The stench of blood and an unidentifiable, foul stew permeated the air. Occasionally, rats scurried over their bodies, but no one paid them any mind. At first glance, they appeared to be the destitute, but a closer look revealed that their tattered garments were mostly noble attire, stained with blood and dirt. They had lost everything overnight and found themselves on the streets.

Amidst this, Regilion’s lieutenant asked a ranger, “What’s with the masks?”

He was referring to a few refugees huddled in a corner, wearing crude masks.

“Word has spread that a Doppler is lurking around here. If they wear a mask, at least their faces won’t be taken while they’re still alive,” came the reply.

“Are we on guard for that fugitive from Eternia?”

“Does it look like we are?”

It was a sarcastic remark.

The ranger halted in front of an abandoned building that had once been a brothel.

“The city council has decided to temporarily hand this building over to the Imperial investigation team. That’s all they requested. Our role ends here.”

With that, the ranger departed.

As they finished moving the supplies and surveying the surrounding terrain, a guardian passed by, tossing a bundle of papers and distributing flyers.

Regilion picked up a flyer that had fluttered at his feet. The soldiers followed suit, gathering the flyers that had fallen nearby.

It was a wanted poster for the murderer from Eternia, Damian.

An exquisite portrait, too fine to be used as mere scrap for a wanted notice. And a long list of charges, none of which he had ever heard before.

Among them, the bounty stood out prominently.

Life and death, no distinction. One million, one hundred twenty thousand gold coins.

Even Regilion, who had never worried much about money in his lifetime, found his eyes widening at such an enormous sum. It was hard to believe that a bounty could be placed on a resource that would barely cover the costs of city restoration.

The soldiers, perhaps doubting their own eyes, were counting the figures on their fingers.

*

The imperial investigation team set up their base in a dilapidated building provided by the city, hanging torches on the walls near the entrance.

Though the flames illuminated the surroundings, the night only deepened the eerie atmosphere. It was simply the nature of the place, and from across the street, the groans of the injured mingled with the unidentifiable wails of despair.

To avoid attracting refugees with the smell of food, the soldiers were instructed to eat dry bread.

Regilion could not take his eyes off the wanted poster.

He stared intently at the montage of a young handsome man, as if engaged in a silent duel.

The adjutant beside him held his breath, standing still until he could no longer contain himself and finally spoke.

“Will you return immediately after the investigation?”

That was the mission given to them. Yet, the adjutant and the soldiers did not seem eager to comply.

“Not yet. I will assess the situation further before making a decision.”

There was still insufficient information to report back to the empire. At least, he did not want to speak carelessly before laying eyes on the fugitive.

“One hundred twenty thousand.”

“…”

That amount was enough to allow a wealthy family in a remote town to live off their riches for three generations. Capturing just one desperate teenage boy could yield such a fortune, and it was no wonder the soldiers were losing their minds over it.

Greed glimmered in the adjutant’s eyes.

“There must be a reason for such a bounty.”

“Just a teenage brat.”

“True, but since we’re on the subject, why don’t you share your thoughts, being an academy graduate of the empire? What’s the level of a first-year student from Eternia?”

“Are you serious?”

The adjutant seemed to take his cautious demeanor as a jest.

“Absolutely serious.”

“Reflecting on the experience from the exchange tournament, the power gap in combat classes wasn’t that significant. It’s true that Eternia excels in magic. Swordsmanship, however, tends to show greater disparity with age; when young, sheer numbers are what matter most.”

“…”

“And even if they can fly and crawl, they’re still just first-years. First-years lack the skill to even participate in the exchange tournament. Just a moment ago, when we examined the corpses, there were no signs of any particularly threatening abilities, were there? This is… like a festival for the founding day. A contest where the palace sponsors reward the first person to catch a rabbit with a ribbon around its neck… Do you remember what that’s like? That’s exactly it. It’s a game where the first to catch wins.”

He was urging the commander to focus on capturing the fugitive.

Yet, despite the sweet whispers, his heart remained unmoved. Those blinded by greed often hastened their own demise. It might be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, but having weathered many storms, he was not easily lured by bait.

What mattered to him was whether the fugitive posed a potential threat to the empire bordering Claridium.

*

That night, they camped in an abandoned building in the northern brothels of Claridium.

And in the stillness of dawn, Regilion was jolted awake by the clattering sound of iron armor. It was the same noise made by soldiers charging into battle. The sensation of war had forcibly roused him.

He hurriedly rose and went to the window, stepping on shards of glass as he peered down at the street.

“Bartmon Crossroads. We’ve moved to Bartmon Crossroads!”

A group of guardians and mercenaries rushed down the street, one hand holding a torch, the other wielding weapons.

Beyond the rooftops, a building was engulfed in flames, smoke billowing into the air. Faint screams echoed in the distance.

Not far away.

Regilion grabbed his sword without donning his armor. Soon after, sentries rushed up the stairs to report to him.

“The fugitive has appeared!”

“Wake all the soldiers.”

Regilion hurried down. The soldiers were already awake and preparing for action.

He led a small contingent that was ready, leaving the rest to guard the barracks.

With one squad in tow, he swiftly made his way to the heart of the commotion.

The screams and thunderous noises made it easy to locate the chaos.

As he neared the center of the uproar, signs of battle began to emerge. Regilion cautiously examined the scene by torchlight.

Gashes in the walls. Blood splattered here and there. An eerie chill that made his breath visible.

A severed arm lay at his feet. When he touched it, warmth lingered as if it had just been attached to a living body.

Upon reaching the crossroads, he was met with a graver sight. Guardians and mercenaries lay strewn across the street in a pitiful state. Some had swords piercing their necks, while others awaited death, their limbs severed and soaked in agony.

Regilion approached a mercenary lying relatively intact on the ground.

“Where is the fugitive?”

“Ah… ah…”

The man was half-conscious, consumed by the terror of death, unable to gather his wits.

Regilion slapped him hard and shouted roughly.

“Where is the fugitive, Damian! Answer me!”

Only then did the mercenary regain his senses, pointing with a trembling hand.

“Th-there, he went that way.”

“How many are there?”

“Just one.”

Then the lieutenant spoke to Regilion.

“That path is a dead end. It seems we are cornered.”

The mercenary, eavesdropping, muttered to himself.

“That… that can’t be true… That b*stard has hunted us down unilaterally.”

“What weapon does he wield?”

“A cursed sword. He handles a cursed sword.”

The lieutenant dismissed the claim.

“A teenager with a cursed sword? You’re just babbling in fear. There must be a group with him.”

Regilion cast aside the mercenary and hurried toward the alley where Damian had fled.

The street was adorned with corpses and the wounded, sprawled like grotesque decorations along the roadside. Some lay there, limbs gruesomely severed, while others, without a scratch, cowered in a state of panic. Even those who seemed seasoned in battle were caught helplessly, indicating that their foe was no trivial opponent.

Across the alley, soldiers encountered guardians who had discarded their weapons and were fleeing.

“Hey! What in the world…!”

They didn’t answer the question, rushing past in a panic. Confusion flickered in the eyes of the imperial soldiers following Regilion.

The dim alley appeared deep and sinister, like a cursed cave. Ahead, it felt as if an unknown beast was waiting for its next prey.

Suddenly, a chill swept through the air before them. Regilion shielded his face from the sudden gust, as biting as a northern storm.

Regilion shouted, as if for the lieutenant to hear.

“Does this look like a founding day celebration to you?”

The lieutenant was left speechless. They were beginning to grasp why the city had placed such a staggering bounty on their heads.

Once more, a cold wind surged through the alley. The torches held by the soldiers flickered and dimmed.

“Ugh, aaah!”

One of the soldiers, gripped by fear as the flame extinguished, turned to flee. The moment someone broke rank, chaos ensued.

“Hold your ground!”

Regilion pulled out a luminescent stone and dashed alone into the alley. It wasn’t long before he faced a dead end.

Relying on the faint light of the magical stone, he swung his arms, scanning the surroundings.

Frost and icy thorns. Blood dripping and bodies hanging from the walls, pierced by the icy spikes. The remnants of a merciless slaughter of humans filled the space.

Then, Regilion suddenly sensed a presence and fixed his gaze at the end of the alley. He felt eyes watching him from the darkness.

Despite the biting cold, a chill of sweat began to trickle down his back. His body froze, as if confronted by a predator.

“Who goes there?”

“….”

A silhouette slowly turned to face him. It was the same figure depicted on the wanted poster, glaring at him. In one hand, it held a dimly glowing sword, stained with blood.

And then, suddenly, a gust of wind struck Regilion. He was thrown back, pushed by the force of the air.

“Lord Regilion!”

Late to the scene, the imperial soldiers ignited their torches and rushed in after Regilion.

“Are you alright?”

Regilion sprang to his feet, sword in hand, assuming a defensive stance. Yet, no follow-up attack came.

The soldiers illuminated the surroundings with their torches. When they shone the light into the dead-end alley once more, Damian had vanished, evaporated into thin air.

“…”

“Did the fugitive escape?”

Regilion held his breath, repeatedly clenching and unclenching his sword hand. His palm was drenched in sweat. He recalled the times he had taught swordsmanship to young men. Among all those faces, was there ever one that instilled such a profound sense of dread? Not a single memory surfaced.

“Send a message to Stitch immediately. Dispatch elite troops, the spirit mages, and the demon sword hunters at once.”

“…What? So many?”

At last, Regilion felt a surge of anger at having such a fool assigned as his aide. He was more concerned that even if the requested forces arrived, it would still not be enough.