Leaving the party behind, I eased open the door quietly, half-expecting to find Amelia hunched over a desk or pacing around stacks of old scrolls.

Instead, the chancellor’s office greeted me with hushed stillness and a single occupant: Sathari Nezehra, the Naga Princess.

She sat curled in Amelia’s armchair, her tail draped over the cushion, her nose practically touching the pages of a withered book she held with meticulous care. The oil lamp at her side cast flickering shadows, making the worn leather binding look even older, if that was possible.

No sign of Amelia anywhere.

Sathari’s gaze flicked up, forked tongue tasting the air. “Oh, it’sss you,” she hissed softly, then inclined her head with polite indifference. “Amelia stepped out a moment ago. Something about guests demanding her attention.” She eyed me for a breath, then gestured with a clawed fingertip. “She should return soon enough.”

“I see…”

“Why don’t you take a ssseat?”

I hesitated but complied a second later, settling into a wooden chair near one of Amelia’s cluttered shelves. Without the chancellor’s presence, the room felt a notch too quiet. It reminded me of that unsettling calm before a storm—though, in this case, probably just a lull between meetings. Sathari again lowered her eyes to her book, scales catching the lamp’s glow as she resumed reading.

We passed a good minute or two in silence. The scratch of my finger along the armrest, the distant murmur of academy halls—everything felt louder than it should. Eventually, I cleared my throat. “So, what’s that you’re reading?”

Sathari took her time looking up, blinking slowly as if surfacing from deep waters. “This?” She tapped a claw on the brittle cover. “Hard to name in human tongue.”

“Ah, I see,” I felt awkward. “Then, uh, what’s it about?”

“It’s about draconic ancestry—stories of the First Dragon and how various subspecies branched off over the eons. We naga trace our bloodline back there too, distant though it may be.” Her tone hovered between pride and wistfulness. “Amelia gave me this to research. I suppose understanding the old myths might help me… figure out my abilities.”

“That sounds valid.”

“Yes, yesss… But the book is old enough that I keep expecting the pages to crumble in my hands,” she laughed. “I fear her scolding if that happens, so I must be careful.”

I nodded, leaning forward. “Makes sense. Amelia never does anything without a reason. Though I’m guessing it’s not exactly a casual read. Find anything useful so far?”

She tilted her head, considering. “Mostly lineage records and speculative lore—how the First Dragon’s essence splintered into wyverns, wyrms, serpents, naga, and a dozen other variants. Not all of it’s flattering. But it’s fascinating. Reminds me our differences aren’t just random mutations.”

Her words stirred a vague sympathy. But I didn’t know how much of that was true and how much lore. The world always divided people into neat categories, each side tossing judgments at the other. There was also the story about two Primordial Deities and the Seven Origin Sins, who later branched off into the Twelve Gods and Seventy-Two Devils, respectively. But without proof, that merely sounded like folklore.

I supposed that knowing where one came from could give them leverage in forging where to go next, so even if it was folktales, it should help this snake.

“I hope it helps,” I said simply. “By the way, how are you holding up since… Well, the kidnapping? I heard it was rough.”

A flicker passed over her face. She lowered her gaze to the pages again, but her voice steadied. “I’m fine now, I think. Or close enough. My back still aches sometimes—those restraints were not designed with comfort in mind.” She let out a short hiss that could’ve been a grim laugh. That was why she wasn’t attending the celebration. “But I owe Amelia and the others. Let’s say I’m grateful to breathe academy air rather than rotting in some dungeon.”

“Glad you’re okay,” I offered. “The academy’s got enough drama without adding more casualties.”

Sathari’s eyes narrowed in something like amusement. “True. This place, your place, is never dull…” She paused and brushed a thin layer of dust from the book’s corner. “So, why are you here? Not just socializing, I think.”

“I have some things to discuss with Amelia,” I said, and she tilted her head as if demanding more.

Before I could answer, the door swung open again. Light footsteps. My Demonic Sphere recognized her as Amelia, and she wasn’t alone. She entered accompanied by Vaelion Sylvenel, a presence one couldn’t ignore if they tried.

The elven woman stepped lightly, yet I felt the room’s atmosphere shift. If I didn’t know about her elder sister, I’d have thought she was the queen, the way she carried herself, adorned in a light elven armor.

[Vaelion Sylvenel, Level 160]

“Oh, Iskandaar,” Amelia smiled. Her posture, which was calm and confident, relaxed a little as she caught sight of me. “I see you’ve met Sathari again.” She gestured towards Vaelion, who stood poised as if carved from frost and grace. “This is Vaelion Sylvenel, I’m sure you saw her before. Outside the formal greeting, she and I are good friends.”

I rose from my chair, inclining my head politely. “Pleased to meet you, Lady Vaelion,” I said, keeping my tone neutral. Out of the corner of my eye, Sathari folded her arms, watching with quiet interest.

Vaelion acknowledged me with a cool nod. “I’ve heard about you, Romani. You’re named after your grandfather,” she said, neither overly friendly nor dismissive—just factual. “It is a pleasure.”

Amelia looked between us, then back at me. “You have something for me, Iskandaar?” she prompted, curious. “By the way, I have something to tell you. Listen, you’ll have to accept it.”

What’s this about? I cleared my throat, meeting her gaze directly. “Let’s talk about that later. I have something very important to discuss with you,” I said, letting a rare edge of seriousness into my voice. “Alone. This concerns everyone’s safety.”

A silence followed. A faint line appeared between Amelia’s brows. She studied me for a long second, gauging my urgency. Vaelion said nothing, but I felt her attention sharpen. Sathari coiled her tail a fraction tighter against the chair. The silence tasted tense, but I stood my ground.

Amelia nodded at last. “All right,” she said simply, turning to Vaelion and Sathari. “Give us a moment, please.”

****

“...So you say.” Amelia’s voice carried a careful neutrality, but I caught the tension in her eyes. She stood by her desk, arms crossed. The distant hum of the Winter Festival filtered through the window, as she sighed. “And what is the proof?”

I exhaled a slow, measured breath. “You don’t trust me, Amelia?”

I should have prepared earlier. As I didn’t remember all the details from Arcane Crown, sometimes I forgot things, such as Nebula’s birthday. In a perfect scenario, I should have approached Amelia about this even earlier and convince her to help me.

“It isn’t about trust.” She massaged the bridge of her nose as if warding off a growing headache. “Without something concrete—some shred of evidence—I have no grounds to act. If I raise an accusation against Eryndor Vaelith without proof, the elves would see it as a grievous insult. Worse, they’d believe we’re orchestrating an attack on them. Even if Vaelion and I are friends, she has her people to worry about, she’d act for them, and not for our friendship. I must consider the political fallout, Iskandaar. You know that.”

Her face was worried. I frowned, but couldn’t say anything. I had no proof. Tension lines bracketed her mouth, and her eyes clouded with the gravity of it all.

“....I am not calling you a liar. Have I ever not trusted you?” she said more gently. “But my hands are tied. You understand my position.”

I nodded, not liking it but knowing she had a point. “That man, Eryndor Vaelith, if he’s possessed by a demon, he’ll be even stronger than his current peak. He’s already at the cusp of the seventh ascension. This isn’t someone we can just brush off.”

Amelia chewed on her lip before responding. “I know. And that’s what makes this all the more complicated since we can’t directly do anything.”

“How about making some professors you trust to keep an eye on him? Ah, that elven professor? I forgot her name,” I said.

“Professor Lysandra Thorne. She’s a [Healer], she won’t stand a chance against someone like Eryndor. If he truly has a demon lurking within, sending any other professor, even Katheran, to ‘watch’ him would be a death sentence. Katheran’s early seventh ascension is nowhere near enough. Eryndor’s no novice, and if this demonic presence boosts him further...”

I grimaced. “Then what’s your plan?”

Her silence stretched long enough that I wondered if she even had one. Outside, laughter and distant music underscored the irony. The festival was growing while we danced on the edge of disaster inside these quiet walls.

“Amelia,” I pressed, voice low. “This is not for you or me, this is for the Academy.”

She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. “You mentioned there are others, not just Eryndor?”

“Yes,” I said, leaning forward. “I suspect more than one demon-possessed individual. Most are among the elves, but some are hiding among the human guests from the city. Given what’s brewing, I wouldn’t rule out more overt trouble during the festival… Not just possessed people, but real demons. Real chaos.”

She studied me closely, maybe searching my face for any hint of dishonesty. “Fair worry,” she finally allowed. “Do you know anything else I should know?”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

My heart gave a traitorous thump. I knew a lot more. Such as who was behind Eryndor’s possession. It was Kazreth the Iron-Horned, a Rakshasa, the strongest among the Savage Sevens. Rakshasas were demons from Sathari’s continent, of brute strength, illusions, and cunning, so legendary that entire armies feared them. But I couldn’t reveal all that.

Amelia already bestowed remarkable trust in me, but even she’d question how I knew such specific plans if I said too much. She might suspect I was tangled with the demons or worse. Not a path I wanted to tread.

“No idea,” I lied smoothly, swallowing my knowledge of Kazreth’s true nature. “Only that something big is coming, and this infiltration is part of it.”

Amelia’s shoulders slumped. “We’re walking a razor’s edge, then.” She tapped a finger on the desk. “Without solid proof, I can’t accuse Eryndor. But I can at least heighten our vigilance, yes. Tell me who else to watch discreetly, and I’ll have professors I trust to keep an eye on them, at least.” Her jaw tightened. “As for Eryndor Vaelith... I’ll keep an eye open for him, personally. If he tries anything, I’ll be close enough to intervene. No matter how strong he is, I’m stronger.”

Relief uncoiled in my chest, and I sighed, loosening a knot I didn’t know I’d tied there. Amelia facing Eryndor herself would shift the odds. The thought of her going up against a demon-possessed powerhouse still rattled me, but at least I knew she wasn’t underestimating the threat. She stood against the Vampiric Father for long enough.

“Thank you,” I said simply, sincerity washing through my tone. “I know it’s a lot to ask, given the politics.”

She looked at me, eyes softening. “Thank you? I am just trying to keep my school safe, silly. We’re both trying to keep this school safe. I trust you enough to be cautious… but let’s hope it’s enough. These demons have already shown an interest in you.”

“Yeah…” The hush that followed felt different. It was less strained and more resolute. Outside, the distant murmur of festive preparations carried on, the world still convinced this day was ordinary. Amelia and I acknowledged the storm gathering on the horizon inside these walls, sitting in silence.

“By the way…” she suddenly said, smiling awkwardly. “I, uh, set up a duel for you tomorrow… against a third-year mage…” I blinked. “Sorry, I didn’t ask your opinion. Can you attend it? I was showing off to Vaelion earlier, so I said you’d attend…”

I scowled. Was this really time for me to attend stupid duels?

****

I sat beside Solara, leaning forward as I clapped along with the crowd, letting the arena roar wash over me. Morning sunlight slanted across the colosseum’s wide stands, illuminating crimson and silver banners that snapped in the crisp air.

“The Winner is Victor Seraph!” the announcer shouted.

The official day of the Winter Festival had begun, transforming Waybound’s grounds into a sprawling carnival of laughter and commerce. Beneath the tiers of stone benches, merchants hawked enchanted trinkets and spiced treats. Nearby, two children darted across the seats, annoying some as they giggled and chased a floating paper dragon.

The hum of festive music threaded through it all, binding the spectacle into something whole and alive. I also absorbed it, watching a match unfold down below.

Victor’s match had concluded moments ago. His robust fourth-year opponent had fought hard but never quite matched Victor’s ruthless finesse. The arena was cracked in parts, and despite that, an experienced fighter would know both of them were holding back.

Victor acknowledged the applause, and I also clapped for him, just enough to blend in. I caught Solara’s sidelong glance. Her wings were folded and still, her smile carrying a note of dry amusement.

“The things we must do to keep a facade, eh?” She asked, clapping along. We weren’t cheering Victor on out of friendship, merely protocol. Nevertheless, I allowed myself a small grin. It felt impossible not to get swept up in the moment, if only a little.

“That was a great fight!” Then Amelia’s voice boomed, clear and composed as ever, magnified by a subtle spell. She was in a separate gallery, sitting on the highs of the callosum with the elven guests and some important people of the city.

The chatter softened, attention drifting back to the center stage, where the sand glinted in neat, raked patterns. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she called, addressing both mortal and elven guests, “our next match in this morning’s combat exhibitions is about to begin.”

A murmur rippled through the stands. Amelia let anticipation bloom before continuing, “We present the highest-leveled fighter among our first-year students…” From my spot here, I noticed Prince Orion blink in surprise before he straightened in the gallery beside Amelia as if preparing to leap over the railing and take his place in the arena.

The crowd’s hum intensified. I could have sworn Orion began rising from his seat, his shoulders braced for glory. But Amelia’s voice never wavered. “…Iskandaar Romani, Grandson of the Titan himself, Level Forty-Six!”

Orion’s confidence crumpled, his face flushing crimson as heads turned toward me.

He glared at me from that distance, he who’d been a bit higher level than me at the start of the semester but was now easily overshadowed by my level. A subtle weight pressed into my chest. I felt Solara’s gaze sharpen, and a brief moment of rage flickered in her eyes when she saw the young man glaring at me.

“Please take your position in the arena!”

I drew a slow breath, taking a look at my Status Page for the first time in a while.

Name: Iskandaar Romani

Age: 19 years

Race: Human

Qi: 8850/9150

Level: 46 | 23% EXP

Class: Myth Slayer

Class Level: [2/10]

Class Skills:

* Mythrend [Active]

* Void Step [Active]

* Soul Sever [Active]

* Legendbreaker [Passive]

* Veil of the Slayer [Passive]

* Astral Rend [Active]

General Skills:

* The Heavenly Demon Skill Tree [34.95%]

* Insight [Intermediate]

* Swordsmanship [Intermediate]

* Kickboxing [Master]

* Inner Focus [Intermediate]

* Mana Manipulation [Master]

How much of this do I want to show? I considered and stood up, adjusting my sword hilt. It was my time to step into the limelight, where the world would see what I’d become. Rumors of my incompetence had almost vanished, but today, in front of such a grand audience, they’d see the chase in my flesh and blade.

I guessed I’d become a bit more popular after this.

…..

My opponent was a third-year [Wind Mage] who waited with a casual stance with a staff by his side. He didn’t seem worried as I walked into the arena. Wisps of magic teased the hem of his green-and-gold robes, subtly warping the air around him.

[Theron Zephyr, Level 66]

He was a bit stronger than Sevrin Nightshade, who was also third year. I didn’t quite defeat Sevrin alone, for the owl helped me, so I couldn’t be sure about this fight. Lilian might laugh hearing me say that, but I couldn’t reveal all my abilities here.

He lifted a hand to wave at me, “Junior,” he said, smirking. “Victor sends his regards.”

“Oh,” I blinked. So that’s what’s going on? He should have chosen someone stronger, then. I couldn’t believe the two third-years I would fight were his minions. “Then, please… Thank him for me,” I said.

“If you’re both ready,” the announcer’s voice boomed. It wasn’t Amelia. “Start!”

The crowd watched intently as Theron snapped his finger, his voice cracking like a whip. “[Slicing Gale]!”

I’ve not fought a Wind Mage before. I noted that as the gusts came at once, sharp edges of wind knifed through the open air. Sand kicked up, and the spectators shielded their eyes. I spread Qi across my body, giving myself a simple aura shield.

The wind burst past me, failing to cut my skin, and I pushed forward. My new sword guided my motions. Its balance felt perfect, and its weight was powerful. I had to respect the blacksmith’s skill. But it was on me to use it well.

Stellar Qi covered my blade. Twisting at the waist, I slid beneath a razor gust that would have gashed my throat, then angled my blade to disperse another before it could rake my face. The heat dispersed with the wind, the air grew harder to breathe, and my movements slowed.

“Feeling sluggish, Junior?” Theron asked, laughing to himself. He spun his staff, and the wind sped up.

I didn’t reply, nor did I rush. Let him think I was slow, trying to find footing. In truth, I was observing every nuance of his magic, his limits. The rhythm of his spells, the slight way his left hand twitched before unleashing a stronger gust.

“[Whirling Tempest]!” he shouted, his voice tight. The currents thickened, spinning sand and grit into a disorienting maelstrom. Despite the Qi layer protecting my skin, my shirt gashed open at the side by a sharp arc. It drew blood, too.

I sidestepped the rest, my steps calm despite the injury. To onlookers, I might appear cautious and being pushed back, but underneath, I was setting the board, guiding him exactly where I wanted.

I wanted him to try and cast a stronger spell that’d take a few seconds of his attention, and during that moment, I wanted to end the battle in a single sweep.

“Here I thought you were stronger, the way Victor was warning me about you,” he said condescendingly, then slammed his staff into the ground. “[Biting Zephyr]!” He shouted, and my Demonic Sphere sensed the mana spike in the air. He was going to use a strong technique now.

It’s time. I prepared myself as multiple tornadoes spread across the arena, all spinning wildly toward me, sending narrow blades of pressurized air that screamed close to me. I raised my sword and countered with a measured swing, dispersing some of them into harmless puffs. My heart remained steady as I dodged a few others and prepared to unleash my technique.

I had come to this world a year ago, and my instincts from my prime ring days had long returned. On top of that, I learned more than swordsmanship in my borrowed memories. I knew how to read my foe better than ever before, allowing me to understand his strength and coaxing him into a miscalculation.

The wind mage’s spells were strong, but his brow was damp, his breath audible even at a distance. The tornados weren’t his last attempt, and he decided to double down on it. He was intending to end it fast. He lunged into the air, floating above the tornados, and shouted his next spell. I couldn’t hear it amid the loud windstorms.

His mana moved in the rhythm of a Skill or Spell, drawing the air into a series of final, sweeping gales that would have torn apart anybody.

I breathed out. “Time to end it,” then I leaped into the air.

I couldn’t use the True Demon Sword Arts here, so I pulled on one of the techniques of one of the strongest enemies of Chun Ma, a man from the Mount Hua Sect.

“[Twenty-Four Plum Blossoms Sword Technique].”

My blade moved in flowing arcs, and pink energy petals unfurled around me. This was no savage display, no intimidating roar. Just quiet precision, the kind one might use to trim a bonsai tree or paint the smallest detail on a scroll. Yet, the petals bloomed like a hurricane that spread over the arena, engulfing it like flames.

The crowd gasped as the petals tore apart the tornadoes, bursting into smaller petals as they exploded. The arena chipped away, and a protective barrier flashed to protect the onlooker. With effortless grace, the petals collided with his final gusts, fracturing the wind’s power like a fragile vase tapped at its flaw.

[Swordsmanship (Intermediate) is very close to an upgrade…!]

The tornadoes vanished, the wind calmed down, and a silence spread. The wind mage fell from his position in the air, his form bloody, his clothes torn from the petals, and one of his eyes shut close. He stared at me with shock and disbelief, his expression showing his thoughts that he could do nothing more.

He stared at me, and I lowered my sword, resting it against his neck, acknowledging him without malice. The crowd stayed silent and then reacted a beat later. Applause, cheers, murmurs of surprise and admiration.

I’d won, and I’d almost leveled up a Skill. The sudden fight had come with a pleasant surprise. I welcomed it.

I looked up toward Solara’s spot. She stood now, clapping with pride. Her wings caught the sunlight, each feather a note of color amid the swirling banners. Far off, my Sphere felt Amelia in her gallery, arms folded, a faint smile ghosting her lips as she bragged to her guests.

The world didn’t know my secrets, but it had seen enough to understand I wasn’t the same Iskandaar from a year ago. The entire city knew the truth.

With that, I spread my arms slightly, letting the cheers wash over me. “Thank you,” I said politely.

The Winter Festival was full of color and promise, and I had set my tone for the future. The cheers grew louder.