Petra

  Petra jerked her head to the side, trying to adjust to her new body. As she glanced down, she found her unconscious self slumped against a tree trunk, hidden under the shadows of the dark undergrowth.

  She was currently using her Gift, Animal Sibyl, to take temporary refuge within the body of a raven. Perched atop of a tree in the First Sector, she was close to the gated perimeters of the campus near the banquet hall. She had rushed here from the Second Sector immediately after she discovered the deaths of the restaurant staff who were supposed to provide catering and service the guests of the Clash of Dawn tonight.

  When she finally arrived at the campus, it was clear that she had been too late.

  Sentinels, Academy staff, and Exalted under the command of the elites in attendance were already gathered at the perimeter. Confusion and shouting matches were taking place between the various parties about the next course of action. Without a clear leader, no progress was being made.

  Petra ignored the commotion and continued her search.

  If both the Second Prince and the Princess are here, then he should be here as well.

  As she flew over the area, she finally spotted her target. A goliath of a man, decked out in full silver armor, stood overlooking the venue of the banquet hall. He had a rugged look and an imposing physique—the quintessential appearance of a man gifted with the blood of a warrior. An insignia bearing a golden lion’s mane was engraved over his chest plate.

  Still possessing the raven, Petra circled over the man’s head, trying to grab his attention. After a few seconds, the man realized her presence.

  “…Petra, is that you?” the gruff voice asked.

  Petra landed on his shoulder and gave a few gentle taps with her talons to affirm his question.

  “Right, Hortensia did station you here,” the man whispered loud enough just for her to hear, “Let’s talk.”

  ***

  Once she was near her original body, Petra undid the possession. Her vision flickered, spinning with vertigo, engulfed with a nauseating sensation as if she was being dragged away by some ethereal force. Once the nausea subsided, she opened her eyes. She was back in her own body.

  She immediately picked herself up from the floor and saluted the man.

  “Rohan, I’m your service.”

  “Enough of that,” the man replied, waving her off, visibly irate. He scanned the vicinity with a stern gaze, diligently making sure that there was no one listening in on their conversation.

  The man before her was Rohan von Lionheart, the current head of the Lionheart family and the unofficial second-in-command of Steiger. The Lionhearts were a special noble house in Ardair whose sole existence was to serve as guardians of the royal family. Their members made up of the royal guards and each were sworn to absolute loyalty.

  “How much do you know of the situation?” Rohan asked.

  “Not much. I just found out that a group of hostiles might have infiltrated the Academy banquet hall. I was rushing over to inform the Academy, but from what I can see, the hostiles have already moved.”

  “You were too slow, Petra. You knew I was here. You should have made contact with me immediately once you suspected foul play. Now we’re in a fucking mess.”

  Petra gritted her teeth. “S-Sorry, I didn’t think they—”

  “Save your excuses,” Rohan spat.

  Bloodlust suffused the air. Petra immediately complied and closed her mouth, not wanting to further her superior’s ire.

  Rohan suddenly glanced at the ground, “You can come out now.”

  Without warning, the shadows of Rolan expanded. A humanoid figure emerged from the depths, climbing onto the surface with an outstretched arm as they stood up. Darkness seemed to flake off of them like chunks of globular tendrils as their appearance was slowly revealed.

  Petra’s face darkened.

  “Hello, Petra.”

  She grimaced, reluctant to greet the annoyingly familiar face.

  “…Van.”

  Rohan cleared his throat to begin the debriefing. The two of them snapped into attention.

  “For the duration of this mission, you will act as if you’re associates of House Lionheart. Do not reveal your affiliation to Steiger under any circumstance. Currently, hostiles of unknown origins have taken control of the banquet hall. Despite there being a number of Exalted within the venue, for whatever reason, they all seemed to have been taken hostage. Luckily, most of the attendees inside are expendable. The headmaster is safe. The Second Prince is safe. All heads of the noble houses are safe. They’re currently being guarded by the bulk of the Sentinel forces. The only notable individuals inside the banquet hall are Liesel von Belle and Princess Aoife.”

  That’s hardly any better.

  Liesel was the scion of the second most powerful noble house in the kingdom. Princess Aoife might have been the black sheep of the royal family, but the royal family’s authority and prestige will be directly undermined if something were to happen to her. Both targets had to be secured.

  “Do we know why the Exalted inside aren’t fighting back?” Petra asked.

  “No. For now, we’ll assume that they’re incapacitated. The hostiles are reportedly violent and unhesitant to kill. There are already several casualties. We’ve attempted to negotiate, but their demands are utterly ridiculous. We suspect they’re buying time.”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “…You want us two to find out what their true objective is,” Van joined in.

  “Yes. Investigate the campus.” Rohan handed both of them badges engraved with the insignia of Lionheart. “Trace the movements of the hostiles or any suspicious parties. Figure out what they’re buying time for. Any questions?”

  “What are we planning to do about the hostages?” Petra asked.

  “We’re borrowing special personnel. They’ll be arriving in twenty minutes. Now, make haste.”

  Petra and Van gave a salute before dashing towards the campus. Petra thought about her junior, who was likely trapped inside at the whims of the murderous hostiles.

  Emil, please be okay.

  Emil

  The daunting azure light streamed through the miniature gaps from the adjacent wall. Emil was mid-way across the room when the wall suddenly exploded. The wall was blasted into smithereens as steel, bricks, and insulative material splattered everywhere.

  Emil’s ears rang with a high-pitch scream. The shockwave of the blast nearly knocked him to the floor. Fragments of building material dropped by his feet after pattering against the stone shield that he conjured at the last second.

  He glanced to the side. Princess Aoife had repositioned herself behind the couch along the far wall. The adjacent couch and table had been eviscerated by the shrapnel from the explosion. Aoife appeared to be okay aside from the disturbed look on her face.

  Emil narrowed his eyes at the collapsed wall. A cloud of dust and debris filled the air from the aftermath, shrouding the culprit of the explosion in a thick veil.

  That was an explosion of pure mana.

  He recognized the attack. It was an advanced application of Mana Arts.

  He has seen it only once from a demonstration by the witch. Mana from a fragment of Azurite would be weaved in a circular motion before being violently compressed. In a brief window upon reaching critical mass, the Exalted would release their control, letting the condensed mana spontaneously erupt. The result was a stream of radiant blue light, followed by a devastating explosion.

  Emil gulped, lowering his body into a fighting stance as he formed his stone gauntlets. It was obvious that the culprit was here for Aoife.

  Footsteps echoed with the crunch of stone and rubble being trampled. The vestige of a silhouette appeared within the dust cloud. Slowly, the interloper stepped out of the veil, their strides confident and relaxed, as if certain of their superiority.

  …No way.

  Emil’s eyes went wide. A flicker of recognition crossed his face. The interloper had long gray hair, draped to their shoulders. A large pair of curious eyes adorned their childlike visage. It was a girl in Exalted Academy uniform. Her teeth bared—stretched to a wide, haunting smile.

  “Now this is a surprise. To think I would find Princess Aoife cavorting with the protagonist of the Clash of Dawn,” she said with a sadistic timbre—her voice a pitch lower than Emil remembered.

  It was Melody Lain.

  The second-year commentator of this year’s Clash of Dawn. The girl who forced him into the spotlight for the tournament. Emil briefly recalled that she was winner of the previous tournament.

  The stench of blood hung around her like a cloak. As she got closer, Emil could make out the crimson stains drenched across her uniform. Some of the splatters were still wet and dripping onto the floor. He was shocked by the grotesque sight until he remembered the corpses laying in the corridor.

  “You,” Emil hissed as Melody came to a stop, “Were you responsible for those deaths in the hallway?”

  “Yes. It was quite a mess as you can see,” Melody said nonchalantly while pulling on her uniform as if they had been soaked in water, “They were in the way and they refused to step aside. So I had to remove them. What a waste of human life. It really is such a pity.”

  …What the fuck?

  Emil shuddered. The hair on his arms rose with fear. His head spun, unable to reconcile this horrific murderer with the second-year commentator that he had became acquainted with over the past four days. His impression of her was a person who moved on their pace, oblivious or unfettered by the external world. An airhead.

  Her whimsical air was now gone. In its place was a haunting murderous intent.

  “Emil, I don’t think I need to tell you what I’m here for,” Melody said, tilting her head, briefly shooting a glance at the couch where Aoife was hiding, “So, will you step aside with your life? Or will you foolishly toss away everything you have and try to stop me?”

  As if it’s that simple.

  While he was undercover as a student of the Academy, Emil was still an agent of Steiger. The organization’s number one mandate was to maintain the status quo and ensure the authority of the royal family. Handing the princess over was a direct dereliction of duty. Even if he was heartless, stepping aside meant treason. The witch would not hesitate to take his life as punishment.

  Emil clenched his fists that were encased in stone. The bodies in the corridor and their grotesque states flashed in his head. The monster behind that hellish scene was apparently the eccentric girl standing before him.

  Appearances really are deceiving.

  “…I see,” Melody sighed as she closed her eyes and leaned her head back, “What a shame. I was quite fond of you, you know?”

  Nonchalantly, she began to tie her hair into a simple bun. When she was done, she opened her eyes again—her pupils suddenly glaring with a deep cerulean hue.

  “It’s nothing personal!”

  The bloodlust around her suddenly spread—choking the air of the room like a tangible miasma. Emil flinched, startled by the viscid terror shooting up his spine. The split second that he was distracted was devastating.

  Melody had vanished from his sight. There was a distance of twenty meters separating them. In a blink of an eye, she had closed the gap.

  Whoosh!

  Emil ducked on instinct as a wave of azure stormed the space beside his head. The rush of air grazed his cheeks, while his ears rang from Melody’s explosive punch. So fast!

  The next attack came right away. Emil raised his elbows—this time catching the flow of mana in Melody’s limbs with his eyes to anticipate the oncoming jab. The girl was using Mana Arts, seemingly without a care for the drawbacks caused by excessive use of the technique.

  Crunch!

  The stone gauntlets protecting him shattered instantly. Numbness shot up his arm, sending a wave of frenetic buzzing up his limbs where agony should have been. His control over his hands suddenly dulled as he lost feeling.

  Emil jumped back, trying to create separation to buy time for Bulwark. But Melody offered him no reprieve. Empowered by Mana Arts, she clung to him like a parasite, refusing to concede even a single inch of space. Without needing to weave mana into phenomenon, her attacks were lightning fast, unrestrained by the miniscule delay required to activate a Gift.

  Desperate, Emil threw a haymaker. Mana cackled around his fist as he also used Mana Arts to will his numbed limbs to move.

  Bam! Their punches collided.

  His shoulders screamed. He heard a distinct crack over the clash of his fists. His hands suddenly throbbed—forcefully unraveled as his fingers lost strength. Melody’s mad giggles echoed in his ears.

  Thud!

  Emil’s skull rattled. His face suddenly exploded in pain. Blood trickled down to his mouth from his broken nose.

  Huh?

  Stunned by the unexpected punch, he was momentarily confused. What did that come from?! Melody was in full view. Nothing came from his blind spots. His eyes were fine, but his mind somehow couldn’t respond to the attack.

  The follow-up arrived. Emil was slow to react again as Melody’s fist landed squarely against his jaws. The ferric taste of blood drenched his mouth.

  I see. What a conniving trick.

  He finally understood what was happening.

  Those were regular punches.

  Melody deliberately stopped throwing out attacks enhanced by mana. She knew that he was reading the flow of mana in her limbs to anticipate her movements. Due to his extreme fixation on following the trail of mana to evade, Emil had inadvertently become blind to normal attacks.

  As if noticing his realization, Melody immediately tossed out a mana-infused strike.

  Emil narrowly twisted out of the way, staring at death as the attack streamed past his shoulder. The girl was now weaving in normal strikes alongside attacks strengthened by Mana Arts.

  Flabbergasted by her unpredictable pattern, Emil floundered as he was stuck on the defensive.