"What an intriguing sight," Vulcan commented casually, adjusting the monocle resting on his face.
"Lucien Ashthorn… Despite his average mana reserves, he has an exceptional grasp of combat dynamics. Even under intense pressure, he remains composed. That level of calm allowed him to come up with a rather impressive solution," he continued, his eyes now gleaming with genuine interest in Lucien.
Aldric, standing beside him, gave a small nod in agreement. If there was anyone who understood Lucien better than the boy himself, it was Aldric. Over the past five years, he had mentored Lucien, teaching him everything about blacksmithing and the intricacies of forging. But one thing had always been innate in the boy—his sharp, tactical thinking in battle.
Even so, something about the fight unsettled Aldric. He furrowed his brows, deep in thought.
"Right now, he stands out… But in the long run, expectations will betray him. A blacksmith isn't measured by their combat skills but by their ability to forge."
That was the concern that had weighed on his mind for some time. Lucien had great potential, but the world wouldn't always favor him. Even so, Aldric believed Lucien would carve his own path—that was, after all, the reason he sent him to this academy.
His thoughts drifted as he turned his attention back to the glowing blue screen displaying Kael Draven. The boy stood still, expression unreadable, before calmly sheathing his sword as if the battle had been of little consequence.
"Still," Aldric finally said, "if Kael Draven had fought seriously, Lucien wouldn't have stood a chance."
At those words, Vulcan glanced over, his eyes glinting with amusement. Though his head barely moved, his tone carried a suppressed chuckle.
"You keep trying to downplay your foster son," he remarked. "I won't argue with the truth in your words, but at the very least, you could give him some credit. Lucien has something most students lack. Even when I was his age, I couldn't have stayed that composed in a fight."
Aldric let out a quiet chuckle and sighed. "I'm not underestimating him—I'm just looking at things from a different perspective. I don't want to place too many expectations on him. Expectations can become shackles that stifle growth. But… I won't deny he has a unique quality that sets him apart."
He paused for a moment, but in his mind, he continued: Yet he also has weaknesses no one else does.
For a brief second, a memory surfaced—an ethereal blue hammer, shimmering like an illusion, cracked and incomplete.
"But what interests me more," Aldric said, steering the conversation back, "is why Kael Draven held back."
Before Vulcan could respond, a sharp voice interrupted them.
"We've lost track of some students."
Vulcan immediately turned, his brow lifting.
"Oh?"
—
Deep inside the labyrinth, Lucien leaned against the cold stone wall, steadying his breath. The aftershocks of the shifting labyrinth still lingered, sending tiny dust particles drifting through the air. The dim glow of embedded mana crystals provided only a faint light, casting eerie shadows along the narrow passage.
His sharp eyes scanned his surroundings. The path he once knew was now sealed off, and a completely unfamiliar corridor stretched before him.
Victor. Elara.
They weren't here.
His fists clenched. This wasn't the outcome he had planned. Triggering the trap had successfully separated them from Kael, but now he was alone, with no clue where his teammates had ended up.
He inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly. Panicking wouldn't help—his priority was finding a way out or locating Victor and Elara before it was too late.
But the labyrinth had changed. Every piece of knowledge he had about the layout was now useless. He was back to square one.
To make matters worse, his mana reserves were dangerously low after the fight with Kael. If he encountered a Spirit or any other enemy in this state, survival would be a lot harder.
Reaching into his pocket, Lucien felt the last remaining Spirit Core he had. It might prove useful later, but he had to be careful with how he used it.
Instead of rushing forward, he chose to pause, resting against the stone wall and taking slow, deep breaths to calm himself. He pushed his hair back, keeping it out of his eyes. After a few moments, he made his decision.
He started walking.
Each step echoed through the twisting, narrow corridors. His grip tightened on his bow, ready for whatever danger lay ahead.
Lucien sharpened his senses, listening carefully for any sign of movement. But the only sound was the faint whisper of wind slipping through cracks in the stone.
A thought crossed his mind.
Kael Draven must be on the move too… but is he also separated from his teammates?
His eyes narrowed slightly as he considered the possibility. Kael had been standing far from Elara and Victor when the labyrinth shifted, meaning they were likely in a different section. But if there was one certainty, it was that Elara and Victor had a higher chance of being together.
Lucien continued his steady pace, navigating through the unfamiliar tunnels. Right now, his only guide was his sense of mana.
The denser the mana in the air, the deeper he was going into the labyrinth.
The thinner it felt, the closer he was to the outer sections.
With that knowledge in mind, he pressed on, determined to find his way—before the labyrinth swallowed him whole.
After some time navigating through the labyrinth, Lucien realized that nothing had changed. The mana around him remained stagnant—neither growing denser nor thinning out. It was as if he was merely wandering in circles. Or worse, something was interfering with his perception.
He stopped at a fork in the path and turned back to glance at the corridor he had just walked through.
"This isn't the same path as before… which means I'm not just walking in circles," he muttered, reassuring himself.
Even so, fatigue was creeping into his body. His energy was running low, his mana reserves nearly depleted. He knew that pushing forward without rest wasn't a smart decision.
Deciding to take a short break, he reached into his pouch and pulled out a small flask of water, taking slow sips to let the cool sensation refresh him. Afterward, he stretched his muscles, easing the tension to prevent exhaustion from turning into a liability.
A few minutes later, he refocused and resumed his journey, choosing the path that seemed the most promising.
Then, in the silence of the labyrinth, a faint breeze stirred.
Lucien halted.
The air had changed.
At first, the scent of earth and stone had been the only thing lingering in the atmosphere. But now, there was something else. Something sharp.
A metallic scent.
His eyes widened, and his heart pounded harder.
Blood.
It had been five years since he had last smelled this scent, but the memory of it was burned into his mind.
This wasn't the stench of wounded bestial Spirits. Their blood had a rotting, putrid smell.
This was different. Sharper. More distinct.
The smell of human blood.
And Lucien knew one thing for sure—there were no ordinary animals in this labyrinth.
His thoughts raced, but at the same time, something else stirred within him.
Whispers echoed in his mind.
Desperate screams. Flames devouring everything in sight.
His chest tightened.
Lucien raised a hand to his forehead, grimacing as a sharp pain suddenly stabbed through his skull. A splitting headache struck him without warning, making it difficult to focus.
"Why… now, of all times?" he murmured hoarsely.
He knew exactly what this was.
It wasn't the first time.
Ever since that day, the past had always haunted him—sometimes through nightmares, sometimes through sudden flashbacks that hit him out of nowhere.
This time, the trigger was the scent of blood.
Whenever his trauma surfaced, thinking clearly became nearly impossible. The pain in his head intensified, making him stagger slightly.
Lucien clenched his fists, trying to suppress the pain that hammered at his mind like a relentless chisel. His breaths were ragged, his chest rising and falling in an uneven rhythm. But he knew one thing—giving in to fear was not an option.
He bit down on his lower lip, using the sharp sting to anchor himself to reality.
"Not now."
Slowly, he regained control. The pain in his head didn't completely vanish, but it subsided enough for him to think straight.
The scent of blood was stronger now.
It was coming from the corridor ahead—one that was mostly swallowed by darkness. The only source of light was a dim, flickering stone embedded in the wall, barely enough to illuminate what lay beyond.
Lucien exhaled quietly.
"I'm not in the right condition to get involved. Whatever's happening up ahead… it's none of my business."
After all, this was only the second floor of the labyrinth. There shouldn't be any serious danger here. The academy had stationed overseers throughout the labyrinth, ready to intervene if anything threatened the students' safety.
With that in mind, Lucien turned, intending to find another path.
But before he could take a step—
Crack!
A sound like shattering glass echoed through the air.
His back suddenly felt heavy, and the mana flow around him shifted violently.
A chaotic surge of mana crashed over him like a tidal wave, making his stomach churn.
The sensation was familiar—eerily similar to the mana discharge of Vulcan Draegor.
Lucien's eyes sharpened as he slowly looked up.
A figure stood before him.
A silhouette of a young man.
Short black hair. Dark red eyes.
A lean frame clad in a crisp white shirt, a navy-blue tie adorned with sigil patterns, dark blue trousers, and a long navy coat with white trim.
Lucien's pupils constricted. His breath caught in his throat.
"What in the world…?"
The mana surrounding them was no longer the typical flow of the second floor—it was far more intense. Far more dangerous.
But the most unsettling thing wasn't the mana itself.
It was the person standing in front of him.
Lucien stared hard, analyzing every detail. The longer he looked, the more he realized something was terribly wrong.
That boy…
He wasn't someone else.
He was Lucien.
The figure stood still, staring at him with eyes filled with pure hatred.
Lucien held his breath.
He recognized that expression.
It was the same face he had seen in the mirror years ago.
The expression he wore after Eldenridge fell.
Crack!
Suddenly, a fracture ran across the figure's cheek, like a mirror breaking apart.
A single shard fell to the ground, dissolving into blue particles before vanishing into the chaotic mana around them.