Tristan began to explain the contents of the diary they found within the newly opened room. The book they didn't know anything about—only that the author's sanity declined month after month, day after day—but was seemingly rejuvenated by the appearance of the Headmaster.
As Tristan continued to speak, the Headmaster began to recognize the story being told through the diary entries. A saddened expression made its way to her face as she felt a growing inkling of who the writer was.
"The diary... did it have a name?"
"We could see the first name but not the last name. The name was Bertal," Garfield said.
The Headmaster's eyes widened as she immediately recognized the name Bertal.
"Bertal... Bertal Wenkay was his full name. I remember him. He was around during the worst period in the school's history. This was when I was appointed as Headmaster, and the school was in turmoil—the nobility treated those from the Lower District as dirt... no, even worse than that."
Amelia interjected with a question, finding it unbelievable that it had ever been worse than it is now.
"Worse than it is now?"
Sylvia looked toward the silver-haired girl with a fear-filled expression.
"Much worse. While this generation is dealing with verbal abuse and the occasional physical altercation, those from thirty years ago endured the most brutal forms of abuse imaginable. The breaking of fingers, the cutting of hair, being forced to drink all sorts of vile, disgusting liquids—these were just a few of the terrible things the nobles did back then."
Amelia covered her mouth in horror, Garfield was taken aback by the Headmaster's words, and Tristan was left utterly speechless.
"Things were a lot worse before I came. My arrival might have soothed the pain... but it did not completely heal the injury," she said, her voice heavy with regret.
Amelia looked to Tristan, whose head was bowed low, facing toward the ground.
"What's the next symptom?"
Tristan raised his head and looked at the silver-haired maiden.
"They will turn into beasts."
The girl gasped.
"The main purpose of Bertal's experiments was to make humans stronger, and the only way he believed he could achieve that was by merging human blood with the blood of Fallen Star beasts. This school truly broke him—because he eventually began speaking of the end of the world," Tristan said.
The Headmaster paused for a moment, her face filled with both regret and intrigue as she pondered how to solve the issue at hand.
"Do you think if we find his lab, we'll be able to create an antidote?" she asked as she pressed a finger to her lips in thought.
"Maybe, but we're not too sure," Garfield replied.
The Headmaster then came to a conclusion—the only way to help the sick students was to find the lab Bertal had once used.
"Doesn't the school have a lab?" Tristan asked, looking to the Headmaster for an answer.
"Yes, it does, but I doubt he used it. So, if you can, please find his lab."
Garfield and Tristan nodded their heads as they agreed to the Headmaster's request. The Headmaster, pleased by their current findings, decided to assist them. She brought forward the papers she had set aside when the trio entered the room. She then revealed a bit of information contained within them.
"In the next three weeks, the Selection Game will begin, and it will be a three-man game. So I advise you three to get stronger."
Tristan stood up with a remorseful look on his face, walked toward the door, and said,
"We'll take that to heart. Thank you."
As they walked out of the main school building, silence fell upon the group. Tristan, who led the way, was tense, and his heart was filled with regret. Amelia and Garfield looked at one another, their expressions mirroring Tristan's—but it seemed the revelation had struck him more deeply than it had them.
The young man's head was bowed toward the ground, his regret slowly turning into anger, and that anger slowly festering into malice.
Tristan raised his head to the darkening sky and smiled.
"You know what? This is perfect. The Selection Game is the perfect place to put all those snobby nobles in their place."
Amelia and Garfield were stunned as they looked forward at the now oddly optimistic Tristan.
Tristan had originally harbored no intention of paying any mind to those of noble blood—but after hearing how brutally they treated students in years past, and witnessing how they continue to act now, a newfound motivation ignited within him. He was driven to prove that so-called lesser bloods could match—or even surpass—those who were deemed superior. The nobles, the ones of pure blood... they were the ones Tristan now sought to defeat. A fierce determination swelled within him, surprising not only Garfield and Amelia but also the crimson-haired boy himself.
'It's strange... I haven't felt this kind of motivation for a long time. It feels exhilarating,' Tristan thought to himself, an uncharacteristic smile creeping across his face.
Garfield ran up to Tristan, hugging him from behind and lifting him off the ground with raw physical strength.
"I'm glad to hear it. Let's do it. Let's win the Selection Game and show those nobles we're not to be messed with," Garfield said as he placed Tristan back down.
Amelia chuckled softly as she slowly walked toward the two boys.
"Are you forgetting I'm one of those nobles you speak of?"
Garfield awkwardly raised his hands in protest.
"Miss Amelia, you're different from them... like, uh, you're better."
Amelia smiled warmly.
"I'm just joking. I know what you mean—and I'm definitely with the two of you. Let's work toward our first milestone on the path to achieving our goals."
They all smiled, but their moment was soon interrupted by the arrival of Amelia's carriage, which had come to collect her. Amelia waved goodbye as she stepped inside, and the boys waved back. Then they made their way back to the dorms. Their journey home was silent, as Tristan's mind began to churn with thought.
'I think it's time I stop playing around. It's time I use my Necromancer abilities for my benefit.
"Is there anything you wish for me to do, my Lord?" Killington asked from within Tristan's mind.
'It's time to hunt.'