Elric and Sarena arrived moments later, both looking alert and breathless. Elric's long hair was tousled from the run, and his robe fluttered slightly with his rapid movement. Sarena's eyes immediately scanned the students, her hand instinctively hovering near her sword.
Elric's gaze landed on the fallen Fire Wolf. His eyes narrowed, and for a brief heartbeat, an unmistakable flash of anger passed through his expression.
He masked it quickly, replacing it with a concerned look.
"Is everyine alright?" he asked, his voice calm, composed. "We sensed something wrong—so we came as fast as we could."
Sarena added, "Professor Elric picked up a sudden shift in mana flow. It was enough to signal that something had gone seriously wrong." Her eyes moved across the group. "What happened here?"
One of the noble students stepped forward excitedly. "T-The boss monster… it was demonized! It was radiating with demonic energy!"
Another followed, "It was overwhelming! Pete told us to retreat, but then Ace—he just… stepped forward and killed it. In one hit."
All heads slowly turned toward Ace.
Sarena blinked, a flicker of surprise crossing her features—but only for a moment. She nodded to herself. She had seen glimpses of what Ace was capable of. It wasn't shocking.
Elric, however, stared at Ace with a gaze that lingered just too long. Behind the surface of gratitude, that same flicker of anger burned faintly in his eyes.
"Impressive," he said eventually. "Truly. Thank you, Ace, for helping protect the other students." He forced a smile. "This could've gone very badly."
Ace didn't respond.
Elric looked at the wolf again, then spoke, tone official now. "I'll personally investigate how this creature was corrupted. Everyone—please return to the academy. Do not disturb the scene. This will need to be analyzed carefully. Any mishandling of evidence might hinder our understanding of the demonic interference."
The students nodded quickly and began filing out. Some glanced back at Ace with awe. Others with caution.
Ace turned his gaze once more toward Elric, eyes cool and unreadable.
He knew.
Because in the book, this entire setup, it was Elric's doing.
A trap.
But not for him.
This was meant for the hero.
Ace had only interfered because it would be an insult to run away from an opponent that is far weaker than him.
He turned and followed the others out of the dungeon.
Behind him, Elric stood still beside the corpse of the demonized Fire Wolf, the mana stone on his staff faintly pulsing in the gloom.
At night in the forst outside the academy.
The forest was unnaturally quiet under the shroud of night.
No insects chirped. No wind rustled the leaves. The moonlight barely filtered through the dense canopy of twisted branches as shadows clung tightly to the earth.
Deeper within the forest, near an ancient moss-covered stone circle long forgotten by history, a figure knelt low on the ground. Elric's robes were muddied and damp from the moss and soil, his head bowed, sweat glistening on his brow.
Before him stood a tall figure cloaked in black, face obscured by a deep hood. Only the faint glint of pale lips and a single gloved hand—adorned with a ring bearing a sigil of abyssal flame—peeked from beneath the heavy fabric.
"He ruined everything," Elric spoke in a hushed, resentful tone. "The Fire Wolf was supposed to crush the hero—or at least gravely injure him. But that damned Thornevale boy… Ace—he interfered. Killed the beast."
The hooded man's silence was deafening.
Elric swallowed, his voice trembling slightly. "I-I tried to salvage it… spun the story, kept my face straight. He didn't say anything. Maybe—maybe he suspects, but the Thornevales haven't reacted. Perhaps he'll let it go."
The air grew colder.
The hooded figure finally spoke—his voice deep, distorted slightly by some arcane force. It reverberated unnaturally through the forest.
"You dare speak of perhaps?" the man growled. "Thornevales are dangerous. Even our Order doesn't have the strength to provoke them openly. If he wished, your head would be rolling before sunrise."
Elric lowered his head further. "Forgive me…"
"Tch…" the man clicked his tongue, frustration clear. "As long as the Thornevales stay silent, we stay our hand. Don't engage him again. Don't provoke him. Keep an eye on him."
He stepped closer, his presence heavy and suffocating.
"Your mission remains the same: Target the hero. Kill him before he becomes a threat."
A moment of silence passed before the man continued—his tone now reverent, almost fanatical.
"We have to kill him before revival of First Demon Lord. He, who once brought kings to their knees. Who united demons and sought to bring order to the chaos of this world through absolute rule."
"When he awakens… when he sits on the throne… we shall also rule as his chosen."
He leaned slightly forward.
"For that future, the hero must die. Before he gathers allies. Before he matures. Before he can resist."
Elric nodded fervently, his voice low. "I understand. I will not fail again."
The hooded figure turned slowly, melting into the shadows.
"See that you don't," he whispered, and then he was gone.
Elric remained kneeling in the darkness, shivering—not from the cold, but from the sheer pressure of the encounter.
In the quiet of his room, Ace sat on the edge of his bed, the faint flicker of candlelight dancing across his face.
The night outside was silent, yet his mind roared.
His fingers tapped idly on the hilt of his sheathed sword lying beside him. His silver eyes stared at the stone wall in front, but his thoughts were far from the Academy.
The First Demon Lord.
He recalled Elric's gaze earlier—the moment of suppressed anger, the carefully masked resentment beneath the worried facade.
"The cult seeks to revive the first demon lord…" he muttered to himself.
He couldn't help but frown. "But why?"
"There is already a Demon Lord. Why create another?"
But Ace remembered from the book—vaguely, the first Demon Lord was strongest.
The one who sought not chaos, but order—absolute order under his reign.
According to the book, The First Demon Lord didn't just take over by force—he did it with ideas. He got powerful demons, shady nobles, and even regular folks to join his cause, promising them power, freedom, and a way out from under the gods' control.
And now, the Order wanted him back.
Ace leaned back, exhaling sharply.
They're gathering the Sins in seven ancient crystals.
Seven sins.
Wrath. Greed. Lust. Envy. Pride. Sloth. Gluttony.
Each one a nexus, accumulating corrupted energy—sins birthed from the worst of humanity. The Order was mimicking the First Demon Lord's original ascension, feeding each crystal through heinous crimes across the Empire. Kidnappings, massacres, forbidden experiments…
All of it.
Every atrocity served a purpose.
But one thing stood out in Ace's mind more than anything else:
Not a single act has been committed inside Thornevale territory.
He knew why.
They wouldn't dare.
The Thornevale Duchy was a land governed not just with power, but with discipline. Its people weren't weak. Its laws weren't bendable. And the moment a spark of corruption would appear, it would be extinguished without hesitation.
They were doing this everywhere else in the Empire. Letting sins fester. Letting innocents bleed.
The morning mist still clung to the stone corridors of the academy, and the light from the sun barely stretched past the tower windows. Yet, outside Ace's door, tension burned hotter than any flame.
Emilia stood fuming in her emerald-green gown, her golden-green hair shimmering under the soft torchlight.
Her arms were folded, her chin raised in royal defiance as she confronted the two Thornevale guards standing like statues on either side of the heavy door outside Ace's room.
"I am Emilia Vel'Faera, Princess of the Elven Kingdom," she snapped, voice sharp but still composed. "A royal guest of the Empire. And you two have the guts to stop me from even knocking?"
One of the guards — a man built like a fortress, clad in sleek black armor bearing the Thornevale crest — replied in a calm, emotionless tone. "We don't care if the Elven King himself appears. No one knocks on Lord Ace's door without permission. If you have a message, we'll convey it. If he agrees, you'll be allowed in."
Emilia's eyes flared, her magic stirring for a moment as her fingers twitched toward her spirit charm. "How dare you—!"
But just then, the door creaked open.
Ace stepped out, fully dressed, a long black coat over his academy uniform, his white hair slightly tousled yet regal, his pale eyes locked onto Emilia's with a quiet intensity. He glanced at the guards, then at Emilia.
As Emilia saw Ace, she quieted for a second — just a second. But her pride didn't let the silence linger.
"They didn't even let me knock," she said sharply, stepping forward. "Your guards. They blocked me like I was some intruder."
If it were any other noble, they would've scolded the guards — at least for show. That was how the noble games were played. Even if they didn't mean it, they'd pretend. Smooth things over. Maintain appearances.
But Ace didn't even glance at the guards.
"They are right," he said flatly. "They would've been wrong if they let you knock."
Emilia blinked. "What?"
"You're not my friend. Not family. You're not close to me. There's no reason they should let you disturb me without permission."
There was no edge in his voice. No anger. Just cold logic. Absolute.
It stunned Emilia. Not because she was unused to arrogance — in fact, she expected it. But not like this. This wasn't some noble brat flaunting ego. This was someone so certain of his authority that even courtesy didn't matter.
Still, she gritted her teeth and managed to hold back her temper. "Fine. Whatever. Can we at least walk together? I have a few questions."
Ace glanced at her for a second — not rudely, not dismissively, just assessing.
"No," he said. "I am attending a second-year class. You're a mage. Our paths don't match. I'm heading out first."
And with that, he walked down the corridor, his footsteps echoing behind him.
Emilia stood there, her hands clenched at her sides, fury bubbling under her skin.
She was a princess. An elven princess. She wasn't used to being dismissed like a random student — not by anyone, let alone a first-year noble.
Yet here he was… walking away like she didn't matter at all.
Her pride screamed, her frustration burned, but all she could do was glare at his retreating back in silence.
As Ace stepped out of the dormitory, the early morning air was crisp and quiet, disturbed only by the disciplined footsteps of the academy guards patrolling the grounds.
One of them approached him — a tall man in dark armor bearing the academy's crest over his chestplate. He stopped a few steps away, then gave a deep, respectful bow.
"Lord Thornevale," the guard said firmly, eyes lowered. "The principal requests your presence."
Ace's steps came to a halt. He said nothing at first, his expression unreadable.