Evraine regained her composure after that embarrassing moment, forcing her heartbeat to settle down as she smoothed her hair behind her ear. She studied Damien with that same calm nobility she carried like second skin, though in truth her thoughts were still a little restless.
Finally, her voice broke the silence between them.
"Junior… why exactly are you here? Training in the middle of the night, breaking curfew without fear of punishment—do you even understand what kind of consequences could fall upon you if the Student Council found you wandering? And more than that… why are you training like this? Recklessly thrashing your body, ignoring your own limits, as if you mean to destroy yourself?"
Damien blinked at her, lying still for a long while before slowly pushing himself up into a better seated position. He didn't know why, but the words slipped out of him with ease, his guard falling in a way it never did with anyone else.
"I… just learned about my identity," he admitted, his tone quiet but carrying a raw edge. "Professor Isabelle told me the truth earlier tonight. About my family. About the Dreadmore massacre."
He drew in a shaky breath before continuing, his eyes fixed somewhere past Evraine, almost as if he were speaking to himself.
"My soul was injured in that massacre. The fragments of what I lost… they're locked away, hidden with the memories of who I truly was. I want them back. I need them back. Before Sunday, I have to make a choice—whether to keep the Dreadmore name… or abandon it forever. To make that decision, I have to remember everything. Even… even the memories of the massacre itself."
His voice had grown hoarse, but he kept speaking as if compelled.
"So I came here. I went to find keys for a private training room, but the old caretaker told me to use this one room instead. I didn't know it was yours and i didn't know anyone would be here."
Evraine's eyes softened despite herself. She hadn't expected him to reveal so much, not to her, someone he had met just minutes ago. Most people in this academy wrapped themselves in masks, hiding their truths even from friends and allies. Yet this boy… he had opened himself bare without hesitation.
Albert, listening silently from within, was utterly floored.
This brat—what the hell is he doing? He's spilling everything to a girl he just met! Just because she's beautiful? Has he lost all sense?
Evraine folded her hands over her knees, her expression turning thoughtful. "And how," she asked gently, "do you intend to heal a wound that deep in only a few days' time?"
Damien glanced at her, eyes dark but steady. "There are only two ways I can manage it. One is to advance my rank quickly, and the other is to strengthen a spell I possess. A mental spell called Mind Castle. It helps me stabilize and fortify my soul. If I do both… maybe I'll have a chance."
He explained the structure of the spell in general terms, his words halting but earnest. Evraine listened without interrupting, a flicker of admiration crossing her features at the sheer resilience he carried within him.
When he finished, she gave a small nod. "I see. In that case, you don't have to worry about curfew or interruptions anymore. This room belongs to me—I had it modified for my own training. You can continue using it freely."
Before he could answer, she waved her hand lightly. From the white ring on her finger shimmered a gentle light, and a small bundle of food and a flask of water materialized onto the floor in front of him.
"For now keep this, i will bring more food later" she said, rising smoothly to her feet. "We'll speak again another time."
And with that, before Damien could even form words of thanks, she offered him a brief wave and left the room, her long hair flowing behind her like pale silk.
Damien sat staring after her for a long while. His lips parted, but no sound came out. Only after she was gone did Albert stir in his mind, wanting desperately to say something—but he bit down the words, remembering Damien's command to remain silent until Sunday. He swallowed his remarks and stayed quiet.
"System," Damien said at last, voice steadier now. "Open the interface."
The screen flickered into view before his eyes, glowing with cold clarity. His gaze froze, shock jolting through him.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
[PATH SYSTEM]
Host: Damien
Current Stage: Rank 1 (31%)
Primary Path: Strength — Body Evolution
Secondary Path: Soul (Rank 0)
Core Attributes:
Might: 13 + 10 — Physical strength and destructive capability.
Endurance: 13 + 20 — Resistance to injury, fatigue, and pain.
Speed: 11 + 9 — Movement speed, agility, and reaction time.
Vitality: 14 + 25 — Life force and recovery rate.
Aura Control: 2%
Body Control: 40%
Spells:
Passive:Mind Castle (1%)
Active: —
Body Arts: —
Weapon Arts: —
Restrictions:
The System will not provide spells, Body Arts, or Weapon Arts.
Nightmares will intensify the stronger the host becomes. (Advance in the Path to avoid further complications.)
Host will not gain talents he does not already possess, nor receive help related to them.
System Directive:
"Follow the guidance of the system to reach 100% progress in Rank 1. (No need to focus on learning or understanding cultivation techniques.)"
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
His jaw tightened. Thirty-one percent… He had been barely ten percent before. Just one session had launched him into the middle of Rank 1.
Now he understood why Albert had urged him to push himself to the edge before attempting healing. The benefits were massive, beyond anything he'd imagined.
Damien's eyes burned with determination, a vengeful fire flickering in their depths. "Then I'll continue," he whispered, pressing his palm against the floor. "No more hesitation. No more restraint."
He began practicing Mind Castle again, each attempt more brutal than the last. His body rolled on the ground, his teeth grinding as he clutched his skull, screams ripping from his throat. Yet even through the agony, he clung to the system's instructions, never letting go of his focus.
He didn't notice the shadows watching.
At the far edge of the training hall, cloaked in silence, the old caretaker stood with his hands clasped behind his back. Beside him was Evraine, her bearing entirely different from the casual warmth she'd shown Damien earlier. Here, beside her teacher, she radiated the poise and authority of a noble daughter of the Valemonts.
Her voice was quiet when she finally spoke. "Teacher… why are you letting him train here? This room—you prepared it for me, not that i mind. Even though I am in the western wing now, this is still my place."
The old man didn't turn his gaze from Damien. His eyes were deep, a little misted with time, but now filled with something heavier: nostalgia.
"Don't mind the boy," he said softly. "Focus on your own training. Come regularly, as you promised. Do not waste time. That will matter more than anything."
Evraine hesitated, glancing at Damien again, who writhed on the ground yet never stopped resisting the pain. A complex look flickered in her pale eyes—something between sadness, curiosity, and the faintest touch of admiration.
Finally, she bowed her head respectfully. "Yes, Teacher. I will continue to work hard."
Together, they left the hall, each lost in their own thoughts. But Damien never noticed, his mind buried in darkness and fire as he forged his soul against agony.