Ronan continued walking, though his voice lost some of its earlier edge. The irritation that had burned so brightly before now settled into something quieter. Older. Wearier.
"Lady Ishulane is fine. If she's receiving guests, then she's not in any critical state." His boots scraped against the stone path as dawn's pale light stretched across the academy grounds. "As for those nobles…" He let out a dry breath through his nose. "I'm tired. Tired of wasting energy on people who can't see past lineage. To them, we're not even human. Just tools. Stepping stones to climb over and discard when they're done."
A cold breeze slipped through the trees lining the pathway, stirring loose leaves across the cobbled road.
"So why bother arguing with them anymore?"
Behind him, Oliver's steps faltered.
The words struck harder than they should have.
For a moment, the academy grounds faded, replaced by an older memory—sunlight spilling across a training field years ago, Kael sitting cross-legged on a fence post with that maddeningly earnest look in his eyes.
"If they're just like us," Kael had asked back then, "why do we treat them so differently?"
At the time, Oliver had laughed the question off.
Then came another memory. He, Lyra, and Kael swore they would never become like the nobles they despised. No matter how strong they became, no matter what status they gained, they would treat people with dignity.
The memory curdled bitterly in his chest.
Somewhere along the way, he had changed.
Lyra had changed, too, though she hid it behind elegance and ambition. These days, she only respects strength and influence. Weakness disgusted her now.
And Kael…
Kael had remained the same.
Maybe that was why he'd slowly drifted away from them.
Oliver lowered his gaze, fingers tightening at his sides. A humourless laugh slipped from him under his breath.
"I became the very thing I hated."
The admission tasted foul.
"How the hell is anyone supposed to accept someone like this?"
Ahead of him, Ronan and Darius continued walking without looking back. Their casual pace somehow irritated him more than if they had mocked him outright.
Grinding his teeth, Oliver suddenly quickened his steps.
Ronan noticed first. The moment Oliver reached them, he groaned dramatically and dragged a hand down his face.
"Man… why do you, Falmecrast, love peeking so much?"
Darius folded his arms immediately, glaring with open suspicion. "And no matter what you say, I'm not leaving Kael's team."
Oliver stopped directly in front of them.
For one awkward heartbeat, nobody spoke.
Then Oliver bowed.
The movement was stiff enough to make it obvious how unnatural it felt for him.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
Silence.
Ronan blinked once.
Darius blinked twice.
A bird chirped somewhere overhead.
Finally, Ronan slowly pointed at Oliver like he was examining some rare magical phenomenon. "Okay… this is definitely new." His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What do you want?"
"Nothing." Oliver straightened, avoiding their eyes. "Just apologising."
Darius stared at him as though expecting hidden assassins to jump out from the bushes. "This is too much for one morning." He rubbed his forehead. "We're in a hurry, so shoo. Go away."
The two resumed walking.
Oliver followed immediately behind them.
Ronan groaned louder this time. "You're still here?"
Oliver ignored him. "Is it possible that I can… accompany you?"
"NO," Ronan and Darius answered in perfect unison.
Despite himself, Ronan smirked.
A memory surfaced in his mind—Kael sitting beside a campfire, roasting skewered fish while speaking with unusual seriousness.
"If Oliver ever apologises," Kael had said, "give him a chance. He's an idiot, but he's not rotten."
At the time, Ronan had laughed the idea off.
Now here they were.
The air remained brisk as the three continued down the academy's stone pathways. Students and servants had only just begun stirring awake, lanterns still glowing faintly beneath the fading darkness of dawn.
After several moments of silence, Ronan finally spoke.
"This hunt will take nearly two weeks. We're leaving now." He glanced over his shoulder. "Are you sure you want to come?"
Honestly, he expected Oliver to refuse.
Pride like his rarely bent twice in one day.
Instead, Oliver answered immediately.
"Give me five minutes. I'm coming."
That finally made Ronan stop walking.
He turned fully this time, studying Oliver's unreadable face. "Fine. But give me an actual reason. We can't magically trust you overnight." His tone sharpened slightly. "You've made it very clear you hate us. Hate like that doesn't disappear in a day."
Oliver's jaw tightened.
"I still hate you."
Darius immediately pointed at him. "See? I told you—"
"But," Oliver interrupted, gaze fixed on Ronan, "I want to understand something."
Ronan raised an eyebrow.
Oliver continued slowly, as if forcing the words out irritated him. "Kael respects you. Follows you. Trusts you." His eyes narrowed. "And from a distance, you honestly look like a carefree idiot. Nothing special."
Darius burst out laughing.
Ronan stared at Oliver for several long seconds before snorting softly.
"Fair enough."
Then his expression hardened again.
"As long as you don't try anything stupid, you can come. Darius and I are heading to the Hunter's Boutique. If you're serious, meet us there before we leave." He turned away. "Otherwise, stay behind."
As they resumed walking, Darius leaned closer and lowered his voice.
"Ronan… is this really okay? A two-week hunt right before the competition?"
Ronan shrugged lazily. "Relax. Amara ma'am has students stronger than me anyway. Missing a few classes won't matter."
Darius looked unconvinced.
Ronan grinned. "Besides, I left a clone behind."
Darius nearly tripped. "Again?!"
"No one can tell the difference except Lady Ishulane. I told it to attend class and spend time in the library."
Darius stared at him with utter disbelief. "Man… you and your schemes." He rubbed his temple. "Where do you even get the courage to trick Amara, ma'am?"
"Natural talent."
"That is not a talent."
By the time they reached the academy entrance, the eastern sky had begun glowing orange. Vendors outside the gates were already setting up stalls, the smell of fried dough and hot broth drifting through the cool air.
One more boy was supposed to join them.
A few moments later, Orin came jogging toward them, slightly out of breath but smiling brightly.
"Good morning!"
Ronan lifted a hand lazily. "Morning."
Darius nodded in greeting.
Then another figure appeared behind Orin.
Oliver.
He arrived breathing slightly harder than before, dark hair messy from rushing. "Good morning," he said quickly.
Ronan looked him over once before nodding approvingly. "You're fast."
Oliver shrugged. "I just grabbed my storage ring and left a note saying I'll be gone for two weeks."
"Whatever." Ronan waved dismissively. "Let's move. We're wasting time."
The city was already alive by the time they passed through the morning market. Merchants shouted over each other while carts rattled across stone streets. The scent of grilled meat mixed with fresh bread, herbs, sweat, smoke, and damp morning air.
Eventually, they stopped before a tall building marked:
Hunter's Boutique.
Just as they were about to enter, Oliver spoke again.
"If you're borrowing a flying ship… I have a mid-grade one."
Darius instantly pointed toward Ronan. "He's the captain. Talk to him."
Inside, warm golden light spilt across polished wooden floors. Weapons gleamed behind glass displays while enchanted tools hummed faintly from reinforced shelves.
A young woman behind the counter immediately bowed respectfully the moment she saw Ronan.
"Good morning, young master."
Ronan smiled easily. "Morning, Elira."
She retrieved a storage ring and handed it over carefully. "As requested—a high-grade magic flying ship and enough Aether Crystals for the hunting grounds you specified." Her professional tone softened slightly. "The ship also has autopilot capabilities, though using autopilot reduces its speed to mid-grade levels."
Ronan inspected the ring briefly. "What about the other things I asked for?"
"We're still preparing them, but they'll be delivered within the promised timeframe."
"Good enough."
He transferred the contents into his own storage ring before returning the empty one.
"Thanks. Take care."
"You as well, young master." Elira pressed her palms together politely. "Have a safe journey."
Outside, Ronan flicked his fingers.
A pulse of Aether rippled outward.
High above them, space shimmered before a sleek flying ship materialised into view. Its metallic frame reflected the morning sunlight while engraved runes glowed faintly beneath the hull.
It wasn't luxurious.
No extravagant decorations. No noble insignias.
Just a durable vessel built for practicality—control room, benches, storage compartments, reinforced plating.
Ronan immediately grinned. "I like it. Simple, but elegant."
They boarded quickly.
Once everyone was settled inside, Ronan leaned against the doorway of the control room.
"At maximum speed, it'll take a full day and night to reach our destination."
Oliver frowned faintly.
Wait…
Where exactly are we going?
But before he could ask, the ship lurched forward smoothly, rising into the open sky.
Hours passed.
By evening, the flying ship glided steadily through clouds streaked gold and violet by the setting sun. Eventually, darkness spread overhead, endless and deep, stars slowly emerging one by one.
The ship's autopilot rune hummed softly as the wind rushed along the outer frame.
Ronan sat on the open deck with the others, one arm resting lazily across his knee.
For a while, nobody spoke.
Then Oliver finally broke the silence.
"Ronan… are you a noble?"
Ronan blinked.
"What?"
Oliver hesitated before continuing. "Maybe from another country or something."
Before Ronan could answer, loud laughter exploded from above.
"Look up here!"
All three boys jolted upright instantly, weapons half-drawn.
A figure sat casually atop the control room roof, waving enthusiastically.
Ronan's clone.
The clone dropped down lightly, landing with exaggerated elegance before bursting into another grin.
"Noble? Him?" He pointed at Ronan like the accusation itself was offensive. "Please. He's just a lunatic who drags us into beast hunts and forces us to eat roasted frog meat."
"That happened one time," Ronan muttered.
"And I still have trauma."
The clone dusted off his sleeves dramatically before stretching. "Anyway, I'll take over. I hate delays."
Ronan waved him off. "Fine. Go."
As the clone disappeared into the control room, Darius leaned closer.
"So… how many clones can you actually make?"
"Three."
Darius whistled softly.
"One's attending class at the academy," Ronan continued, "one's hunting materials, and this one's here."
Then his tone shifted.
The relaxed humour faded from his face as he looked around the group.
"Alright. Here's the plan."
Even the wind seemed quieter for a moment.
"We'll be hunting Rank-Three monsters." Ronan tapped the deck floor lightly. "Orin and I need to advance before the competition."
Orin nodded immediately, excitement flickering across his face.
"As for Rank-Four monster cores," Ronan continued, "Darius keeps them. We need those."
Oliver narrowed his eyes slightly.
"So I'm just free labour—"
"But," Ronan interrupted calmly, "you can keep the monster materials. And if there's a specific core you need, we'll negotiate."
Oliver stopped speaking.
Completely.
For several seconds, he simply stared.
That offer was absurdly generous by noble standards. Even most hunter teams split rewards more selfishly than that.
"I…" He cleared his throat. "Yes. I'm okay with that."
More than okay.
His suspicion didn't disappear, but something inside him shifted slightly.
These people were strange.
From the control room, the clone's voice echoed out.
"We'll rotate piloting shifts! Sleep while you can! We arrive tomorrow morning!"
The flying ship continued cutting through the endless night sky, carrying four boys toward monsters, danger, and something far more unsettling than either of those things—
The slow, unavoidable truth they were beginning to learn about one another.