Three Days Later
The fallout from the classroom incident was catastrophic.
Not only did Lucien's internal hostility toward Cassian spike high, but the news spread through the academy like wildfire. The rumors claimed that the most loving, soft-hearted professor in the institution had permanently resigned from teaching because of the severe psychological trauma caused by Prince Cassian Valemont.
Suddenly, every young, mid-tier professor began aggressively feigning illness or outright refusing to teach the Senior Elite Class, causing massive academic delays for everyone. Within days, over half of Cassian's elite classmates filed anonymous, high-priority complaints to the Headmaster. They went on an official strike: either Prince Cassian was dismissed from the elite class entirely, or they would revoke their tuitions and leave the academy.
Faced with an aristocratic rebellion, the Headmaster came up with a drastic solution: he officially split the Senior Elite Class into two separate lecture halls. Those who had a problem with the prince could move to the West Wing; those who were comfortable staying could remain.
The results of that survey were completely, hilariously absolute.
Every single student moved to the West Wing. Cassian was left completely alone.
"Unbelievable...I didn't even do anything." Cassian muttered, his voice echoing in the empty, cavernous room.
He sat silently in the center of the massive, vacant lecture hall, crossing one leg over the other. On the outside, he was a monument of calm, regal composure; on the inside, his brain was frantically raking through his survival files.
'If things keep going on like this, it won't take two months for the entire continent to declare war on me,' Cassian thought, his eyes tracking the dark blackboard. 'I can tell Lucien's bloodlust is reaching a boiling point. If I keep acting like an idle prince who just wants to have fun, the narrative will twist it into me being a lazy tyrant, and he'll wrap those massive hands around my neck even before the winter gala.'
Cassian's eyes narrowed. 'Doing nothing isn't working. In this fifteenth loop, letting things slide just results in the world making up worse assumptions about me. If I want to survive and reach a peaceful retirement, I have to change the approach entirely. I have to do something completely different from the other fourteen lifetimes.'
'Instead of trying to escape the character of Cassian Valemont... I am going to rebuild this scumbag from scratch. I'll groom his reputation into an iron fortress.'
"Elias."
*Swish.*
Elias instantly materialized from the heavy shadows near the doorway, hurriedly bowing his head so low his nose nearly touched his knees. "Yes, My Lord! I am here!"
"What are the things that I have always hated the most?" Cassian asked, leaning his cheek heavily against his fist.
Elias furrowed his brows in profound, deep thought before answering earnestly. "Your Highness... you hate everything."
"Mhm. Figures," Cassian sighed. "Then... what do I love the most?"
Elias blinked, his face twisting into an even deeper knot of confusion. He swallowed hard before answering. "You... you love getting rid of the things that you hate the most?"
Cassian let out a long, exhausted sigh, rubbing his temples. "Mhm. So basically nothing. Splendid. I guess we really are starting from scratch."
"My Lord..." Elias asked cautiously, looking at his master's weary expression.
"Is everything alright?"
Cassian slowly stood up from his chair, smoothly flattening the lapels of his dark royal blazer. A slow, brilliant, and incredibly sly smirk broke across his handsome face—a look of pure, calculated mischief.
"Everything is alright, Elias. Oh, trust me, everything is perfectly fine."
Behind him, Lucien instinctively tensed, his hand instantly wrapping around the golden pommel of his holy broadsword, his entire frame adopting a lethal combat stance. 'He's smiling like that again,' Lucien thought, his heart pounding with an intense, defensive anger. 'What vile, wicked plot is he concocting in that dark mind of his this time?'
Cassian spun around, his long royal cloak billowing beautifully as he walked toward the exit with a newfound purpose.
"Come along, Elias," Cassian chuckled softly, his voice echoing in the empty hallway. "Let's go visit our underclassmen in the junior wing. I heard those little prodigies have been absolutely craving some quality teachings from their favorite big brother."
*****
Meanwhile in the Southern coast of the empire.
The grand reception hall of the Reinhardt Estate was a monument to old money and cold, structural tyranny. High stone arches rose into shadow, draped in heavy tapestries detailing blood-soaked victories from generations past.
At the far end of the room, seated upon a massive carved obsidian chair that rivaled the imperial throne itself, sat Duke Reinhardt. His posture was rigid, his sharp, calculating eyes reflecting the flickering amber light of the hearth fire.
Standing a few paces away, his shoulders tense and his knuckles white, was Damian Reinhardt. The defeat at the academy grounds still burned like fresh acid in his veins.
"I heard that you lost miserably to the second prince during the duel," Duke Reinhardt spoke, his voice dropping into a low, echoing rumble that instantly chilled the air. "The weak and frail prince of Edrath. A boy who has done nothing but lounge in gardens and hide behind the skirts of the maids."
"Father... I have been complacent. I apologize."
Damian's knees hit the polished marble floor with a heavy, hollow thud. He bent his body forward, placing his palms flat on the stone and burying his face toward the floor in a posture of complete submission.
"Raise your head, my son," the Duke replied, his tone smooth, almost deceptively gentle. "You only let your guard down during that duel, didn't you? A minor miscalculation against an opponent who happened to get lucky."
Damian bit his lower lip so hard the metallic taste of blood burst in his mouth, his forehead remaining pressed firmly against the cold stone.
'I hadn't let my guard down at all!' Damian's mind screamed in a mixture of raw terror and fury. 'That monster... he had been hiding his true strength all along! Those movements, that footwork... it was steady. Incredibly steady. It wasn't luck. It was the calculated movement of a seasoned apex predator playing with its food!'
But Damian dared not voice those thoughts. To admit that the vile prince was a genuine monster would mean admitting his own complete, utter inferiority in front of his bloodline.
"I will give you another chance to redeem yourself, if you truly want it," Duke Reinhardt continued, leaning forward, resting his interlocked fingers on his knee. "But if you do not possess the stomach for it... then I will simply leave this matter to your other brothers. They are more than capable enough to handle a stray prince."
Damian's chest tightened. He slightly turned his head, his vision catching the figures of his two older brothers standing near the shadow of the pillars. Both of them smirked down at him, offering a knowing, mocking shrug as if they were already preparing to strip Damian of his inheritance and rank.
The humiliation was too much to bear. Damian chomped down on his lip again, his voice breaking through the silence with desperate ferocity.
"I will do it! I will do anything that Father orders me to!"
"Good," Duke Reinhardt murmured, a cold, satisfied smile stretching across his weathered face.
The Duke waved his hand lazily toward the side of the room. Out from the darkness, a stern, heavily armored family guard marched forward with rhythmic, mechanical steps. Held firmly within his leather-gloved hands was an ornate, obsidian-wood box bound in silver chains that hummed with a faint, unsettling violet residue. The guard knelt and extended the box toward Damian.
"Inside that box lies *'The Whisperer of the Shadows'*," the Duke explained, his eyes locking onto the dark container with a disturbing reverence. "It is highly potent, Damian. Do not dare to touch it with your bare hands."
Damian flinched, his fingers trembling as he slowly reached out to take the heavy wooden box. The moment his palms made contact with the wood, a faint, sub-zero chill seeped through the casing, making his internal mana twitch uncomfortably.
"The imperial royal family is fundamentally rooted in ancient shadow magic," the Duke reasoned, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. "But over centuries of blending with holy bloodlines, that dark core now lies completely dormant within our generation. My brother Cedric knows this truth. Him and his children, me and my children, and our children's children... in fact, all of our descendants carry that latent, dark shadow magic core deep inside our souls. But with this..."
The Duke pointed a sharp finger at the obsidian box.
"The shadow magic will be violently, forcefully awakened."
Damian's breath caught in his throat. He stared at the box in his hands. "Awakened...?"
"Your job is simple, my son," Duke Reinhardt sneered, a wicked, triumphant glint appearing in his eyes. "Infiltrate the campus and plant that relic deep within the prince's private residence. The residual aura will slowly leak out, targeting his bloodline and forcefully awakening his dormant shadow magic core. And with that high-and-mighty Holy Knight Commander, Sir Lucien, standing permanently at his side... I don't even need to explain the miserable, bloody end our dear prince will meet."
Damian's eyes widened as the brilliant, malicious puzzle pieces came together. Lucien Arden was the legendary Swordmaster of the Holy Order—a man bound by blood and vow to completely eradicate any trace of shadow corruption. If Cassian's body suddenly began radiating pure, unholy shadow mana... Lucien would be legally and religiously forced to execute the prince on the spot, slicing his head off before Cassian could even utter a word of defense.
"But keep one thing entirely in mind, Damian," the Duke added, his voice turning incredibly cold as he looked toward his three sons. "Our main, ultimate goal is not merely Cassian... or that fool Adrian. It is the throne itself."
The two older brothers stepped out from the pillars, letting out a simultaneous, low chuckle that echoed wickedly through the grand hall.
"Yes, Father," Damian replied, a dark, vengeful smile slowly replacing his fear as he clutched the obsidian box against his chest. "I will keep that in mind. Prince Cassian's luck certainly ends tonight."
*****