Adam advanced in slow, measured steps as the familiar road leading to Varidan Academy stretched out before him.

  The number of pedestrians had dwindled significantly, and several of Varidan’s outer dungeons were now visible along the horizon.

  This place hasn’t changed, Adam mused, taking in the tranquil scenery.

  A familiar bridge came into view, and a wry smile tugged at his lips. If I’d known, I would’ve finished off that weasel that day.

  [Potential Source of Danger Detected]

  Adam halted and turned.

  A frail old man hurried toward him, leaning heavily on a rusted cane. His head darted from side to side, eyes sharp with vigilance—like a criminal afraid of being spotted.

  This old man… is the source of danger?

  Nothing about him stood out. He looked painfully ordinary.

  Ignoring the warning—no normal civilian would wander this deep into Varidan territory alone, Adam stepped aside, clearing the path.

  The old man stopped a few feet in front of him. He bent forward, patting his chest as if short of breath, sweat trickling down his wrinkled face.

  “Y-youngster,” he wheezed, “why’d you stop? Aren’t you heading to the academy too?”

  He lifted his head and smiled gently, leaning against his cane.

  Adam met his gaze, his eyes briefly flicking to the cane.

  “Um,” the old man continued, “are you from a foreign country? Don’t understand my words?”

  He straightened, studying Adam from head to toe—his gaze lingering on Adam’s hair. “Are you from—?”

  “Is there something wrong with giving way to a senior?” Adam interrupted calmly.

  “Oh?” The old man chuckled, exposing a few pearly teeth. “So you do understand me.”

  “Good to see there are still well-mannered youths in Dratol.” He moved closer, laughter warm. “What’s your name? What year are you?”

  Adam smiled thinly. “Forgive me, but it wouldn’t be wise to share sensitive information with a stranger. Have a good day, sir.”

  He turned and walked toward the bridge.

  Loud laughter rang out behind him.

  “Youngster, aren’t you going to warn me about the dangers of this place?”

  “You came here without hesitation,” Adam replied without turning. “I’m sure you know what you’re doing.”

  A deep sigh followed.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “You look polite,” the old man said, his tone shifting, “but I can tell—you’re the type who doesn’t care about others.”

  Adam ignored him, hands tucked into his pockets as he stepped onto the bridge.

  I wonder if I’ll see that guard again.

  “Halt.”

  A hoarse voice echoed, laced with killing intent.

  The air distorted. An Aviskin with a bull’s head materialized several feet away, arms crossed, eyes blazing.

  “Please present your identification token.”

  Adam retrieved the amulet and raised it.

  It trembled, releasing a pulsing azure light that resonated with the guard’s horns.

  “Welcome back, Student 009.” The fury in the Aviskin’s eyes vanished. “My name is Vokha. I will escort you to the academy.”

  “Thank you,” Adam said, pocketing the amulet.

  Vokha produced a white crystal and tossed it into the river.

  The waters split apart, forming a portal.

  Adam raised a brow. This again? Don’t they have an easier way?

  “Please proceed,” Vokha urged.

  Adam glanced back.

  The system warning still nagged at him.

  What a strange man…

  The old man yawned and waved cheerfully.

  “Is that your companion?” Vokha asked.

  “I don’t know him,” Adam replied softly.

  He stepped forward and leapt into the portal. Vokha lingered for a moment, watching the old man, then followed. The river sealed itself once more.

  The old man watched them vanish. His smile faded.

  He lowered his hand and turned toward the trees. “Were you trying to sneak up on me?”

  A violent gust tore through the grove. Space distorted, forming a black portal between two trunks.

  A towering man stepped through—dressed in an elegant black suit and snow-white trench coat. A pitch-black mask concealed his face, revealing only sharp green eyes. Black gloves covered his hands.

  One hand in his pocket, he approached calmly.

  “Coalition Head, welcome to Varidan Academy,” he said. “Forgive me. I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you—though I doubt anyone in the East could.”

  The old man clicked his tongue, eyeing the man’s attire. “Dean Anselm, you Varidan folk make the rest of us look like beggars. Those gloves are worth more than my wardrobe. Think I should resign and seek asylum here?”

  “You jest, Sir Ian.” Anselm chuckled. “My wealth pales in comparison to yours. The others are waiting—shall we proceed?”

  “Sure.” The old man tapped his cane lightly. “But first—did you see the student who just entered?”

  Anselm turned briefly toward the bridge before returning his attention to the man.

  “I’m sorry, Sir Ian. I arrived a tad too late. Can you describe what they looked like? I might recognize them if they caught your eye.”

  “That brat had silver hair and blue eyes—like those fairies from beyond the walls.”

  “We do have a few students from beyond the walls,” Anselm replied evenly. “Was there anything specific you noticed about him?”

  Ian rubbed his chin, his gaze lingering on the bridge. “You won’t believe this, but the brat detected me before I could play a prank on him,” he said with a grin. “I can’t remember the last time someone saw through my concealment. You lot certainly have talented students.”

  For a fleeting instant, a tremor passed through Anselm’s eyes—then it vanished.

  “Let’s go see the others,” Ian said, stepping toward the dean. “There’s much to discuss.”

  “After you, sir.” Anselm bowed, gesturing for the coalition head to lead.

  Ian moved ahead, muttering words too soft to catch.

  “By the way, Sir Ian,” Anselm said, “is it true an unknown assailant clashed with your men last week?”

  “News travels fast,” Ian replied with a nod. “That incident is part of why I scheduled this meeting. We suspect one of them belongs to Eight Gates,” he added, turning.

  Anselm halted.

  His emerald eyes flared, burning with fury and naked bloodlust.

  Ian stopped and regarded him closely. They’re all the same… bound by that same deep-rooted hatred.

  The name Eight Gates stirred something violent within Anselm, but it lasted only a heartbeat. His demeanor smoothed, his posture relaxed, and he resumed walking as though nothing had happened.

  “One more thing,” Ian said, focusing on the black portal ahead. “Rumors of that flower have spread to every corner of the East. I fear a bloodbath is imminent.”

  “I understand your concerns, sir,” Anselm replied. “It’s something we intended to discuss as well.”

  “Good. Then let’s not waste time.”

  The two men stepped into the portal. It shimmered, then vanished.

  Silence reclaimed the field—but faint scorch marks scarred the grass, and a bitter, weedy aroma still hung in the air.