Chapter 150: What’s happening to me? [1]
A week had passed since the attack.
Classes had resumed, though nothing felt the same.
Guards were posted at every building entrance now, checking identification even for students who’d been there for months.
The courtyards had new patrol routes cutting through them at regular intervals. Barriers shimmered faintly over the training grounds, and the main gates stayed sealed except for official business.
The academy had turned into something halfway between a school and a fortress.
Though Alaric didn’t particularly care about the increased security. What annoyed him was that his system was still offline.
A week of silence. No status window, no shop access, no quest notifications.
Just... nothing.
He’d tested everything he could think of, leaving the academy grounds, meditation that supposedly helped with essence connections, even trying to manually trigger the interface through sheer willpower.
But nothing worked.
Which meant he was stuck training the old-fashioned way until whatever was blocking it got resolved.
Currently, that meant getting punched in the face.
Thwack!
Alaric’s head snapped to the side from the impact. His jaw throbbed, but he’d already shifted his weight, dropping low and sweeping his opponent’s legs.
The other student jumped over the sweep, landed, and immediately drove a knee toward Alaric’s ribs.
Alaric caught it with both hands, twisted, and used the momentum to throw his opponent off-balance.
They broke apart, circling each other on the training mat.
The student across from him was named Leoric Graves. He was tall and lean, with that particular kind of wiry strength that made people faster than they looked.
His skin was pale. Dark hair fell across sharp features, and his eyes were a deep red that marked him clearly as vampire bloodline. He moved with fluid grace, every step deliberate and controlled.
Professor Alrdic stood at the edge of the mat, arms crossed, watching with critical eyes.
"No essence. Pure technique only. Continue."
Varen came in fast, closing the distance with three quick steps.
His fist shot toward Alaric’s face, a feint.
Then he dropped to target the body.
Alaric blocked low, felt the impact jar his forearms, and countered with an elbow strike.
Leoric swayed back just enough for it to miss, then his leg snapped up in a kick aimed at Alaric’s head.
Alaric ducked under it, stepped in close, and drove his shoulder into Leoric’s center mass.
They crashed to the mat, grappling for position. Leoric was stronger than he looked, twisting out of the initial pin attempt and getting a leg hooked around Alaric’s.
For several seconds they struggled for dominance, though Alaric had clear advantage, he was just checking his opponents’ strength.
Then Varen’s hand shot up toward Alaric’s throat.
But Alaric grabbed the wrist, pulled it away, and used the opening to roll them over. He got an arm across Varen’s chest, pinning him.
"Hold," Professor Alrdic called.
They both stopped.
"Alaric wins this round." The professor gestured for them to stand. "But you left yourself open twice, Glimor. Graves, your feint was obvious. Work on selling it better."
Leoric got to his feet, brushing dust off his training clothes. He extended a hand to Alaric.
Alaric took it, let himself be pulled up.
"Not bad," Leoric said, voice rasped slightly. "For someone who’s a mage, you have quite good physique."
Before Alaric could respond, something prickled at the back of his skin. That crawling sensation of being watched by something predatory. That he had been getting from time to time, since the last week. But he couldn’t point out what exactly was it.
He turned his head slightly.
Leoric’s expression hadn’t changed, but his posture had shifted almost imperceptibly. More alert. More focused.
Then the moment passed, and Leoric stepped back. "Good match. We should spar again sometime."
He walked off the mat without waiting for an answer.
Alaric rotated his shoulder, working out the soreness.
"Glimor!" Professor Alrdic called. "Next match. You’re up against Corvin."
Alaric moved back to the starting position on the mat, pushing his thoughts aside.
He could figure out what that was about later.
***************************************
"So they’re suspecting you now, Your Grace?"
A woman in deep green robes sat in a high-backed chair near the fireplace. The flames cast shifting shadows across her face, highlighting sharp cheekbones.
The man standing by the desk put down the letter he’d been reading, bearing the royal seal in crimson wax and pushed away from the table.
He moved toward the tall window overlooking the gardens, hands clasped behind his back.
"Seems like it," He said.
His reflection in the glass showed a man in his late forties, broad-shouldered and gray hairs.
The woman stood, her green robes rustling as she crossed the room.
She stopped a few paces away from him, emerald eyes fixed on his profile.
"Well, looking at the circumstances, they’re not entirely wrong," She said.
The man turned his head sharply, eyes narrowing. "So you’re saying I orchestrated the attack? Lady Selene?"
Selene shook her head, though her expression remained neutral. She turned to look out the window as well, her gaze moving across the gardens below.
"No. I’m saying you control the largest military force outside the royal army. You have connections with most of the major houses and half the merchant guilds in the kingdom." Her tone stayed matter-of-factly.
"It’s entirely reasonable for His Majesty to consider whether you might use this chaos to make a move for the throne. Or at minimum, to consolidate more power."
Garran’s jaw tightened. His hands clenched behind his back before he forced them to relax.
"I served this kingdom for thirty years. Led campaigns that secured our borders, negotiated treaties, conquered for—"
"And all of that makes you more dangerous, not less." Selene turned to face him directly.
"You have the resources, the loyalty of your troops, the respect of the nobility. If you wanted to stage a coup, you’re one of the few people who could actually succeed."
"I’m not planning a coup."
"I know." She tilted her head slightly. "But the King doesn’t. And right now, he can’t afford to trust anyone with real power. Which means, even you."
Garran turned away from the window, moving back toward the desk. He picked up the letter again, staring at the royal seal.
"They want me to submit to questioning. ’Voluntary cooperation with the investigation,’ they’re calling it." His voice held bitter amusement. "As if I have a choice."
"You don’t," Selene agreed. "Refuse, and you look guilty. Comply, and they’ll dig through every layer of your operations looking for something incriminating."
"So I’m trapped either way."
"Not trapped. Just... limited in your options." Selene moved to the other side of the desk, her fingers trailing along the polished wood surface. "The question isn’t whether you cooperate. It’s how you cooperate, and what you give them to find."
Garran looked up at her. "Meaning?"
"Meaning you control one of the most extensive intelligence networks in the kingdom."
Her emerald eyes glinted in the firelight. "You know things about half the noble houses that could ruin them. You know which merchants are smuggling, which officials are taking bribes, which generals are skimming funds."
"You want me to throw others to the wolves to save myself."
"I want you to be strategic." Selene’s voice sharpened. "Right now, the King is hunting for traitors. He needs to find someone to blame, someone to make an example of. Better it’s someone else than you."
Garran set the letter down slowly. "Who did you have in mind?"
"House Valtair is already weakened. Viviane made enemies at the banquet with her public humiliation. Her son’s reputation is destroyed." Selene ticked points off on her fingers.
"House Risvolk has corruption issues, I had documented that all. Baron Torren has questionable associations with southern merchants who might have foreign ties."
"You’ve thought this through." Garren raised a brow.
"I always think things through, Your Grace." She smiled slightly.
"The investigation will find what it’s looking for. We just need to make sure it’s looking in the right direction."
Garran walked around the desk, standing closer to her. When he spoke, his voice had dropped lower.
"And what do you get out of this arrangement, Lady Selene? You’re taking a risk by being here, by counseling me. If the King discovers you’re advising a suspect..."
"I’m advising an ally," Selene corrected.
"And what I get is the same thing you do, survival. My house is small, my husband is useless, and I’m holding power through strategy rather than military strength." She met his gaze directly.
"If you fall, the resulting power vacuum will destroy half the eastern territories. That instability threatens everyone, including me."
"So this is purely pragmatic."
"Everything I do is pragmatic, Your Grace."
Silence settled between them for a moment.
Garran moved toward the door, then opened it door and paused.
"Thank you for the counsel, Lady Selene. I’ll consider your suggestions carefully."
Selene just inclined her head. "Your Grace." And left the chamber, her green robes sweeping behind her.
Garran closed the door and returned to the desk. He picked up the letter again, staring at the royal seal.
Outside, the sun finished setting, and darkness crept across the gardens.