Chapter 778: The Vulture and the Lamb
After freshening up and donning his spare uniform, Adam sank into the red sofa. The softness comforted his back as much as it reminded him of the urgent need for a solution. He clutched his kneecaps, the fabric of his dark pants ruffling in the silence as a deep furrow creased his brow.
Quintella couldn’t attend Grimhilde’s training. He wouldn’t allow the girl to be whipped—to be tortured. But the madwoman had made her intolerance of slackers clear. What would she do if he forced Quintella to skip class? Not just deducting points. He was sure of it. Somehow, he didn’t believe Grimhilde would let him shoulder the blame. Instead, she’d take her anger out on Quintella if she hadn’t already planned to do so after he had defied her in public.
He tapped an anxious finger on his hip, right where the whip tore a bone-deep gash. Though no trace remained on his flesh, it had marked his mind, revealing an undeniable truth: whether it was magic or physique, he couldn’t impose his will on teachers.
For a moment, he gripped his forehead and sighed as he looked at Quintella. Her chest rose and fell peacefully on the bed, her pink eyes still closed. The stains from training had disappeared, the self-cleaning enchantment of her uniform showing its prowess.
He needed to think from a different angle. "Think simple," he muttered, his fingers sliding to his chin. "Who can impose his will on Grimhilde? The rector. Can I ask him to excuse Quintella?" He shook his head. "Why would he?"
The answer must be somewhere in the rules that teachers couldn’t alter at their whims. His mind drifted to Marcellus Noct Virein’s earlier explanation. Threats rang as if the bald teacher whispered them in his ears. That was when it struck him.
"Wait..." He rose from the sofa, eyes wide. "If losing points was a warning, would earning them be a show of appreciation? And if the rector comes to appreciate me enough, couldn’t he..." He grinned at Quintella, his voice growing confident. "He would spare her the training on my behalf. Perhaps not, but as long as he can help me challenge Grimhilde to a bet. That’s it! I’ll show that sadistic witch who’s the best trainer."
His hand reached for his schedule. The rector’s class was tomorrow morning—at the same time as Grimhilde’s training.
"Might be doable on the first class." He tapped on the parchment. Four hours, four times a week. No name to the class, no information besides what Haldris Caer Virelion had said: The House of Exorcism’s oldest battle technique.
As he nodded, a soft yawn resounded from the bed. Sheets ruffled, then clothes, until two bright pink eyes locked on him.
Quintella’s lips curved, and she asked, "What’s doable, big brother?" She shook her head as if remembering something. "Wait... Wasn’t I running? What happened? How are we back to the dorms?" Realisation struck her youthful face. Lips twisted, eyes wide, she scrambled to the door, screaming. "We can’t skip classes or we’ll be in trouble!"
"Easy," Adam caught her shoulders as she bolted past him. With a smile, he spun her to face him. "I’ve watched you run. You’ve done well."
She blinked as he patted her hair, finally remembering. Her legs buckled, the fear from before she had passed out making them weak. She barely caught herself by gripping his robes, the hisses of Grimhilde’s whips, her mirth when she had flayed the boy her age, then all the other students, still fresh in her mind.
"Please, big brother. I don’t want to go anymore," she sobbed, lowering her face in reluctance and shame. Shame to disappoint Adam, shame to be seen as a girl who threw tantrums at the first obstacle. But Grimhilde... She was no better than the Witch of the West. No, she was worse. She felt it in her bones.
Adam pulled her in a gentle hug. The warmth of his soft chest helped her calm down, but not more than his words.
"You won’t," Adam assured. "You’ll attend the rector’s class with me tomorrow. If I play my cards well, you won’t have to take Grimhilde’s training ever again." He pulled back, locking eyes with her. "But it won’t be easy. Even if I succeed, you’ll have to work—the hardest in your life—or things will return to what they were."
Clenching her jaw, she nodded. "If it means not seeing this horrible witch hit others... hit me, I’ll do my best."
"I know you will." Adam knelt, ruffling her hair. "Don’t open the door to anyone, not even for teachers."
"Are you leaving?" She grabbed his hand before he could pull it off.
He nodded. "I have class, and with how much I’ve put the House in the red, I can’t afford to show up late. Well, not if I don’t want our new comrades to riot before my room, right?"
With a chuckle, he waved his palm. Sky blue mana threads as thin as needles erupted. They coated the walls, barred the windows, wove themselves into cross patterns so thin that they became unnoticeable once they settled. Instantly, sounds from the gardens faded. No more distant voices, ruffle of petals, or cries from the training grounds. Only silence remained.
The wooden door creaked behind him, and she waved with a forced smile. "I hope your teacher won’t be as bad as mine... My plushy is in my room..."
While she sat at the desk, unfolding the piece of paper Adam had filled with numbers for her to learn, he took broad strides through the gardens.
Diane Nyx Virelda’s classroom was an ancient building, like most used by House of Exorcism teachers, yet in much better condition than the crypt used by Marcellus Noct Virein. It was connected to the main building by a long, open corridor two floors above. However, he took the ground entrance, past a square schoolyard filled with trees that leaked the pleasant smell of sweet fruits.
Students crowded the door, their voices dying at his approach. They exchanged scornful glances, but he noticed more. Anger, betrayal. All aimed at him. Among them, Jonathan, the teenager with ink-stained hands, approached him.
"I’ve heard of your recent achievement. Two thousand points. Grimhilde will harden her training for everyone." Jonathan tightened his lips in a thin line, a muscle in his jaw twitching. "I thought you’d help us right the House. I was wrong. We all were."
"Maybe you were." Adam shrugged, not bothering to justify himself. After all, right or wrong flipped from one point of view to another. What was done was done, and he had no regrets.
"Ay. This is the last time any of us talks with you. Do whatever you want, but don’t burden us," Jonathan snickered. The other students, stern-faced, nodded behind him. "We won’t allow you to. We don’t want to be expelled because of you, Desmond, or anyone else."
Before Adam could answer, the doors cracked open. Light filtered, surrounding the figure of Diane Nyx Virelda. Like yesterday, she wore large, dark robes. A heavy scarf was tied around her neck, covering her mouth. But it barely hid the hideous scar devouring her left cheek and lip. The college bell rang, and he saw her gums and teeth move through it as she spoke.
"Welcome to my first class of the semester." She smiled, her eyes lingering on Adam’s chest, long hair, and feminine features. She frowned for a second before a chuckle left her lips. "Step in. If you study well enough, you’ll learn how to counter Isolde’s curses in my class."
Everyone began to step in, but Adam smirked at Jonathan. He patted the teenager’s shoulder, answering simply. "We shall see who’s a burden to whom."
Then, he entered class under Diane’s intrigued gaze.
---
AN: Another longer Chapter!