The morning bell rang once.
Not metal.
Stone.
A thick slab struck by a wooden mallet, the low, resonant tone rolling through streets that had not existed a year ago.
Rekk's POV – Wall Guard (Goblin)
Rekk adjusted the strap of his spear and leaned against the western parapet.
The wall beneath him felt alive—solid in a way no mud-and-vine barrier ever had. The stones did not shift when he stepped. The gray mortar did not flake under sun or rain.
He remembered when this place had been nothing but fear and scattered huts.
Now
Below, curved streets guided rainwater into carved channels instead of letting it flood doorways. Shutters opened along the main avenue: bone-carved charms, fresh leather armor, dried meats, tools forged from real iron—not scavenged scraps.
Monsters walked without hurry.
No one ran from shadows anymore.
Rekk used to think guarding meant waiting to die.
Now it meant keeping something worth protecting.
Sera's POV – Tanner (Beastkin)
Sera stretched her aching arms as she hung fresh hides along the drying racks.
The workshop smelled sharp—clean, the way Lucien insisted. No rot. No lingering sickness. When her claw slipped and sliced her finger, she didn't curse and ignore it. She washed it immediately under the clean stream, wrapped it in cloth soaked with the bitter alcohol brew.
It healed.
Before, a cut like that would have festered, turned black, taken the hand—or the life.
She glanced toward the inner ring, where children raced past carrying wooden tablets etched with symbols. Not spells. Measurements. Counts. Shapes.
Her son was among them, tail flicking with excitement.
He could read marks scratched into stone.
Sera's lips curved in a small, private smile.
"My child will not die ignorant," she thought.
Luna's POV – Herbalist (Goblin)
Luna sat quietly near the Healing House, grinding dried leaves into fine powder with a stone mortar.
She still spoke little.
But people listened when she did.
A young wolf-kin child lay on the nearest pallet, breathing evenly. Fever broken. Bandages clean. Water fresh.
Luna remembered the days when she had been afraid to raise her voice.
Lucien had listened anyway.
She touched the pouch at her waist—plants gathered, sorted, labeled with simple symbols she had helped invent. Not names. Effects.
Lowers heat.
Eases pain.
Slows bleeding.
She was not a healer because of magic.
She was a healer because she observed.
That quiet truth warmed her chest more than any fire.
Iru's POV – Student (Kobold)
Iru's tail twitched as he adjusted the strap of his satchel.
Inside: chalk stones, a wooden board covered in charcoal drawings of arches and triangles. Today's lesson was *load paths*—how weight traveled through stone without breaking it.
He didn't fully understand yet.
But he understood this:
Nothing here was random.
Buildings curved because wind moved.
Walls were thick because storms existed.
Homes were spaced because sickness spread.
Lucien called it "thinking ahead."
Iru called it hope.
By sunset, the city changed again.
Torches flared along the main avenue—not scattered wildly, but placed at even intervals. Music rose, not from fine instruments at first, but from rough voices that had once known only war cries.
Tonight they sang.
Tables filled the central courtyard. Meat roasted over controlled fires. Roots seasoned with new herbs. Fermented drinks passed hand to hand. Strange bread made from mixed grains—crust thick, inside soft.
No segregation.
Goblins sat beside beastkin.
Kobolds argued portions with insect-folk.
Creatures who once would have fled from each other now laughed over spilled drink.
Laughter echoed off stone that did not collapse.
At the center, a simple raised platform of the new gray mortar stood.
Lucien climbed it slowly.
The city quieted—not because he demanded silence, but because every soul wanted to hear.
He looked out over them.
Nine months.
No—almost a year.
A year since fear had ruled every breath.
"You survived," Lucien said, voice steady but carrying. "Not because you were strong. Not because you were chosen by gods."
Murmurs rippled.
"You survived because you learned."
Silence followed, deep and attentive.
"You cleaned wounds when it was troublesome. You rebuilt walls after they failed. You questioned old beliefs. You accepted that magic was not enough."
He clenched his hands at his sides.
"This city exists because you refused to stop thinking."
A roar erupted.
Goblins raised fists.
Beastkin stamped feet.
Kobolds struck tails against stone.
"Long live the governor!" someone shouted.
The chant spread like fire.
"Long live Governor Lucien!"
Lucien raised both hands, startled.
"No," he said firmly. "Don't call me that."
The chanting slowed, curious now.
The goblin chief, Grash'kar, stepped forward, eyes sharp and amused.
"Governor is a human title," he called loudly. "This is not a human city."
The crowd leaned in.
"Then what about—" Grash'kar grinned, sharp teeth flashing, "—Demon Lord?"
For a heartbeat, silence.
Then chaos.
"Hail the Demon Lord!"
"Demon Lord Lucien!"
"Our Demon Lord!"
Lucien felt his stomach drop.
"No—wait—listen—"
No one listened.
The chant shook the stone.
Finally, Lucien sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat.
"…I don't like that title," he muttered.
That only made them laugh harder.
Then a small voice cut through the noise.
A young kobold stepped forward, eyes bright.
"Then… what is the name of our city?"
The noise faded.
Lucien closed his eyes.
Images rose—Yard's world: schools, ruined cities, lost knowledge. This world: monsters once abandoned, now measuring stones instead of praying for miracles.
He opened his eyes.
"We are not born with mana," he said. "So we learn."
He gestured around them—at the walls, the streets, the faces.
"This city stands because information was shared. Because education became our weapon."
A faint smile touched his lips—small, almost shy.
"From this day on… this city is called The Black Academy."
A hush.
Then
A cheer unlike any before—wild, raw, triumphant.
"And don't call me Demon Lord," Lucien added quickly. "Call me—"
He paused.
"…Professor."
The crowd erupted again, louder than before.
Above them, the fortress-city stood firm.
And for the first time in this world, monsters celebrated not conquest
But knowledge.