As the morning mist settled over the forest, Asmodeus slowly slid his sword back into its sheath. He had been on alert all night.
Asmodeus raised his head.
He knew someone was watching him.
This was the man of the dawn—but Asmodeus did not yet know that.
This was not an ordinary instinct. The darkness was whispering—a gaze, a breath; distant but attentive. The presence had not revealed itself, yet it had not withdrawn either. Asmodeus clenched his teeth; he realized it could belong to the Church.
"I need to tell the boss," he muttered.
By the time he returned to the Academy, the morning was already well underway. The stone corridors were filled with students, but the atmosphere had changed. There were whispers. Half-finished sentences. Voices that cut off abruptly. No one acted as if they knew anything, yet everyone felt something.
The Church was here.
Ignoring everyone, Asmodeus went straight to Lancelot.
"The Church is looking for me. And they were talking about a Holy War."
Lancelot placed a hand on Asmodeus's shoulder. "Don't worry. There's a reason they haven't taken over this academy."
Asmodeus trusted Lancelot. He didn't question it.
He headed toward his room.
When he entered, Aeris was standing by the window, her back to him. The morning light fell across her gray hair, making her pink eyes shine sharply in the reflection of the glass. She was silent, but fully alert.
"You're late," she said calmly.
"The forest was long," Asmodeus replied.
Aeris didn't turn around.
"Do you like the room's arrangement?"
Everything was pink. Even the bed was pink.
Asmodeus didn't like it, but he kept his mouth shut.
Then came the question he had been waiting for.
"What happened in the forest yesterday?"
Asmodeus said nothing. He didn't lie—but he didn't share the truth either. Silence was the safest distance between them.
"Be careful," Aeris added.
Asmodeus hesitated. Was this a warning—or a confession? He didn't answer.
The training grounds were already full. The stone floor bore countless marks from past battles. As instructors lined up, students formed pairs. The air was heavy, reeking of power.
The head instructor began reading names.
"Aeris."
"Here."
"Asmodeus."
For a moment, the field froze. The name spread in whispers. Some students lifted their heads. Others tightened their grip on their swords.
"First match," the instructor said. "Asmodeus, step forward."
His opponent was tall, muscular, and clearly experienced. His sword was well maintained—a sign of frequent use. Arrogance burned in his eyes.
"They paired me with a peasant brat?" he sneered.
Later, Asmodeus asked Lancelot about this. Lancelot explained the class differences to him.
And Asmodeus was disgusted by it.
Asmodeus didn't respond. He raised his sword.
In the first clash, he retreated—measuring his opponent. In the second, he timed his movement. In the third… he cut.
The strike was clean. No unnecessary motion. Blood sprayed, and then silence fell.
As his opponent collapsed to his knees, Asmodeus gripped his sword tighter. He couldn't stop himself—just as he was about to cut off his head, the instructors intervened.
"Enough."
Asmodeus lowered his sword. There was no victory on his face—only emptiness.
From a distance, Aeris was watching. There was no fear in her eyes. Only curiosity—and a sharp, calculating focus.
"This kid…" someone whispered.
"He's not normal," another replied.
At the highest tower of the Academy, a figure in black robes leaned against the window. His face was hidden in shadow. He slowly closed the sealed parchment in his hand.
"At last," he murmured. "The monster the Church has been searching for has entered Avalon."
Another figure beside him bowed slightly.
"Your orders?"
"Observe. Do not touch him yet. I want the darkness to grow."
As the day went on, Asmodeus's name spread even further. Some avoided him. Some considered challenging him—then gave up. Power spread quickly here.
That evening, Asmodeus returned to the room. Aeris was sitting at the table, cleaning her sword. Without lifting her head, she spoke.
"That cocky brat losing his arm—was that your doing?"
Asmodeus stopped.
"What if I say yes?"
"Then," Aeris said slowly, "well done. If you hadn't, I would have."
Asmodeus frowned slightly.
"I despise them."
"The Academy isn't innocent either," Aeris replied. "Everyone here wears a mask."
Silence fell. Both of them understood: this conversation was only the beginning.
When night came, Asmodeus lay down, but he didn't sleep. When he closed his eyes, he saw the forest. Holy knights. Sacred priests. And that distant gaze watching him.
The Academy was not a sanctuary.
It was a hunting ground.
But Asmodeus now knew something else.
Avalon was no longer safe.