A slight commotion rippled through the classroom.
Professor Horn walked up to the podium, placed his lesson plans on the table, and scanned the students gathered in the room. His gaze was sharp and cold, like a hawk surveying its territory.
“Professor Brick has urgent business — ” he began, his voice deep and commanding. “I will be substituting for today’s Magic Theory History class.”
He paused for a moment.
“I know some of you might feel that having a professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts teach a history class is a complete mismatch. However, I want to tell you that any form of magic, if you do not understand its history, can never be truly mastered.”
As he spoke, he turned around and wrote today’s topic on the blackboard —
“The Origins and Social Background of Ancient Dark Magic.”
“Open your textbooks to page 237.”
The sound of rustling pages filled the classroom.
***
Lyra had snapped awake the moment Horn stepped into the room.
She didn’t change her slumped posture, but her originally bleary red eyes were now wide open, staring unblinkingly at the black-clad figure on the podium.
Horn.
She remembered that name.
It wasn’t because his lectures were good, nor was it because of how famous he was. It was because Freya had once told her to watch out for this man.
“He is on the Crown Prince’s side,” Freya had said at the time.
Her tone had been calm, but Lyra remembered it. She remembered the name and the meaning behind it — being on the Crown Prince’s side meant he wasn’t on the Boss’s side.
Currently, the black figure on the podium was explaining the origins of ancient dark magic. His voice was deep and powerful, carrying an unquestionable sense of authority, as if every word he spoke was the absolute truth.
Lyra stared at him, her red eyes narrowing slightly.
‘I don’t like this man.’
It wasn’t just because Freya told her to be cautious; it was the man’s gaze. The way he scanned the classroom felt like he was taking inventory of his possessions, or perhaps searching for something.
Just now, when his gaze swept over Freya, it had lingered for a split second. It was incredibly brief, almost undetectable. But Lyra had noticed it. Her intuition never lied to her.
***
Freya sat in her seat with her usual composure, listening intently to the lecture and occasionally jotting notes in her notebook.
However, she was well aware that Horn’s gaze had lingered on her twice.
The first time was the moment he entered the room and scanned the entire class. The second was when he discussed ancient magical families; he had looked out the window as if by accident, but his line of sight had passed directly over her.
Both times were only for an instant. If she hadn’t been observing him intentionally, she wouldn’t have noticed at all.
Freya lowered her eyes and continued writing her notes, showing no unusual reaction.
‘Horn’s appearance here is definitely no coincidence.’
Professor Brick had urgent business — was he truly “busy,” or did someone want Horn to teach this class today?
She thought about Irina’s lack of movement over the past few days, the Mutual Aid Society that had yet to take any action, and that white flower identical to the one on the Queen’s robes.
‘It’s too quiet. So quiet that it forces one to think.’
Now, Horn had appeared. Was this a coincidence? Or… was it part of a plan?
***
Halfway through the lesson, Horn suddenly put down his textbook and walked to the edge of the podium.
“We have discussed enough theory.” Horn tapped his finger lightly on the podium. “Let’s do something practical.”
He raised his hand, and a mass of black mist surged from his fingertips. The mist condensed and swirled in the air, finally forming a blurred humanoid silhouette that hovered in mid-air.
“This is a simplified version of a common summoning art from Ancient Dark Magic,” Horn explained. “The summoned phantom can simulate an opponent’s attack patterns, making it useful for practical combat training. Who wants to try?”
The classroom fell into a heavy silence. No one was willing to be the first to stand out in Horn’s class.
Horn’s gaze swept across the room. Then, it stopped on Freya.
“Student Freya.” He spoke with a flat tone, devoid of any special meaning. “Your performance in combat class has been excellent lately. Come and give it a try.”
All eyes turned toward Freya.
Lyra’s brow furrowed instantly. She stared at Horn, a flash of vigilance appearing in her red eyes. ‘What is this man up to?’
Freya stood up with a calm expression and walked toward the podium. She came to a halt in front of the Black Phantom and raised her hand. Silver-white mana surged from her fingertips, condensing into ice crystals in the air.
“Begin,” Horn said.
The Black Phantom moved. Its movements were fast — so fast that its trajectory was almost a blur. A blade of black energy shot from its hand, heading straight for Freya’s face.
Freya stepped to the side, and ice crystals condensed into a thin shield in front of her. The black blade struck the shield, producing a piercing scraping sound.
The phantom attacked again. This time, it lunged from the side with staggering speed.
Freya didn’t dodge. She raised her hand, and the ice crystals exploded in mid-air, transforming into countless tiny ice needles that shot toward the phantom.
The phantom was struck by the ice needles, and its form wavered, but it did not dissipate. It continued its assault.
One round. Two rounds. Three rounds.
The students in the classroom watched with rapt attention.
Horn stood to the side with his arms crossed, observing the duel expressionlessly. But Lyra noticed that his gaze never left Freya.
It wasn’t admiration. It wasn’t judgment. It was… something deeper, a type of stare that made one uncomfortable. It was as if he were confirming something, or perhaps looking for something.
Lyra’s fingers quietly tightened, gripping the edge of her desk.
***
After three rounds, Horn raised his hand, and the Black Phantom instantly vanished.
“That is enough.” Horn nodded. “You may stop.”
Freya withdrew her power. The ice crystals shattered and dissipated into the air, turning into fine glimmers of light.
She turned and walked back toward her seat. As she passed by Horn, she heard an extremely soft voice.
“Good control. Too bad it’s still missing a little something.”
Freya’s pace didn’t falter. She returned to her seat, sat down, and opened her notes as if nothing had happened.
But Lyra noticed that Freya’s fingertips were slightly paler than usual.
***
The bell finally rang, signaling the end of class.
Horn gathered his lesson plans and strode out of the classroom without sparing anyone a second glance. As soon as he left, the classroom erupted into a buzz of hushed discussion.
“That phantom Professor Horn summoned was way too strong…”
“Freya actually lasted three rounds. That’s incredible…”
“Did you guys feel like Professor Horn was paying special attention to Freya?”
“Was he? I didn’t notice…”
The whispers drifted vaguely into their ears. Freya packed up her notes and stood up.
“Let’s go.”
Lyra followed immediately.
They walked out of the classroom, through the corridor, and reached the open space outside the teaching building. The afternoon sun spilled down, dispelling the lingering cold from the classroom.
Lyra walked by Freya’s side, looking like she wanted to say something. She had many things to say. She wanted to say that the way Horn looked at her was wrong, that he definitely had bad intentions when he made her demonstrate, and that the man made her skin crawl.
But she looked at Freya’s profile and swallowed those words back down.
‘The Boss doesn’t need me to say these things. She definitely noticed everything already.’
She simply walked in silence, her red eyes occasionally scanning their surroundings like an alert little beast.
***
In the distance, behind a window of the teaching building, someone withdrew their gaze.
Horn stood by the window, watching the two retreating figures with an expressionless face. Behind him, a slender figure slowly emerged from the shadows. Her long pink hair shimmered with a soft luster in the light from the window.
“Well?” Irina’s voice was light, carrying a faint, undetectable trace of anticipation.
Horn didn’t look back. “She is indeed very strong. Her mana control is precise, her reaction speed is top-tier, and — her mana fluctuations are very unique.”
Irina’s brow twitched slightly. “Unique?”
“Yes.” Horn finally turned around to look at her. “That kind of fluctuation doesn’t resemble a normal Ice Mage. It’s more like…” He paused, seemingly weighing his words. “It’s more like some ancient, nearly lost inheritance.”
Irina was silent for a moment. Then, the corners of her lips curled up slightly. “Then it was correct.”
Horn watched her, a hint of inquiry in his gaze. “Where exactly does your hostility toward her come from?”
Irina didn’t answer. She turned and walked toward the door. When she reached the threshold, she stopped, though she didn’t look back.
“Professor Horn, you only need to do what you are supposed to do.”
The door closed behind her. Horn stood in place, looking at the shut door as his brow furrowed slightly.
***
At dusk, Freya and Lyra returned to the dormitory.
As soon as they entered, Lyra flopped onto her floor mat, clutching her copy of the Monster Bestiary, though she didn’t flip the pages. She stared at the paper, her red eyes appearing somewhat dazed.
Freya sat at her desk and turned on the lamp.
Silence reigned for a long time.
Finally, Lyra’s muffled voice drifted up from the floor. “Boss.”
“Yes.”
“That Horn — ” She paused. “The way he looked at you today made me really uncomfortable.”
Freya didn’t say anything.
Lyra continued, seemingly struggling to organize her thoughts. “The way he looked at you… it wasn’t like a teacher looking at a student. It was like… like he was looking at… prey.”
As she spoke the last word, her voice grew tight.
The tip of Freya’s pen stopped for a moment. Then, she continued writing.
“I know.”
Lyra sat up and looked at her. “Boss, are they up to something bad? That pink-haired girl, this Horn guy, and that Blondie — are they all trying to do something to you?”
Freya didn’t turn around. Her pen moved across the paper, leaving behind neat rows of handwriting.
“Possibly.”
Lyra grew anxious. “Then what should we do?”
Freya finally turned around to look at her. The dim lamplight fell on her light purple hair, casting soft shadows across her face. Those eyes, the same color as her hair, were still filled with the same calm that always put Lyra at ease.
“We do nothing.”
She was still as tranquil as ever.
“We wait.”
Lyra was stunned. “Wait?”
“Yes.” Freya turned back and resumed her writing. “Only when they move will they leave openings. Only when there are openings can I see their true objective.”
She paused for a moment.
“To move now would be too early.”
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