The night before, Noel stood in front of the small mirror above his desk, staring at his own reflection.
His skin still looked too healthy. His eyes too sharp. No trace of sickness anywhere.
'If I'm gonna pull this off, it needs to look real.'
He grabbed a small vial from his drawer—a minor mana disruptor, something he'd bought weeks ago from a black market stall hidden near the training grounds. Harmless in small doses. Just enough to throw off his mana flow and make him look fatigued.
He popped the cork and inhaled a thin wisp of the misty substance.
Instantly, his skin flushed.
His breathing grew slightly uneven. His pulse quickened in his ears.
He coughed once, chest tightening faintly.
'Perfect.'
He stashed the vial back in the drawer, stripped down, and collapsed onto his bed, letting the disruption work through his system overnight.
Morning came fast—and rough.
When Noel sat up, he genuinely felt like shit.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his muscles ached like he'd pulled an all-nighter lifting furniture.
'Damn. Might've overdone it a little.'
He threw on his academy uniform loosely, let his shirt hang a little wrinkled, and shuffled toward the infirmary with just the right amount of pitiful energy.
The nurse on duty barely raised an eyebrow when he stumbled in, clutching his head.
"You look awful," she said bluntly.
Noel forced a hoarse voice. "Fever. Head feels like it's splitting open."
She ran a few diagnostic spells over him—standard mana diagnostics, basic temperature and energy flow checks.
Her expression softened.
"You definitely shouldn't be attending classes like this."
She scribbled a note quickly, stamped it with an enchanted seal, and handed it over.
Three days of exemption from classes.
Noel nodded weakly, tucked the pass into his inner pocket, and bowed his head in thanks.
The moment he stepped out of the infirmary?
The exhaustion dropped from his posture like a shed coat.
'First part done.'
Now it was time for the real plan.
Tonight—the redhead.
Noel didn't go back to his dorm after leaving the infirmary.
He didn't need to.
Instead, he circled the outer edge of the dormitory wing, taking the long route through the unused side paths that most students ignored. Quiet trails where the academy's lanterns didn't shine as bright, where patrols rarely passed.
His target would come this way soon.
Right on time.
The red-haired student walked down the narrow path beside the equipment shed, alone as usual—silent, focused, unaware.
Noel moved with practiced speed.
A single, precise strike to the neck. The redhead collapsed instantly.
Noel didn't waste a second.
He grabbed the unconscious boy by the arms and dragged him into a side alley—one Noel had scouted a week ago, tucked between two unused storage buildings, half-covered in vines, the stone slick with moss and dirt.
A place no one passed.
Ever.
Once inside, Noel got to work.
He tied the boy's wrists and ankles with enchanted cord—woven tight and designed to suppress mana use. Then he stuffed a strip of cloth into the boy's mouth and secured it with a basic muffling charm, just in case.
The redhead groaned once, barely.
Still unconscious.
Noel sat him up against the wall, covering him with an old tarp he'd hidden there earlier for this exact moment.
Then he stood back, checked the perimeter one more time, and exhaled.
'Secure. Out of sight. Won't wake up for hours.'
He looked up at the sky.
The sun had started to dip.
He still had time to prepare.
At exactly 10 p.m., he would activate the item tucked safely in his pocket—
Veilweaver's Charm
Type: Illusion-class utility artifact
Function: Temporarily alters physical appearance (30–45 minutes max)
That was all he'd need.
He knew the routine.
At 10:00 sharp, the redhead and the others always left for wherever they went.
And tonight?
He'd be the one in his place.
The clock on the distant tower chimed softly.
Ten sharp.
Noel pulled the Veilweaver's Charm from his pocket—a thin silver disk etched with faint runic patterns. It pulsed faintly in his hand, sensing the mana in his blood.
He held it against his chest and whispered the activation phrase he'd memorized.
The charm flared with soft blue light.
A wave of dizziness hit him—but only for a second.
When Noel blinked, his reflection in the faint puddles at his feet showed someone else: the red-haired student. Same unruly hair, same posture, same slight crookedness in the left shoulder.
Perfect.
The charm wouldn't last long—maybe 30 to 45 minutes, tops—but that was enough.
He adjusted the cloak on his shoulders, tucked his hands in his pockets like he'd seen the redhead do countless times, and moved.
Casual pace.
Silent.
Noel slipped back onto the path, heading toward the meeting point near the abandoned part of the academy—right outside the lab tunnels.
He didn't have to wait long.
Two other figures approached from the darkness, cloaked and hooded, faces obscured by simple masks.
Just like always.
No one spoke.
One of them gave a nod—the signal.
They approached the hidden entrance together: a small, reinforced door disguised as part of an old maintenance shed.
The lead figure knocked: two soft taps, one hard.
A thin slot opened. A voice spoke through the gap, low and sharp.
"Password."
The lead figure answered—not Noel.
He didn't even hear the full phrase. Didn't need to.
The door creaked open, heavy iron hinges groaning.
They slipped inside without hesitation.
The door slammed shut behind them with a metallic thunk, locking them into a space thick with mana and secrets.
Noel kept his head down, his hood low.
The corridor ahead was narrow, lined with old, cracked stones that seemed to hum faintly with dormant enchantments. The air smelled of dampness, smoke, and something sharp—like burnt metal.
They walked in silence, the only sounds the soft shuffle of boots against ancient stone.
At the end of the passage, the space opened into a large underground chamber.
Noel's breath caught for half a second—not from fear, but from sheer disbelief.
It looked like an illegal gambling den.
Dozens of tables were spread across the room, with masked figures gathered in small groups. Some played enchanted dice games, others exchanged scrolls and coin under the watchful eyes of servers wearing porcelain masks.
Mana crystals embedded in the ceiling pulsed with low, colorful light, bathing the room in a surreal, dreamlike glow. The walls were layered with complex sigils meant to dampen sound and block magical surveillance.
Everyone wore a mask.
Everyone pretended not to notice anyone else.
'Smart. '
He kept walking, trailing just behind the two cloaked figures he'd entered with.
They crossed the main floor without a word, ignoring the games and deals, and passed through a heavy velvet curtain at the far side of the room.
Beyond it—
A small, private chamber.
Two chairs.
One table.
And two people waiting.
The private room was smaller than Noel expected. Bare walls. A plain wooden table scarred with old knife marks. Two heavy chairs, like something dragged out of a courtroom or a noble's back chamber.
The air smelled of old wood and dust, laced with a faint trace of burned mana.
Noel stood stiffly behind the two cloaked figures who entered before him. None of them sat. None of them spoke.
It wasn't expected.
This meeting wasn't about questions or discussion.
It was about orders.
Standing at the head of the table was Professor Caldus, face obscured by a half-mask of dark silver, but his voice—calm, clipped, and absolute—was unmistakable.
Beside him, leaning slightly against the wall, stood the unknown man. Taller, cloaked entirely in black, his presence cold enough to turn the room colder.
Caldus was the first to speak.
"This is the final update," he said, voice carrying cleanly across the room. "Everything is in place."
Noel remained still, breathing shallow.
The unknown man spoke next, his voice smooth, unhurried—refined in a way that suggested nobility, but colder than any bureaucrat Noel had ever heard.
"The feast will proceed as the Academy planned. We need no changes on that front. Our window remains precisely three hours."
Caldus nodded once. "The students will be distracted. Staff supervision will be minimal beyond ceremonial presence. Security enchantments have been analyzed. Several... flaws... have been identified."
Noel clenched his fists inside his sleeves.
'Flaws? Sabotaged maybe?'
The unknown man continued.
"The external forces are prepared to strike immediately upon signal. The attack team will create panic and confusion. They are to prioritize chaos, not precision. Collateral is acceptable."
Caldus straightened his back slightly.
"And the primary objective?"
The unknown man's tone sharpened.
"The goal is not to kill everyone. Mass death is a tool. Fear is the weapon. We need survivors."
There was a moment of silence—thick, heavy.
Then Caldus said, "Understood."
Noel tried not to move, not to even twitch.
He absorbed every word like dry ground drinking rain.
The unknown man shifted his weight.
"As for the second measure… the charges are already placed."
Charges.
Explosives.
Noel's heart pounded harder, but his body didn't betray him.
"They are concealed beneath the banquet hall itself. Embedded into the secondary structural anchors. When the command is given, the devices will trigger simultaneously."
Caldus asked, almost too casually, "And failsafes?"
"If the first wave fails to ignite, secondary timers are programmed. There will be no escape once it begins."
The man's voice was chilling in its certainty.
Noel forced himself to breathe evenly.
The unknown man continued, relentless.
"Extraction points are prepared for essential personnel. All non-essentials will be abandoned. Casualties among the student body are irrelevant. Faculty casualties are acceptable but should be minimized if it risks compromising the later phase of the operation."
Later phase?
There was more?
But they didn't elaborate.
Caldus inclined his head once in perfect obedience.
"We'll proceed as instructed. The students under my direct influence are ready. They will fulfill their parts without deviation."
The unknown man nodded slowly.
"Good."
There was a beat of silence.
Then Caldus finally addressed the three cloaked figures standing quietly—the redhead's group.
"You have your instructions. You know your roles. There will be no reminders. No second chances."
The unknown man added quietly:
"History will record this night."
Then both of them fell silent.
It was over.
Noel kept his head down, masked, heart hammering behind calm eyes.
He bowed lightly, following the lead of the others, then turned with them as they filed out of the room.
Not a single word spoken.
Not a single mistake made.
But inside?
Noel was burning.
The walk back to the academy felt longer than it should have.
Noel kept to the side streets, cutting through empty courtyards and quiet maintenance halls, the heavy weight of everything he'd just heard pressing down on his shoulders.
Explosives.
Attack teams.
Fear as a weapon.
The pieces were clicking into place, and the picture was so much worse than he remembered from the book.
But there was no time to spiral.
There was still one last thing to deal with tonight.
He slipped around the edge of the dormitory district, weaving back toward the hidden alley where he'd left the redhead tied and unconscious.
The boy was still there.
Exactly where Noel had left him.
Still breathing. Still knocked out.
Good.
Without wasting time, Noel untied him, threw the cloak he'd hidden back over the boy's shoulders to cover up the ropes' marks, and hefted him onto his back in a fireman's carry.
He moved fast, blending into the shadows.
He crossed the grounds without being spotted and reached the familiar stone steps of the academy infirmary.
Inside, the soft light of mana lamps illuminated the small front lobby, sterile and quiet.
The same nurse from this morning looked up from her desk, eyebrows lifting the moment she saw him.
"You again?" she said dryly. "Didn't you already visit today?"
Noel shifted the redhead's weight on his back and grunted. "Yeah. Not for me this time."
He jerked his chin toward the unconscious boy.
The nurse's mouth thinned into a line of concern. She stood up immediately, summoning a levitation stretcher with a flick of her wrist.
"What happened?"
"Found him outside," Noel said evenly. "Collapsed. Probably too much mana exhaustion or something."
She didn't ask further—just muttered about students these days pushing themselves too hard as she floated the boy onto the stretcher and began running diagnostic spells.
Noel watched just long enough to see that the redhead was in good hands.
Then he turned and left.
'Done. No suspicion. No trails.'
By the time he reached his dorm, exhaustion crashed over him like a wave.
He stripped out of his disguise mechanically, tossed his borrowed clothes into the hidden laundry chute, and stumbled into the shower.
The hot water blasted over him, washing away the grime, the tension, the blood pounding in his ears.
'Tomorrow... tomorrow I start putting a plan together.'
'I need allies. I need countermeasures. I need to find those bombs.'
'If I don't... they're all dead.'
Noel leaned his forehead against the cold tile for a moment, letting the steam cloud his vision.
Then he shut off the water, dragged himself to bed, and passed out before his head hit the pillow.