“Please, excuse me, Laventis,” Lord Clament said, standing up from his chair.

  “Taking a little break, Clament?”

  “You could say that. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Lord Clament turned and left through the back of their VIP balcony spot.

  The sound of the tournament rumblings and enthusiastic announcer quieted down the further he moved. With a flick of his mana, a small ring on his index finger reacted and glowed slightly.

  Lord Clament preferred being proactive in moments like these. Being the city lord, he knew of the many factions and viewpoints of particularly influential figures in his city. This included those with a disdain against necromancy and the like.

  The Sanctity of Order, was one such faction.

  “Relieve Lady Celeste of all healing duties for the five hours. Do not, under any circumstances, allow her near the medical rooms,” he said. The ring on his finger reacted with a flash before dimming.

  “Apologies, Lady Celeste.”

  The voice came from Sir Menevere, Vice Principal of Lightway Academy. He was a short man—part human, part dwarf—with neatly combed black hair and a well-tailored suit of white. Though not an imposing figure by stature, he carried himself with firmness, as if sheer presence could make up for the many heads of height Celeste had on him.

  Celeste sat behind a polished mahogany desk, legs crossed, fingers resting idly along the armrest of her chair. Unsmiling. Unmoving. Her head tilted ever so slightly, scrutinizing the man before her with a gaze that could slice through bone.

  She was waiting in an office, on the opposite side of the academy, the place furthest from the medical rooms.

  Menevere continued, his tone respectful but unwavering.

  “I have been instructed to inform you that you are relieved of all healing duties for the next five hours. Furthermore, you are not permitted to enter the medical rooms during this time.”

  Silence settled in the office like a creeping fog.

  Celeste did not react at first. She simply blinked, once, her gaze sharp and dissecting. Then, finally, she spoke.

  “Who gave you this order, Menevere?” Her voice was cold, devoid of inflection.

  She did not sound curious.

  She sounded insulted.

  “I am the Head Healer of Talo. The Beacon Tournament is a time when my expertise is needed most. If you are so bold as to bar me from my doing what I’m recognized in Talo for, then I expect an answer.”

  The weight of her stare was palpable, but Menevere held his ground.

  “I am sorry,” he replied, inclining his head slightly, “but I was instructed not to say.”

  Celeste’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

  “However,” Menevere continued, voice measured, “I can assure you that the command came from someone whose authority is no less than yours in Talo.”

  The light in the room flickered against the smooth white fabric of Celeste’s attire as she remained utterly motionless.

  She was thinking.

  Menevere, unwilling to linger in her presence for longer than necessary, broke the silence first.

  “With that said,” he exhaled, shifting his posture slightly, “I shall take my leave. I would like to see how the remainder of the tournament plays out. Would you care to join me in the stands?”

  Celeste did not respond.

  She simply watched him, her eyes still dissecting every movement, every breath, as though considering whether or not he was worth responding to at all.

  After a beat, Menevere sighed. “Very well.” He turned, walking to the door, but just before stepping through, he glanced back one last time.

  “I bid you a good day, then. Lady Celeste.”

  The door shut behind him.

  And she was alone.

  A full minute passed in complete silence. Celeste sat there, unmoving, her gaze still lingering on the door.

  Then, slowly, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a white artifact inlaid with a small, glimmering crystal at its center. The artifact pulsed softly. A voice emerged; a young woman in her mid-twenties spoke from the other line.

  “Hello? Lady Celeste?”

  Celeste’s lips curved ever so slightly. “Hello, Teressa. I have a favor to ask of you.” Her voice was smooth and calm. She leaned back in her chair, fingers idly tracing the surface of her artifact as she spoke.

  “The next few patients from the tournament,” she said, pausing, letting the words settle, a soft half-smile forming on her lips, “should receive these directions on their way back to the stands. I will be conducting some evaluations on my healers' work.”

  It wasn’t so much a request but more as a veiled order that Celeste expected to be obeyed.

  “I am currently handling paperwork in an office on the other side of the academy, so I won’t be able to visit the medical rooms myself,” she continued.

  A brief silence.

  Then Teressa’s voice returned, eager and unquestioning. “Very well, Lady Celeste. I’ll send them your way once they’re done.”

  “Good. And…” Celeste paused, just long enough to let the weight carry over in the next words she spoke. “Tell no one of this.”

  Her fingers traced over the edge of the artifact, her voice dipping into something softer—a whisper of quiet authority—an expectation.

  “I want to evaluate the healers in their most natural state. If they know they are being observed, their work will be affected,” Celeste added.

  “Of course. I’ll make sure to keep this a secret.” A short pause, then a polite, almost reverent, “Thank you so much for the work that you do, Lady Celeste.”

  A pulse of light shimmered through the crystal before the connection cut off. Celeste set the artifact on top of the table. She swung one leg over the other. For the next several minutes, she sat there; her fingers tapped idly on the device as she waited.

  If she couldn’t go to them.

  Then she would make them come to her.

  “Ow…"

  A long, drawn-out mumble filled the quiet medical room.

  Enya lay face down on a large white bed, her cheek squished against a soft pillow. The back of her robe was pulled down, exposing her shoulders as a gentle, practiced touch moved across her skin.

  The healer—an older woman with soft eyes and experienced hands—worked in slow, smoothing circles over her tense muscles. Warmth pulsed from her fingertips, a gentle, soothing magic seeping into Enya’s body.

  It felt like heaven.

  And yet, it was everything but.

  “Ow…” she mumbled again, voice muffled against the pillow.

  “It hurts…” she murmured. “But it also feels… really good…”

  The healer gave a quiet chuckle. “That’s because your muscles are still in shock from the lightning. Tension like this makes everything feel exaggerated.” She pressed slightly harder into a knotted spot on Enya’s shoulder.

  “Owwww—okay, okay, I get it!” Enya whined, her body twitching under the pressure. But even as she pouted, she couldn’t deny the relief settling into her limbs.

  Next to her, Risha let out a similar groan.

  She was lying on the bed beside Enya, undergoing the same treatment—though hers had started much earlier. Unlike Enya, she had taken a full-force twin lightning strike straight to the body during the match, and the lingering effects had locked her muscles tight until she was fully rigid.

  “That bully…” Risha groaned, her voice weak but irritated. Her arms dangled off the bed, barely able to lift them from exhaustion. “I swear, if I ever learn magic, I’m gonna shove a lightning bolt down his throat.”

  Enya turned her head slightly, enough to peek at her friend. “Mmm… I’d help, but I can’t… move…” she muttered, entirely limp under the healer’s touch.

  Another healer—younger than the first but equally skilled—was working on Risha. Her tunic was pulled aside while the healer was working on her back with steady, rhythmic motions. Magic pulsed under her fingers, easing the tension, though Risha still winced every few seconds.

  Pell had been sent elsewhere to the stands, forced to wait outside near the stands, since, although he was a skeleton; he was still male, and the girls needed their privacy. Numbskull and Mr. Bones however, were unsummoned, and sent back to the dungeon core respectively. As for the inner darkness apparition—that one was an odd case.

  The apparition, instead of being unsummoned, instead just… vanished back into Enya’s body. It had walked up to Enya when she was placed on the stretcher, touched her shoulder, and slowly just melded back into her like a ghost taking possession.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  "Alright, dear. I’ll be working on your back next,” said Enya’s healer, pulling her robe down more. Enya could sense the healer’s magic flaring higher, two large sources of mana pooling in her hands as they pressed against her back.

  Risha gave a chuckle upon hearing the statement.

  Enya noticed her friend’s ominous laugh. “Is… is it going to hurt more…?” she asked, uncertain.

  The healer didn’t answer and just smiled.

  “Good… luck,” Risha said with a grin. “My body is so numb I’ve barely felt it so far.”

  The second healer addressed Risha as well. “Oh, I’ve been going easy on you, actually. I needed to let your body get used to some surface-level tension. You will now undergo the full massage also—please bear with it.”

  “Oh no…” Risha said, now suddenly scared.

  Both women adjusted their positions, pressing their hands gently at the base of the girls’ spines. Magic flared softly between their palms.

  Enya’s ears twitched slightly.

  Risha gritted her teeth.

  Then—the pressure deepened.

  “—Owwww!”

  A simultaneous groan of protest filled the room.

  The healers simply continued their work, unfazed by the girls' suffering.

  After an hour and a half of massages, rehabilitation spells, and a mixture of creams, powders, and enchanted remedies, Risha and Enya were finally back on their feet.

  That wasn’t to say they were completely fine—just fine enough to walk without wobbling like newborn fawns.

  Risha, rubbing at her sore arm, grimaced as she pulled up her status screen.

  “My health is only at seventy.” She scowled. “I’m surprised it’s still that low, even with the tournament badge protecting me, and after all that ‘treatment’ from those evil healers.”

  She shuddered slightly. Healing magic was supposed to make you feel better—not feel like you were being reconstructed from scratch.

  Enya took a peek at her own screen.

  Health: 90/100

  “Mine says 90,” she remarked, blinking. She was in much better condition than Risha, though her muscles still ached faintly with every step.

  Risha glared at her. “Why do you get to be fine while I still feel like I got stepped on?”

  “Because you got hit with twice the lightning I did,” Enya reminded her, stretching out her arms. “And you still tried to swing a sword after. That was dumb.”

  Risha muttered something under her breath and rolled her eyes.

  The two continued down the sprawling halls of the academy, following the directions they had been given. The path led directly back to the tournament grounds, where they could either watch the remaining matches or leave altogether.

  Lightway Academy was even more magnificent within than it had seemed from the outside.

  Towering pillars of polished stone lined the corridors, etched with faintly glowing inscriptions and subtle magics woven into the very foundation of the building. Expansive archways stretched high above, adorned with hanging banners bearing the academy’s insignia.

  Massive stained-glass windows lined the walls, depicting legendary figures—Paragons of old, instructors who had once trained generations of elite warriors, and the founding headmasters who built the school from the ground up.

  It was exactly the kind of place Enya had imagined when she first dreamed of attending an academy.

  She exhaled slowly, fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. “So… what happens now?”

  Risha glanced at her, sensing the shift in her tone.

  “We both lost,” Enya continued. “That means… our only way in is through the redemption tournament, right?”

  Risha nodded. “Yeah.”

  Enya pursed her lips, staring ahead as they walked. The weight of losing still sat heavy in her chest. She had given it everything. Used every trick, every spell, every ounce of strategy she had. And it still wasn’t enough.

  Even after all that—she lost.

  Risha was quiet for a moment, before sighing. “I know how you feel.”

  Her voice was lower, not quite bitter, but tinged with frustration.

  “I didn’t even make it past the first round,” she admitted. “I got a second chance; the opportunity to enter the second stage was given to me… and I still lost again.”

  Enya glanced at her. There was a vulnerability in her tone that Enya couldn’t help but notice.

  Risha gave a small, tired chuckle. “I took out Rose, at least.”

  She could still feel the moment—the way she had channeled everything into her stance, let Elias’ double lightning bolt crash into her, and then redirected all of it into a single, devastating sword wave that sent Rose flying off the stage.

  But that had been her only real moment.

  “I should have been able to ramp up more,” Risha admitted, frustration lacing her tone. “But I got knocked out so early. I was taken off the stage, and then you were stuck fighting that boy alone.”

  “At least you were able to take one out,” Enya said softly. If anything, Enya was the reason to blame for their loss in the second stage. Risha had managed to take out her opponent, yet Enya struggled against hers.

  “Oh, please,” Risha interjected. “Although I was undergoing torture in the medical room, I was able to see the later half of your fight. I know how strong he was, and how spectacular you were. I just… I know I wouldn’t haven’t been able to do anything against him.”

  They continued walking along the halls. Although Enya was upset at her own inability to take down Elias, Risha had taken the loss much harder.

  “Maybe I’m just… too weak to enroll in a school like this,” Risha said after a moment of silence. “I mean… two losses should mean something, right? I might just embarrass myself at the redemption tournament if I lose for a third time.

  Enya stayed silent. She wasn’t exactly sure how to console Risha. After all, encouragement wouldn’t exactly make her stronger. There was also a lingering feeling inside Enya that made her uncertain about cheating Risha into the academy by using her prestige.

  Would she even accept or be happy at such an offer?

  As they continued walking, they spotted the figure of a woman in white. Unlike some of the other academy officials walking around, this woman was approaching them.

  A tall, willowy figure, dressed in pristine white, stepped into their path without hesitation, blocking their way like a wall that would not be moved.

  She was flawless, almost eerily so—her pale hair was neatly tied back, not a strand out of place, and her medical uniform bore no wrinkles or signs of wear. Everything about her was precise, rigid, controlled.

  But it was her eyes that made Enya’s stomach tighten. Cold. Calculating. Like scalpels dissecting flesh. She wasn’t looking at her. She was examining her.

  “You are Enya Meltere?”

  The question wasn’t a question. It was a statement—a confirmation that she already knew the answer.

  Enya and Risha exchanged an uneasy glance before Enya hesitantly answered.

  “Uh… yeah?”

  Celeste’s smile stretched slowly across her lips.

  It was too perfect, too smooth—like the painted-on grin of a porcelain doll.

  “Good.”

  Before Enya could react, Celeste’s gloved hand came down on her shoulder.

  “I need you to come with me.”

  The touch wasn’t harsh—but it was unyielding. Heavy. She didn’t want Enya to resist.

  Enya, however, instinctively took a step back. Or rather—she tried to. Celeste’s fingers dug in, keeping her rooted in place.

  “Wait, what? Why?,” Enya asked, looking to and from the lady’s hand on her shoulder.

  “There’s nothing to worry about,” Celeste’s voice was smooth, even soothing, like a mother talking to a particularly slow child. “I am Lady Celeste, the head healer of Talo. I simply need to conduct a final check-up on you.”

  Celeste gestured to a badge located on the upper left of her chest. Sure enough, it represented some type of official for the city of Talo, even if Enya couldn’t recognize the exact meaning of said symbol.

  “The healers already said we’re fine,” Risha cut in, arms crossing. “Enya’s even at 90 health. We don’t need—”

  Celeste’s head shifted slightly, just enough to acknowledge Risha had spoken, but she didn’t actually look at her. She turned right back to Enya, as if Risha had ceased to exist.

  “The healers do not have the final say,” she said, the soft finality in her tone making it clear there would be no debate or arguments. “I do.”

  Enya frowned. Something felt wrong. “I don’t know… I—”

  Celeste’s fingers pinched tighter.

  A sharp, stinging pressure bored into Enya’s shoulder. She winced and her body shook—but she forced her expression to remain neutral, refusing to show even the slightest sign of pain with Risha standing nearby.

  Celeste’s smile did not waver.

  “Young lady,” her voice dropped lower, the pleasant edge sharpening into something steely, unforgiving. “My time is very valuable. Do not waste it.”

  Celeste leaned in—too close. Her breath ghosted against Enya’s ear, and her next words froze the air in her lungs.

  “I know about Elara.”

  Enya’s body went rigid. Elara was Pell’s friend that he was looking for. She was the reason that Pell kept living—and why he endured being in a dungeon for four years.

  Celeste continued, her voice still soft, almost gentle—but every syllable carried a quiet, creeping malice. “That skeleton of yours… so desperately searching for someone named Elara, isn’t he?”

  Enya’s stomach dropped. How did she know? What was this unknown lady trying to get at?

  “He even went to the Information Guild, didn’t he? Paid them to look into her whereabouts, down in the First Layer.” Celeste’s fingers tightened again, pressing deep into Enya’s skin, making it impossible to ignore the pain.

  Enya’s face furrowed. She stared straight into Celeste’s eyes.

  “It becomes quite easy to find out information when you have a skeleton walking around in the city, visiting every official branch there is in Talo, you know,” Celeste said. “It would be quite a shame if you refused me here.”

  Her voice was barely above a whisper now, a soft breath curling around Enya’s ear like a poisoned lullaby.

  “A shame… if I were to send people off to… take care of Elara. A shame if your skeleton companion would never see her alive, ever again.”

  A pause.

  Then, the final blow—delivered with casual, cutting precision:

  “How much would that poor fool grow to hate you, little girl?”

  A violent chill raced through Enya’s veins. She wanted to pull away. She wanted to speak, to demand why Celeste was telling her this, to do something—but her mouth wouldn’t move.

  Her body wouldn’t move. Instead, she stopped resisting.

  Celeste’s grip lightened—but the damage was done.

  Without another word, Celeste turned and walked forward, her hand still resting firmly on Enya’s shoulder, guiding her along like a lamb being led away.

  “There’s a good girl.”

  Enya’s legs moved before her brain could even catch up.

  “H-hey, this doesn’t seem—” Risha tried to speak, but Celeste simply glanced back, her own deep voice cutting her off before she could continue.

  “You.”

  Risha flinched mid sentence.

  Celeste didn’t stop walking, didn’t even look at her directly, yet somehow, her presence was suffocating.

  “You will return to the stands. Or find your family. I don’t care which.”

  A pause.

  Then, Celeste blinked slowly, her tone dropping into something quieter, heavier, colder. “And you will not speak a word of this to anybody.”

  Risha’s spine stiffened. Risha was about to speak again, ready to move and protest, but then—

  Celeste finally turned her head and stopped moving, just enough to let Risha see the sharp, dissecting gaze that pinned her in place.

  “I can tell,” Celeste murmured, tilting her head ever so slightly, “you’re a troublemaker. The type to shout, to push back, to run off to the nearest official and make a scene.”

  The air grew thin. She tightened her grip on Enya’s shoulder; both of them turned and walked back over to Risha. Enya’s face was void of emotion, while Celeste simply crouched down so that her face was inches away from Risha’s, blocking her line of sight to her friend.

  Celeste’s voice dropped to something almost amused, but the edge beneath it was razor-sharp.

  “You must think you’re about to do something heroic, don’t you?” She gave a small sigh, shaking her head in mock disappointment. “Running off, accusing a healer of wrongdoing, disrupting the tournament over a simple medical confirmation.”

  Her fingers pressed in slightly against Enya’s shoulder, her grip just sharp enough to sting.

  Her eyes bore into Risha. “How old are you, little girl?”

  “I—I—I’m… I’m nine…” Risha sputtered.

  “Then you’re old enough to understand what would happen, don’t you?” Celeste mused, voice deceptively gentle.

  Risha hesitated. “...W-what?”

  Celeste leaned in just slightly, her smile unchanged.

  “The tournament runs smoothly because of my healers,” she said, her voice almost bored, like she was explaining something obvious to a child. “I oversee every case. Every injury. Every patient.”

  She let the weight of that settle.

  “Now imagine,” she continued, “if I were to be removed from my position because of some ridiculous, unfounded complaint.”

  Risha’s lips parted slightly, but Celeste didn’t give her a chance to speak.

  “No more overseen healings. No safety checks. No authority ensuring that every fighter makes it through the tournament unscathed.” She hummed softly, tapping a finger lightly against Enya’s shoulder.

  “And what if,” she mused, “one of those injuries causes a kid to die?”

  The color drained from Risha’s face.

  Celeste’s smile widened just a fraction.

  “Would you still feel like the hero, Risha?” she asked lightly. “Or would you be the reason a child died in the tournament because the healers weren’t fast enough, or were too preoccupied with a child’s ramblings?”

  Risha stared at her, unable to look away.

  Celeste turned back ahead as if bored with the conversation. Before she left, she added one last thing.

  “It would be a shame if your actions led to Enya being hurt while I oversaw her.”

  She didn’t wait for a response.

  Didn’t wait for an argument.

  Didn’t even acknowledge Risha again.

  She simply began walking, leading Enya down the hall without another word.

  Enya said nothing.

  Risha stood frozen, watching the tall woman in white disappear—taking her friend with her, unsure of what to do.