Chapter 16: Another Voice
Location: Knight Training Academy – Entrance Gate
Two muscular gatekeepers stood under the dim glow of a gas lamp at the academy's front gate, their eyes flicking nervously between each other. One had a bald head and a deep scar slashed across his left cheek. The other, a brown-haired man with a Zappa-style mustache, leaned against his spear with forced nonchalance.
"Damn it, Lian!" hissed the bald one, his voice a low growl. "If those kids' parents come lookin' for them, or worse, report it to the cops, we're done for! I just landed this job; if I lose it, my wife might poison my stew. She's still mad I quit the bartending gig!"
Lian, the mustached gatekeeper, let out a calm breath. "Relax, Conrad. You know why we're really here. Helping the Vipers push Miraclo to students isn't just a side hustle—it's our real job. We'll earn ten times our salary if we keep our mouths shut and don't interfere with the deliveries. We're not suppliers. We're just... lookouts."
"But what if something happens to those kids?" Conrad muttered, his gaze shifting toward the academy gates.
"I doubt Young Master Scott would go that far," Lian replied, shrugging. "He'll probably rough them up a bit to blow off steam and send them home. That short one—Dante?—has been his toy for over six months. Even when his parents filed a complaint, the headmaster brushed it off."
"Seriously?" Conrad blinked in disbelief.
"Kid's just the son of a dressmaker. No connections, no influence. That's why no one takes his family seriously."
"What about the other boy?"
"No clue. We've only been on this job a month. I did some digging on the elites, but not the lower-ranked students. Still, if he's hanging around Dante, probably another nobody. The Miller family, though? They're one of the four wealthiest families in the city—practically a fallen noble line."
Conrad gritted his teeth. "Even if the Miller family has the backing of alley thugs, isn't this crossing a line? Distributing Miraclo in a training academy?"
"Keep your nose out of it," Lian warned. "You think the Millers would dare pull this off without someone powerful behind them? The Vipers are no joke."
As he spoke, the clip-clop of hooves echoed down the empty street. A sleek black hackney carriage rolled toward the gate and came to a stop.
From the driver's seat, a young woman in a fitted green dress leapt down with grace and purpose, heading straight for Conrad.
'Police?' Conrad stiffened, alarm flashing in his eyes.
"Don't panic," Lian muttered under his breath. "Could just be a patrol."
The carriage door opened, and another woman stepped out—a poised, sharp-eyed figure with a long coat and an aura that demanded attention. She moved with silent authority as she followed her companion.
Within moments, both women stood before the gatekeepers, eyes scanning them with unnerving intensity.
"May I ask a few questions, gentlemen?" the woman in green said. "I'm Athena, Superintendent of Police." She held out an iron badge shaped like a star, engraved with distinct markings.
Conrad's face drained of color.
He recognized it immediately. Genuine. High rank.
Though his heart pounded, he managed a nod, hiding his fear behind a practiced mask.
"What can I help you with, Lady Athena?" Lian asked, his voice cautious, eyes darting to the other woman behind her.
Athena didn't acknowledge him. Instead, she locked eyes with Conrad.
"How long have you two been working here? Your faces are new. What happened to Cedric and Axel?"
"They... quit, ma'am," Conrad answered, voice tight. "We've been on the job since last month."
Quit? Athena's brow furrowed. Cedric maybe... but Axel? That old man always called this job his family's lifeline. He was even expecting a raise.
"And what brings you here, ma'am?" Lian asked, adopting a deferential tone.
"I'm looking for a student. Third-year. Name's Raven. Quiet kid. Thirteen. Black hair, deep-blue eyes. Have you seen anyone matching that description?"
Conrad's mind blanked.
"N-No, ma'am," Lian answered hastily. "Most students left by 5:30. We checked all the classrooms—the place is empty."
Without a word, Athena drew her longsword in a single, fluid motion and pressed its cold tip against Lian's throat.
"Did I ask you to speak?"
Lian flinched, stumbling back, sweat beading on his forehead.
'I-I didn't even see her move…! She's not just a cop—she's an Elite Rank Walker!'
"I-I... We didn't see anyone like that," Conrad stammered.
"No suspicious behavior? No fights? Not even a small quarrel?" Athena pressed.
"Nothing, ma'am," Conrad insisted.
Behind them, Shirley walked silently to the gate, unlocked it, and slipped inside. Her eyes scanned the grounds like a hawk, absorbing every detail.
Eventually, she stopped, knelt, and picked something up—
A torn scrap of blue cloth and a single white button.
"Athena," she called, her voice ice cold.
Athena stepped through the gate and strode to her side. Her eyes fell on the fabric in Shirley's hand.
"School uniform?" she muttered. "Why is it torn like this?"
"East Cotton," Shirley said grimly. "High durability. Even an adult would struggle to tear it by hand. This wasn't a scuffle—this was an attack."
"Mana use?" Athena asked sharply. Use of mana inside academy grounds without supervision was a serious offense.
"Likely. But I suspect there's more to it than rule-breaking," Shirley replied, rising to her feet. Her gaze shifted toward the two gatekeepers.
"You said no fights happened," she said slowly, drawing her sword, "yet I just found a ripped uniform shirt at the gate."
Conrad and Lian tightened their grip on their spears, alarm flashing in their eyes.
"Well, well..." Athena smirked darkly. "Looks like you two do know something."
She took a single step forward—then vanished.
Before either man could react, Athena reappeared before Lian, her sword pressed against his throat once again.
'H-How?!' Lian's knees trembled.
'I couldn't follow her at all… Her strength must be beyond Elite!'
Conrad's heart pounded in his chest.
Only a handful of officers in the city had this level of power. And she was far too young for most of them.
Then it hit him like a thunderclap.
"A-Athena... the Hero of Darkcross?!" he gasped.
"W-What?!" Lian's spear slipped from his grasp as his legs buckled.
Conrad followed suit, dropping his weapon and raising both hands.
"W-We don't want trouble, Lady Athena! I'll answer everything. Just don't kill us!"
"Kneel," Athena ordered.
Lian collapsed to his knees instantly. Conrad followed, sweat dripping from his brow.
"What happened here?" Athena demanded, her voice cutting like steel.
With trembling lips and downcast eyes, Lian began to talk. He spoke of the Miller family's involvement, the drug trafficking, and the brutal treatment of students—all of it.
Athena's eyes burned crimson with fury. Her fingers twitched around the sword hilt, aching to strike. Shirley gently placed a hand on her shoulder, grounding her before she lost control.
"If anything happens to my brother," Athena hissed, "I'll reduce the Millers and their entire slum rat syndicate to ash."
Shirley's voice trembled, not with fear, but rage. "You brought Miraclo into the Knight Training Academy? You're poisoning children—and the professors are in on it?"
She shook her head, her anger shifting into resolve.
"Let's get to the Millers. Now. Raven's time may be running out." Without waiting for a reply, she spun on her heel and marched to the carriage.
Athena said nothing. Her fury was silent now, channeled into deadly focus. She climbed up to the driver's seat and took the reins.
The black carriage vanished into the night.
Only after the clatter of wheels faded did Conrad dare to breathe again. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and whispered:
"We're fucked."
Lian, pale and trembling, nodded numbly. "I-I thought she was going to kill me... We need to leave town. Fast. Before they come back."
They exchanged one final glance, then bolted into the night—toward the city square, and perhaps, a hopeless escape.
…
Lombard Street
8 P.M.
Gas lamps flickered to life as night crept through the maze-like alleys of Lombard Street. The narrow passageways twisted like serpents between aging buildings, their wooden frames leaning inward as if clinging to one another for support. Shanties with crooked roofs and broken shutters crowded the thoroughfare. Soot-blackened walls whispered of forgotten grandeur.
Clotheslines sagged between windows, burdened by damp garments that danced in the breeze. Thin wisps of chimney smoke curled into the heavy smog above, tinting the night sky a sickly gray. Stray dogs rummaged through scattered refuse, their ribs jutting out beneath patchy fur.
In the distance, the relentless clang of factory machinery echoed across the slums — a dull, metallic heartbeat pulsing through the bones of the city. It was a sound woven into daily life, a harsh reminder of survival.
Yet even here, amid decay and despair, there was something defiant in the way life clung to the shadows. The people of Lombard Street endured — not by choice, but by will.
A century ago, this very street had been a haven for nobility, its polished stones walked by silk-clad elites and merchants of influence. But when the empire's industrial age dawned and smoke-belching factories rose nearby, Lombard's fortune withered. Poisonous fumes filled the air, claiming lives and spreading illness. One by one, its residents fled, seeking cleaner skies.
Then came the famine.
The empire starved. Food prices soared. Within a decade, a third of the population found themselves jobless and destitute. Some perished. Others returned to ancestral villages. Many clung to the skeletons of forgotten buildings, turning abandoned manors and halls into makeshift homes.
Thus, the proud Lombard Street was reduced to a slum — a graveyard of wealth buried under soot and sorrow.
At the far end of this slum stood a two-storied mansion. Once owned by Whitbard Family, it had long since passed into the hands of the Millers. Unlike the shanties around it, this mansion remained upright, its bones preserved by constant upkeep. Now, it buzzed with activity. People came and went, carrying wooden crates and bulging woolen bags.
Torches lit the perimeter. Armed guards stood watch beyond its iron gate. The building didn't feel like a home — it felt like a fortress.
"This place looks like a goddamn hive of criminals," muttered a young woman as she reined in her carriage. She jumped down and threw open the carriage door.
A middle-aged woman stepped out, her grip tight around the hilt of a sword. Her eyes blazed.
"If they've hurt my boy," she growled, "I'll set this whole damn place on fire."
…
Meanwhile…
In a small, windowless room beneath the mansion, a boy stirred.
Raven slowly opened his eyes. A faint orange glow flickered on damp stone walls — two oil lamps cast long shadows, stretching into corners like reaching fingers. The ceiling above dripped steadily, water striking stone with quiet rhythm.
He tried to move — but ropes bit into his wrists and ankles. His mouth was gagged. Panic flared.
"Mmmph!"
Where… am I?
His blurred vision fell on a familiar form a few feet away — a lean boy with black hair, bound just like him.
Dante.
The name hit him like ice. The last thing he remembered was Scott… the guards… fists…
No. No, no, no…
Dante wasn't moving.
Is he…?
Raven's heart pounded. Guilt surged through him like bile.
This is my fault.
He closed his eyes and reached inward.
Zera? Zera, are you there?
[ ... ]
[Haa. I'm here, lad. But I can't help you right now. You're on your own.]
Why? Why do you sound disappointed?
[Because you acted without thinking. You let your anger control you. Charging at Scott without knowing his strength… That was reckless.]
What was I supposed to do? He was hurting Dante!
[Where was that care before? You watched him suffer alone for months. You told yourself you were too weak to help — so you didn't. You avoided him. Focused on your studies. You weren't his friend, not really.]
Her words stabbed deeper than any blade.
Because she was right.
He had watched Dante get bullied again and again. Had looked away. Had pretended not to see. And when he finally acted — it was too late.
I should've helped him. I should've…
Tears welled in his eyes. But there was no time for regret.
I have to get out of here.
Footsteps echoed down the stone stairwell.
Raven froze.
Three figures emerged from the gloom. At the front: a boy with blonde hair and red eyes. Behind him, a smirking young man and a grey-haired brute — the same ones who'd ambushed them earlier.
Raven's stomach turned.
"Still glaring, are you?" the blonde youth sneered. "Feisty little pup."
The older man chuckled and crouched beside him. "Pups like you need training."
Scott stepped forward, holding a small glass vial filled with bluish powder. His grin widened as he knelt.
"Do you know what this is, Raven?" he asked, removing the gag.
Raven spat out blood. "You're making a big mistake, Scott."
Scott's hand lashed out — a casual slap.
Pain exploded across Raven's cheek. The room tilted. Warm blood trickled from his nose. His vision swam.
"Shall I untie him, Young Master?" the blonde man asked.
"Yes. Make him kneel. I want him begging at my feet all night."
A low growl escaped Raven's throat. Rage. Humiliation. Fear. His eyes burned.
Scott burst out laughing. "Oh? The angry pup is about to cry?"
He popped the cork on the vial.
"You know what this is?" he asked again. "Miraclo. A magical drug. One sniff and even the poorest trash can touch heaven."
He pinched some powder and shoved it into Raven's nostrils.
"Breathe it in."
Raven tried to hold his breath, but his lungs screamed. He gasped — and the powder flooded his senses.
Zera—!
[I can't stop this. I'm not some overpowered system. I'm just a spirit. You're not in mortal danger yet — so endure. Help is coming.]
Another dose. Scott forced more powder into his nose.
Pleasure. Euphoria. Confusion.
His senses sharpened and blurred at once. He saw two Scotts. Then four guards. The room pulsed and twisted.
Am I hallucinating?
Then something shifted inside him.
A darkness slithered beneath his skin. A pressure in his skull. His eyes — once a soft bluish hue — darkened. Turned pitch black.
Zera! What's happening?
No response.
Then… his body moved.
Staggering, swaying — but rising.
I'm not doing this. Someone — something — is controlling me…
His thoughts began to fade.
And in the silence, another voice whispered from his lips.
"Ugh… Where am I?"
[ …!!! ]