Morning moved through Kaeltharion's former manor with the steady rhythm of a territory that had only recently become inhabited again, and the entire estate seemed to be learning its new pattern one corridor at a time. Servants crossed the lower halls carrying folded linen, replacement utensils, sealed supply boxes, and lists of materials issued by the Academy's support division, while the Covenant escorts sorted through crates of Kaeltharion's confiscated faction property in rooms that still smelled faintly of old incense, polished wood, and the metallic residue left behind by sealed weapons. Wind passed through open windows along the eastern corridor and lifted the edges of cloth coverings stretched over furniture waiting to be moved, and every so often a loose page escaped one of the stacked archives before a servant hurried after it and pinned it back beneath a formation weight. Outside the rear side of the estate, Bahamut remained settled where the large courtyard opened toward the enclosed forest, his massive body lying beneath dark trees that bent gradually around his resting form. His breathing moved through the grounds in slow intervals, disturbing leaves and dust near the stone walkways before the wind carried them toward the mansion steps.
Noctis finished preparing in one of the upper chambers overlooking the rear grounds while the manor continued shifting beneath him. He had already checked the mission bulletin hours listed in the Academy schedule and had accepted, with some lingering disbelief, that he was supposed to attend an actual class afterward. A dark coat rested over his shoulders, cleaned and adjusted by the servants earlier that morning, and a few Academy documents lay open on the table near him, including the preliminary class notice Valdred's office had sent after deciding that treating him as an active student might be safer than allowing him to remain unstructured. Noctis glanced over the class notice again while an escort waited near the doorway and tried not to look too nervous about the idea of accompanying him into ordinary student sectors. The notice itself looked absurdly normal compared to everything else that had happened since he arrived. It listed a hall number, an instructor name, a subject concerning demon spell theory, and a polite reminder that late attendance would be recorded.
The reminder made Noctis stare at the paper longer than necessary before he folded it and placed it inside storage. Somewhere below, Rengar was already making enough noise in the kitchens that several servants had begun adjusting their pathing around him instead of trying to reclaim the space. By the time Noctis descended, the smell of roasted meat and thick sauce filled half the lower corridor, drifting out from the kitchen doors with smoke that curled against the ceiling beams before being drawn toward the open windows. Rengar stood near the preparation counter with one hand braced against the stone surface while he watched several cuts of meat cook over a recessed grill, his posture focused enough that the kitchen servants nearby had stopped questioning whether this was official work or simply another one of his self-appointed responsibilities.
"You are leaving for the mission bulletin now, Master," Rengar said without looking away from the grill, though his ears turned toward Noctis the moment he entered.
Noctis leaned against the doorframe while a servant carrying a tray paused, bowed, and slipped past him toward the corridor. "Mission bulletin first, class after that, assuming this place doesn't make me regret both."
Rengar turned one strip of meat with a pair of iron tongs and placed it onto a ceramic plate before sliding it toward Noctis with the same restrained deference he used whenever offering something directly. "The battlefield missions may be useful. The class seems less necessary."
"That's what I said."
"Vice Principal Valdred disagrees?"
"He disagrees professionally," Noctis answered while taking the piece of meat and biting into it. "Which somehow makes it more annoying."
Rengar lowered his head slightly, though the motion did not hide the faint amusement in his eyes. The servants nearby continued working more quietly, listening without openly appearing to listen, and one younger servant nearly poured broth into the wrong container after Noctis mentioned attending class. Noctis noticed but let it pass, finishing the food while the grill crackled and the wind from the rear windows stirred the smoke thinly across the room. Rengar looked toward him again after setting another cut of meat onto the grill.
"Will I accompany you?"
"No. Stay here with Bahamut and the escorts. If every strong presence leaves the manor, the servants will probably start assuming something is wrong."
Rengar's ears shifted slightly, and for a moment his instincts seemed to disagree with remaining behind while Noctis walked into the Academy alone, but he lowered his gaze in acceptance. "Understood."
Noctis tapped the edge of the plate lightly with one finger before setting it down. "Also, try not to scare the kitchen staff too much."
Rengar looked toward the nearest servants, and the entire row of them suddenly found urgent interest in their own tasks. "I have not threatened them."
"That's not the same as not scaring them."
Rengar considered the distinction with more seriousness than the comment deserved, and Noctis left before the conversation became another lesson in social behavior. The escort waiting outside followed him through the lower hall, past opened storage rooms, stacked crates, and servants polishing windows that still bore faint residue from Kaeltharion's old warding seals. At the front courtyard, the morning air felt cooler and carried distant sounds from the Academy districts beyond the estate walls: bells from a lecture tower, the hum of transportation arrays, faint shouting from a combat field, and the layered movement of thousands of students beginning another day inside the enormous institution.
The moment Noctis stepped beyond the manor gate, nearby movement along the sovereign residential road changed without anyone needing to announce his arrival. A pair of students in dark Academy uniforms slowed mid-conversation and shifted toward the opposite side of the road. An instructor guiding a small group of younger demons placed his hand against the shoulder of the nearest student and quietly redirected them toward a side path. Several servants from another estate lowered their heads and waited until Noctis passed before continuing with a cart of supplies. None of it was dramatic enough to stop the district, but the reactions followed him in small physical adjustments through the entire road: heads lowering, conversations thinning, footsteps changing direction, shoulders stiffening beneath robes, eyes lingering too long before turning away.
The mission district lay closer to the central exchange halls, where the Academy's calmer educational structure gave way to something more competitive and crowded. The roads widened as Noctis approached, and the sound of the district reached him before the building itself came fully into view. Voices overlapped beneath the steady hum of floating assignment boards. Armor shifted among clustered students preparing for expeditions. Faction recruiters called out reward estimates and target classifications from near the outer pillars. Several beastkin couriers moved between counters carrying sealed mission stacks, their steps quick enough to weave through the larger demons without collision. The main mission hall rose ahead in black stone and red metal, its entrance framed by columns engraved with battlefield records and contribution rankings from past generations of Academy students.
Inside, the mission bulletin hall operated like an entire marketplace built around war. Hundreds of notices floated across wide formation walls, each sheet glowing faintly according to classification, danger level, battlefield region, contribution reward, and participant requirements. Lower-ranked missions clustered near the outer boards where younger students argued over escort assignments and minor patrol duties. Mid-tier objectives hovered along rotating panels near the center, where factions negotiated group membership for raids, fortress strikes, relic surveys, and support deployments. Farther inward, sealed mission boards remained partially hidden behind authority screens, displaying only fragments of restricted commissions to students without the clearance to accept them. The air smelled of ink, heated metal, demonic leather, old parchment, and faint blood from battlefield tokens carried by students who had only recently returned from active fronts.
Noctis entered through the main hall doors while two attendants near the entrance were still processing a group registration. One attendant looked up, recognized him, and missed the stamp mark she had been placing on the document, leaving a crooked red seal across the edge of the page. The student in front of her began to complain until he followed her gaze and immediately decided the seal was acceptable. Around the hall, recognition spread in uneven waves rather than all at once. A cluster of students near the assassination board quieted first. A group of dragonkin near the expedition board turned their heads with visible stiffness. Two abyssal demons negotiating over a dungeon exploration contract lowered their voices and stepped away from the central aisle. Whispers moved behind Noctis as he walked deeper into the hall, blending into the ordinary noise instead of replacing it.
"They said he took Kaeltharion's manor," one student murmured while pretending to examine a mission notice.
"My cousin was near the residential district when the pressure fell. He couldn't stand for half an hour afterward."
"I heard the dragon was larger than the Academy arena."
"It killed Kaeltharion's subordinates before the officials arrived."
"Vice Principal Valdred personally assigned the manor to him afterward."
"No one knows why."
Noctis kept walking through the central aisle without reacting. The escort behind him remained several steps back, careful not to interfere as the crowd adjusted around him. Floating mission sheets continued turning above them, and small spirit-like filing constructs drifted between boards carrying updated contribution values from battlefield offices. The hall had not stopped functioning, but its rhythm altered wherever Noctis passed. Pens moved slower. Students stopped arguing until he walked by. Attendants kept their eyes on their ledgers with too much focus. The fear was not uniform, and some gazes carried curiosity or resentment, but the entire district seemed aware that a careless confrontation could become everyone's problem.
A tall demon eventually stepped out from a group gathered near one of the combat faction boards. He wore reinforced Academy combat attire with a crimson-black crest marked along one shoulder, and his body carried the practiced posture of someone used to being watched. Several students around him glanced between him and Noctis, their expressions showing the mix of anticipation and apprehension that usually preceded public challenges. The demon placed himself near the aisle, not fully blocking it yet but close enough that Noctis would have to notice him.
"You're Noctis Vaeltharion," the demon said, voice carrying across the nearby boards.
Noctis continued toward the mission wall.
The demon's jaw tightened, and the students behind him shifted, some stepping back to avoid being too close if the situation broke open. "I'm speaking to you."
Noctis passed him without slowing, his attention moving toward the fortress assault categories displayed ahead. The demon's face darkened, and the movement of his arm came a moment later, reaching toward Noctis's path more from wounded pride than strategy. Before his hand came close enough to matter, three mission administrators crossed the aisle from different directions with the speed of people who had been watching for exactly this possibility. One caught the challenger's wrist and twisted it behind his back, another drove a restraint seal against his chest, and the third placed himself between the demon and Noctis while the surrounding mission notices continued rotating overhead.
The challenger snarled and tried to wrench free, but the restraint seal tightened across his uniform and forced his shoulders downward. The administrator holding him did not raise his voice, though the tone carried enough force that several nearby students lowered their heads instinctively.
"You will leave the mission district now. If you attempt to create another disturbance around Lord Noctis, we will kill you ourselves and send your body back to your family with the administrative report attached."
The challenger's anger faltered under the bluntness of the threat. Around him, students who had expected a dramatic challenge now looked at the administrators with visible confusion. Mission staff were supposed to remain neutral unless mission rules were violated, and even then their interventions usually carried fines, suspensions, or removal notices rather than death threats. The administrators did not look like they were performing loyalty to Noctis. Their fear sat deeper than that, hidden behind professional faces and tight shoulders. They were preventing a repeat of the sovereign district incident before it could take shape inside a crowded hall full of students, mission arrays, and fragile administrative careers.
Noctis stopped near the edge of the central aisle and looked back at them. He could feel the administrators' tension clearly enough. Their intervention came from Valdred's orders, or at least from the fear of failing to obey those orders. If a challenge escalated in the mission hall and forced another upper authority response, the people responsible for managing the district would become the first names on the report.
The administrator nearest Noctis bowed slightly, though his eyes flicked once toward the repaired ceiling formations above the hall as if imagining them collapsing. "Apologies for the disturbance, Lord Noctis. The mission district will maintain order."
Noctis nodded. "Thanks."
The administrator's posture became even stiffer at the polite answer, and the other two quickly dragged the restrained challenger toward the outer doors before the crowd could turn the moment into something worse. The hall's ordinary sound returned gradually after they left, though it returned changed. The whispers became quieter. Students gave Noctis more space. Several faction representatives began watching not only him, but the mission staff around him, realizing that the Academy administration had already decided preventing incidents involving Noctis was more important than preserving ordinary student pride.
Noctis turned back toward the mission boards and began reading through the active assignments. The main warfront category stretched across a long floating wall where notices arranged themselves by region, rank, and target classification. Several missions involved eliminating specific Holy Church officials: border priests maintaining ward networks, inquisitor captains leading cleansing patrols, paladins responsible for escorting relic convoys, bishops anchoring defensive sanctums along contested territories. Other notices requested groups for raids against Church supply lines, temporary support for demonic border fortresses, sabotage missions targeting sanctity relay towers, or battlefield reinforcement for factions already engaged in long-term conflict zones. The contribution rewards varied widely, and many of the notices included soul collection requirements tied to confirmed kills.
Noctis moved slowly along the board while the crowd around him continued operating in layers. A group of four demons argued over whether a bishop elimination mission required too many support casters. A beastkin student with armored horns signed onto a convoy raid after negotiating a private payment from another faction. Two attendants replaced outdated warfront notices with fresh updates, their hands moving quickly as the formation wall accepted each new sheet and sorted it into place. Overhead, filing constructs carried accepted mission records to the counter lanes, and every so often a mission disappeared from the board after a team reached the required participant count.
The dungeon and relic exploration boards occupied the next section. These missions looked more profitable on paper. Several offered high contribution rewards for entering sealed ruins, recovering unknown relic fragments, mapping collapsed underground sanctums, or exploring corrupted dungeons near old Church territories. One notice mentioned a sealed reliquary believed to contain pre-war artifacts. Another listed an abyssal ruin where multiple student groups had disappeared over the last decade. A third offered private sponsorship from a noble demon house seeking a relic compatible with fire bloodline evolution.
Noctis read through them carefully, but the interest did not fully take hold. He had just finished a dungeon expedition with Rengar not long ago, and the memory of tunnels, hidden monsters, and resource grinding still sat fresh enough that diving immediately into another enclosed ruin felt tedious. More importantly, the meeting with Valdred had changed how he valued relics. Sanguinastra and the Blood Dominion Core were not ordinary finds. They were god-tier objects with secrets he had not yet unlocked, and collecting weaker relics for the sake of collecting them would only distract him unless they directly supported those two. If another truly valuable relic existed, the pattern seemed obvious enough. The Church loved sealing dangerous things away in dungeons, sanctums, and forbidden vaults. The best targets would not be random Academy ruins. They would be Church-controlled places hiding objects the Church feared or could not use.
He continued past the dungeon section and stopped before a larger battlefield assignment marked with a border fortress sigil. The notice hovered above the others because it still lacked enough participants, and a rotating map beside it showed a fortified Church stronghold positioned along a contested border region where demonic scouts had recently confirmed increased ward construction. The mission required fifty participants from Academy factions or unaffiliated students, with contribution rewards divided through confirmed kills, fortress breach participation, ward disruption, and soul collection. The objective was simple enough: join the strike group, assault the Holy Church border fortress, break its defensive structure, and return through the Academy deployment route after the mission commander called withdrawal.
Noctis studied the participant list attached to the lower portion of the notice. Several names already belonged to known Academy combat factions. Others had no faction markers attached, likely individual students seeking contribution points or battlefield recognition. Fifty demons attacking a fortified Church position would give him exactly what he needed before the Demon Crucible opened. He could observe Academy combat standards, see how demons fought under pressure, measure discipline, and decide whether any of them were worth approaching later for the Faction of Twilight. Strength alone did not matter. If they broke formation the moment the Church pushed back, they were useless. If they followed orders but lacked initiative, they were limited. If some adapted properly under real battlefield pressure, then perhaps the Academy had more to offer than irritating politics and class schedules.
He reached forward and pulled the notice from the board. The mission sheet condensed into a smaller glowing document in his hand, its formation seal adjusting to his authority before stabilizing. Several nearby students noticed the selection and immediately began whispering again, this time about the fortress raid rather than the manor incident. Noctis ignored them and turned toward the registration counters.
The counter lanes were crowded, and each station carried its own small storm of movement. Attendants stamped ledgers, verified mission tokens, scanned soul collection containers, checked faction approvals, rejected incomplete forms, and redirected students who lacked proper clearance. One lane processed battlefield contracts. Another handled relic expeditions. A third managed mission withdrawals and medical delay petitions. The attendants worked quickly despite the noise, but their rhythm faltered as Noctis approached the central counter staffed by a rabbit beastkin girl with pale silver hair, long ears, and gold eyes that lifted from her ledger just as he reached the front of the line.
Her body reacted before her professionalism could stop it. The pen in her hand paused above the page, and the tip released one dark dot of ink that spread slightly into the parchment. Her ears stiffened upright, and the fine hairs along her arms rose beneath the sleeves of her uniform. She had heard enough rumors about Noctis during the last two days to recognize him immediately, but standing across the counter from him made the stories feel irrelevant. His aura remained restrained, barely leaking at all, yet even that faint trace brushed against her instincts like a predator's shadow crossing open ground. Her heartbeat accelerated, and she glanced across the nearby counters for help, only to find the other attendants already buried in their own lines or carefully pretending not to notice her predicament.
Noctis placed the fortress mission notice gently onto the counter and kept his voice calm. "Could you register me for this mission, please?"
The rabbit beastkin looked from the glowing notice to his face, and the fear in her expression began tangling with something entirely different when he smiled at her. Noctis did not think much of the gesture. He was trying to reassure her because she looked close to bolting from her own station, but the restrained warmth of the smile landed with far more force than intended. Her ears twitched, lowered halfway, then rose again as she attempted to remember the registration procedure she had probably performed hundreds of times. The pen slipped slightly between her fingers before she caught it, and the student waiting in the next lane leaned sideways to see why the attendant had suddenly forgotten how to breathe.
Noctis kept his expression gentle while waiting, though inside, Alter's thoughts recoiled at the absurdity of the reaction. This face really could ruin households with one polite smile, and the previous owner still went around forcing himself on women like an idiot. What a waste. The thought passed through him while the rabbit beastkin fumbled open the mission ledger and pressed the glowing notice against the registration plate. He did not let the internal irritation show. The girl in front of him was already struggling enough.
The mission seal brightened beneath her hand, and she began entering his information into the ledger. Around them, the counter area continued moving, but less cleanly than before. One female attendant at the adjacent lane glanced toward Noctis while stamping a mission token and pressed the seal onto the wrong corner. Another paused mid-sentence while explaining reward distribution to a group of students, then restarted from the beginning after losing track of her own words. A demon girl farther down the counter pretended to organize contribution forms while repeatedly looking toward Noctis whenever she thought he was not watching. The rabbit beastkin's fingers slowly steadied as she focused on the task, but every time she looked up to confirm a detail, her ears gave another small twitch.
"Name already registered through upper clearance," she said, her voice quieter than she probably intended while the mission plate recorded his participation. "Faction designation… Twilight. Authority status… special upper recognition. Combat classification… pending."
Noctis looked at the classification line with mild amusement. "Still pending?"
The rabbit beastkin swallowed and adjusted the ledger screen. "The Academy system has not finalized a stable category yet, Lord Noctis."
"That sounds like Valdred's problem."
Her shoulders relaxed slightly at the casual answer, though the surrounding attendants heard it and immediately became more careful with their own work. The registration plate finished processing, and a small mission token formed from the counter array, dark metal with a red fortress sigil embedded into its face. The rabbit beastkin picked it up, but her grip tightened too much as Noctis looked back toward her. She took a breath, loosened her fingers, and offered it across the counter with both hands.
"Registration completed. The deployment time and gathering location are stored inside the token. Please report to the eastern battlefield transit yard before departure."
Noctis accepted the token carefully enough that his fingers did not brush hers by accident. "Thanks. You handled that well."
The compliment struck her harder than the aura had. Her face warmed immediately, and her ears lowered almost flat before springing halfway back up in panic. Noctis noticed the reaction, realized he had somehow made it worse, and decided retreat was the safest option. He placed the token into storage and turned from the counter.
As he stepped away, he noticed several female attendants still watching from neighboring stations while pretending to continue working. Since ignoring them seemed likely to make the atmosphere even stranger, he glanced back and gave them the same relaxed smile in acknowledgment. The counter area lost another measure of efficiency afterward. A stack of forms slid sideways when one attendant missed the edge of the table. Another answered a student's question with the wrong mission category before correcting herself. The rabbit beastkin covered part of her face with one hand while trying to resume writing, though her ears still betrayed her with small uncontrollable movements.
Noctis reached the exit corridor while the hall continued buzzing behind him. A few students near the registration lanes looked between the attendants and one another with obvious confusion. One asked whether Noctis had used a charm technique, and another answered that no visible spell structure had appeared. A third student, still holding an unsigned mission form, whispered that maybe this was just what happened when someone with terrifying sovereign pressure smiled at people instead of threatening them. The attendants heard enough of the conversation to become even more embarrassed, which only made the nearby students more confused.
Noctis walked out of the mission hall with the fortress mission token secured and the first class notice waiting in storage. The Academy road outside had grown busier while he was inside, and groups of students moved between instructional halls beneath banners that shifted in the wind overhead. He turned toward the educational sector with the same mild disbelief he had carried since morning. He had registered for a Holy Church border fortress assault, survived a public challenge without needing to move, accidentally destabilized the emotional state of the mission attendants by being polite, and now he was apparently expected to sit through a class like a normal student.
The Academy remained the strangest battlefield he had entered so far.