(Third Person POV)
The Benzzi Faction's private recreation room located in the elite male dormitory tower possessed a distinct and intoxicating aroma. It was a blend of expensive southern tobacco, genuine animal hide covering luxurious furniture, and the stinging scent of aged alcohol. Usually, this room was a sanctuary for victory parties or relaxation for young nobles who felt they held the world in their palms.
However, tonight, the room felt gripping like a gold-plated isolation cell.
The usually gleaming marble floor was now littered with sharp crystal glass shards and red wine stains drying like coagulated blood. Velvet chairs were overturned with broken legs, their cushions torn until goose feathers scattered, becoming victims of the host's uncontrollable rage.
Amidst that chaos, a black mahogany desk still stood sturdy and neat, as if possessing its own force field separating it from the storm of emotions around it.
Behind that desk, Vesper sat with unnatural calmness.
The quill in his hand moved rhythmically over the parchment sheet, producing a constant and monotonous scratching sound.
Scratch... scratch... scratch.
His weapons were cold accounting ledgers and logistical inventory lists.
"Twenty tubes of compressed methane gas from the Lower District black market. Current status: Delivered and hidden safely at coordinate point Alpha," mumbled Vesper softly, his voice flat like a soulless machine.
He adjusted his silver-framed glasses which slipped slightly due to sweat, then crossed out one line on the list with red ink.
"Five high-level Air Seal magic scrolls to block mine ventilation. Status: In the hands of the field team on standby. And three boxes of military-grade Paralytic Powder just in case..."
"ENOUGH!"
The shout boomed powerfully, bouncing off the room's stone walls until the window glass vibrated.
Karl Benzzi, who had been pacing in front of the fireplace like a hungry lion trapped in a narrow cage, finally exploded. He kicked a decorative ceramic jar until it shattered into pieces.
"Why are you so slow, Vesper?!" snapped Karl, his face beet red suppressing wrath, veins in his neck bulging thick as if flowing with hot magma. "You are busy counting stock as if we are opening a grocery store in the market! I want real results! I want to see that rat suffer right now!"
Vesper stopped writing. He placed his pen carefully on the table, then lifted his face to look at his master. There was no fear in Vesper's eyes, only the professional fatigue of a manager having to deal with an incompetent and emotional boss.
"Logistical preparations are ninety percent complete, Master Karl. Please be patient," answered Vesper calmly. "According to the plan, we will turn Sector 9 in the Dungeon later into an airtight coffin. Arin will suffocate slowly without anyone being able to prove it as premeditated murder."
"Too complicated and long-winded!" Karl snatched a bottle of whisky from the table, chugging it straight from the bottle neck roughly until the amber liquid spilled soaking his chin and already messy shirt.
"Why do we have to bother playing gas tactics and hypoxia? Why not just pay a Class A senior to break his neck in a dark alley tonight? Or hire the Shadow Guild again to finish the pending job?"
Vesper sighed deeply. He took off his glasses for a moment, wiping the lenses with a flannel cloth to clean the dust.
"Because Arin is now an asset protected by the Rhyms Family, Sir. The situation has changed," explained Vesper patiently, as if explaining to a whining child. "If he dies with a sword scar on his neck or assassin poison in the dormitory, Duke Rhyms will declare open war on your family. Your father's business will be destroyed and we will all be hanged."
Vesper put his glasses back on. His eyes flashed coldly behind the lenses.
"But... if he dies due to an 'accident' of running out of breath inside the dangerous Dungeon during the exam... that is merely an unfortunate tragedy. It will be considered a student's inability to survive. No trail leads to us. The Academy Council cannot sue the Benzzi Family for poor air quality inside an old mine."
Karl snorted roughly, throwing the empty bottle into the fireplace. Fire caught the remaining alcohol, creating blue tongues of flame that flared for a moment.
"I do not care how, Vesper," growled Karl, gripping the edge of the fireplace until the stone cracked under his fingers. "I just want him gone. Gone from Elena's sight. Every time I see him breathe, it feels like there is a poisonous thorn in my eye."
"He will be gone, Sir," promised Vesper. "Tom Garius has given accurate info on Arin's route. That kid will enter exactly into the zone where I have turned off the ventilation. I have ensured the dungeon maintenance officers keep their mouths shut with thick bags of gold."
Click.
The heavy room door opened without a polite knock beforehand.
The sound of light yet confident footsteps was heard entering the tense room.
"You are still planning the murder of that little rat? How pathetic."
The voice was smooth, bored in tone, yet possessed a magnetic power that made Karl and Vesper turn simultaneously.
Elian Delphine stepped in.
He wore a loose maroon silk robe, revealing his broad but thin chest. His blonde hair was slightly messy, as if he had just woken from a nap, but his blood-red eyes typical of the Delphine family were fully awake. Sharp, observing, and cruel.
In one hand he held a thick book bound in human skin, and in the other a glass of steaming herbal tea. He walked casually past the glass shards on the floor without looking down, as if the trash was unworthy of his attention.
"I thought you had moved on to more valuable targets," continued Elian, dropping himself onto the only sofa still intact. He opened his book, ignoring Karl's hostile stare.
"This is none of your business, Elian," snapped Karl. "If you do not want to help, do not interfere. You just sit silently reading your trash book while I try to clean our tarnished good name!"
Elian did not look at Karl. His eyes traced the book pages, reading the ancient writing there casually.
"I am not interested in helping plans that smell fishy and crude, Karl. Poison gas? Hypoxia? Those are inelegant and boring methods," said Elian flatly. "But as a friend... or at least my father's political ally... I just want to stop by to remind you of one small thing."
"Remind me of what?" asked Karl curtly.
"About your pet rat," said Elian softly, turning the page of his book. "Tom Garius."
Vesper raised his eyebrows slightly. His intelligence instinct was piqued. "Tom is a useful asset, Master Elian. He gave vital info about Arin's lung weakness. His reports are always timely and accurate."
Elian closed his book with a soft thud sound that echoed in the quiet room.
He looked up, staring at Vesper, then switched to Karl. His red gaze looked bored, but hidden within was intelligence far beyond his age.
"That is precisely the problem, Vesper," said Elian, smiling crookedly. "Rats that squeak too melodiously are usually singing a song taught by their master."
"What do you mean?" asked Karl confusedly.
Elian sighed, placing his teacup on the side table.
"Tom Garius is a coward. Cowards are usually inconsistent. They stutter and panic when pressured, making them prone to mistakes. But Tom's report?" Elian tapped his temple with his index finger. "Too neat, detailed, and cooperative. As if he had memorized it."
Elian stood up, walking slowly around the frozen Karl.
"Arin is not a fool. Why did he let Tom get close just like that? Why did he let Tom hear the 'fatal secret' about his lungs so easily? Think about it."
Elian stopped right behind Karl, whispering the poison of doubt into his ear.
"Unless... that information was indeed deliberately given to you. It could be that the rat is bringing poisoned cheese into your barn to poison us all."
"That is impossible," refuted Karl, though his tone began to waver. "Tom is afraid of me. He knows I can destroy his father's territory overnight. Naturally, he obeys!"
"Or maybe..." insinuated Elian subtly, "...he is more afraid of the person who can cure plagues and kill tier-three monsters than the person who can only shout and get drunk."
Karl's face tensed. Doubt began to creep into his hot heart.
"And one more thing," continued Elian, this time his voice more serious. "You are too focused on Arin until you forget who Elena really is."
Hearing Elena's name, Karl's body jerked in shock.
"Do not bring Elena into this," hissed Karl.
"She is not a fairy tale princess waiting to be saved from an evil dragon, Karl. She is a Rhyms. Granddaughter of Selena the Archmage," Elian walked toward the door, feeling bored again. "If she is close to Arin, it is not just about puppy love. They are planning something."
Elian held the door handle, then glanced back over his shoulder.
"You think you are the hunter setting a trap, Karl. But be careful... do not let yourself realize that you are the one walking into a cage when the door is already locked from the outside."
With that cold parting sentence, Elian sauntered out. The door closed, leaving a silence far heavier than before.
After Elian left, the atmosphere in the room changed drastically.
Vesper returned to studying his notebook, rechecking Tom's data with a furrowed brow, starting to consider Elian's warning seriously.
But Karl... Karl was shattered.
He fell sitting on the sofa Elian had occupied earlier. His breath was ragged, not from anger, but from pain suddenly attacking his chest.
The name Elena always had a paralyzing effect on him.
His trembling hand reached into the inner pocket of his luxurious suit. He did not take out a weapon, but a small object that looked dull and old.
A white silk handkerchief.
The fabric had yellowed with time. In one corner, the initial 'E' was embroidered with silver thread starting to unravel.
Karl stared at the object with a drastically changed gaze. The fire of anger in his eyes dimmed, replaced by a gaze that was distant, wet, and pathetic. The gaze of a lost and lonely child.
His memory drifted back, piercing the fog of time, returning to ten years ago.
That day was a hot summer hunting day. He, little Karl, fell off his pony in front of other nobles. His knees bled, but his ego was shattered into pieces. His father, Duke Benzzi, scolded him in public, calling him weak and shameful. His friends laughed. Little Elian only looked at him with disgust.
The whole world felt like it was laughing at his failure. He felt alone, small, and worthless.
Only one person did not laugh at that time.
A little girl with silver hair shining under the sun came approaching him. Her golden eyes radiated not mockery, but sincere gentleness.
The girl knelt on the dusty ground, not caring her expensive dress got dirty with mud. She took out this handkerchief. Gently, she cleaned the blood and dust from the wound on Karl's knee.
"Do not cry, Karl," little Elena's voice rang clearly in Karl's head, as if it just happened yesterday afternoon. "Knights must be strong, right? If you cry, the horse will be sad."
She smiled. A smile so sincere and pure.
To Elena, it might have been just a moment of pity for a fallen friend. A reflex action of a kind-hearted girl.
But to Karl... that moment was when the axis of his world changed.
At that time, he felt seen. Amidst a world demanding flawless perfection, Elena saw his wound and did not look away.
Since that day, Karl swore to himself. He would become strong. He would become the greatest Knight ever. Not for his father, not for the kingdom, but for Elena.
Karl practiced the sword until his hands blistered and bled. He learned to be cruel, to be dominant, to be a feared leader. He thought that was the definition of "Strong" Elena meant.
But he was unaware of one fatal thing.
Precisely the strength he showed off by hurting others was what made Elena slowly retreat away. Childhood admiration turned into fear, then annoyance, and finally cold hatred.
Karl stroked the initial 'E' on the handkerchief with his thumb. His movement was gentle, possessive, and obsessive.
"I did all this for you, Elena..." whispered Karl to the dead cloth. His voice cracked holding back sobs. "I became strong... I became a monster... all so I could protect you. So I deserve to stand beside you as a protector."
The image of Elena's face looking at him with disgust in the cafeteria flashed in his mind, hurting his heart. Then the image of Elena smiling sweetly at Arin. The smile that should have been his alone.
"Why don't you see me?" Karl squeezed the handkerchief until it crumpled. "Why do you look at that crippled trash instead? He is weak! He has nothing! I have everything! I can give you the world!"
The jealousy burned his sanity to ash. It was no longer love. It was a desire to possess that had mutated into mental illness.
"Arin stole you from me," hissed Karl. Tears of anger dripped onto the handkerchief. "He poisoned your mind and made you hate me. That rat must die."
Elian said Tom was suspicious? Elian said this was a trap?
To hell with all that.
Karl no longer cared about strategy, politics, or any genius warnings. His logic had been burned away by uncontrollable obsession fire. He didn't care even if it was a trap. He had power, had money, and had enough hatred to burn the world to the ground.
Karl looked up. His face was no longer pathetic. His face was now cold and terrifying, like a demon statue that had just decided to destroy its own temple.
He put the handkerchief back into his inner pocket, right over his madly beating heart.
"Vesper," called Karl. His voice was calm, yet the vibration made Vesper stop writing instantly.
Vesper turned, feeling the change in his master's aura turning dark. "Yes, Master?"
"Ignore Elian's warning. Ignore all political risks. Execute the plan according to schedule," ordered Karl absolutely.
"But Master, if Tom is truly a double agent..."
"Let him be!" cut Karl, standing tall with eyes flashing crazily. "I do not care if this entire academy knows. I do not care if I have to drag the entire Benzzi Faction into the mud with me."
Karl walked to the window, staring toward the boys' dormitory where Arin slept soundly.
"And Vesper... increase the gas dosage."
Vesper was stunned, his pen stopping in the air. "Master? The current dosage is enough to knock out an elephant."
"Double. No... triple," ordered Karl coldly.
"Triple?" Vesper, usually emotionless, now looked slightly shaken. "We have no more budget to buy such a large dose. The Family Head will be angry if you ask for more than this, not to mention he is in a bad mood due to declining Benzzi Stocks."
"I do not care. Just sell the plantation land in the Southern Valley!" Ordered Karl.
"W-What?!" Vesper looked doubtful. "S-Sir. That land belongs to Master Kars, your brother. Are you sure?"
"Just do it!" Karl turned, staring at Vesper with eyes void of humanity.
"I do not want Arin to just faint, Vesper. I want him to lose and stop breathing. Forever!"
Karl grinned, imagining Arin's blue corpse on the dungeon floor.
"I want Elena to see his pathetic corpse. I want her to realize her choice was wrong. That the weakling could not protect her. That only I can survive."
Karl clenched his fist in the air, as if strangling an invisible neck.
"Only me... only I am strong. And if I cannot have her... no one can have her."
Vesper stared at his master for a long time. He saw the madness. As a rational person, Vesper knew this was a bad move that would destroy everything. But as a subordinate bound by oath and high salary, he had no choice but to obey.
Vesper closed his notebook with a final slap sound.
"As you wish, Master. Arin will not leave Sector 9 alive."
Outside the tower window, black clouds moved to cover the moon, drowning the Academy in perfect darkness. Inside Karl Benzzi's heart, the last light of sanity had just extinguished, replaced by the darkness of obsession ready to devour everything.
This war was no longer about exam grades or reputation. It was about life.