Ren glanced around. Only two more skill points needed before he could purchase a skill. He sighed, exiting the hallway of the West Wing and trudging back toward the elemental magic area. Twisting the doorknob, he entered the classroom where everyone had already assembled.
Professor Thorne shot him a stern look. "You're fifteen minutes late. Sit down," he commanded.
Ren obeyed, slinking to the back of the class. Blood still caked his head and stained his shirt. "This class stinks," he muttered under his breath.
Electric droned on about magical theory until the classroom door burst open. Multiple guards stormed in, brandishing daggers and blades.
"I'm in the middle of a lecture," Professor Thorne snapped, his voice tight with indignation.
"We're conducting an investigation," a guard retorted sharply. "Your lecture can wait."
Murmurs rippled through the classroom. "An investigation?" one student whispered. "What could it be about?"
Elias glanced nervously around. "I mean, I did see Max and Charlie leave a few classes ago along with Ren, but it could be anything."
The lead guard stepped forward, his voice cutting through the whispers. "There's been a murder in the East Wing. Two dead bodies. We're here to find the killer."
"Well, if that wasn't obvious enough," a student muttered sarcastically.
"Silence!" another guard bellowed, slamming his fist on a desk. "Hands on desks, now!"
Every student complied immediately. Ren trembled, his thoughts racing. Can't get caught here. Not now. If I do, I'm dead.
Solar remained eerily silent beside him.
The guards produced an orb filled with swirling silver liquid. "We'll place this before each of you," the lead guard explained, his eyes narrowing. "Any changes will reveal the culprit. This orb detects death residue or killing spells cast within the last hour."
Ren froze. This was it—he would be caught. After just acquiring the soul system, his life would end. He could run, but the guards would easily capture him. He could frame someone else, but the silver orb would expose his lie. His only hope was that another student in this class had committed a crime.
The guards moved methodically through the first three rows without incident. As they approached the fourth row, Ren's heart hammered against his ribs. He shook visibly, eyes darting toward the window—his closest escape.
The guards tested the student beside him. Ren silently prayed to any deity listening that this student had blood on their hands.
Suddenly, the orb began to boil. Its silver liquid turned pitch black, steam rising as the glass heated. When the guard removed it, the liquid returned to silver.
"We have our killer," the guard announced coldly.
Multiple guards surrounded the student, dragging him from the classroom. He screamed and kicked, pleading innocence, but his protests fell on deaf ears. The orb had condemned him.
The guards hauled the young boy down several flights of stairs in the North Wing. The lights grew dimmer with each step until one guard finally produced a flashlight to navigate the darkness.
They thrust him into a wretched cell—cold, barred, and desolate. They informed him of his punishment: meager portions of white rice just three times daily, if he was lucky enough to receive dinner at all.
The cell door clanged shut as he lunged forward. He pounded desperately against the bars, but the guards had already ascended the stairs, leaving him alone in the darkness.
The case appeared closed, but a far greater danger loomed unseen. Ren had escaped detection, but his peril had only begun.