*It was Father.*
Drake exhaled slowly and walked toward his room. The suffocating pressure from the dining hall was still sitting in his chest.
*Rudious. A simple merchant. Right.* He almost laughed. *Just hearing the name "Rudious" — every teacher, every principal at the Academy broke into a cold sweat. But "Rudious Alister Falcon"...* He clicked his tongue. *That aura tonight was nothing close to any merchant. And who knows — maybe "Alister Falcon" isn't even his real family name.*
*Tch.*
He turned into an empty corridor and pushed open a plain door — a quiet room no servant ever entered. Just a simple bed. He went in and dropped onto it, hands folded behind his head, staring at the ceiling.
*What is he hiding? Well. I'll find out when the time comes.*
But one thing wouldn't leave his mind.
That pressure at dinner.
*That wasn't knight-level. Not even close. Master Jorald. The Academy principal. The strongest knights I've met until now — none of them felt like that. None of them made the air feel like it was going to collapse inward.*
He stared at the ceiling a little longer.
Then his eyes grew heavy, and he was gone.
---
The next morning.
On the training ground, Drake and Veil went through their usual routine. But something was off. Every trainee, every knight nearby had quietly stopped what they were doing. They were watching. All of them. Saying nothing. Low whispers moved through the crowd but stopped the moment either boy looked up.
Veil didn't understand why.
By midday, Drake finished his training and went inside. Veil stayed behind — and a few of the younger trainees finally worked up the courage to approach him.
"Young Master..." one of them started, hesitant.
"Hmm? Go on," Veil said, wiping sweat from his face.
"That fight yesterday, Young Master — it was something else. Your footwork, your speed, the way you moved — and then the way you stopped Drake's last strike—"
They kept going. Each one adding something. Praising something different.
But Veil wasn't really listening.
Because he didn't remember any of it.
No swordsmanship. No speed. Nothing. The only thing in his mind was the nightmare — the red swamp, the bone throne, the shadow. Just thinking about it sent a cold shiver through his entire body. His hands had gone slightly cold without him noticing.
*If I did all of that... then who was I at that moment?*
He had no answer. He got up quietly and walked inside, leaving them mid-sentence.
He found an empty corridor and sat down on the floor beneath a window, back against the wall. The afternoon light came through in long strips. He sat there and thought.
Then a small boy came and sat beside him.
"What's wrong, Young Master?"
Veil looked up slightly. "Oh. Sam. What are you doing here?"
"Nothing much. Father had some business with the Lord, so we came by," Sam said simply, settling in beside him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
*Ah. The council must be meeting today.*
They sat there for a while — talking about nothing in particular — until Sam's father came and took him home.
---
That evening, Rudious called Drake and Veil to the garden tea house.
Four of them at the table — Drake, Veil, Rudious, Jorald.
"So Drake," Rudious said, lifting his teacup. "How is the Academy? When does graduation happen?"
"It's going well, Father. This is my final year. After that I'll need to leave the Capital and complete several quests — earn enough achievements before I can officially be recognized as a knight."
Jorald slid his cup aside. "So they're sending you on quests now?"
"Yes, Master Jorald."
Veil, who had been quiet until now, looked at Drake. "Brother... what is the Academy actually like? What happens there?" A pause. "Will I have to go too?"
Drake grinned. "Yes. You will." He leaned forward slightly. "And Veil — it's nothing like here. The Academy is right in the middle of the Capital. And the Capital itself..." He paused, thinking of how to say it. "It's massive. And loud. And full of people who are all trying to be the best at something."
"Like who?"
"All kinds." Drake counted on his fingers. "Mages who can do things you wouldn't believe. Swordsmen who've been training since before they could walk. Summoners, alchemists, scholars who've never held a sword but somehow think they're better than everyone." He shook his head, amused. "And the Academy teaches all of it — magic, combat, history, politics. You'll learn things there that no one here can teach you."
"Aren't you scared?" Veil asked. "Going on quests alone?"
Drake blinked. Then laughed — genuine, unguarded. "Scared? No." He looked at Veil. "Excited."
Veil thought about that for a moment. Then nodded slowly, like he was filing it away somewhere.
Rudious and Jorald watched them without saying anything. Just quiet smiles.
---
A few more days passed.
Summer had settled in properly. The fields outside the viscountcy were full, and a cool breeze moved through the heat just enough to make it bearable.
Clad, Arthur, Leo, and Jack returned to the manor and delivered their report to Rudious. Afterward, they made their way to the training ground to find Drake and Veil.
Somehow — the way these things always happen — a friendly duel started between Leo and Drake.
"No one remembered who challenged whom. Before anyone could object, Leo and Drake were already facing each other, wooden swords raised."
Leo had tried to refuse. He was an experienced knight. Drake was still a student. But Drake kept pushing, kept grinning, until Leo had no excuse left.
When it started, no one expected what happened.
Drake was keeping up.
No aura. Pure instinct and technique — and he was matching Leo blow for blow. Neither giving ground. The dust rose and settled and rose again. Back and forth, until both of them had nothing left.
It ended in a draw.
Both flat on their backs, staring up at the sky, too tired to move.
---
After that, the manor shifted.
Preparations began for Veil's birthday — and his awakening ceremony. A quiet excitement settled over the estate, building slowly day by day.
---
One quiet evening.
Rudious and Jorald were in the office, going through paperwork. The manor had gone still around them.
Then — a knock at the door.
*Knock. Knock.*
"My Lord. It's Robert."
"Come in."
The door opened. Robert stepped inside — travel-worn, still catching his breath. He bowed.
"Greetings, My Lord. Greetings, Sir Jorald."
Rudious set his pen down. Jorald looked up from his papers.
Robert straightened.
"My Lord — we found him."
---
**[Chapter 39 — End]**