Chapter 85: Tragedy (1)

The trio quickly walked through the hall and arrived at a set of double doors adjoining the hallway, all the while hearing the chatter from the talking portraits along their way.

As Rose opened the door, Michael ushered himself and Melody inside swiftly, closing the door behind him. The heavy double doors blocked out the sound of the incessant chatter, allowing him to let out a sigh of relief.

“I see you met the previous headmasters,” A familiar voice laced with amusement called out from within the room, causing Michael to freeze in place. He turned to see Magnus, the royal resting his chin upon his fist as he evaluated him with a lazy yet refined demeanor.

His eyes moved to Michael’s hand which was still grasped around Melody’s, clearly mistaking it for a sign of affection, rather than the desperate action of pulling her out of the hall.

Michael took back his hand abruptly, realizing the misconception that it could bring. In noble culture, such things could be perceived as public displays of affection and were frowned upon—particularly with those who were not yet officially married.

He cleared his throat, trying to swallow the discomfort. Instead of explaining the situation which would likely make him seem even more guilty, he moved past it. “I apologize for our tardiness, we were caught up being recruited by some of the portraits…” he added dryly.

“Who tried to recruit you?” the second-year Ren asked curiously, nudging Mason beside him, getting his attention.

“Rivelda and Gerald,” Rose spoke up behind the two, her dazzling smile on display.

The answer seemed to shock Ren, whose expression turned to one of disbelief. “The Vermilion mage and her father… No way.” He muttered in shock.

Michael raised an eyebrow, not understanding the significance.

“Truly remarkable,” Blake the third-year replied, fixing his glasses into place. “I think it’s been a while since anyone was able to gain their interest.”

“What do you mean?” It was Melody who stepped forward this time, asking curiously.

Blake seemed about to reply when Rose placed a hand on his shoulder, silencing him. “It’s a silly tradition,” she replied with a small smile, “and in essence it doesn’t mean anything—but it’s said that the previous headmasters are always trying to recruit promising students as their disciples.”

She continued, sitting down into her chair and gesturing to the two empty one’s across the round table. “According to what we’ve heard from our predecessors in the student council, the generation of the headmasters interested in you will dictate your potential as a mage in the future.”

Magnus let out a chuckle, “Of course its completely inane. What would a mere remnant will of a deceased mage know about potential?” he added.

“Easy for you to say… You got invitations from the eighth generation headmasters.” Ren mumbled, sounding rather envious.

“Eighth generation?” Michael inquired, feeling that there was some significance.

“Well, a headmasters term is only ever for twenty years,” Blake answered matter-of-factly. “The eighth generation refers to the fortieth to forty-fifth headmasters, arguably the best generation for magical discovery.”

There was something like this? Michael felt his horizons broadened. Perhaps he would learn more in the subsequent history classes as the year progressed.

Which means Rivelda and Gerald are part of the tenth generation, he concluded. Were they also special?

Blake seemed to read his mind as he pushed his glasses further onto his nose with a single finger, “And the tenth generation, namely Gerald—was responsible for refining space magic, allowing the production of storage items once more. He’s the reason why the Arcadius family were able to cement their position within the continent.”

Michael’s eyes flashed in surprise. It didn’t need to be explained to him to realize how impactful space magic was, nor the value of storage rings—though he now knew that it was an Arcadius family specialty.

Before the conversation could continue, the double doors opened with a click, revealing a tall and thin figure garbed in a black robe. Michael recognized him in an instant—Professor Stark, the one who had taken charge of the first-year entrance examinations.

He noticed that those in the room stiffened briefly, for one reason or another.

“Sit down, we have much to discuss today.” The man said, his tone serious.

His words seemed to turn the atmosphere even more tense. Even Magnus who had been lazing about earlier sat to attention, his demeanor shifting.

“We weren’t expecting you today professor,” Michelle Watts the female fourth-year said, straightening up, “Is everything okay?” she asked probingly.

The thin professor ignored her question and waved his hand, causing a few thuds to sound out upon the round table. In front of everyone now sat a newspaper, the cover page showing a picture of a deserted town.

But it wasn’t until everyone read the title that exclamations rang out around the table.

“A whole town dead!? How can that be possible?” Ren shouted with shock.

Magnus frowned, clearly disturbed by the news. There was a flash of recognition in his features, as if he’d seen such a thing before.

“Again? Is this like what happened in our first year?” Michelle asked, her expression pale.

Michael felt as if he’d suffered a gut punch, his eyes settling upon the article with a mix of shock and disbelief. He read on as it explained the mana spring drying up—followed by a mass extinction—killing everyone in town.

Not again…

His hands shot up to his head, his breath hitched. There was a rising panic that felt as if it was gripping his heart, ready to tear it out.

No…

The images of the ghostly Velmara city, the decaying butcher on the floor of his store filled his mind. A woman screaming his name echoed shrilly in his ears, telling him to run away.

“RUN, MICHAEL RUN!”

He felt suffocated, as if someone was strangling him. All the pain and anguish he thought he’d buried deep inside suddenly rose to the surface, threatening to suffocate him.

Just as he thought he was going to succumb, he felt a firm hand land upon his shoulder—sending a shock wave through his body. The rising panic was swiftly quelled, bringing him back to the present.

Now with his mind clear, he saw the entirety of the room staring at him, each with differing gazes.

“Are you okay Mr. Ellis?” Professor Stark’s stiff voice asked from behind him.

“Y-yes… Sorry.” He replied, trying to fight off the gazes from his fellow class representatives.

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