Chapter 387: Night Seige

Just as Razel shouted, “She’s activating something!”

But they were too late.

A faint glow flared at the base of her neck.

A magic circle.

Engraved. Hidden under her skin.

Then—

BOOM.

A pulse of raw magic exploded outward — not destructive, but disruptive.

Magic circles collapsed.

Control wards shattered.

The other prisoners howled — momentarily freed from the pressure aura from Dean Godsthorn that was suppressing them.

Elias was already moving.

Razel faster.

By the time the smoke cleared, two of the remaining four had been restrained again.

One lay twitching on the ground, his magic circle having failed to fully trigger.

The fourth was gone.

“She self-detonated to trigger a backlash chain,” Oryll growled, voice unusually cold.

Godsthorn gritted his teeth. “They’ve planned this far more deeply than we thought.”

“They were ready to die,” Razel said.

Elias stepped over the scorched mark where the woman had been. His expression was cold. Analytical.

“No… they were ready to sacrifice others.” He looked at Godsthorn. “They wanted at least one of them to get loose.”

The Dean cursed.

And for a moment, no one said anything.

Until Lord Terrace murmured, “Then we better catch him fast.”

“Where would he go?” Razel asked.

Godsthorn didn’t answer.

He was already forming spatial glyphs.

“Every corridor, every dorm, every damn stairwell in this quadrant is under curfew. Students should all be in their rooms. No staff permitted outside without clearance.”

Elias’s voice cut in, sharp.

“Then he’ll head for the central archive.”

Everyone turned.

“Why?” Razel asked.

“Because the central archive isn’t under alert. It’s magically sealed, not guard-sealed. If he can break the lower locks, he can reach the outer vault levels — not the core vault, but the side repositories.”

“And?”

“There’s information in those side vaults. About the original design of the academy wards. About ancient relics used in the foundation runes. And even about forbidden spells sealed away.”

Oryll’s eyes narrowed.

“Which means if he’s after structural control…”

“Then he’ll go there,” Elias finished.

Dean Godsthorn gave a short, sharp nod.

“Razel. Elias. Go.”

Lord Terrace stepped forward. “I’ll sweep the outer rim with a clairvoyant array. We’ll trap him inside.”

“Be fast,” the Dean warned. “We’re not the only ones who noticed the activation spike. If there are others waiting to move, this may have been the signal.”

They all froze.

Just for a second.

Because that thought…

Was the worst one.

~~~~~

The courtyard had quieted, but the air refused to settle.

A strange, almost electric pressure pressed down upon those within the sealed portion of the academy — not from the spatial field, but from something else.

Someone else.

And Dean Godsthorn felt it first.

Then, half a heartbeat later, Dean Oryll turned his head to the sky.

Their gazes locked.

They didn’t need to speak.

They’d both sensed it.

She was here.

Dean Veyra of Thornevale Academy — recently departed with her entire participants and student body, claiming prior obligations.

And yet, here she was again.

Not arriving in secret.

No cloaking her mana signature.

She’d returned with intent.

And she wasn’t alone.

“She’s in the teleportation array chamber,” Godsthorn murmured.

Oryll’s face had twisted, not in surprise — but disdain.

“Teleportation is locked out from leaving the barrier,” he said. “But apparently not from entering.”

“That confirms the field was designed to trap, not isolate.”

Godsthorn’s voice dropped a register.

“Or maybe she does have a way in. Maybe the field was designed to isolate us. No one could enter or leave except her. Through a key or something.”

More presences began appearing.

Razel and Elias were still in pursuit of the escaped infiltrator, but even at this distance, they’d feel it too.

One after another, strong magic essence signatures flared across the sealed area like flint sparks.

Three. Five. Eight.

Some faint, some overwhelming. But all of them carried an unmistakable presence.

Powerful.

Disciplined.

Gold-ranked. Platinum-ranked.

Not students.

Mercenaries? Possibly.

Dunters? Perhaps.

But Godsthorn’s instincts told him something darker.

“They’re not just entering,” Oryll growled. “They’re declaring themselves. Announcing their presence like they’re preparing for a battle or something.”

And he was right.

Every one of the new arrivals had let their aura bloom. Not aggressively, but blatantly. Like flags hoisted high on a battlefield.

A show of force.

Godsthorn took a breath. His white hair shifted slightly in the breeze.

Then he walked toward Oryll, stopping at his side.

“Come with me,” he said.

“To the array room?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” Oryll asked, even though he already knew.

Godsthorn’s tone was tired, but edged with steel.

“Because we’re going to ask her why she’s returned,” he said. “Even though we both probably already know.”

They didn’t walk.

They vanished. Dean Godsthorn just placed his hand on Dean Oryll’s shoulder and in a second, they were gone from where they stood.

The courtyard flickered where they once stood, rippling as their spatial imprint scattered like petals in wind.

The teleportation seal did not block intra-barrier movement. Only exits.

It was the perimeter that acted like a lid.

Inside the barrier?

A seasoned Spatial mage like Godsthorn could still move freely.

Back in the courtyard, Lord Terrace remained.

Unmoving.

He stood with his eyes half-lidded as the moonlight traced the contours of his jaw.

Razel and Elias were off hunting.

Godsthorn and Oryll were gone.

And the orbs…

They were his responsibility now.

He glanced down at the sealed tray, the hum of magic essence still echoing gently.

Then he exhaled.

“…Time.”

He slipped the tray into his Void Key, fingers deft.

And with a quiet grunt, sat lotus-style on the ground.

The stone beneath him did not crack.

But it felt like it should have.

Lord Terrace closed his eyes.

Not to meditate.

Not to sleep.

But to open.

His magic essence, normally compressed and folded within the depths of his soul, began to unravel.

At first, it started slightly…

Just slightly.

Just enough.

A quiet wind stirred.

Invisible to the eye.

But real to anyone near enough to feel it.

Had anyone remained nearby, they would’ve sensed it:

The stirring of a sword will.

Not cast. Not drawn.

But being felt. Humming gently as though trying to touch a realm yet untouched.

The kind of pressure that came from someone who had once cleaved through an entire battlefield alone.

And now simply waited to do it again.

Meanwhile, the Teleportation Array Room was cold.

Not from magic. But by design.

Circular. Stone walls etched with channels of glowing sigils. Teleportation circles layered with spatial runes.

Godsthorn and Oryll arrived with a shimmer of air — not flashy, but unmistakable.

The guards who should’ve been mounted at the array room were missing. To be precise, they were missing body parts.

They’d been scattered across the room in a gory way that it would be hard to identify who owned which part.

As they both observed all of this, they weren’t surprised to see the one waiting for them.

Dean Veyra.

She stood tall in dark green robes, shoulders broad, cloak trailing behind her like falling ivy. Her hair had streaks of iron-gray at the temple, and her lips curled upward the moment she saw them.

As if she’d been expecting company.

Behind her stood four others. Faces unfamiliar. Aura very familiar.

High-ranking.

Silent.

Godsthorn and Oryll stopped ten paces away.

“Dean Veyra,” Godsthorn said flatly.

“You look tired, Garen,” she replied, voice soft. Smooth. “Long night?”

She was referring to Dean Oryll by his last name, a name no one called him. She was subtly being disrespectful.

Oryll snorted. “You could say that.”

She tilted her head. “I heard the barrier activated.”

“Interesting,” Godsthorn said. “Considering you shouldn’t be able to enter.”

“I’m resourceful.”

“You took your entire academy staff and student body with you mere hours before this occurred.”

She raised a brow. “Coincidence, surely.”

“Do you take me for a fool?”

“No,” she said softly, “I take you for a man with questions. Which means you’re still useful.”

Oryll bristled. “You’ll want to rephrase that.”

Godsthorn raised a hand.

But not to stop Oryll.

To signal silence.

“Why are you here, Veyra?” he asked.

She smiled again. “To observe. And to offer… perspective.”

“You expect us to believe this isn’t your doing?”

“I expect nothing from you, Garen.” She turned slightly. “But you should know — others are watching too. From beyond the Shirefort. Beyond our continent.”

Godsthorn’s gaze narrowed.

“Who?” Although he could guess, he refused to.

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she gestured toward the teleportation array runes.

“They’re not sealed. Because I hold one of the three anchor codes. You should ask yourself why that is.”

Godsthorn’s fingers clenched slowly behind his back.

She’d been planning this.

Whatever “this” was.

Maybe not the lockdown. Maybe not the orbs.

But her arrival was no coincidence.

And those with her?

Not academy staff.

Not registered warriors.

They were here for something.

Or someone.

“I’ll ask you once more,” Godsthorn said, his voice low, heavy with gravity. “Why are you here?”

Dean Veyra turned her back to them.

And walked slowly toward the center of the room.

Then she stopped.

And looked over her shoulder.

“Because,” she said, “you’re not the only one with secrets buried in ElderGlow. I’ve been sent to retrieve something and I’m only doing my part so don’t interfere.”

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