Chapter 147: Uncomfortable Visit

The morning sun was still pale, filtering through the large windows of the Academy like golden veils that barely touched the stone floor. The training area was silent—a rare silence, broken only by the dry, rhythmic sound of the wooden sword striking the training post.

Tack. Tap. Tap.

Damon moved with cold precision.

With each strike, the wind seemed to cut along with the blade.

With each step, the ground trembled enough to betray that he was holding back his strength—not using it fully.

The slight dark circles under his eyes betrayed that he hadn’t slept much.

Not after everything that had happened the night before.

He turned his body with a clean movement and executed a diagonal cut so fast that the post creaked and almost gave way. The wood split where cracks already existed.

He took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind.

Ah, Morgana…

He didn’t know exactly why he was thinking about her as much as he was. He only knew that, at that moment, the Academy seemed absurdly emptier without her hovering like a storm about to break.

A stronger wind blew as he prepared another strike.

But before he could attack again—

“…You’re going to destroy the whole field, kid.”

The deep, calm voice echoed behind him.

Damon stopped the movement in mid-air with absolute control. He turned his head slowly.

Harven was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, wearing his instructor’s uniform with the metallic badge gleaming on his chest. There was something different about his posture—a subtle weight, a worry he tried to hide behind his light tone.

“Good morning to you too.” Damon lowered his wooden sword. “Did you come to give me another lecture for training too early?”

Harven took a deep breath for a moment.

“I wish.” He pushed against the wall and approached. “It turns out there are people who want to talk to you.”

Damon tilted his head, narrowing his eyes.

“People? What kind of people?”

Harven didn’t answer immediately.

And that, in itself, was strange.

Harven was direct, objective, practical. He always said things without beating around the bush. But now… now he seemed to measure his words, as if he were choosing what to reveal.

“…Let’s just say they’re people of position. Important people.”

Damon twirled the sword on his finger slowly, as if unimpressed—and he wasn’t.

“And what do they want with me?”

“To talk.” Harven crossed his arms again. “And the way they told me, it doesn’t exactly seem optional.”

Damon raised an eyebrow.

“They’re summoning me?”

“More or less.”

He released the sword, which fell to the ground with a soft thud. His eyes narrowed.

“Harven. Who’s calling me?”

Harven hesitated.

For a second.

A single second.

But it was enough for Damon to realize it wasn’t something simple.

“Two knights from the guard of one of the larger clans,” Harven finally said. “They came this morning and are waiting in the head instructor’s room.”

Damon’s expression didn’t change.

But his heart began to beat faster.

Guards from a larger clan?

By coincidence… after last night?

No. It wasn’t a coincidence.

Harven watched him intently, as if trying to decipher his reaction.

“Any problem, Damon? Did you do something stupid that I should know about?”

He almost laughed.

“Depends on what you call stupid.”

Harven massaged his temple, clearly regretting having asked.

“Okay. I don’t want to know.”

Damon ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath, regaining his neutral and confident posture.

“Did they say which clan they’re from?”

Harven nodded slightly.

“…Clan Valdeiron.”

Damon’s smile completely faded.

Ah.

Ah, of course.

The idiot groom ran to his dad.

Or worse—to the duke.

Harven watched his expression change to absolute ice.

“Does that tell you anything?” the instructor asked.

Damon breathed slowly, then flashed a slow, utterly dangerous smile.

“It does.”

Harven sighed.

“Damon… what did you do?”

“Me?” Damon raised his hands. “Nothing much.”

A blatant lie.

“I just gave a warning to someone who needed to hear it.”

Harven made a guttural sound of discontent.

“Kid, you mess with big shots, you’ll end up dead.”

Damon shrugged.

“If they manage to catch me.”

Harven ran a hand over his face, frustrated, worried—and yet, not completely surprised. He had already realized that Damon wasn’t an ordinary student.

“Let’s go.” Harven turned, walking towards the door. “They won’t wait all day. And if we keep them waiting too long, it could get worse.”

Damon walked beside him, relaxed posture, calm expression.

But inside?

His blood was starting to boil.

The Valdeiron clan had come looking for him.

For Morgana.

For him having scared that fiancé worm.

And now…

Now he would have the delicious chance to find out just how far this family was willing to go.

And how far he was willing to push them.

When they reached the large door of the head instructor’s office, Harven stopped and looked at Damon.

“Last chance. Want me to say you’re not here?”

Damon smiled, that arrogant and lethal smile that made rivals tremble.

“No.”

He pushed the door open with his right hand.

“I want them to know exactly who’s coming.”

The heavy door creaked as Damon pushed it open, and the head instructor’s room revealed itself to be silent, spacious, and filled with a tension so thick it felt almost physical.

Two men awaited him inside.

Both wore dark, polished armor, with the Valdeiron Clan sigil emblazoned on their chests—”a stylized dragon in gold, biting its own tail.” They weren’t sitting. They weren’t relaxing. They stood side by side, like armed statues… and angry ones.

The hostility was so evident it seemed to ooze from the metal.

Damon entered with calm steps, hands in his pockets, a relaxed expression as if he had just woken from a particularly satisfying nap.

Harven closed the door behind him.

The two knights narrowed their eyes at Damon immediately.

One of them—”the taller one, with a short beard and hard eyes”—was the first to speak.

“Damon?”

“In person,” Damon replied with a lazy smile. “If you’re looking for the caretaker, he went out for coffee.”

Neither of them found it funny.

The second knight, shorter, with his hair tied back and a rigid expression, stepped forward.

“We’re not in the mood for jokes. We have questions. And the clan council expects direct answers.”

Damon gave an exaggerated sigh and put his hand to his chest.

“Wow. You’re going to make me blush. I haven’t even done anything yet.”

The two knights exchanged irritated glances before turning the tape back to him.

“We conducted an investigation,” the first began. “And we discovered that you maintain a close relationship with Lady Morgana Arven.”

Damon blinked slowly, completely neutral.

“Close relationship? You mean… we studied at the same Academy? Because that’s not exactly a crime.”

“She’s been seen talking to you several times,” the second retorted. “On private occasions.”

Damon put one hand to his chin.

“Hm. People talking? How crazy. I apologize for this act of rebellion.”

The tall knight growled.

“Don’t mock our authority. The description given by young master Valdeiron matches yours. And he made it clear that he was attacked by someone with your characteristics.”

Damon raised his eyebrows with theatrical interest.

“Attacked? He really said that? The ’young master’?” he used his fingers to make air quotes, deeply mocking.

The knights took a half-step forward.

Harven, leaning against the wall, squinted “but didn’t say anything.”

Damon kept smiling.

“Well… I’m sorry to disappoint you, but last night I was… extremely busy.” He paused dramatically, looking directly into their eyes. “I didn’t have time to beat up any idiot groom.”

The tension in the room rose like a rope about to snap.

The knight with the tied-back hair narrowed his gaze even further.

“Busy with what?”

Damon’s smile widened, slow, insolent.

Perfectly calculated to provoke.

“Eating my wives.”

Silence.

Heavy.

Unbelievable.

A silence that lasted long enough for Harven to cough, stifling an almost incredulous laugh, and for the two knights to become completely still.

Their eyes widened, confused between indignation and pure shock.

“…What did you say?” asked the taller one, in a threatening whisper.

Damon shrugged, utterly unconcerned.

“I can’t give details. It’s private. And long.” He twirled his wrist as if describing just another nightly routine. “But I can assure you I was extremely… busy.”

He put a finger to the side of his mouth and finished:

“Too busy to go to the Valdeiron mansion and beat up some stubborn girl’s fiancé. If that’s what you’re implying.”

The short knight clenched his teeth.

“We’re not implying. We’re accusing.”

“Ah,” Damon’s eyes widened slightly, as if understanding something childish. “Then you didn’t come to talk. You came to fight.”

“Damon…” Harven warned softly.

Damon raised a hand, signaling that everything was under control.

He took a step forward, facing the two knights fearlessly, without hesitation.

But with that glint in his eyes that said: Try. I beg you to try.

“The young gentleman stated that he was cowardly attacked,” insisted the tall knight. “By someone quick, dangerous, and acting in the shadows. The same someone who’s been stalking Lady Morgana.”

Damon tilted his head, as if reflecting deeply.

“So… he’s confessing that he’s a weak, scared coward who can’t recognize who’s in front of him? Because if I’d hit him, I guarantee he wouldn’t be talking today.”

The two men swallowed hard.

Damon smiled even wider.

“And as for Morgana…” he changed his tone, still provocative, but sharper, more serious, “the fact that she talks to me only means she has good taste in company. And that maybe she’s tired of people who want to control her.”

The knights shifted nervously.

Damon delivered the final blow:

“Now, if you want to continue this conversation, great. If you want to fight, I’m in.

But if you came to intimidate someone from the Academy because of a spoiled brat who got a fright?”

He approached, almost touching them both with his shadow.

“We have a problem here.”

Harven took a deep breath, feeling the turbulence about to explode.

The knights looked ready to draw their weapons.

And Damon?

Damon looked ready to smile as he broke someone.

The room froze.

And then…

“Damon.”

A new voice sounded behind them.

Calm.

Authoritative.

Deep.

They turned.

And there, standing in the doorway…

Standed the head instructor of the Academy, face closed, expression grave, and a sealed scroll in his hands.

“You have been officially summoned by the Academy’s Disciplinary Council,” he said.

Damon raised an eyebrow.

Harven closed his eyes in despair.

And the knights smiled for the first time.

“Great,” murmured Damon. “I always wanted to meet these people.”

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