Chapter 148: Where were you?

The silence that filled the room after the head instructor’s announcement was almost suffocating. Damon remained exactly where he was, shoulders relaxed, expression calm, as if he had been invited for tea instead of being summoned by a Disciplinary Council.

The two Valdeiron knights, on the other hand, seemed to savor the situation like predators who finally corner prey they deemed too dangerous to let roam freely.

The taller of the two straightened his posture, as if receiving confirmation that he had been right all along, while the one with his hair tied back offered a crooked smile.

Harven looked away and crossed his arms, exuding a weariness that seemed far deeper than a simple early morning would allow.

He knew, as few others did, that Damon wasn’t the type to accept provocations silently… and he also knew that the Disciplinary Council was largely composed of nobles who weren’t known for appreciating insolence.

“The Disciplinary Council requests your immediate presence,” he repeated, extending the parchment sealed with the Academy’s official seal.

Even without opening it, Damon recognized the symbol stamped on the wax—a circle containing three crossed swords and an open book, representing “order, discipline, and knowledge.”

Pure irony, considering the kind of people who normally occupied those chairs. Damon walked to the head instructor with slow, firm, measured steps, as if controlling every movement so as not to appear anxious—and he wasn’t anxious.

On the contrary.

A part of him, a cruel and impetuous part, was curious to see how far the Valdeiron Clan would dare to push this situation. When his fingers touched the parchment, his eyes rose to meet those of the head instructor, and for a moment there was a silent exchange—he knew that the Academy was being pressured by internal and external forces, and that the simple fact that Damon was involved with the daughter of a duke made everything explosive.

The two knights took a step closer, as if to surround Damon, but Harven raised an arm, blocking them with a rigid gesture that didn’t ask for permission.

The tension intensified; the knights didn’t like the intervention, but they didn’t dare directly challenge a veteran instructor.

Damon opened the parchment, his eyes scanning the lines written in impeccable, cold handwriting. He didn’t give a dramatic reading. He didn’t raise his eyebrows. He showed no surprise. He simply moved his eyes calmly to the end of the text and then folded the document again, returning it to the head instructor.

“Summoned to provide immediate clarification regarding my possible involvement in a violent act involving a noble visitor to the Academy.” Damon quoted aloud, emotionlessly, as if reading an everyday report.

“Interesting choice of words. ’Possible involvement.’ Subtle. Very polite of them.” He put his hands in his pockets and tilted his head, facing the two knights of the clan. “I imagine you two would love to escort me there personally, wouldn’t you?”

The tall knight gave a hard smile, as if he had been waiting for exactly this cue. “It would be prudent. To ensure you don’t try to escape.”

Damon laughed, and his laugh was low, almost a taunting purr, filling the room with a confidence so insolent it would make many nobles grit their teeth.

“Escape? From what? From half a dozen old men who think they have authority over me because they wear nice cloaks and speak in a pompous way?” He took a step forward, and the knights automatically recoiled half an inch, almost imperceptible, but enough to reveal that his presence was more uncomfortable than they wanted to admit.

“I’m going because I want to. Not because you think you can boss me around.”

The knight with his hair tied back clenched his fist against the side of his armor, but kept his voice firm. “The concern here isn’t your opinion of the Council, but the fact that you attacked a legitimate heir. This will not go unpunished.”

Damon smiled. A slow, dangerous smile that seemed to cut through the air like a sharp blade.

“Do you really think I’d bother attacking Morgana’s fiancé? I have more important things to do.” He gestured with his hand, as if it were an irrelevant detail. “I might scare him, but attack? No, never,” he said with a demonic grin.

’I’ll have to kill him when this is over. I’m a man of my word,’ Damon thought smiling.

Harven sighed deeply, as if witnessing a disaster unfolding in slow motion. The head instructor cleared his throat, demanding the room’s attention.

“Enough. This informal interrogation has gone too far. Damon, you will come with me to the Disciplinary Council. Valdeiron Knights, your presence will not be required inside the hearing room. The Council will hear the student, not you.” The phrase had a calculated political weight, and the knights couldn’t contest it.

After all, jurisdiction within the Academy belonged to the Council, not to the external clans, however powerful they might be. Still, the two exchanged sharp glances at Damon, making it clear they didn’t consider the matter closed.

Damon noticed every detail… the silent hatred, the frustration, the desire to see him punished.

But none of that bothered him.

On the contrary, it fueled his determination.

He knew that if Clan Valdeiron was so desperate as to send knights to pressure such an ancient institution, it was because Morgana was worth more to them than they were admitting.

And knowing this was an advantage.

A huge advantage.

“Let’s go,” Damon said, walking to the door without waiting for instructions. “The sooner I resolve this, the sooner I can get back to my day.”

The head instructor followed him, Harven close behind, clearly uneasy, casting warning glances that Damon completely ignored.

The knights stood at the door, watching his exit like predators seeing prey enter enemy territory—but Damon didn’t even look back. He walked with the confidence of someone who knew that, regardless of what happened in the next room, he wouldn’t be broken by words, accusations, or threats.

“He’s very quiet,” one of them said, and continued, “I feel something’s wrong.”

“Yes… let’s inform the commander,” the other said.

The corridors were silent as they advanced to the Academy’s administrative wing, where the Council room was located.

When they reached the large double doors made of carved dark oak, the head instructor stopped and rested his hand on the polished wood. His voice was lower, as if he didn’t want it to echo through the hallways.

“Damon. Before you go in… control your tongue.”

Harven added, in a tense tone: “And control your ego.”

Damon smiled, almost amused. “I always do.”

“No, you definitely don’t,” Harven replied.

Damon shrugged. “Maybe. But you two are exaggerating.”

The head instructor didn’t smile. “This is serious.”

For a brief moment, Damon saw something rare—genuine concern. Not the concern instructors have for troubled students. But the concern wise men have when they realize something big and dangerous is stirring behind the scenes.

Damon took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

“I know what I’m doing.”

The head instructor opened the doors.

And Damon went in.

The Council Chamber was spacious, with tall windows and walls covered in bookshelves filled with ancient scrolls and thick books.

In the center, a semicircular table where the councilors—six in total—sat in absolute silence. Their faces were a mixture of severity and aristocracy, except for one: a gray-haired woman, the only one who didn’t seem hostile, but rather curious. The table before them was empty, except for a small magic crystal—a recording device.

The central councilor, a thin man with an austere expression, leaned forward.

“Damon,” he said, his voice firm as stone. “Sit down. We have many matters to discuss.”

Damon walked to the solitary chair positioned before the six.

He sat down.

The door behind him closed with a soft thud.

And then… the interrogation began.

But Damon, with a relaxed body and a sharp gaze, was prepared.

More than they imagined.

The central advisor adjusted the recording crystal and crossed his hands on the table.

“Damon. You have been summoned here to clarify reports of suspicious behavior that occurred last night, including a possible assault on the heir of Clan Valdeiron.”

Damon leaned back in his chair as if in comfortable rest.

“Perfect. Let’s clarify then.”

Another advisor—a robust man with an exaggerated mustache—leaned forward.

“First: where were you yesterday between sunset and sunrise?”

Damon didn’t even blink.

“Having sex with my two wives.”

Silence.

One of the advisors coughed. Another frowned as if he had heard a curse.

The gray-haired woman raised an eyebrow.

“Your… wives? You’re married?”

“It depends on what you consider marriage,” Damon replied, shrugging. “But getting back to the point: last night I was busy. Very busy. Busy enough not to have time to bash incompetent grooms.”

The mustachioed man narrowed his eyes.

“Do you understand that this kind of response doesn’t help us?”

“And you understand that asking three times won’t change what I did yesterday?” Damon retorted with a lazy smile. “I was… busy.”

The central advisor took a deep breath and tried to resume the pace of the interrogation.

“Let’s talk about the Valdeiron heir. He claimed to have been attacked by someone with an identical description to his. Tall, agile, fast, dark eyes. The assailant confronted him directly and disappeared undetected by the guards.”

“And you believe in ghosts, Mr. Advisor?” Damon asked casually.

“We believe in the testimony of a nobleman.”

“Ah, of course. Because noblemen never lie.” Damon crossed his arms. “Who saw me besides him?”

The advisors exchanged glances.

The thin advisor reluctantly replied:

“Nobody. Only him.”

Damon smiled slowly.

“So let me understand: you’re here repeating the word of a single idiot who ran to Dad saying that an evil man emerged from the shadows and gave him a fright.”

The eldest advisor leaned forward, irritated.

“He described an ambush! An intrusion! Someone approached him inside the Arven mansion!”

Damon raised an eyebrow.

“Inside the Arven mansion?”

“Yes.”

“Inside,” Damon repeated slowly. “In that mansion. The most protected, most guarded, most elite place in this territory. The home of a duke.”

The advisors waited, tense.

Then he opened his arms, theatrically.

“So you’re telling me that I—a newly accepted student, with no status, no great clan, no protection—broke into the most secure mansion in the region, walked through the corridors, met the Duke’s daughter’s fiancé, spoke to him, and then left…”

He tilted his head.

“Without absolutely anyone seeing me?”

The mustachioed advisor pursed his lips.

“The impressions—”

“—No impressions, no report, no guard saw me, no witness confirmed it, not even a shadow appeared on the magical patrols. Nothing.” Damon leaned back again. “But yes, of course… it was me. Because it makes perfect sense that a commoner would be capable of the impossible while you blindly believe the word of the frightened boy.”

The gray-haired advisor placed her hands on the table.

“Are you saying you had no involvement in the incident?”

“I’m saying I was busy with my two wives,” Damon repeated without looking away. “And that the Valdeiron heir must have seen a shadow and panicked.”

The central advisor tapped lightly on the table.

“Watch your tone.”

Damon smiled.

“I always do.”

“You are accused of interfering in the affairs of a noble clan,” the man continued. “Of trying to intimidate Lady Morgana Arven’s fiancé.”

Damon closed his eyes for a second, as if bored.

“Intimidate? I barely know the fellow. Although… if he’s that scared, maybe that’s his problem, not mine.”

The gray-haired advisor watched Damon intently, trying to read beyond the provocation.

“Do you and Lady Morgana have some kind of… relationship?”

“We’re academy colleagues,” he replied without hesitation. “That’s not a crime. Yet.”

The mustachioed man snorted.

“The heir claimed you’re ’stalking’ Lady Morgana.” Damon slowly opened his eyes.

“Chasing? Me?” A brief chuckle escaped him. “I’m not the one who threatened him, though. If I really was chasing Morgana, do you think with my infiltration skills… I’d just give her a warning? I’d simply kill him.”

The councilors exchanged glances, shocked by the disarming candor. The central councilor leaned forward again.

“Let’s insist one more time: where were you yesterday during the supposed attack?”

“Sucking one’s pussy while I was fucking the other.” Dante replied, crossing his arms. “Damn, don’t make me bring them here. They’re not going to humiliate themselves in front of you old men to confirm where I was.”

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