Chapter 187: Chapter 187: The City, the Beast, and the Promise

Moonlight slipped quietly through the open window, painting soft silver lines across the polished stone floor of Noel’s dorm. Unlike the standard quarters, the rooms of Class S students were crafted with refined materials—smooth marble-veined tile, enchanted wood paneling, and insulation spells woven into the walls. Cool in winter, but tonight, the summer heat had broken through.

Noir padded across the floor in her small foxlike form, claws clicking gently against the stone as she searched for the coldest spot. Her fur fluffed outward in irritation. She sniffed, turned once, then collapsed with a tired grunt near the edge of the room, clearly uncomfortable.

“Too hot, huh?” Noel said from his seat by the window, shirt half-open, still damp from training earlier.

He reached out lazily and murmured, “Cooling Veil.”

A soft shimmer of pale mist spilled from his fingers and settled over Noir’s body. Instantly, she relaxed—her fur flattened, her muscles slackened. She rolled over onto her back, letting out a long, satisfied exhale.

“Glad that worked,” Noel muttered. “Thanks, Selene.”

The room went quiet again.

After a minute, Noel tilted his head and looked at the now-sleepy wolf. “Noir… can you shift into your adult form now? The real one.”

Noir’s ears perked. She rose to her feet, gave a quick shake of her body, and in one smooth wave of mana, her form began to expand. Her sleek body stretched, limbs lengthened, fur shimmered like liquid shadow—until a massive, lupine beast stood where the small creature had been.

She filled the space instantly. Her ears nearly brushed the arched ceiling. Her tail swayed slightly, knocking a chair out of place.

Two meters thirty.

Noel stepped closer and looked her over with raised eyebrows.

“Looks like you’ve grown again. Is that because I’m advancing too?”

Noir gave a short, low woof, her eyes locking with his.

“Status.”

A glowing blue window flickered into view:

[Current Core Progress: 47.25% – Mana Core: Adept]

“Huh. Seven percent growth this month. Not surprising,” Noel muttered, crossing his arms. “Mastered a new element, been training with Charlotte and Marcus almost daily, then sparring with Selene…”

He trailed off, glancing at the elegant arcane lamp on his desk. Then his thoughts shifted.

“Charlotte said she wanted me to show her around Valon,” he muttered. “Weird. She has friends now—Clara, other girls, even some guys. Guess she just wants the personal tour.”

Noir lowered her body to the floor again, now too large to rest comfortably.

A soft shimmer passed over her fur, and she shifted down—returning to her small, compact form. She gave him a long, deliberate stare.

He stared back.

“…You want another one?”

She blinked, tail wagging faintly.

He sighed.

“Cooling Veil.”

Another wave of chill mist covered her, and she let out a pleased whuf before curling up tightly, eyes already closing.

Noel smiled a little.

Then he walked to the bed, pulled off his shirt, and lay down without a word.

It was his first quiet night in weeks.

And he intended to enjoy it.

The morning had passed in a blur.

Training with Rauk at dawn left his body sore in all the right ways. The old brute never held back, and Noel didn’t want him to. Physical sparring helped keep his instincts sharp—especially with how much time he’d spent lately buried in spellwork.

At midday, he had lunch with Elyra and Elena in the academy cafeteria.

Elena had been her usual energetic self, chatting about new council responsibilities with bright eyes and quick words. Elyra, as always, sat composed and confident, occasionally correcting Elena’s phrasing with the calm arrogance of someone who was always right. Noel kept quiet and just enjoyed the moment.

Afterward, came more drills. Afternoon training under Daemar and Selene.

Daemar had taken a personal interest in his progress, especially now. The man wasn’t just reviewing spells—he was teaching Noel something different. Something darker. Something dangerous.

A high-grade spell. One that reminded Noel of the day Nicolas had burned a hole through Lereus’s chest with a single strike.

Whatever it was, Daemar didn’t teach it publicly.

Only to him.

And it wasn’t easy.

By the time evening fell, Noel’s body was running on fumes, but his mind was focused.

Back in his room, he showered slowly, letting the cool water pull the fatigue from his muscles. He dressed with care: dark pants, a sleeveless black tunic, boots.

Practical but clean. He attached his dimensional pouch to his belt and slid Revenant Fang inside. The weapon disappeared into the enchanted space without resistance.

Last came the ring.

The Ashen Sigil rested in its usual place—black with a green gem pulsing faintly. Its cooldown had long passed. He could use it again now.

But he didn’t want to.

The last time had been… ugly. Necessary, but not something he wanted to repeat.

Still, he kept it on.

’Just in case.’

Noel reached for the door, then paused and glanced at Noir curled up on her bed, already half-asleep.

“I’ll be back soon,” he said. “No girls, no friends. Just me tonight.”

He stepped into the hallway.

There was a debt to pay.

And a dwarf to face.

Valon at night had its own kind of rhythm.

Warm lanternlight bathed the cobbled streets in amber hues. Merchants shouted last-minute offers while children laughed, chasing each other past fountain plazas and enchanted street lamps that flickered with soft blue magic.

Noel walked without urgency, hands in his pockets, eyes half-lidded beneath the glow of the city. His path was familiar now—he didn’t need to think about it.

It was strange, in a way. Not long ago, walking through Valon required special permission. Now, students from the academy filled the streets freely—some in uniform, others in casual wear, chatting, eating, wandering. It felt… normal.

Which, for Noel, was still unusual.

’You wouldn’t think people vanished here just months ago,’ he thought. ’Maybe it’s better that they don’t remember. Or pretend not to.’

He passed a row of food stalls—grilled meat, spicy skewers, fruit ice. His stomach growled quietly, but he ignored it. He had somewhere to be.

As he turned onto a side street, movement caught his eye.

Across the plaza, under the soft lamplight, Marcus and Clara strolled hand in hand. Clara leaned against him, laughing at something he said. Marcus looked surprisingly relaxed.

Noel smirked.

’I’m saving that for later.’

He didn’t call out. Just kept walking.

Three streets down, the signs of order gave way to a different kind of noise. A rougher crowd. Louder laughter. The clink of glass. The clatter of dice and boots and metal on wood.

He was getting close.

The Drunken Hammer was just ahead and it hadn’t changed.

Noel could already hear it from half a block away—slurred yelling, crude laughter, and the familiar rhythm of chairs scraping violently against the floor. Then, just as he turned the corner, it happened.

The tavern doors burst open with a bang.

Two drunk men came flying out, locked in a messy brawl. Fists swung wildly, one missed and hit air, the other connected with a jaw. Both tumbled into the street, landing with a crash—one into a stack of barrels, the other flat into the muddy ground.

One groaned. The other didn’t move.

A familiar roar echoed from inside.

“AND STAY OUT, YA BLOODY IMBECILES!”

The door slammed shut.

Noel stood still for a second, blinking at the sight.

’Just like last time…’

A faint smirk crept across his face.

“Classic.”

The wooden sign above the tavern swayed lazily in the warm night breeze. The Drunken Hammer, carved in crude but bold script, still had the same dented hammer ornament hanging beside it. The entire place looked like it hadn’t changed in years—because it hadn’t.

He stepped over the unconscious man sprawled by the entrance and pushed the door open.

The noise inside hit him like a wave.

Roaring laughter. Clinking mugs. Boots stomping on wood. The warm glow of lanterns bathed the crowded room, illuminating the chaos. One dwarf slept under a table, snoring like thunder. Another was standing on a chair, singing off-key while holding a mug in each hand. A bard tried and failed to keep up with the tempo, grinning all the same.

It smelled like roasted meat, stale beer, smoke, and sweat.

Noel inhaled deeply.

’Home sweet chaos.’

Now… where was Balthor?

He moved through the sea of bodies, dodging swinging elbows and beer-soaked laughter, his eyes scanning the tables until—

There.

In the far corner, surrounded by empty mugs and glowing cards floating in mid-air, sat Balthor.

The dwarf’s beard was as wild as ever, braided with tiny metal rings that clinked when he moved. He leaned forward, eyes narrowed, studying his hand with suspicious intensity.

Around him, three other players held floating hands of cards in front of them, each pulsing with magical aura. Small illusions shimmered faintly over the table—dragons, coins, flames—each representing a bet or enchantment in play. The rules were chaotic, and mostly invented on the spot, but the tension was real.

Noel stood just behind Balthor, watching for a moment.

“You’re leaning too far forward,” he said casually. “Tells them you’ve got a weak hand.”

Balthor froze. His fingers twitched slightly.

Then, without turning around, he let out a loud chuckle.

“Well, well, look who the wind dragged in,” he said, tossing a glowing card into the center. It flared, turned into a dancing fire sprite, then vanished. “Come to lose more gold, boy? Or just here to ruin my luck with your fancy advice again?”

Noel stepped closer, arms crossed, a grin tugging at his lips.

“Maybe both.”

Balthor finally turned, eyeing him with that mix of amusement and mock annoyance.

“Don’t just stand there. Pull up a chair. Unless you’re scared of getting cleaned out—again.”

Noel shook his head. “Actually, I came to talk.”

“Talk, huh?” The dwarf raised an eyebrow. “Alright then… just let me finish robbing these amateurs first.”

The other players groaned.

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