Chapter 85: Back to Routine

It was Sunday.

Amon woke up in the morning. He brushed his teeth and washed his face. After freshening up, he wore a plain white short-sleeved T-shirt and black training pants.

He decided to run around the campus — at least twenty laps. He left his dormitory room.

The morning mist clung to the cobblestone paths of Arcadia Academy, softening the edges of the grand buildings that lined up along the way.

The rising sun cast long streaks of gold through the trees.

Amon’s steady footsteps stomped softly through the empty courtyard. But he didn’t slow down.

Cold sweat slowly flowed down his forehead and neck. His breath came out short and measured.

Stomp! Stomp!

Each impact sent a dull jolt up his legs.

His plain white T-shirt clung lightly to his frame, darkened by sweat.

He had already finished thirteen laps around the academy’s area, but his mind refused to stop.

He ran past the central fountain, where the statue of the academy’s founder stood tall — sword pointed toward the sky.

The sound of trickling water mixed with the faint cries of early-rising birds.

He continued to jog.

“…Nineteen,” he muttered under his breath as he crossed the marker near the dorm gates. His voice was low, but there was a hint of satisfaction in it.

Sweat rolled down his jawline, falling to the ground with each stride.

“Just one more lap,” he told himself.

He clenched his fists, pushing harder — his shadow stretching long behind him in the morning light, like a dark flame chasing his every step.

When he finally slowed near the field’s edge, the wind carried a faint scent of grass and mana in bloom. Amon stopped, hands on his knees, chest heaving.

His eyes drifted toward the distant spires of the academy — proud, unreachable, almost taunting.

—

Steam drifted through the small marble bathroom, blurring the mirror and softening the world beyond it.

Amon leaned back against the edge of the tub, letting the warm water soak away the fatigue clinging to his bones.

His muscles ached from training — and from the fight earlier that day.

He exhaled slowly. The faint scent of herbal soap filled the air — sharp yet calming.

When he finally rose from the water, droplets ran down his pale skin, tracing the faint lines of lean muscle earned through countless hours of combat and hardship.

Grabbing a towel, Amon began drying himself.

His reflection appeared gradually as he wiped away the mist from the mirror — a tall figure with dark eyes and a wiry frame that hinted at both exhaustion and strength.

He wasn’t bulky like Marcus, nor did he have the effortless elegance of Seraphina’s mana flow.

But there was something else — a quiet sharpness in the way his body had shaped itself, like steel honed through struggle.

Though he was still shorter compared to his other friends.

“Okay… that’s enough narcissism for today,” he muttered.

His hand paused for a moment, eyes tracing the faint scars along his ribs and forearms.

“Fuck! I need to find a way to make these scars vanish!… my beautiful skin…”

Each one carried a memory — a reminder of the things he’d survived.

“…Still weak,” he muttered under his breath, a wry smile tugging at his lips. Yet, behind that self-criticism, a spark of determination flickered in his eyes.

He slung the towel over his shoulder, the last drops of water sliding off his hair.

Outside, the setting sun cast a golden hue through the window, glinting faintly off the mirror — reflecting not just his body, but the quiet resolve beneath it.

“Whatever… I am getting strong. That’s what all matters,” he said to himself.

After that, he got dressed in his normal outfit. Later, Amon had breakfast.

Then he spent his time wandering around the academy.

When he was done with the afternoon’s lunch,

He decided to go to the training ground.

It was now time to practice his ability more.

He walked casually, without any worry in the world.

The training ground was at the backside of the main academy building.

Just as he was passing by the left wing, toward the back of the academy—

Sniff! Sniff!

He heard someone crying.

He stopped in his tracks. His eyes curiously turned in the direction where the sound came from.

At the end of the hallway, two adults — a man and a woman — were standing.

The door they were standing near led to the mortuary.

The man was in his forties, some wrinkles visible on his face. His hair was dark brown.

His expression was sad. He was barely holding himself from crying.

Standing just beside him was a woman of similar age.

What caught Amon’s attention was her hair — it was pink.

’They… they are Senior Vixra’s parents,’ Amon concluded.

The woman, who seemed to be her mother, was crying. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her husband was supporting her.

Amon continued to observe them from afar.

An unexpected feeling rose inside him.

He remembered the words of his senior — the things she had told him that night.

About her family, her dreams, their hopes for her.

He didn’t know what to do. Should he go and talk with them? Tell them he was alive because of her? That she died while helping him?

’What a foolish thought,’ Amon shook his head.

“Oh! You are here. I didn’t expect to see you here.” A familiar voice came from behind.

Amon recognized it instantly.

He turned back to see Selena standing there.

Her red eyes were as cold as always, and her silver hair flowed down to her waist.

She was wearing tight white trousers and an oversized long-sleeved black T-shirt.

She was as stunning as always.

“Well… I was going to the training ground… but stopped when I saw them,” Amon said with an awkward smile.

Selena got closer to him and stood beside him.

“How do you know them?” she asked. Her eyes were also locked on the sad parents.

“It was easy… I mean, her mother — Senior Vixra had taken after her mother. I recognized them after seeing her.”

Selena just gave a nod.

“Do you feel… guilty?” she asked Amon. There was a pause in the middle.

Seeing Amon’s sad expression she can’t help but asked it.

She wanted to know how Amon was feeling.

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