Chapter 143: The Bridge of Whispers!

Time had passed quickly since Albedo and Lilian talked to each-other, and now most students had already woken up.

After their little meeting, Albedo had returned to his room, reading the file and then continuing to practice using Demonic Energy. While he wasn’t close to mastering it in any form, the feeling of progress continuously motivated him.

Once he was done with that training, he quickly got ready and headed out, arriving at the Northern Plaza, where he could spot three huge black carriages waiting, their frames carved from the bones of Nether Drakes while they were pulled by Spectral Horses emblazed by purple flames.

The joint delegation of the Exchange Program was assembled there, with Headmaster Arannis, Raphaeline and all the other students.

Once everyone had arrived, Arannis spoke, “Ah,” he said, his tone lilting and smooth, like a storyteller’s voice drifting over firelight. “You’re all awake. Impressive. I expected at least half of you to show up half-dead after practicing Demonic Energy,”

His eyes flicked briefly, and knowingly, to Albedo, and the faintest smile tugged at his lips as he sensed it. Several students chuckled awkwardly, remembering how disastrous their own training had went.

Arannis continued, clasping his hands behind his back as his voice lifted just enough to fill the courtyard. “Today marks the beginning of our extended portion of the Exchange Program. For the next several weeks, we will be visiting the Seven Demonic Monuments, pillars of culture, history, and magical significance across the Demon Kingdom. They are… quite old, quite dangerous, and quite beautiful. I expect discipline, respect, and,”

His smile widened slightly as he continued, “A healthy dose of curiosity.”

“Our Demon students here have probably visited some of these places several times, but for my Elven and Human friends, I hope you enjoy yourselves,”He said as he paced lightly in front of them, the breeze catching the edge of his robes.

“Each Monument holds lessons older than empires. They are remnants of the Ancient Wars and battles, some of the most prominent figures in Demon History, and even Abyssal influences. This will be a History lesson as well, so keep your eyes open and ears up,”

He turned then, his long hair swaying, gesturing to the carriage, “Our first destination will be the Bridge of Whispers, a relic of the Abyssal Wars. It spans the Ruin Gorg, —one of the few remaining tears left by the ancient dimensional collapse. The bridge itself is a marvel of demonic architecture and a… rather unnerving phenomenon.”

A murmur rippled through the gathered students. One of the Humans—a tall boy with a nervous expression—raised a hand. “Unnerving, sir?”

Arannis chuckled lightly. “Yes, well… the bridge has a tendency to whisper. Voices. Thoughts. Echoes of the past, or of your own mind. It’s difficult to tell which. But don’t worry,” he added with a wink, “They can’t physically hurt you, though if your mental strength is weak….good luck,”

That earned him a mix of laughter and uneasy silence.

Arannis clapped his hands once, the sound ringing with faint mana. “Load up! The journey will take a few hours, and I’d rather not deal with anyone fainting before we arrive.”

The students began to board the various carriages, each carriage for a particular species. The interior of the carriages were enchanted by spatial formations that made them massive, giving each student enough space to themselves.

Arannis have used illusionary spells to split himself to three, one of him being present in each carriage. He sat at the front, his legs crossed, smiling faintly as the door sealed behind them, “Good,” he said. “Now, everyone, relax. The path to the Bridge is not… particularly gentle.”

The carriage lurched forward, drawn by the spectral steeds, and the world outside blurred into a dark smear of motion.

For a time, silence filled the space. The hum of the dimensional conduit and the occasional rattle of mana pressure were the only sounds.

The carriage rolled onward, and outside, the obsidian plains of the Demon Kingdom gave way to harsher terrain, crimson cliffs rising like the spines of a dead god, deep fissures glowing faintly with blue infernal light.

The hum of mana grew stronger, and soon they descended into a valley where a faint mist coiled across the landscape.

Then, the Bridge came into view.

It was massive, an elegant yet haunting construction of black stone and spectral crystal, stretching across a gorge so deep that no bottom was visible. Faint silver light traced along its runes, and from afar, the structure seemed almost alive, breathing with ancient energy.

And the whispers began.

Soft, indistinct, like breath against the ear, impossible to tell if they were real or imagined.

The carriage halted at the bridge’s base. The students disembarked one by one, their faces pale in the ghostly glow. Arannis stepped forward, the wind tugging at his cloak, his voice gentle but commanding.

“This,” he said, gesturing to the vast expanse before them, “is the Bridge of Whispers. A relic from before the current age. It was built over what was once a dimensional rift, where reality thinned so much that even thoughts could bleed through. The bridge stabilized it, but not without consequence.”

He turned to face them fully, his tone softening. “You will hear things here. Some will be echoes of history. Others, perhaps, your own doubts. Listen, but don’t believe everything you hear.”

He gave them a reassuring smile, then gestured for them to follow.

As the group began to cross, Albedo lingered near the back, his eyes scanning the nearby demons. His gaze settled on one figure among them, Veyron Bloodveil.

The pale-haired youth walked confidently near the front, his aristocratic bearing unmistakable, flanked by two minor followers. His smirk carried the kind of arrogance only nobles wore comfortably.

’Veyron Bloodveil,’ Albedo thought, recalling Lilian’s description. ’Leech and opportunist. The kind who hides behind stronger figures until the killing’s done.’

Albedo made sure to keep his eye on Veyron while he moved forward onto the bridge. The moment Albedo stepped onto the Bridge of Whispers, the air changed. A low hum pulsed through the black stone beneath his boots, and the faint sound of breathing, no, whispering, rose around them.

’Do you regret it?’

The voice was faint, neither male nor female, drifting like smoke through the mist. Several students froze. One clutched his ears, another spun around in panic.

Arannis smiled lightly as he saw the various students who stepped on the bridge change their expressions, hearing different voices in their head, some kind, some harsh, “Ah, the Bridge has begun to remember you. Don’t resist, the harder you fight, the louder it gets.”

They pressed onward. The bridge stretched into darkness, the abyss below glowing faintly with blue fire. The whispers followed, slipping into minds and twisting old wounds for the various students.

’You could’ve saved them’

’You ran.’

You betrayed your family’

All of these sentences hounded Albedo continuously as he walked across the Bridge. He could feel himself remembering that night vividly.

Some students cried out, some clenched their teeth and marched on. Even the Demons grew quiet.

Albedo, however, tried to ignor the voices, at least at first. He watched Veyron Bloodveil walking near the front, his silver hair catching the ghostly light. His mana was steady, noble, untainted. No trace of the corruption Albedo sought. Still, something about him felt off.

Then the whispers changed.

’You failed them, too.’

A flicker of fire flashed in Albedo’s mind, his parents’ faces, Gwen’s cries, the ruins of his home. His eyes dimmed, then steadied.

“Nice try,” he murmured.

He looked ahead again, his calm restored as he continued walking.

As the group continued across the bridge, the spectral glow pulsing beneath their feet, Albedo kept his attention divided, half on the whispers clawing at his thoughts, half on the faint mana signatures drifting around him.

Veyron’s presence was easy to pick out among the crowd. His mana pulsed in slow, regal waves, cold and perfectly controlled, the mark of a noble-born Vampire trained from birth to refine his essence.

It was dark, yes, but stable, lacking the chaotic undertone Albedo remembered from the interference that day during Ember’s battle.

He extended his senses quietly, subtle enough not to draw attention. Threads of mana brushed through the air like spider silk, searching for that faint, discordant echo — the oily, twisting current that had tampered with the summoning circle days ago.

Nothing.

Veyron’s aura was polished, smooth as glass. No shadows underneath. No corruption hiding in the gaps.

So it wasn’t him.

Albedo’s gaze narrowed slightly as he straightened. “Not you then…” he murmured under his breath, letting the words fade into the bridge’s endless sighs.

The whispering wind almost seemed to answer him.

’Then who do you suspect?’

He ignored it, keeping his expression neutral while his mind continued turning. There were still two other names Lilian had mentioned.

His eyes flicked toward Veyron one last time. The young noble was still striding ahead confidently, pretending the bridge’s whispers didn’t bother him, though Albedo could see the faint tension in his jaw.

’Even if it wasn’t you,’ Albedo thought, ’you’re still worth watching.’

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