"I'm here to ask for a favor."
The words hung in the air between us, a simple statement that felt anything but. Yelena's eyes, the deep, shifting color of a winter sunset, held a flicker of genuine surprise before a mask of practiced indifference settled over her flawless features. She slowly folded her arms, the movement of her silk-lined sleeves as graceful as a dance. "A favor, hmm? That's not a word you use often, Edward. What kind of favor are we talking about?"
My gaze didn't waver. I kept my posture relaxed, my expression neutral, betraying none of the tension coiling in my gut. "Just a simple one. As the top-ranked student, you have certain privileges, right? Access to the elite dorm with its own private training grounds, the freedom to leave the academy whenever you want, and the ability to skip classes as long as you hold your rank."
She took a slow, deliberate sip of her tea, the cup's delicate porcelain a stark contrast to the sharp narrowing of her eyes. "More or less, yes. I have them. Where are you getting at with this?"
"I want to borrow two of those privileges," I said, my voice steady, my tone leaving no room for a debate. "First, the right to leave the academy on a scheduled day. Second, permission to skip classes—for an entire week."
The silence that followed was deliberate, a test of my resolve. Yelena set her cup down, the soft clink a prelude to her response. "You know, Edward, I'm not just the top student. I'm also the heir to House Valeblanc. And being the heir comes with its own set of chains. I have to constantly travel between the academy and my family's estate. That's why I'm granted these exceptions—to skip classes, to leave the grounds. And even with all that, I still have to keep up with every lesson I miss."
She leaned forward, her voice a low, silken whisper that seemed to wrap itself around me. "But your request puts me in a bind. If I lend you those privileges, it means I'm stuck here, tied to the academy for a full week. No exits, no excuses. So, tell me, Edward..." Her eyes bore into mine, a question lingering in their depths. "What exactly do I get in return? Because I'm hoping… it's worth the trouble."
I held her gaze, refusing to be the first to break eye contact. "To be fair, I don't have any privileges of my own to offer you right now."
A smile, thin and sharp as a razor, touched her lips. "So you came here expecting me to generously hand over anything you demand? You've grown bold, Edward." She leaned in just a little closer, the amusement in her tone a dangerous thing. "Exceedingly bold."
I let out a soft exhale, a small admission of the tension between us. "That's why I called it a favor, Yelena. I don't have anything I can give you at the moment. And honestly," I paused, letting the words sink in, "I don't think someone like you needs to chase after things just to get what you want. There's probably nothing I could offer that's worth your interest."
My gaze remained fixed on hers. "So just do me this favor. And in return, I'll owe you one. Whenever you decide it's time to collect—whatever it is—I'll repay it."
A soft, genuine chuckle slipped from her lips. "Fufufu... Quite a bold statement, my dear Edward. A blank check, is it?"
She rose gracefully from her seat, the gentle scrape of her chair a prelude to her approach. With slow, measured steps, she closed the distance, her presence pressing in just slightly, her sweet scent a distraction I forced myself to ignore. The kind of authentic scent that wasn't overly strong—just… hers.
"So," she said, her voice dropping to a teasing murmur as she reached out, placing a single, cool finger under my chin. "You're saying I can ask for anything in return?"
I met her gaze, even as the warmth of her touch lingered. My heart hammered a rhythm against my ribs, but I kept my voice calm. "If it's within my capabilities—then yes."
She tilted her head, studying me with quiet, predatory interest. "You're grasping the game well. I'm impressed." Her smile widened. "But still, Edward… your side of this negotiation feels a bit light. Give me more."
"What exactly are you getting at?" I held her gaze, a silent challenge. I didn't move. I didn't flinch.
Her smile didn't fade. It deepened, like a cat toying with a mouse that refused to run. "Let's just say… one favor feels a little too small, don't you think?" She took another step closer, the space between us almost nonexistent. "You asked for two things. So I want two favors in return. Then we'll have ourselves a sweet little deal."
I felt the pressure of her presence, the unspoken challenge in her words. "You're the only one coming out ahead here."
"Shouldn't I be?" Her voice was soft, but sharp enough to draw blood. "That's exactly how these things work, Edward. The winner takes all."
She was so close now I could feel the subtle warmth radiating from her. Her smile remained, playful and dangerous, as she leaned in just a fraction more. "So, shall we seal the deal?"
I held her gaze, steady despite the distractions. Her touch was gone, but her presence remained. "Yeah." I nodded slowly. "Let's have the deal."
"Hmm... good thing we're on the same page," she said, a trace of satisfaction in her voice. She took a deliberate step back, finally giving me the space I hadn't realized I was craving. The air between us, once thick with her scent and a playful challenge, now felt slightly thinner.
"So, Edward... where exactly do you want to go?"
"Let's just say it's somewhere I have a bit of business with."
A faint smile played on her lips. "Oh? Not telling me, huh?" She raised a perfect brow, the gesture a clear jab. "Still keeping things to yourself, as always. A man of many secrets."
I didn't respond. There was no point. My silence, a familiar companion, was an answer in itself.
She watched me for a moment, her gaze unreadable. "You're not going to have the tea?"
"No. Tea's not really my thing."
A subtle pause followed. The sound of a spoon clinking against porcelain echoed from a distant table. Then, her voice returned, softer this time, almost absentmindedly.
"Because your mother used to like it..."
The words hung in the air, a bell tolling in a silent room. She blinked, the brief, unguarded expression on her face a sign of a slip she couldn't take back. It was a crack in her flawless facade. The silence that followed wasn't just a pause; it was heavy and unsettling, filled with a history I had long buried.
I felt a quiet anger stir in my gut, quickly followed by a dull ache. My hand, which had been resting at my side, clenched into a fist. I kept my face carefully blank, but the tension in my jaw tightened.
"You could say that," I said quietly, my voice flat, devoid of any emotion.
Then, without another word, I stood. The gentle scrape of my chair on the floor was the only sound. I brushed some imaginary dust from my sleeve, a simple physical action to ground myself, to remind myself that I was still in control.
"Well, I've finished what I came here for. I should be going."
Yelena's lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something—a question, an apology, a further probe—but she closed them again, her composure returning. In the end, she simply gave a gentle, almost regretful nod of acknowledgment.
"I'll have the things prepared for you," she said, her voice now back to its usual, cool tone. "You can come pick them up later."
"Yes." I replied. That was all there was to say. I turned and walked toward the door, not daring to look back, leaving the heavy silence and the question of my mother in the room behind me.
The once-lavish hallways of Arestia House felt dull as I moved through them, each step echoing softly. It was a place built for prestige and power, but to me, it was just a temporary cage. I left the house behind, but something lingered—a weight just behind my eyes, threatening to pull me into places I didn't want to go.
My thoughts were already drifting where they shouldn't.
There was still something buried deep inside me, a dormant pain that could be stirred by the smallest memory, the slightest word. The thought of my mother. A wave of regret and quiet anger washed over me, a feeling I had spent years trying to suppress.
But no. Not now.
I had a different purpose. I had taken the first step—secured the key that would allow me to leave the academy. The cost? Two favors. A price I accepted, even if it left an unsettled feeling in my chest. Two blank checks to Yelena Valeblanc, a predator who would undoubtedly collect with interest. Let's just say… I'll deal with it when the time comes.
I needed a distraction, and nothing was better for that than a goal. My first destination: Sylvanfall.
A region known for its ancient, sprawling forests—dense, dangerous, and wild. A place where beasts still roam freely, where monsters hide in the dark beneath the canopy. And more importantly, a place where I might find my first clue.
My goal was to dive into a dungeon. And I would have to do it alone.
I don't know its rank. I don't know what kind of dungeon it is. But that's the point. Uncertainty sharpens the edge. I have to rely on my own wits, my own strength, and my own instincts—not the careful, regimented training of the academy. This mission was a test, and I needed the raw, unpredictable experience to sharpen myself.
I plan to leave on Thursday. That gives me three days to prepare. Three days to stock up on supplies, study what little records exist about the Sylvanfall region, and sharpen both my mind and blade. I needed to acquire specific herbs for potions, find a map, and ensure my gear was in perfect condition. The secrecy of this journey was paramount. No one could know I was leaving — especially not someone who might become a bother. The means were given, but whether I succeeded or failed would be entirely up to me.
For today, though… I've done enough.
The sun was beginning its slow descent, painting the academy grounds in long, weary shadows. I returned to my dorm room, the silence a welcome relief after the tense exchange with Yelena. The space was sparse, its furnishings simple and functional. It was a far cry from the opulent, suffocating luxury of Arestia House, but that was precisely why it suited me. I didn't need lavish furnishings or the company of others; my life was now about ruthless efficiency, a singular purpose, and the relentless pursuit of a goal.
I sat at my desk and pulled out a tablet I rarely used, followed by a worn leather journal and a graphite pencil. My fingers flew across the screen, searching for any whispers I could find about Sylvanfall—half-remembered details, whispered rumors, and hidden reports tucked away in obscure databases. My hands moved with a practiced focus as I began to list my tasks and plans, but this was more than just preparing for a challenge.
I was hunting something.
A relic. A forgotten piece of history. Something tied to the very reason I was here at this academy. Connected to the whispers I'd heard. To the fragments I'd started to piece together.
The favor I owed Yelena… the risks I was about to take… they were all necessary sacrifices.
A means to an end.
She might think I'm just another piece on her board—but she had just given me the one thing I needed: freedom.
I had three days.
Three days to become the version of myself that could survive Sylvanfall.
Three days to prepare for the unknown.
Three days to chase something I desperately needed.
The thought of the dungeon—its hidden depths and unknown dangers—brought me a strange calm.
Down there, there would be no pretense.
No politics.
No favors owed.
Just me, my blade, and the answers I'm searching for.
And for the first time in a long while, the path ahead—though dark and perilous—felt perfectly clear.
The dungeon was a means to an end, a path to the tangible resources I needed. Because in this world, money wasn't just paper and coin; it was a weapon. It was the bedrock of everything.
You want to know why I'm so obsessed with something as simple as money—why I'm willing to go through the annoying, troublesome things most people avoid?
Because in this world, power follows systems. And every system begins with coin.
The established families. The ancient houses. They didn't rise through strength alone—they bought their empires. They secured influence and loyalty long before they ever drew a sword. Their seats at the table were purchased, not earned in blood or brilliance. And now, those seats are protected by walls of gold and centuries of control.
That's the trend. It's everywhere. It's the very essence of the power structure. And I want in.
I've seen enough of this world to know—if you stand below, you don't get anything but leftovers. Those above won't lift you up. They'll step on you to stay where they are.
But I don't intend to stay below. My goal isn't just to find answers. It's to build my own system. To gather enough wealth and influence to create something that's mine.
My rules. My power. My game.
The first step? Buying my seat at the table. Not begging for one. Buying it.
Only then can I stop being a pawn—and start becoming a player.
And after that?
That's when the real story begins.