Chapter 102
Professor Finch Larenthanil stood silently at the edge of the upper terrace, his keen elven eyes watching the two students below. He adjusted the rim of his scholar's robe, but his mind remained far from academic texts. Daniel Rothchester and Melgil Veara Gehinnom, two names now whispered across the Royal Academy like omens of change, had done something no one else dared: they disturbed the long-standing social structure that favored lineage over merit.
It had been twenty-one days since their arrival, and in that brief time, they had begun to unravel the elitist culture that ruled the Academy. The divide between the high-born elites and the common students still remained—but now it struggled to maintain dominance. A tension like a stretched rope tugged back and forth between the two factions. The once voiceless and bullied now looked toward Daniel and Melgil as symbols of hope.
What troubled and intrigued Professor Finch most was how easily the two dismantled the old order. He had witnessed firsthand their battle against the summoned monsters—a trial meant to humble even high-level seniors.
and they'd faced it with unsettling composure. Daniel wielded spells with brutal efficiency, while Melgil danced like a shadow through the battlefield, her movements fluid and exact, her blade singing death. Even the instructors had been left speechless.
But what followed shocked Finch even more.
One morning, near the western courtyard, a frail second-year student was cornered by three elite-class nobles, all bearing the crests of high families. They mocked the boy's hand-me-down robe and his inability to conjure a basic flame spell and accused him of being a stain on the Academy's name.
Before a single curse could land, Daniel Rothchester stepped forward, arms folded, standing between the boy and the bullies.
"Leave him," he said flatly, not raising his voice.
The elites scoffed, preparing to retort, until Daniel's eyes met theirs.
One simple stare. Cold. Unblinking. Quietly terrifying.
All three backed away as if a beast had suddenly stood before them. They muttered apologies and fled the courtyard.
Later, when Finch personally interviewed one of the nobles, the boy could barely speak.
"It was... like I was staring at death. Like the endless void of swirling chaotic force was looking back at me."
The arrogance had vanished from his voice. He trembled like a child, his tone subdued and eyes unfocused. The elite heir—once feared—was now broken by a single glance.
Then there was the incident near the Spellforge Hall, where two girls from commoner backgrounds were being mocked by a group of senior aristocratic females. Insults dripped from their tongues like venomous remarks about clothing, speech, and even bloodlines.
Melgil Veara Gehinnom, who had been passing by, stopped mid-step. She turned and, without a word, approached.
She said nothing.
She simply stood beside the bullied girls, hand resting on her sword's hilt, her silent gaze locking onto the aristocrats. Her calm smile didn't reach her eyes; it was a warning.
One of the noble girls laughed nervously. "You think you scare us?
Melgil leaned in and whispered something unheard. Whatever she said caused the lead bully to pale and burst into tears, retreating without another word. The others followed.
After that, none of the bullies returned to that part of the academy.
Reports like these kept piling on Finch's desk. He read through each one, investigating in secret, trying to understand what made these two so powerful, not just in magic, but in presence. And the more he uncovered, the more convinced he became: Daniel and Melgil were not just aiming to pass through the Academy they were planning something far bigger.
They were reshaping the very soul of the institution.
And they hadn't even reached their full potential yet.
The Grand Council Hall of the Royal Academy was silent, lit only by the violet flames of arcane lanterns suspended in the air. Glyphs floated lazily above the ancient marble table, reacting to the magical tension hanging heavy in the air. Every seat of the twelve-member council was occupied by heads of departments, master instructors, the archivist, and the war division chair, and at the center:
Headmaster Elowen Varthelien, her silver hair coiled like a crown of frost.
She placed a series of student reports on the table, each document written by professors, witnesses, and anonymous students. Incidents of elite students backing down. Bullying reduced. Mixed-bloodline students rising in confidence. All tied to the same two names.
"Rothchester. Gehinnom."
The name "Rothchester" alone should have demanded reverence. The council had long protected noble bloodlines, valuing prestige and political security. But something had shifted.
Professor Thaleon, head of Magical Etiquette and Aristocratic Affairs, slammed a fist down.
"This is a dangerous precedent! If commoners are allowed to challenge hierarchy unchecked, the Academy will fall into chaos!"
But Professor Finch Larenthanil, seated to his left, merely sipped his tea, unfazed.
"And if nothing changes, it will rot from within. Our strength should not lie in bloodline but in capability. That's what these two are showing."
A murmur rippled through the council.
Master of War Studies, Gravem Marshal Corunth, grunted. A grizzled veteran of border skirmishes, he rarely spoke during internal affairs. But now, his gravelly voice cut through the room.
"If even the bullies are afraid of a stare... maybe that's exactly what we need. Fear isn't always a bad motivator."
Before anyone could respond, a loud chime rang through the chamber.
The Royal Arcane Post Gate shimmered open, revealing a robed courier bearing the symbol of the Hunter's Royal Guild: the crimson dragon wound around a broken spear. The courier bowed low and held out a glowing scroll.
"From Grandmaster Eledran of the Royal Hunter's Guild. Urgent."
Headmaster Elowen took the scroll, breaking the sun-wax seal. As she read, her eyes widened.
The Letter That Shakes the Academy
To the Esteemed Faculty of the Royal Academy,
The Gorge to the West has grown unstable. A new breed of monsters, heretofore unknown to any bestiary or record, has begun to emerge in waves. These creatures possess the ability to resist traditional elemental wards and display intelligence above the norm.
Our guild has lost five seasoned hunter squads in a single fortnight.
As such, by decree of His Highness the King and approval from the United Alliance of Realms, we request and require assistance from the next generation. All magical academies must mobilize their senior students, regardless of bloodline, to join temporary Hunter Units under the Royal Guild's supervision.
We leave the selection to your judgment but urge you to act swiftly. Favoritism in these dire times is unacceptable. Talent must be prioritized over titles.
Let your academy prove its worth. The world outside no longer waits for politics.
Grandmaster Eledran, High Commander of the Royal Guild
When she finished reading, silence reigned again, this time colder.
Professor Thaleon turned pale.
"He... he dares tell us how to govern our students?"
But Elowen's expression darkened, and she snapped the scroll shut.
"He speaks the truth. If the Gorge continues to bleed monsters, we may not have an academy left to argue over."
She stood.
"From this moment onward, the Academy's ruling system changes. Segregation between noble and commoner will be dissolved. Evaluations shall be merit-based. Hunter Teams will be formed by ability, not status. Those unfit will stay behind. The world demands results, not etiquette."
Some of the council protested; others whispered anxiously.
But Finch leaned back in his chair, satisfied.
"Looks like Rothchester and Gehinnom arrived just in time."
Despite the many rumors surrounding Professor Finch Larenthanil, few truly knew the man behind the title. Yet beneath his grim appearance lay a man of compassion—a silent protector, one who had once given up the opportunity to serve in the Royal Court just to teach misfits how to defend themselves from corruption, both magical and social.
But even he, with all his years of reading deception in young mages' eyes, could not fully grasp the motives of Daniel Rothchester and Melgil Veara Gehinnom.
Their sudden rise.
Their unmatched power.
Their influence over the bullied and the broken.
It felt... too perfect.
"No matter how noble a face wears its smile... even devils wear masks," he muttered to himself as he watched Daniel and Melgil from his office.
He pored over their enrollment papers again and again. Everything checked out—but Finch felt something was off. Their backgrounds seemed too neat. Too refined. Not a single blemish or trace of past misdeeds. Not even old Academy whispers or gossip trails.
He saw how Melgil moved like a noble assassin disciplined, calculated, yet oddly empathetic when dealing with frightened first-years.
He observed Daniel defuse tensions with nothing but a glance, commanding presence like a natural war leader… or a charismatic warlord.
They disrupted the hierarchy without raising a blade. But were they righteous?
Or just clever manipulators?
Unable to stay on the sidelines, Finch crafted a subtle test. After class he asked the class to accompany him, as he wanted to retrieve a certain book under the library. While at the same time teaching them, in a more practical setting, how to navigate the delicate balance between power and morality in their own actions. As they descended into the depths of the library, Finch watched closely for any signs of true character beneath the surface personas of Melgil and Daniel.
He accompanied the class into a supposed "forbidden zone breach" in the Underground Archive Vaults, where ancient cursed grimoires whispered for minds to consume.
There, he sealed the exits and triggered a trial: a living wraith constructed from pure malice and hatred, a specter that fed on doubt and darkness within the hearts of its victims.
It would expose them.
Would they run? Would they reveal their true nature?
He watched from the shadowed upper corridor, unseen.
To his surprise, Daniel immediately protected the two junior students who had stumbled into the trap. With Melgil at his side, they fought not with overwhelming power, but restraint. Daniel used defensive spells to shield the juniors instead of burning the wraith down instantly. Melgil didn't leap for a killing blow but focused on drawing its attention, moving with precision.
Then came the moment Finch did not expect.
"These are the spells I taught them in class."
The wraith whispered to Melgil, attempting to lure out her inner darkness.
"You were abandoned. Hated. You don't belong here. Kill them all. You have the power."
She froze, eyes wide.
But Daniel placed a hand on her shoulder.
"You belong where you choose to be, not where your past wants to chain you."
Melgil nodded. And in that instant, she sealed her blade not to fight but to dispel the specter using a chant known only to those trained in anti-curse compassion magic.
A rare and ancient technique.
The wraith howled and disintegrated into harmless mist.
Professor Finch stepped into view, the shadows peeling off his cloak like falling ink.
"Impressive," he said, tone unreadable. "You handled yourselves well… especially against something tailored to crush the spirit."
Daniel tilted his head. "Was this a test, Professor?"
Finch met their gaze for the first time with genuine curiosity and something else: respect.
"It was... a doubt. One I no longer hold."
He turned to leave but paused.
"Lady Gehinnom, young Lord Rothchester, if you two are what the Academy needs... then may the rest of us not stand in your way."
He gave them a curt bow—something he had never offered to any student before—and vanished into the darkness once more.
After that day, Finch quietly became an unexpected ally to the duo. He didn't declare his support openly, but when disciplinary cases were raised against them by offended nobles, the Dark Professor always found a "legal clause" to dismiss the charges.
He also began offering extra lessons to mixed-rank students, shielding them subtly with his reputation.
And when questioned by another professor about the change, Finch simply said:
"Darkness does not fear change. It only fears deception. And those two... they walk in light far brighter than they know."
From that day forward, Professor Finch became an unlikely ally.
He never openly declared support, but when nobles filed complaints, claiming the two students were "too dangerous" or "unfit by blood," Finch quietly dismantled the accusations using obscure legal clauses and old academy bylaws.
Later that evening... in the dormitory commons
The fire crackled softly in the corner hearth as students trickled in, still shaken from what had happened earlier. The Underground Archive Vaults had always been a place of whispered rumors and off-limits warnings—until today.
Among the crowd sat Thalen Merrow, a third-year student from a minor noble house. Quiet, observant, and usually cynical of anyone who bore a crest, he scribbled in his worn leather notebook, fingers still stained with chalk dust from the earlier encounter.
He had been there. He had seen it all.
"Lord Rothchester's bloodline was supposed to be all show. That's what they told us in the upper dorm halls. Spoiled. Privileged. Unworthy."
Thalen's hand paused.
"But he didn't hesitate to protect me. He didn't even know my name."
He remembered vividly how Daniel had placed a shielding spell over him, without fanfare, without command just action.
And Lady Melgil... Thalen had always heard she was indeed beautiful up close and dangerous. Unstable. Rumors said she once collapsed a sparring ring when she got angry. A few students joked she had demon blood.
"But she didn't give in."
He had seen her face, locked in internal battle when the wraith whispered to her. It wasn't just magic she fought, it was herself. And she had chosen mercy.
Thalen glanced up as a few others in the room whispered quietly, their tones no longer mocking or arrogant, but thoughtful... curious.
One younger girl said, "Lady Melgil looked like she wanted to cry after the specter vanished."
Another replied, "Daniel said something before she used that spell. I think he was trying to remind her who she really is."
The room went quiet for a while.
Then Thalen spoke—not loudly, but enough for those near the fire to hear:
"I think... we've been looking at them wrong."
Heads turned.
"They didn't prove they were powerful. We already knew that. They proved they chose not to abuse it. That's what makes them different."
A few students nodded slowly. No one argued.
That night, the whispers began to shift. Not of fear or suspicion—but of respect.
And in the days that followed, more students started joining Finch's quiet seminars. More chose to sit beside Daniel and Melgil in the library. Fewer looked at them with doubt. The tide of perception was turning.
Not through grand speeches.
But through actions that left a mark.
At first, it was only glances—stolen looks from students who once walked separate paths, whose dormitories, common rooms, and even dueling arenas were separated by class, blood, and expectation.
But something had changed.
It wasn't just the trial in the forbidden zone—it was how Daniel and Melgil responded to it. Their restraint. Their compassion. Their refusal to give in to pride, anger, or fear.
And slowly, the walls between social ranks—noble and common, highborn and scholarship, legacy and first-generation—began to show cracks.
In the outer wing of the dormitories, Ysil Thorne, a girl from the coastal working towns, watched from the shadows as Daniel quietly helped a second-year with magical incantation techniques in the courtyard. No professor was there. No audience. Just him, explaining patiently, even when the boy fumbled again and again.
"He's not like the others," Ysil whispered to her roommate. "I thought nobles were supposed to laugh at us."
Her roommate scoffed softly. "Some still do. But... not all of them anymore."
In the upper towers where noble heirs usually gathered, Ramas Duvell, son of a powerful land baron, paced uneasily as he re-read the reports from the underground incident. Daniel's name was at the top as usual but something about the account left him unsettled.
"He didn't destroy the wraith," Ramas muttered aloud. "He... protected the weak first."
One of his companions chuckled, lounging on a velvet sofa. "Typical Rothchester strategy. Heroic bait. Win hearts."
But another noble girl Selene of House Aevryn—looked thoughtful. "No," she said quietly, "that wasn't strategy. That was character. No noble upbringing teaches you to put your body between a curse and a servant's child."
Her tone held no mockery only curiosity .
In Professor Armen's theory class, once notoriously segregated by rank (nobles sat front row, scholarship students in the back), a surprising change began.
Daniel and Melgil, instead of taking their reserved seats in front, began sitting mid-row, among the general population of students. They offered to share notes. They answered questions without condescension.
When one student stammered nervously in broken arcane dialect, Melgil didn't scoff. She leaned forward and gently corrected his pronunciation, not to embarrass, but to help.
"That was close," she said. "But if you twist your fingers like this, the spell won't explode in your face."
The class laughed not at the boy, but with him.
And when the lesson ended, two more students lesser noble and commoner alike asked to sit with them the next day.
It was there the change became undeniable.
Where once, nobles dueled only other nobles for prestige and commoners were given practice dummies Daniel began challenging students of all backgrounds.
But his duels were not about winning.
He fought without enchantments, using simpler techniques to teach. He asked his opponent after every round: "What did you learn?"
Melgil soon followed his lead. Her once-feared style, rumored to be cruel and merciless, was now revealed to be refined and intentional. She fought with control, then taught the very student she dueled how to counter the same move.
One younger girl, breathless after sparring with her, said:
"She's not a monster. She's a teacher."
The Academy had not changed completely. The divisions still existed.
But now, in every hall and courtyard, students whispered stories of Daniel Rothchester shielding a first-year from a possessed creature, and Melgil Veara Gehinnom using forbidden compassion magic to save a soul instead of destroy it.
Where there were once clear lines between "us" and "them," tables in the mess hall began to blend. Mixed groups formed study circles. Older students once obsessed with rank began listening to voices they'd once ignored.
Even the faculty noticed.
And in one late-night faculty meeting, Headmaster Elowen Varthelien, after hearing Finch's quiet endorsement, merely leaned back in his chair and said:
"Perhaps we are finally seeing what the Academy was meant to be."