POV: Priam Lockhart
I woke before dawn to the sound of bells—the academy's way of ensuring no one overslept. My body protested every movement, muscles stiff from yesterday's tension, but there was no time for rest. Servants rose before their masters, and I had preparations to complete.
The grimoire lay on my small desk, still open to the Shadow Step spell I'd been studying. The diagrams seemed to burn themselves into my vision even with my eyes closed—the flow of mana, the mental triggers, the precise hand seals required.
Theory is one thing. Actually casting it is another.
I dressed quickly in my servant's uniform and made my way to Seraphine's suite, carrying the grimoire and a small notebook where I'd transcribed key points. The pre-dawn corridors were mostly empty, just a few other servants rushing to their duties.
When I arrived at the Valois suite, I found Seraphine already awake, seated at her desk in a simple black robe, her silver hair loose down her back. She was writing in her hidden journal, the protective wards around it glowing faintly purple.
She didn't look up when I entered. "You're punctual. Good. Did you study the grimoire?"
"Yes, my lady. I focused on Shadow Step as you suggested. I've memorized the theory."
"Theory is useless without practice." She closed the journal, and the wards vanished. When she turned to face me, I could see dark circles under her eyes. "How much sleep did you get?"
"Four hours, my lady."
"Same as me." A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "We're both fools, aren't we? Sacrificing rest for power."
"Power is survival in this world, my lady."
"Spoken like someone who's already learned that lesson." She stood and moved to the center of the room, which had been cleared of furniture. "We have one hour before I need to prepare for morning classes. Show me what you've learned."
I set down the grimoire and moved to the cleared space. My heart hammered in my chest. This would be my first real attempt at casting magic.
"First, demonstrate your mana control," Seraphine commanded. "Close your eyes. Find your core. Draw mana to your palm."
I obeyed, closing my eyes and sinking into the meditative state she'd taught me. The spark in my chest—my mana core—pulsed with warmth. I mentally reached for it, trying to guide some of that energy along the pathways in my body toward my hand.
At first, nothing. Then—
A tingling sensation, like pins and needles, traveled down my arm. I opened my eyes to see a faint blue glow emanating from my palm. It flickered and died within seconds, but it had been real.
"Good," Seraphine said, though her tone remained clinical. "Your pathways are raw, untrained, but functional. That's better than I expected for day two." She moved closer, studying my hand. "The blue color indicates your primary affinity is mental or neutral mana. Unusual for someone with no formal training."
"What does that mean, my lady?"
"It means your magic isn't tied to a specific element like fire or ice. Instead, you manipulate pure mana itself. It's versatile but requires more control and creativity." She stepped back. "Now, attempt the Shadow Step. But don't actually cast it yet—just channel the mana and form the spell structure. If you try to complete it before you're ready, you could tear your pathways or worse."
No pressure at all.
I took a deep breath and began the process I'd memorized:
First, find the shadows. I focused on the darker corners of the room where morning light hadn't yet reached.
Second, visualize the connection. I imagined a line between where I stood and a shadow near the window—a path through space.
Third, form the hand seals. My fingers moved through the complex positions, each one a key to unlock a specific aspect of the spell.
Fourth, channel mana. I drew energy from my core, pushing it through my pathways according to the spell diagram.
The room seemed to darken. Shadows lengthened, reaching toward me like living things. My mana formed a structure in my mind—a bridge made of darkness connecting two points.
But I didn't complete the final step. Didn't speak the trigger word or push the mana through to activate the transportation.
Sweat beaded on my forehead from the concentration. The spell structure hovered at the edge of manifestation, ready but not released.
"Hold it," Seraphine commanded. "Feel how the mana wants to move. That's your spell trying to complete itself. Now, carefully, release the energy back into your core without casting. This teaches you control—how to abort a spell if needed."
I did as instructed, mentally unwinding the structure I'd built and drawing the mana back. It was like trying to carefully disassemble a house of cards—one wrong move and everything would collapse.
Finally, the spell dissipated. The shadows returned to normal. I gasped, suddenly exhausted.
[System Notification]
[Skill Progress: Mana Manipulation Lv. 1 → Lv. 2]
[New Skill Acquired: Spell Formation Lv. 1]
[Shadow Step: 15% Understanding]
"Acceptable," Seraphine said, and I heard genuine approval in her voice. "You have natural talent, which is fortunate because we don't have time for you to learn slowly." She gestured for me to sit. "Take five minutes to recover. Mana exhaustion is dangerous—push too hard and your core can crack."
I sat heavily on the floor, my whole body trembling. "That was... intense."
"That was a partial casting of a basic spell. Wait until you attempt combat magic under pressure." She handed me a glass of water infused with something that tasted like honey and mint. "Drink. It helps with mana recovery."
As I drank, Seraphine returned to her desk and pulled out a different book—this one bound in red leather. "While you recover, I want to discuss what happened yesterday. Liana Hart."
My attention sharpened. "My lady?"
"She knew about the truth serum. More than that—she helped you, which benefited me indirectly." Seraphine's violet eyes were thoughtful. "She's playing a deeper game than she appears. And she implied you're part of that game somehow."
Should I tell her? That Liana and I are both from outside this world, both know this is supposed to be a story?
"My lady, I—"
"You don't have to tell me everything," Seraphine interrupted. "Not yet. I know you're keeping secrets. So am I." She met my gaze directly. "But I need to know if Liana Hart is an ally or an enemy. Not just to me, but to you."
I chose my words carefully. "I believe she sees herself as the protagonist of her own story. And in most stories, villainesses like you are meant to be defeated."
Seraphine's expression darkened. "So she intends to destroy me."
"Probably. Unless we can change the narrative."
"Change the narrative." Seraphine repeated the phrase slowly. "You speak as if our lives are a story that can be rewritten."
Because they are. This whole world is a game that's come alive. But how do I explain that without sounding insane?
"Every life is a story, my lady. And stories can have different endings depending on the choices we make."
She studied me for a long moment. "You're strange, Priam Lockhart. You speak like someone who's seen things they shouldn't have. Known things they shouldn't know." She paused. "But so do I. So I won't judge."
Before I could respond, there was a knock at the door. Rosalie entered, carrying breakfast trays.
"My lady, you have morning classes in ninety minutes. You should eat and prepare." The handmaid's eyes flicked to me, then back to Seraphine. "And perhaps your butler should attend to his other duties? People will talk if he's alone with you too often."
"Let them talk," Seraphine said dismissively, but she stood. "But you're right. Lockhart, return in four hours. We'll continue training after my morning lectures."
I bowed and left, retrieving the grimoire. As I walked back to the servants' quarters, my mind churned through everything I'd learned.
Magic is real. I can actually cast it. But it's exhausting and dangerous.
Liana knows I'm an anomaly. She might see me as an ally or a threat.
Seraphine is starting to trust me, but she's also testing me constantly.
And somewhere in all this, I need to change the story's ending so we both survive.
[Daily Quest Complete: Morning Routine]
+25 XP
Current XP: 450/600 until Level 3
Back in my room, I had just enough time to wash up and change into formal serving attire before the breakfast bell rang. Most servants would spend the morning attending their masters during classes, standing silently in the background while nobles learned.
But I had a different plan.
POV: Duke Roland Vayne
Roland sat in the Advanced Combat Tactics lecture hall, his armor polished to perfection, his posture militarily straight. Around him sat other students focused on martial excellence—warriors, knights, tacticians who would one day lead armies.
Professor Steele, a grizzled veteran with scars covering half his face and a missing left arm, stood at the front of the class. His remaining arm was a magical prosthetic—gleaming steel that moved with perfect precision.
"War," Steele said without preamble, "is not glorious. It's not heroic. It's messy, brutal, and most of you will die if you approach it with romantic notions."
The class shifted uncomfortably. This wasn't what noble children wanted to hear.
"The Empire has been at peace for twenty years," Steele continued. "Which means most of you have never seen real combat. Never watched friends die. Never had to make the choice between saving one person or completing the mission." His mechanical fingers drummed on the desk. "This class will teach you three things: how to kill efficiently, how to lead effectively, and how to survive when everything goes wrong."
Roland leaned forward, fully engaged. This was what he'd come to the academy for—not social games or political maneuvering, but real training to become the warrior his family needed him to be.
Third son. No inheritance. No political prospects. Just the sword and my reputation.
His older brothers were brilliant politicians and businessmen. They'd inherited their father's talent for negotiation and commerce. But Roland had inherited their mother's warrior blood—the need for action, for justice, for protecting the weak.
"Today's topic," Steele said, "is threat assessment. Knowing which enemies to engage and which to avoid." He gestured, and holographic figures appeared in the air—different types of combatants. "Mages. Warriors. Assassins. How do you prioritize?"
A stocky student raised his hand. "Eliminate the mages first. They're the biggest threat."
"Wrong." Steele's metal hand clenched into a fist. "Mages are dangerous, yes. But assassins kill commanders. If you die, your whole unit loses direction. Personal survival enables unit survival." He pointed to different holograms. "Threat assessment requires context. In open battle, eliminate mages. In close quarters, watch for assassins. In sieges, target healers."
Roland absorbed every word, mentally cataloging the information. This was practical knowledge that could save lives.
"Now," Steele said, "pair up. We're going to practice tactical analysis using real scenarios from the War of Succession. You'll take turns playing commander and enemy, trying to outthink each other."
Roland turned to find a partner and found himself facing Lord Garrick Thorne. The fox-faced strategist smiled blandly.
"Shall we, Duke Vayne?"
They moved to a practice table where a three-dimensional map materialized—a battlefield with terrain features, unit positions, and objective markers.
"I'll be the Empire forces," Garrick said, moving pieces with casual expertise. "You're the rebel army. Your objective is to capture the fortress before reinforcements arrive."
Roland studied the board. This is from the Battle of Crimson Pass. Famous for being an "unwinnable" rebel position that nearly succeeded.
He began moving his pieces, planning a multi-pronged assault that would divide Garrick's forces.
As they played, Garrick spoke casually: "I noticed you were at Lady Clarisse's tea party yesterday. Unusual for someone focused on martial training."
"I wasn't inside. I was... nearby." Roland had actually been training in the adjacent courtyard and overheard parts of the gathering. "Why?"
"Just curious. There was an incident. A servant disrupted things rather dramatically." Garrick's gray eyes were calculating. "Lady Seraphine's butler. Priam Lockhart. Have you noticed anything unusual about him?"
Roland frowned. "He's a servant. I don't pay much attention to servants unless they're inadequate."
"Hm. How very noble of you." Garrick captured one of Roland's units. "But this particular servant has intervened twice now in situations involving Lady Seraphine. And both times, his interventions have been... strategically advantageous."
"Your point?"
"My point is that servants don't think strategically. They follow orders. But Lockhart seems to be making independent decisions that benefit his mistress." Garrick leaned back. "Which suggests either he's more than a servant, or someone is directing him from the shadows."
Roland captured two of Garrick's units in response. "Or maybe he's just loyal and clever. Not everyone operates through layers of deception."
"Says the man who's already won this tactical scenario." Garrick gestured to the board. "You've outmaneuvered me by sacrificing your eastern flank to concentrate force on my weak point. Well done."
Roland blinked, realizing Garrick was right. He'd been so focused on the conversation that he'd operated on instinct—and his instincts had been correct.
"A good commander can analyze and fight simultaneously," Garrick said. "You have potential, Duke Vayne. But you should pay more attention to the larger game being played at this academy."
"What game?"
"The one where someone is trying to destroy Lady Seraphine, someone else is protecting her, and the rest of us are going to be forced to choose sides." Garrick stood as the class period ended. "Think about which side you want to be on when the conflict becomes open."
He left, and Roland sat there, troubled.
I came here to train. To become stronger. To earn my place through merit rather than family name.
But if there's injustice happening—if someone is being targeted unfairly—can I really stand aside?
He thought of Liana Hart, the commoner girl who'd been harassed by Edric Renault. He'd stepped in because it was the right thing to do.
Was Seraphine de Valois also being treated unjustly? Or was her reputation deserved?
I need to observe. To gather information. To know the truth before I act.
Roland gathered his materials and headed to his next class, his mind already working through the problem like a tactical scenario.
POV: Priam Lockhart
I spent the morning performing standard servant duties—cleaning, organizing, running errands for various household staff. But I also did something else: I observed.
The academy was divided into several main buildings, each focused on different disciplines. I mapped them mentally:
The Crimson Spire: Combat magic and theoretical arcane studies. Where Seraphine had her advanced classes.
The Steel Hall: Martial training, tactics, and military leadership. Where Roland and the warrior nobles studied.
The Silver Archive: Academic subjects—history, mathematics, linguistics, magical theory. Where the scholarly nobles spent their time.
The Rose Garden Complex: Social studies, etiquette, healing arts, and "soft" magics. Where Clarisse and her circle held court.
And beneath it all, connecting everything: The Undercroft. Servant passages, storage rooms, maintenance tunnels. The hidden infrastructure that kept the academy functioning.
Two worlds existing in the same space. The nobles above, lit and luxurious. The servants below, dark and cramped.
As I moved through the Undercroft, I encountered other servants. Most ignored me, but a few from the midnight gathering nodded in recognition.
I was building a network. Slowly, carefully, but definitely building.
Around midday, I received a message crystal—a small magical device that projected Seraphine's voice when activated:
"Lockhart. Meet me at the North Practice Yard in thirty minutes. Come alone."
The North Practice Yard was one of several training areas scattered around the academy. Unlike the main training grounds used for formal duels, the North Yard was older, more isolated, surrounded by stone walls and dead trees that blocked sight lines from nearby buildings.
Perfect for secret training.
I arrived to find Seraphine already there, having changed into practical clothing—black trousers, a fitted tunic, her hair braided back. She looked less like a noble lady and more like a warrior preparing for battle.
"You're late," she said, though I'd arrived with two minutes to spare.
"My apologies, my lady."
"Don't apologize. Improve." She gestured to the center of the yard. "We're going to attempt Shadow Step. Full casting this time."
My stomach dropped. "My lady, this morning I could barely form the spell structure—"
"And now you'll complete it. Theory is useless without practice, and we don't have the luxury of slow, careful progression." She moved to stand about twenty feet away. "Your target is the shadow behind me. Visualize, channel, cast. If you fail, you'll simply not teleport. If you catastrophically fail, I'll heal you."
That's not as reassuring as she thinks it is.
But I moved to the center of the yard, taking a deep breath. The grimoire's diagrams were burned into my memory. I knew the theory.
Time to make it reality.
I closed my eyes and found my mana core. The spark had grown slightly larger since this morning—practice was already strengthening it.
I began the spell:
Find the shadows. The space behind Seraphine, where an ancient oak blocked the sun, creating a pool of darkness.
Visualize the connection. A path through the shadow realm, from where I stood to where I wanted to be.
Form the hand seals. My fingers moved through the complex patterns, each one precise.
Channel mana. Energy flowed from my core, through pathways that burned with the effort, forming the spell structure in reality rather than just my mind.
The shadows around me deepened. The world seemed to tilt, reality becoming thin and permeable.
Speak the trigger. "Umbral Path."
Reality folded.
For a fraction of a second, I existed in two places at once—here and there, light and shadow, physical and ephemeral.
Then the world snapped back.
I stumbled, disoriented, and realized I was standing in the shadow behind Seraphine, exactly where I'd intended.
[System Notification]
[Success! Spell Learned: Shadow Step (Basic)]
[Achievement Unlocked: First Spell]
[+100 XP, Level Up!]
[Level 2 → Level 3]
[New Skill Point Available]
I staggered, nearly falling, but Seraphine caught my arm.
"Breathtaking, isn't it?" she said softly. "The first time you bend reality to your will. The moment you realize you're more than just flesh and blood."
I looked at my hands, still tingling with residual mana. "I did it. I actually cast a spell."
"A basic spell, yes. You have a long way to go before you're combat-ready." But she was smiling—a genuine, proud smile. "But it's a start. A good start."
We trained for another hour. I practiced Shadow Step repeatedly until I could do it with reasonable consistency, though each casting left me more exhausted. Seraphine corrected my form, adjusted my technique, pushed me to improve.
It was the hardest I'd worked in either of my lives.
Finally, when I was trembling from mana exhaustion, Seraphine called a halt.
"Enough. Push further and you'll damage your core." She handed me that honeyed water again. "You've made excellent progress. Tomorrow we'll begin defensive magic—shields and wards. Then offensive spells."
"My lady," I said between gasps, "why are you doing this? Training me, trusting me. You could report my magic to the administration, have me bonded more tightly to your service. Why give me power?"
Seraphine was quiet for a long moment. "Because," she finally said, "everyone else in my life wants me weak, isolated, easy to control. My father. The other nobles. Even Clarisse's 'friendship' is just an attempt to manipulate me." She looked at me directly. "But you... you've chosen to be strong alongside me rather than watching me fail. That's valuable. Rare."
"You're investing in an asset."
"I'm investing in the only person who seems to give a damn whether I live or die." She turned away, but not before I saw vulnerability flash across her face. "Don't make me regret it."
[Seraphine Loyalty: 35 → 48 (Trusted Ally)]
We left the practice yard separately—her first, me following several minutes later to avoid suspicion. As I walked back through the academy, I felt fundamentally changed.
I'm not just a servant anymore. I'm not just playing a role. I'm becoming something new—a mage, an ally, maybe even a friend.
But my thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice:
"Priam Lockhart. We need to talk."
I turned to find Liana Hart standing in a shadowed alcove, her rose-gold hair catching the afternoon light. Her innocent expression was nowhere to be seen—instead, she looked serious, calculating.
"Miss Hart," I said carefully. "How can I help you?"
"By being honest." She stepped closer, lowering her voice. "You're not from this world. Neither am I. We're both playing a game we recognize, trying to survive a story that wants to destroy us." Her eyes locked on mine. "The question is: are we going to be allies or enemies?"
End of Chapter 5