The room wasn't large—at least, not large enough to comfortably hold the hundreds of people now packed inside.
Its walls were made of black stone assembled with precision, smooth like freshly polished obsidian. The only source of light came from dozens of glowing orbs floating near the ceiling.
The atmosphere was tense, because these were no ordinary people. In fact, most here possessed power enough to lead a city. Instructors with reputations steeped in blood and history, alongside members of the Asa Academy Student Council, renowned for their achievements and mental fortitude.
At the center of the room, an oval table made of contrasting white wood dominated the view. Its surface was smooth, but in the middle lay a single item: a thin card bearing an unfamiliar symbol of a crow. This simple object held no particular specialness apart from the writing on it, yet it was enough to make the air around the table feel heavier.
The sound of heavy breathing mixed with hushed whispers that fell silent every time the Headmaster coughed.
Among the dozens of instructors seated in chairs, Student Council members stood guard over the sword in the back room. Given the number of Council members and instructors present, this was clearly an unprecedented event at the Academy.
The sword stored at the Academy—its origins unknown, its rank undetermined—but one thing was certain: any item above Silver Rank couldn't be stored in the Skill Storage Room. This meant the sword had to be above Silver Rank, though even Silver Rank items weren't considered particularly special.
In the corner of the room sat Instructor Rokan Torento, the man known as the Devil's Sword.
The scars partially visible on his neck and the back of his hands weren't just marks of battle; each told a story of how close he'd come to death. Since childhood, he'd lived on the border battlefields, fighting demon troops. To some, he was a hero. But to himself, he was merely someone kept alive by a deeply held grudge.
Amid the silence, Instructor Rokan began to speak.
"Alright, you've all surely heard the details on your way here. We don't have much time—that demon is probably lurking around the academy right now."
An arrogant voice replied.
"You're still as foolish as ever, Rokan."
Barthos Grimm—the 'Black Alchemist'.
An old man with glasses, his fingers always stained with chemicals. There was no poison, medicine, or potion he didn't know. He had once been part of the empire's secret unit but left his position after an incident wiped out an entire village. At the academy, he taught Alchemy and Material Sciences.
"What do you mean by that, old man?" Rokan clenched his fist, emitting a murderous aura.
Barthos's thin smile held no warmth. He adjusted his glasses and began to speak.
"It seems your small brain still doesn't get it. Hey, let me tell you something. In all your life fighting demons on the battlefield, have you ever seen a demon act like this? Announcing its move before acting... Sounds like a trap to me."
Barthos's voice was calm, yet each word struck Rokan's head like a hammer.
Memories flashed through Rokan's mind—screams of troops trapped in black mist, demons laughing not out of joy, but with the confidence of victory even before the battle began.
Rokan gritted his teeth. He wanted to retort, but his tongue felt heavy. He knew Barthos was right. From experience, he knew demons never acted without a hidden purpose.
*But what if it isn't a demon?* Rokan briefly considered the possibility, but quickly dismissed it. Clearly, no one else would be crazy enough besides those damned demons.
Rokan was frustrated, but he couldn't say anything more. From his battles with demons, he knew they were intelligent and cunning. He could still remember every drop of blood and every scream from his troops, all because he had been trapped by demons out of sheer rage.
The atmosphere grew increasingly heated as everyone began to argue and shout—a tense yet oddly normal scene, given that each of them had the power to challenge one another.
Andras, the Student Council vice president, was a second-year student. As a commoner, he had reached his position through talent and hard work. As an archer, his eyes possessed a sharpness that could not only pierce through fog or hundreds of meters of distance but also see through lies. Andras could discern the truth in every word, whether the speaker liked it or not.
He observed the conversation for a moment, then turned his gaze toward the door leading to the back room. There, several high-ranking Student Council members stood at attention.
Headmistress Liliana Lopes—the woman who had entered the Arena twice, a special mage with high-tier talent, the strongest person in the room. Yet at this moment, Liliana simply observed.
No smile, no comment. Only silence—a silence that felt heavier than all the arguments that had taken place. She simply watched the clock on the wall: one minute remained until nightfall.
She rose from her seat, followed by the instructors. The long, fruitless debate had left Liliana visibly annoyed. But now, they had something more important to do: catch that arrogant crow.
Behind Liliana, the instructors followed.
Meriel Veyron, the Wind Wanderer. Slender, with long silver hair and pale blue eyes, her voice was as calm as a morning breeze. Yet when she called upon her wind magic, her attacks were invisibly fast. Having explored the continent alone for five years, she now taught mid-range combat arts and movement strategy.
Lisa Liondai, a Spirit Mage. On her shoulder, a small tiger spirit slept soundly. Cute yet fearsome, the tiger possessed incredible speed as the Spirit of Thunder, with both speed and power befitting the spirit of lightning itself.
Seraphine Valmont, a noble duelist from the Valmont family, famous for defeating opponents with a single strike. Her movements were always elegant, as if dancing between life and death. Now, as Vice Headmistress, she was responsible for discipline, official duels, and close-quarters combat training. Among students, she was known as the Silent Sword, because when her battles ended, silence would suddenly descend, followed only by the fall of her opponent.
And many others equally formidable behind them.
Each of them moved to their respective positions. Because besides the sword, there were many other equally important items in that storage room.