The three of us walked side by side, the hum of mana-filled lamps guiding our path through the academy's upper corridors. Alectra led with her usual calm stride, Rentt matched her pace with an easy smile, and I trailed a step behind, my mood more sour the closer we got.
We weren't heading anywhere ordinary. We were heading south, towards the Colosseum, where Belle's personal training room was located.
The air itself thickened as we approached, mana clinging to my skin like static. Every step felt heavier, as if the academy itself was warning me to turn back.
I muttered under my breath, "Perfect. From drowning in a river to walking into hell in just a single day. Truly, I'm blessed."
{Finally, some self-awareness,} Bastard chimed in with mock pride. {Keep it up, and you might even die with style next time.}
I grit my teeth.
Alectra glanced back at me with a reassuring smile. "Don't be nervous. Belle isn't cruel. She'll guide you."
Her words were meant to comfort me. They didn't.
The three of us stopped before a massive obsidian door, its surface carved with faint, glowing runes that pulsed like a heartbeat. I didn't even get the chance to raise a hand because the door creaked open on its own.
A suffocating wave of pressure spilled out, cold and sharp, crawling over my skin like claws. My lungs tightened, and with it came the smell thick, metallic, unmistakable. The stench of death.
Rentt's expression hardened, though he stood his ground. Alectra reached back, brushing her fingers against my wrist for the briefest moment. It wasn't words, but it was enough: don't falter.
I swallowed, my throat dry as sand. Every instinct screamed at me to run, but my feet carried me forward anyway. Because beyond that door was Belle. And if I couldn't face her now, I'd never survive what was waiting later.
---
The moment I stepped inside, the stench of death only deepened.
The hall, an endless expanse of black and white. No banners, no decorations, nothing to soften the void. Just polished white stone walls veined with onyx streaks, and a floor so reflective it felt like I was walking on the surface of still water. The emptiness was deliberate. It left no distractions, no comfort, only the weight of the presence waiting within.
At the far end of the hall, raised on a black dais, sat a throne-like chair. And on it, her.
Belle Ardent.
Her long hair spilled over her shoulders, black as midnight, but faint streaks of red glimmered through it like dried blood catching the light. A blindfold wrapped across her eyes, concealing her eyes.
She wore a full set of armor, deep blue-black, forged in a style that looked far older than any academy uniform or noble plate I'd ever seen. It seemed to drink in the light, yet glimmered faintly at the edges, as if reality itself bent around her.
And at her side, resting casually against the throne, was a sword. Its blade glowed faintly, pulsing with an eerie blue light that almost hummed in my ears.
The weapon radiated the same suffocating aura as the hall itself - like it had tasted death countless times, and was hungry for more.
Even without eyes, even without words, Belle's presence pressed down on me harder than anything I had ever felt.
Without a word, Belle rose from her throne. The sound was small, just the faint scrape of her armor shifting against the chair, but in the silence of the hall it thundered like a war drum.
Her presence changed instantly. A moment ago, she had looked calm, distant; now the air itself seemed to stiffen, as though the walls, the floor, the ceiling were holding their breath along with me.
Her blindfolded head turned in my direction, slow and deliberate. Though I knew she couldn't see me, I felt naked under that unseen gaze. My chest grew tight, a pressure building there like someone pressing a blade against my heart.
Without warning, she moved. Her hand reached for something beside the throne, not the glowing blue sword that rested like a guardian at her side, but a second weapon I hadn't noticed. A blade, forged of steel darker than night, its edge faintly reflecting the light in the hall.
She didn't speak. She didn't warn me. She just threw it.
The sword screamed through the air, fast enough to whistle. My mind blanked. My body lurched forward before I realized what I was doing. Fingers snapped around the hilt, the cold metal slamming into my palm hard enough to rattle my bones. The weight nearly dragged me down, and I stumbled half a step, legs straining under it.
I let out a cold breath, my knuckles whitening around the grip. The blade was heavy.
Belle, unfazed, turned her back on me. From behind the throne, she pulled out a wooden training sword. She held it loosely in one hand, almost lazy, but even from here, I could feel the danger bleeding off her stance. That wooden blade felt more threatening than the weapon I held.
The silence pressed harder. My heartbeat filled my ears.
That was when it hit me. Not just nerves. Not just fear. Something deeper. Something ancient.
The hairs on my arms rose. My skin crawled.
Every muscle in my body locked, trembling. My instincts screamed at me to drop the blade, to flee, to get as far from this blindfolded woman as possible.
But my feet stayed planted.
I couldn't move.
Belle raised her wooden sword and stepped forward once, casual, almost lazy.
The sound of her boot on the white floor cracked like thunder.
And in that instant, I knew, this wasn't just training, it was a lesson, and I was the subject.