The medical bay door slammed open with enough force to rattle the enchanted diagnostic equipment on the nearby tables.
Five people walked in like they owned the place.
The emergency treatment room—which had already felt cramped with Professor Sylvia, Doctor Venn, and two nurse assistants—suddenly became absolutely packed. The air pressure seemed to shift with their arrival, becoming heavier, more oppressive.
The lead figure didn't even glance at the existing medical staff who were still actively monitoring Agni's condition. His voice carried the kind of absolute authority that brooked no argument:
"I believe you can leave the rest to us."
It wasn't a request. It wasn't even really a statement. It was a dismissal.
Professor Sylvia's eyes went wide. Her elf ears flattened against her head—a reflexive response to the sudden, rude invasion of what should have been a secure medical space.
Her hand moved toward the emergency communication crystal embedded in the wall. She was about to call security. Actually, scratch that—she was about to admit them into the next room herself. As patients. Possibly in restraints.
But then her gaze fell on the badges.
Embroidered in gold thread on the pristine white medical coats each person wore was an unmistakable symbol: the Radiant Sun and Crown, the official seal of the Sun Empire's Royal Medical Corps.
Royal doctors.
Oh.
She recognised Aldous….. The boy had grown up, his body had grown and had long left the shell of a young man…
The man leading the group had a long white beard that reached halfway down his chest, meticulously groomed and braided with thin golden threads. His eyes were also white—not blind
Deep lines creased his face, speaking of centuries of experience.
But what struck Professor Sylvia most was his gaze.
He didn't register her presence at all. Didn't acknowledge Doctor Venn. Didn't even glance at the nurses who'd been carefully monitoring the black flesh corruption spreading through Agni's chest.
His attention focused exclusively on his four assistants—all wearing identical white masks that covered the lower half of their faces, marked with the same Royal Medical Corps seal. They moved with practiced efficiency, immediately taking over the medical equipment from Doctor Venn's staff.
Doctor Venn himself remained silent. He watched the royal practitioners work for a moment, his jaw tight, then simply nodded toward Professor Sylvia.
That single nod said everything: We don't have a choice. Let them work.
The nurses and Doctor Venn's other assistants began filing out quietly, gathering their equipment and notes as they went. The atmosphere had shifted completely—from frantic emergency care to cold, clinical efficiency.
Professor Sylvia didn't move.
Her voice came out sharper than intended: "That black flesh is extremely delicate. One wrong move and you could kill him. I don't—"
She caught herself, taking a breath. When she spoke again, her tone was more controlled but no less firm: "I don't trust anyone I haven't worked with before to handle something this dangerous. At the very least, I'm staying to observe."
The royal doctor—Grand Physician Aldous Whitecrown—finally looked at her directly.
His white eyes were completely unreadable. No warmth. No irritation. Just cold assessment.
"Professor Sylvia," he said, his voice carrying the dry quality of old parchment. "You may possess considerable skill as a healer and educator. I do not dispute that. However, you are a professor, not a practicing physician. If I needed to select anyone from the current staff to remain and assist, I would choose Doctor Venn, who at least maintains active medical credentials."
He turned back to Agni without waiting for a response. "You are wasting time. Time that the prince does not have."
Professor Sylvia's mouth opened to argue—
Then her gaze fell on one of the masked assistants standing near the right far corner of the room.
He wore the same white mask as the others, the same pristine medical coat. But something about his posture was different. The way he stood, perfectly still, watching everything with an gaze that felt more like amusement than medical observation.
She stared at him for a long second.
"Master, we need to leave."
The voice came from behind her. Doctor Venn stood in the doorway, his expression carefully neutral but his eyes conveying a clear message:. Not here. Not now.
Professor Sylvia glanced back at the masked figure one more time, then reluctantly followed Doctor Venn out into the corridor.
The hallway outside was significantly cooler than the treatment room. Professor Sylvia took a deep breath, trying to settle her racing thoughts and the uncomfortable feeling that had settled in her chest.
"I know I'm being overly concerned," she muttered, more to herself than to Doctor Venn. "But is it really okay to trust royal practitioners? With something this serious?"
Doctor Venn walked beside her in silence for a few steps before responding. His voice was quiet, measured. "The Royal Medical Corps are the best in the kingdom. If anyone can handle an unknown corruption like that black flesh..."
He trailed off, which wasn't reassuring at all.
"Master..."
"I know, I know," Professor Sylvia finished, waving a hand. "It's not about skill. It's about trust. But we don't have much choice right now. The moment the prince's condition was reported, the royal family would have been notified automatically through emergency channels. Those doctors arriving isn't a coincidence—it's protocol."
Professor Sylvia sighed heavily, her shoulders sagging.
Then her gaze fell on the group of students waiting in the corridor.
There were five of them, clustered near the main medical bay entrance. Not patients—visitors, judging by their perfect academy uniforms and alert postures.
Ignatia stood at the center, her heterochromia eyes focused on an enchanted tablet she held with a single hand.. Her fingers moved across its surface, scrolling through what looked like official documentation. Her expression was unreadable, but there was tension in the set of her jaw.
She muttered something under her breath: "Such a delayed response. The standards of royal doctors have truly gone down."
Michael stood beside her, his golden eyes glancing at the treatment room door. He hummed in agreement. "Yeah."
Though his internal thoughts were quite different: They arrived within two hours of the emergency signal. That's incredibly fast by any standard. And that's a 'delayed response' for you,?
He wisely kept that thought to himself.
Darius leaned casually against the wall, his blue-green hair falling across his closed eyes. Despite his relaxed posture, his voice carried clearly: "So let me make sure I understand the situation correctly. Prince Agni has been gravely injured by Senior Raul from the Moon Empire..."
He paused, opening one eye slightly. "And Prince Cassius had a close call with our very own Whisper Jr.?"
"Basically, that's exactly what happened," Suzzy finished for him with a nod. She stood with her arms crossed, her blue eyes sharp despite her casual tone. "Two princes, two near-death experiences, same examination. The academy's reputation is going to take a hit from this."
Ignatia's fingers stopped moving across the tablet. She looked up, her heterochromia eyes scanning the document one final time. "We need to move the prince from this local medical bay to somewhere with proper equipment. The academy's facilities are adequate for commoner's injuries, but this..."
She shook her head. "This requires specialized treatment."
Michael nodded immediately. "As per your orders, I've made all the arrangements. Everything was surprisingly easy to secure—money opens doors, even in emergency situations."
"Location?" Ignatia asked crisply.
"Sun Mansion," Michael replied. "East wing, about twenty minutes from the academy grounds by carriage, so security won't be an issue. Full medical suite, privacy wards, and enough space for the Royal Medical Corps to work without interference."
Ignatia's expression softened slightly—not quite approval, but acknowledgment. "Good. Grand Physician Whitecrown indicated they can transfer the prince after stabilizing him here. We'll coordinate transportation once they give clearance."
She lowered the tablet and turned, her gaze sweeping across the assembled students.
Then her eyes locked onto a green-haired young woman with a freckled face who'd been standing quietly at the edge of the group, clearly trying not to draw attention.
Ignatia's voice took on a noticeably sharper tone: "So where is Lady Lyralei?"
Vera visibly flinched. Her blue eyes went wide, and she stammered slightly: "L-Lady Lyralei... she has other things to attend to right now."
The words came out weak, uncertain.
Ignatia took a single step forward.
The temperature in the hallway seemed to drop.
Vera felt it immediately—an invisible pressure pressing down on her chest, making it difficult to breathe. Not physical magic, exactly. Just the sheer force of Ignatia's presence, her authority, her displeasure made manifest through pure intimidation.
It felt like being grabbed around the throat by an invisible hand.
Vera's breath caught. Her hands trembled slightly at her sides.
"Other things," Ignatia repeated slowly.
She took another step closer. "Elaborate."
Vera swallowed hard, her mind racing for an explanation that wouldn't get her in even more trouble.
Behind Ignatia, Michael and Darius exchanged uncomfortable glances but said nothing. Suzzy looked away, suddenly finding the wall very interesting.
Nobody wanted to be in Vera's position right now.
The pressure intensified.
Vera opened her mouth, desperately trying to find words—