I Killed The Main Characters-Chapter 225: Black Vassals [2]

The business was done.

The papers had been signed, the contracts sealed with wax, and the gold had been promised.

The two black-dressed vassals of House Ashbourne stepped out of the academy's administrative building and into the wide stone path lined with trimmed hedges and young mage students in uniform passing by.

Conrad Ashworth walked with hands behind his back, his long black coat dragging lightly against the stone floor.

Beside him, Elira's heels clicked rhythmically as her green hair, straight and shiny, rested neatly over her shoulders.

Just near the carriage, a young academy personnel—likely a logistics worker—was lifting crates down from a floating cart.

The crates bore the seal of the school's alchemical labs, likely restocking supplies for some exam happening.

Conrad stopped.

His voice, soft but clear, called out to the boy.

"You there. May I ask—do you know where young lord Ashbourne is?"

The worker flinched and turned around, hugging a crate to his chest.

"I… I'm not sure, sir. Maybe in his dorm—"

Conrad tilted his head. His gaze sharpened.

"No," he said quietly, stepping forward.

"Don't guess. Tell us the truth."

The worker blinked.

For a moment, he felt dizzy, like something in the air had changed.

He looked into the old man's eyes—and froze.

Conrad's irises had turned pitch-black, like twin voids. Not angry, not glowing, but bottomless.

This was Unmask, one of Conrad Ashworth's ancient abilities—an old magic passed down to chosen vassals of the Ashbourne line.

It worked without force, without threats.

Just by looking, Conrad could make people tell the truth... without them realizing they had.

The mind would believe it chose to be honest.

The worker blinked slowly, his lips parting.

"Oh… yeah, actually. I saw his name on the list.

Noah Ashbourne … he's with the instructors. They're in the Eastern Forest, overseeing a mid-term exam for the second-year combat students."

He shook his head like he had just remembered on his own.

"Sorry, must've slipped my mind."

Conrad nodded once.

"Thank you," he said kindly, the black in his eyes fading back to gray.

The worker bowed his head slightly and went back to unloading the crates, humming to himself as if nothing strange had happened.

Elira walked to the side of the carriage and leaned against it, looking up at the sky.

"So, the young lord is already at work..."

She said, brushing back her hair as a slight breeze moved through the courtyard.

Conrad stepped in next to her.

"Would you like to walk?" he asked dryly.

She grinned, a slow, catlike grin.

"I have something better."

She raised her left hand and held it palm-up.

On her index finger sat a black ring shaped like two serpents biting each other's tails.

The metal pulsed with an eerie darkness.

The ring's name was Voidloop—an ancient relic that bent space and allowed travel through dimensions.

But it was no common teleportation artifact.

This one was bound to Elira's own magic, and when used, it didn't just move the body... it thinned the walls between places.

A smoky black aura leaked from the ring as her mana gathered.

She pushed back her short green hair with the other hand and smiled—wide and far too amused.

Her lips shimmered slightly with black gloss.

"Oh, I can't wait to see him," she whispered, voice low and sultry.

She touched her lips with her finger… and slowly licked them.

"Our little young lord… It's been far too long."

The dark smoke billowed from the ring, surrounding both her and Conrad.

It smelled faintly of ashes and ink.

The world around them began to bend, colors stretching and curling like paint mixed in water.

Conrad sighed but didn't resist.

With a whisper from Elira's lips—

"Fold the line."

—they vanished into the black smoke, leaving behind only a gust of wind and the faint, lingering scent of old magic.

***

The instructor quarters was a camp at the edge of the Eastern Forest were built from dark oak, set slightly uphill to give a full view of the trees below.

The sun was just beginning to dip, casting golden light through the large windows, where a few professors sat gathered around a table with notes, maps, and reports spread before them.

Professor Scarlett leaned back in her chair, sipping red wine from a thin glass as she stared at the forest.

"We said we wouldn't interfere until the exams were done," she said casually, "but... things have been shifting."

Her voice was smooth, a little too calm.

Professor Juno, a former knight and now an instructor at the Knight Department, nodded.

His thick brows were furrowed.

"I agree," he said, running a calloused hand through his short brown hair.

"The mana field around Sector C has been unstable since last night. We had reports of two teams fainting from mana poisoning. The barriers held, but that shouldn't be happening. Not this early in the test."

"And there was that one girl," added Professor Elaine, the young alchemy professor.

"Roselyn. Her team camped near one of the marked beast zones. The protection crystal they were given has already drained by ten percent. That's… concerning."

They all turned to Sharon Albright, who stood by the window with her arms crossed, her white coat catching the last light of day.

Her expression was unreadable.

"You're forgetting that the exams are meant to push them," she said plainly.

"If we intervene now, we lose the pressure. No pressure, no growth. That's the system."

Professor Scarlett twirled her glass slowly.

"I know, Sharon. But tell me... would pressure still be called pressure if it snaps the bone?"

Sharon's lips pressed together, but she said nothing.

Scarlett placed the wine down and stood, walking slowly to the center of the room where a circular table held a detailed map of the forest.

Small crystal markers glowed with faint blue light, each representing a student team. Several were blinking faster than they should have.

"This isn't about lowering the stakes," she continued.

"It's about knowing when the stakes start changing. If one of these blinking markers goes red and we say 'well, we wanted pressure,' we'll have blood on our hands.

That's not pressure. That's negligence."

A silence filled the room. No one disagreed.

After a moment, Scarlett turned her head toward the back of the room.

"Noah," she called gently, "you've been quiet."

The others turned too.

Noah Ashbourne sat at a smaller table by the far wall.

His black gloved hands rested lightly on a thick book he was flipping through.

A cup of black tea sat near the edge of the table, steam rising steadily.

His head was tilted slightly, the soft strands of silver-white hair catching the light, a mix of youthful mess and deliberate order.

The tips of his hair—once dark—had nearly all faded.