Reincarnated as an Elf Prince-Chapter 101: Invasion (1)

The academy halls were quieter in the late afternoon.

Not quiet—just quieter. That particular kind of hush where footsteps echoed a little more than they should and conversations seemed to flatten out midair. Not many students wandered these back corridors unless they were lost or trying to avoid someone.

Lindarion walked in silence.

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Cael'arion walked beside him, somehow managing to look both regal and apologetic at the same time.

'It's like traveling with a decorative wall. If the wall kept offering to duel people on your behalf.'

They passed the edge of the eastern corridor, where a few lower-year students were still huddled over their alchemy notes, whispering.

One of them looked up as they passed—eyes widening at the sight of Cael'arion's crest.

The elf didn't react.

Lindarion, on the other hand, made a mental note to start using side exits.

'At this rate I'm going to start appearing in rumors I didn't even participate in.'

They crossed the outer plaza, sunlight slanting across the stones in long amber lines.

"Do you prefer a specific sparring schedule?" Cael'arion asked, voice polite.

Lindarion didn't look at him. "Do you prefer rejection delivered in song or stabbing?"

"I can arrange both," Cael'arion said sincerely.

'He wasn't kidding. He really has no filter.'

Lindarion slowed near the dormitory steps. A familiar shape stood near the railing—Vivienne, flipping through a leather-bound training log, arms crossed, eyes sharp.

'Ah. Of course. The watchdog returns.'

Vivienne looked up.

Her gaze flicked to Cael'arion. Then back to Lindarion.

She raised an eyebrow. "You make a habit of collecting knights now?"

"He just keeps following me," Lindarion said. "Like an extremely honorable fungus."

Cael'arion placed a hand on his chest. "It is my sworn duty to—"

"No," Lindarion said immediately. "Stop that."

Vivienne sighed. "Should I be concerned?"

"Not unless he starts quoting ancestral poems."

"I have several prepared," Cael'arion offered helpfully.

Lindarion turned toward him. "Cael. Go run laps or something."

"…Yes, Prince."

And just like that, the elf turned and walked briskly toward the southern field, his expression proud. Like he'd been given a command by the divine.

Vivienne watched him leave, slowly blinking.

Then turned back. "What was that?"

"A fan," Lindarion muttered, pushing open the dorm door.

"A fan with a battle record?"

"A fan with a blood-debt."

Vivienne followed him inside. "You're collecting more problems than assignments."

"Maybe if people stopped trying to measure me, I wouldn't need to keep breaking their rulers."

Vivienne cracked a small smile at that. "Nyx would've liked that one."

"I'll make it my epitaph."

They reached Lindarion's room. The air inside was cool and still—undisturbed.

Lindarion stepped into his room first. The door swung open with a faint creak—wood too old to be elegant, too stubborn to be replaced.

Vivienne followed him in without waiting for permission. As usual.

She tossed her notebook onto his desk like it lived there, then leaned against the bookshelf with the kind of casual confidence only someone with diplomatic immunity—or royal blood—could get away with.

'At this point, I don't even know if this is still my room.'

Lindarion slipped out of his uniform jacket, folded it once, and placed it over the back of the chair. His movements were efficient. Quiet. Almost mechanical.

Vivienne watched him the whole time.

"You're being watched," she said, finally.

"I'm always being watched," Lindarion replied. "That's what eyes are for."

"Not like that." She didn't look amused. "Threading. Hand-to-hand. Now Kaelen's giving you personal instructions."

'And yet I can't even be alone in my own room. Fascinating.'

"I'm in advanced placement now," he said. "I should get a crown and a private bath at this point."

Vivienne gave him a look. "You should get used to them trying to break you."

"I already am."

He said it too quickly.

Too easily.

And they both knew it.

Vivienne's eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn't press.

Instead, she looked toward the window—where a shaft of light slanted in through the dust-smeared glass and stretched across the desk.

"This school doesn't like outliers," she said. "It's built to grind them down until they're either consistent or gone."

'Then it's going to have a bad year.'

Lindarion turned away from her and lowered himself onto the edge of his bed, fingers steepled lightly beneath his chin.

Then—

The floor shuddered.

Just once.

A low, grinding tremor that passed through the soles of his boots and into his spine like a whisper from something buried.

Vivienne straightened. "What the—"

Another pulse. This one stronger. The desk rattled. The bookshelf creaked.

The glass on the window began to hum.

Lindarion stood in one smooth motion, gaze narrowing.

"Earthquake?" he muttered.

Vivienne had already moved to the door, cracking it open to peer into the hallway.

Several other students had emerged—wide-eyed, murmuring, bracing against the walls. Somewhere down the corridor, a light fixture had come loose and shattered on the floor.

Then—

The third tremor hit.

Not subtle.

Not mild.

This one roared.

A violent ripple tore through the floorboards, splitting a hairline fracture up one of the dormitory walls.

Lindarion's mana core immediately surged—reflexive, instinctual.

Vivienne gritted her teeth. "That's not normal."

"No," Lindarion said quietly. "It's not."

Something deep underground was moving.

Alive.

And whatever it was—

It wasn't done yet.

—

The silence that followed the tremors didn't feel like silence at all.

It felt like a held breath.

A pause in a sentence the world forgot how to finish.

Lindarion stood near the cracked frame of the dorm window, watching as a flock of birds—usually settled near the northern spire—shot off in every direction like something had screamed at them.

'Birds don't flee for fun.'

Across the hall, doors slammed open. Students spilled out in varying states of confusion—half-dressed, barefoot, still holding textbooks.

Someone muttered that a classroom had collapsed. Someone else said it was an enchantment mishap. No one knew anything.

Vivienne's voice cut through the haze. "Lindarion."

He turned.

Her arms were crossed, jaw tense. "Something's wrong."

'Understatement of the year.'

He nodded once. "Where?"

"Don't know. But the wards are going up." She gestured out the window—sure enough, thin threads of mana were beginning to rise across the academy's perimeter. A shimmering dome of security, the kind that only deployed during high-level emergencies.

Not drills.

Not accidents.

Real threats.

'So much for a quiet week.'

The distant bells began to ring—four tones. That wasn't the class change. That was the lockdown.

And not the polite kind.

"Come on," Vivienne said, already stepping into the hallway. "If they're sealing the towers, we need to be in the main courtyard before—"

Another tremor hit.

Harder.

Not a quake this time. A sound.

A low, guttural boom from somewhere deep below, like the earth had hiccuped. Dust rained down from the ceiling beams. Someone screamed.

'That wasn't natural.'

He turned sharply.

And that's when he saw it—out beyond the far edge of the dormitory lawn, near the edge of the training field.

A rupture in the ground.

Wide. Uneven. And glowing faintly.

Faint red light spilled out from the split earth, like blood from an invisible wound.

Something was pushing through it.

Something slow.

Vivienne stopped cold beside him. "That's…"

But she didn't finish.

Because just then—

A figure emerged from the light.

Tall.

Armored.

And definitely not a student.

The mana around it cracked like old glass—fractured and pulsing with wild, unstable resonance.

The kind that screamed invasion.

Lindarion didn't breathe.

Didn't blink.

He didn't need to.

Because the truth was obvious.

This wasn't a test.

This wasn't a drill.

This was the part of the story where things stopped pretending to be normal.

This was going to be a horror show.

—

The sky hadn't changed.

That was the worst part.

It still looked normal. Still wore the same indifferent blue, cloudless and wide—like it hadn't just watched the world split open at the seams.

Lindarion kept his eyes on the armored figure. The light around it didn't pulse with arcane discipline—it flickered, unrhythmic, like a dying star refusing to go quietly.

'Who the hell attacks an academy full of nobles?'

It made no tactical sense.

Unless you weren't here for a victory.

Just a message.

He turned as more boots pounded the hallway behind them.

Cassian burst in first—out of breath, crystal mana humming faintly across his skin like it had flared too early and too clumsily. "I felt that quake from the east towers," he gasped. "Is this part of the curriculum or did I miss a memo?"

Elara skidded in right behind him, sleeve torn, eyes wide. "Please tell me that was a training illusion."

"It's not," Vivienne said, short and sharp.

Rowan rounded the bend next, flanked by Valen, who was strangely calm in that unsettling way people are right before they break. Nikolai stumbled in last—pale, confused, and clinging to the wall like the floor might vanish beneath him.

Lindarion scanned them all.

No armor.

No prep.

No weapons beyond ceremonial blades and mana cores barely woken up from nap mode.

They weren't ready for this.

None of them were.

Jack arrived last, of course—because the universe had a sense of humor and he liked to be dramatic. His coat was half-buttoned, his hair messier than usual, but his eyes were sharp.

"You all seeing what I'm seeing?" he asked.

Lindarion didn't answer.

Didn't need to.

Because a second armored figure was now rising from the rupture.

Then a third.