"What an absolute lunatic..." Voltar muttered with a sinister chuckle as he continued to stare at the spot where Robin had vanished just moments earlier.
To thinkâ
to truly believe
âthat one could compose a book worthy of standing shoulder to shoulder with the sacred and ancient texts of the Secret Archive... That alone was pure madness.
But to assume he could even
embed traps
inside such a bookâcurses so subtle theyâd target Soul Links and higher beings like Guardians and Monarchs? That wasnât just delusion... that was
calculated lunacy
. An ambition bordering on heresy.
"Now then... what delightful nonsense have we here?" Voltar said aloud, his voice echoing faintly through the quiet, book-lined chamber as he gently opened the tome Robin had left behind.
A strange, dusty aura emerged from within the pages. It wasnât hostile... but neither was it majestic. It was
old
, unmistakably so. Like a whisper from a forgotten era, yet lacking the power to evoke reverence.
"Hehehe... a charming little effortâfrom someone barely at stage thirty-one. Admirable, I suppose, in the way a childâs drawing is admirable to his mother."
Voltar snorted, then lowered his gaze to read the title etched in fine silver glyphs:
<The Merged Frost Permanence Technique â Stages 1 to 5>
"...?"
His artificial brows twitched immediately, narrowing with suspicion.
"Hmm? A Law Technique? He actually thinks a mere law technique, even if refined, can qualify for inclusion in this Archive? Unless it breaks realms and bends dimensions, itâsâ"
Suddenly, his voice stopped. Abruptly. His lips hung open mid-sentence.
He stared at the book again, puzzled.
"Wait... I opened it, but I havenât actually examined its content. Letâs see now, what exactly did he write...?"
<Integrated Frost Permanence Technique â Stages 1 to 5>
"Hmm? A Law Technique? Does he honestly expect something like this to be accepâ"
Again, as if caught in a time loop, Voltarâs expression shifted. His gaze darted about the room. Then slowly, he turned his head back to the book, confused.
"Strange... very strange. Whatâs going on here? Let me take another look."
This phenomenon repeated. Again.
And again.
And
again
.
Seventeen times, to be exact.
Each time, the moment Voltar began reading the title, something in his mind...
reset
.
He would lose his train of thought, forget what he was doing, and start from the beginning once more.
Until finally, on the eighteenth attempt, his face twisted into a bitter sneer.
"...A Law Technique? In the Archive? Tch. Delusional. Just a dreamer chasing clouds."
This time, he snapped the book shut with finality.
He then walked to the closest wallâthe one embedded with the most ancient tomesâand, after a reluctant sigh, raised both hands forward.
"Protocol requires I test it regardless... tch~ I despise my own programming sometimes."
HMMMMMMMMM
A low, thunderous hum resonated through the room.
The Archive itself reacted.
The soft, dim lighting intensified, bathing the chamber in pale gold. The books that formed the towering walls began to shudder and vibrate, as if responding to an ancient code...
Then it happenedâ
Something Voltar never believed he would live to witness.
WHOOSH!
KRRKâKRRRACK!
"WHAT?!!"
Voltarâs voice cracked like glass as the book was torn from his grasp without warning, as if snatched by invisible hands of law and judgment. He hadnât even a second to resist.
Then, slowly... an entire column of books along one wall began to rise. Not fallâ
rise
.
The stacked tomes shifted upward, making room at the very bottom.
Into that newly revealed, glowing slot... slipped Robinâs book.
And the shelf re-stabilized.
Where there were once 36 booksâthere were now 37.
"....."
Voltarâs eyes were opened wide in disbelief, frozen in a stunned silence not even his programming could explain.
The book that had just been
displaced
âthe one now pushed a level higherâwas none other than a manuscript on Blood Curses.
It held no active curse, no spell. But within it lay the
architecture
of bloodcraft. A full, dissected understanding of how to manipulate lineage-based magic to target specific individuals... or even entire bloodlines. Entire races.
And it had lost its foundation spot?
What in the abyssal heavens... did Professor Robin write?!
Voltar, the ever-watchful guardian, the being programmed to protect, judge, and expand the Archive...
...turned back slowly toward the space where Robin had vanished.
But this time, his stare was different.
No longer mocking. No longer dismissive.
There was only one thing in his gaze now:
Cautious respect.
--------------------------------------
Meanwhile... somewhere outsideâon the shadowed paths of the Academyâs lower grounds
"Stupid academy... stupid Headmistress... stupid ancestors..."
Robin grumbled under his breath, his boots clacking against the cold stone floor as he marched, every step echoing frustration. His face was flushed with anger, his lips curled in scorn.
"An institution that divides its students like noble and commoner trash... a headmistress who thinks Iâm some pawn she can dress up as a professor for her agenda... and their damned founderâwho left this nightmarish system behind, making everything needlessly harder for everyone who comes after him..."
His fingers twitched as he walked. His jaw clenched. A hot breath escaped between his teeth.
"No matter. No matter. Iâll tolerate it, just long enough... Just long enough to burn through the remaining two books. Then Iâm out. Iâll disappear, and let this place rot in its self-righteous glory."
He glanced toward the sky, eyes burning.
"Enjoy this while it lasts, you arrogant council of fools. Letâs see how many of your elite prodigies will dare open the book... when it carries a
Renewing Time Curse,
I only wonder how many decades will take them to realise they had been only reading the headline over and over again hehe."
BAM!
He kicked a small stone so hard it vanished into the horizon, skipping across the sky like a meteor.
"If it werenât for those last two damn books, Iâd be long gone by now. But no... no... endure, Robin. This isnât the first time you had to deal with this kind of provocation."
At that very momentâjust as Robin was trying to calm the boiling storm inside him, inhaling deeply, exhaling slowly, forcing the anger out with each breathâ
his sharp eyes caught something strange.
"Hmm?"
The academic building assigned to him was open... wide open.
And more strangely, a steady stream of students was entering through its doorsâone after another, casually, as if attending a public festival.
"Hmm?"
Robinâs face twitched.
He instantly stopped his breathing exercise. The attempt to soothe himself evaporated like mist under a flame.
With a sharp pivot and quickened steps, he moved toward the building, his eyebrows still locked downward like the wings of a hawk mid-dive.
His posture was calmâbut his aura whispered of thunder barely contained.
"More of them? Ugh... fine, fineâsit down already, all of you!"
Robin froze just before stepping inside, his movement halted by a familiar voice.
Shaddad.
The tone was unmistakable. Exhausted. Frustrated. Stretched thin.
Robin moved quietly to the side, pressing his back against the outer wall, and tilted his head to listen.
The words drifting out of the half-open door carried a mix of panic and reluctant authority.
"Young men and womenâplease stop telling your friends about whatâs happening here!"
Shaddadâs voice cracked a little.
"This isnât just a problem for me. My
official students
, the ones who paid their dues and enrolled properlyâtheyâll file complaints if they discover Iâve been giving lessons for free to you!"
He paused, voice dropping as if pleading to reason.
"And as for
you
all... if this keeps up, the Academy will fine me AND you heavily. Heavily! You think theyâll let freeloaders walk away just because you smiled nicely?"
"Donât worry, Professor Shaddad!"
One of the dozens of students seated inside the small lecture theater shot back eagerly, voice firm and loud.
"We wonât breathe a word of it!"
"Thatâs exactly what you said last month!"
Shaddadâs palm smacked against his forehead with an audible
slap
.
"And now look! Youâve doubled again!"
His voice rose in disbelief.
"There are so many of you, I donât even know if this is a class or a
protest
! Iâm starting to wonder if I should even continue at all..."
He let out a sigh, deeper this time.
Then straightened his back and raised his voice once againâtone now laced with bitterness:
"I told you this on day one. I said it plainly. I only agreed to teach to fill the void left by Professor Robin Burtonâs absenceâjust enough to help you perform well and stop dragging his name through the mud."
There was a long pause. Then his voice grew heavy:
"And yet... over thirty years have passed. Three full martial cycles. Iâve watched the sun rise and fall on you for decades... and
still
, barely any of you have improved."
A hush fell over the room.
Then, from the back, a soft voice broke the silence.
A girl in a blue hat, seated awkwardly between two larger students, hesitantly raised her hand.
She looked around once, then again, and then spokeâbarely louder than a whisper.
"Thatâs because... weâre not body-path specialists, Professor. None of us have ever undergone a proper Weaponization Session."
"And whatâs your point?!"
Shaddad barked immediately, slamming his palm down on the lectern in front of him.
"Didnât I teach you the
Bear Combat Form
? Didnât I demonstrate the
One-Palm Killing Technique
? Or were you sleeping through those too?!"
He jabbed a finger toward the class. His eyes glowed with irritation.
"If you werenât students of Big Brother Robin Burton himself, I swearâI wouldâve submitted an expulsion request for every last one of you!"
Then he exhaled. Loudly. Forcefully.
And waved his hands back and forth like swatting flies.
"Whatever. Whatever! Enough whining."
He stepped to the front, lifted his chin, and raised his voice with a flash of authority:
"Today, weâre covering an offensive skill. Write this down:
The Bearâs Embrace
. Are you ready?"
"Yes, Professor!"
Dozens of voices replied together, too quickly, too cheerfully.
Their faces strained with forced smiles.
They knew the truth: they likely wouldnât learn much today either.
But a free lesson... was still a lesson. Better than nothing.
And just as Shaddad opened his mouth to speak againâ
A voice rang out from the entrance. Calm, but cutting through the air like a knife.
"Hold it."