Chapter 318 - "The Moving Heroes!" (2)

The Arcadia Academy courtyard lay open beneath a sky washed in pale afternoon light.

Stone paths curved gently through trimmed lawns and ancient trees whose leaves whispered softly as the wind passed through them. Mana lamps stood dormant along the walkways, their crystal cores dull in daylight, while the academy towers rose in quiet dignity beyond—unchanging, watchful, eternal.

Seraphina stood at the center of it all.

Her flowing blue hair danced freely in the wind, long strands lifting and curling like ribbons of sky-touched silk. The black instructor’s uniform she wore—tailored, formal, unmistakably Arcadian—clung neatly to her frame, its silver trims catching faint glimmers of light as she moved. One hand rested loosely at her side, the other folded behind her back as she gazed toward the distant horizon beyond the academy walls.

She looked calm.

But her eyes were far away.

They followed the invisible line where the mountains met the sky, where roads led outward—toward places where fate had already begun to move without her.

Footsteps sounded behind her.

Measured. Heavy. Familiar.

"You didn’t go home during the vacation, Professor?"

The voice was rough, seasoned by years of command and discipline.

Seraphina didn’t turn immediately.

Sir Halreth—Knight Instructor of Arcadia Academy—came to a stop a short distance behind her. His presence was solid and unmistakable, clad in academy-issued armor worn thin by use rather than neglect. Scars traced faint lines along his jaw and neck, and his posture was as straight as ever, even in moments of rest.

Seraphina finally glanced over her shoulder.

"No," she said quietly, her voice steady but distant. "We have things to do."

Halreth studied her for a moment, then nodded once, as if he had expected no other answer.

Silence settled between them.

The wind rustled the leaves again. Somewhere in the distance, a group of students laughed—unaware, untouched.

Seraphina broke the quiet.

"It seems," she said slowly, eyes returning to the horizon, "that the appointment of a new dean is inevitable."

Halreth let out a low hum, crossing his arms.

"And what does that have to do with me?"

Seraphina inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment.

Before she could respond, Halreth spoke again, his tone more thoughtful this time.

"What about Professor Aldric?"

"He’s already in the Holy Kingdom," Seraphina replied without hesitation. "Left earlier than planned."

Halreth frowned faintly, as if piecing together a puzzle he didn’t like the shape of.

Before he could say more, a sudden rush of wings cut through the air.

A small bird—sleek and fast—darted down from above, landing squarely on Halreth’s shoulder. He stiffened instinctively before relaxing, recognizing the messenger crest bound delicately to its leg.

With practiced ease, he untied the tiny note, the bird immediately taking flight again, vanishing into the sky as quickly as it had appeared.

Halreth unfolded the message.

His brow furrowed.

Seraphina turned fully now, curiosity finally surfacing in her expression.

"What is it?"

He looked up at her, the corner of his mouth twitching—not quite a smile.

"It seems your students are causing another ruckus."

Seraphina’s eyes narrowed just a fraction. "Another?"

Halreth exhaled through his nose.

"They’re challenging the Forgeheart Crucible."

For a moment, Seraphina said nothing.

Then she sighed—slow, controlled—and shook her head, blue hair settling around her shoulders like falling water. Her gaze dropped briefly to the stone beneath her feet, as though grounding herself.

When she looked back up, it was toward the horizon once more.

"It seems," she said quietly, disappointment threading through her otherwise composed voice, "we will be meeting sooner than expected."

Her eyes darkened slightly as a familiar image surfaced in her mind—

Dark violet hair.

Crimson eyes.

A troublesome presence that never stayed where it was supposed to.

The wind rose again, carrying the academy’s distant sounds across the courtyard.

And Seraphina stood still, watching the future draw closer.

****

Far from Arcadia.

Far from the noise of academies and trials.

Far from the warmth of faith that the Holy Kingdom preached to the world—

there stood a forgotten church.

It was built of pale stone long since stained by rain and ash, its spires cracked, its bells silent. Vines crept up its walls like slow, grasping fingers, and beneath its sanctified halls lay a place never meant for prayer.

A cell.

Not forged for criminals—but for containment.

The room was narrow, its walls carved from cold stone etched faintly with suppressive runes that dulled mana and weighed heavily on the soul. A single barred window near the ceiling allowed in a thin shaft of gray light, barely enough to remind its occupant that time still moved.

On the floor, kneeling upon bare stone, sat a woman.

Her silver-lavender hair spilled down her back in tangled strands, dulled by grime and neglect. A once-white cloak hung loosely from her shoulders, now stained with dust and old blood, its edges frayed as if it had been worn far longer than it should have been. Around her neck rested a large iron cross—too heavy, too cold—its chain biting faintly into her skin with every breath she took.

Her hands were clasped together.

Not tightly.

Not desperately.

Just... steadily.

Her lips moved in silent prayer.

Her face was pale—unnaturally so—cheeks hollow, skin stretched thin over bone. She looked as though she hadn’t eaten properly in days. Perhaps longer. Her shoulders trembled faintly with exhaustion, but she did not collapse. She remained kneeling, as if standing would mean surrender.

She was praying.

Not loudly.

Not with hope.

But because it was the only thing she had left.

A knock echoed through the stone corridor outside.

The sound was abrupt—intrusive—shattering the fragile stillness of the cell.

Her lips stopped moving.

Slowly, she opened her eyes.

They were beautiful once.

Now, the light inside them was dim—muted, like a candle burning too close to its end.

The heavy door creaked open.

A knight stepped inside, armor polished but eyes averted, as if meeting her gaze would be a sin. He cleared his throat, voice formal, restrained.

"Saintess," he said, hesitating slightly before continuing, "someone is here to meet you."

She didn’t rise.

Didn’t turn.

Her shoulders sank just a little.

"...There’s no need to call me that," she said softly.

Her voice was thin—but not weak.

The knight stiffened, uncertainty flickering across his face. After a brief pause, he bowed deeply and stepped back out, closing the door behind him.

The cell was quiet again.

Then—

The door opened once more.

This time, slower.

Heavier.

An old man entered.

His robes were worn but clean, the white and gold of the Holy Kingdom dulled by age rather than neglect. His back was slightly bent, his steps careful, measured. Deep lines carved his face—lines made not by years alone, but by grief carried too long.

The moment she saw him—

Her breath hitched.

Her eyes widened.

And before she could stop herself, her body moved.

She rose unsteadily to her feet and crossed the cell in two faltering steps, arms wrapping around him as if she feared he might vanish if she didn’t hold on.

"F-father..."

The word broke.

Her voice cracked completely, tears spilling free without permission as she pressed her face against his chest. Her fingers clutched his robes tightly, knuckles whitening, like a child afraid of being left behind again.

The old priest froze.

For a heartbeat, he said nothing.

Then his trembling hands rose and rested gently on her head, fingers threading softly through her tangled hair. His touch was careful—reverent—as if she were something sacred he was afraid to damage.

"My child..." he murmured.

He couldn’t say more.

His throat tightened too much.

He could only pat her head again and whisper, almost pleadingly,

"The Goddess is watching... everything. Everything will be fine."

She pulled back just enough to look up at him.

Her eyes were red now, swollen with tears she could no longer hold back.

"I—" she tried, swallowing hard. "I... I found something related to her."

The old priest stiffened.

"...What?"

Her hands trembled as she reached inside her cloak.

Carefully—so carefully—she drew out a brooch.

It was small.

Simple.

And broken.

Two fractured pieces had been joined together, the crack between them still visible no matter how neatly it had been mended. The metal was worn smooth from years of handling, as if it had been held again and again by someone who refused to let go.

She smiled.

Even as tears streamed down her face.

"L-look," she whispered, holding it up. "I-I found it."

Professor Aldric’s breath caught.

He took the brooch with shaking hands, turning it slowly, reverently, as if afraid it might crumble at his touch.

His shoulders sagged.

And then—his composure broke.

"Oh Goddess..." he whispered, voice cracking under the weight of years. "What cruel play is this of yours...?"

His grip tightened around the brooch.

"My child searched for this for so many years," he continued, voice low and hollow. "And now that she finally has it..."

He couldn’t finish.

He looked at her.

She was still crying.

Still smiling.

"I... I want to meet him," she said suddenly, desperation bleeding into every word. "Before I die. I just want to meet him once. Just once."

Aldric’s eyes filled with pain.

"You don’t understand," he said quietly. "What I had to go through to get permission to see you... even this meeting was nearly impossible."

His shoulders slumped.

"Meeting him... that would be—"

"No," she interrupted, shaking her head violently. Her grip tightened on his sleeves as she leaned forward, eyes shining with frantic hope. "J-just send my message to him. Please. I know he can do it."

Her voice trembled.

But it didn’t waver.

"If it’s Luca," she said, breath hitching, "I’m sure he can do it."

Her mind filled with images—

Beastridge Mountain, frozen in understanding as time itself stood still.

A massive Kunpeng cutting through the skies, clouds tearing apart beneath its wings.

The HellSand Dungeon—where a single blade had sliced through spatial expansion as if the world itself were fragile glass.

Her hands shook.

Her body leaned forward unconsciously, as if reaching for that impossible image.

"I am sure," she whispered again, tears falling freely now. "I’m sure he can do it."

She clutched Aldric’s robes like a lifeline.

And in that dark, sanctified cell—

Faith was no longer placed in a Goddess.

It was placed in a boy who defied fate.