Teacher’s Meeting

Teacher's Meeting 

In the heart of Elydrion Academy, deep within its highest tower, a vast round table glowed with warding runes. Twelve figures sat around it—each one a Rank 8 or higher professor, the strongest of their era. The air crackled with restrained might; the walls, enchanted by the Founders themselves, hummed under the strain of their auras.

At the head of the table sat Maxxarion—Headmaster of Elydrion Academy and, secretly, the Dragon Emperor. Cloaked in simple robes, his golden draconic eyes smoldered with fury beneath a calm exterior. Though he rarely spoke, his mere presence commanded absolute silence.

To his left sat Varynx, the Vice Headmaster and renowned Spear Lord of the Whale-Beastkin, known for sinking warships with a single throw.

"Professor Velmira," Varynx said, voice sharp, "have you determined the source of the incident?"

Velmira, the poised Head of the Magic Department, stood. Her robes shimmered with mana threads, her expression tight. "It's rune magic—trigger-type, based on my analysis."

Gasps and pale faces followed.

"Trigger-type?" growled Varek, the weapon master who led the Combat Department. "That means any affected student could've become a walking bomb."

"They already nearly did," Maxxarion said, his voice low and rumbling. "I've removed all detectable runes and sealed their mana flows personally. No further threats remain."

"But why trigger a mass illusion?" asked the Necromancy Professor, skin pale as bone. "Why stage chaos without a kill-switch? What's the real objective?"

Maxxarion's golden eyes narrowed. "That's what we're here to find out."

Varek stood. "We have a witness. A student who might know more."

The doors opened, and Toran, a young demon student, stepped inside. Nervous but brave, he bowed stiffly. "G-Good afternoon, Headmaster. Professors."

"Speak freely," Varynx said, though his aura still pressed like deep ocean pressure.

Toran explained how he entered the Elydrion Library that day and encountered a strange book being read by an elf. Slowly, other students joined in. Later, many of those same students turned violent.

"They were the first to lose control," Toran said. "I think the book did something to their minds."

Vaelithra, Homeroom teacher of Class S-1, narrowed her eyes. "And why weren't you affected?"

Velmira interrupted, her gaze fixed on Toran's earring. "He's wearing a high-grade illusion-dispelling artifact. Strong enough to deflect a Rank 6 illusionist."

Toran flinched. "…I-I didn't know it would come in handy like that."

"You may go," Maxxarion said, his tone oddly gentle. "You've done well."

As Varek escorted Toran out, murmurs broke among the professors.

"So it was a book," Velthira muttered.

"But how could a book—"

The chamber doors slammed open again. A professor from the Missions Department rushed in, sweat streaking his face.

"What now?" Varynx barked.

The man dropped to his knees. "A… a massacre, my lords. First-year students on a mission… their entire group and their Rank 6 supervisor… all dead. Their bodies—disintegrated."

The air dropped to freezing.

Maxxarion rose slowly. The table groaned beneath his grip. "Repeat that."

The professor gasped, blood trickling from his nose and ears as the sheer pressure of divine rage overwhelmed him.

"Control yourself, Maxx," Varynx warned.

Maxxarion tapped the table. His aura receded. "Speak."

The professor, shaking, said, "A group of assassins attacked during the chaos. When our teams arrived… all life signatures were gone. Rune detonations… erased everything. Even the Rank 6 Observer was killed."

A pause. Then the fatal blow.

"Among the dead was the son of Archduke Sylveran… of the High Elf Council."

The room exploded—not with noise, but with power. Mana surged, chairs cracked, and the table split slightly under Maxxarion's hand.

"This is no longer sabotage," he growled. "This… is a declaration of war."

"Archduke Sylveran will not stay silent," said Varynx grimly. "He'll demand blood and answers."

"I will face him myself," Maxxarion said. "Varek—deploy a kill-squad. I want those assassins erased. Varynx, sweep the Academy from top to bottom. We have a mole."

The professor from Promotions and Resources spoke up, pale-faced. "This will destroy our reputation. No such breach has occurred in millennia—"

"We are not cowards," Maxxarion interrupted, voice cold. "We cannot lie to grieving families. Prepare financial and magical reparations for every fallen student. And ready my envoy."

The Dragon Emperor turned, his wings of power momentarily flaring in the arcane light.

"For the Archduke… I will speak to him directly."

A silence followed—one heavy with consequences.

"Meeting adjourned," Maxxarion said.

The ancient council chamber was empty now—except for two.

Maxxarion, Headmaster of Elydrion Academy and the Dragon Emperor in mortal guise, stood in silence beside the splintered council table. His golden eyes glowed faintly, reflecting the gathering storm beyond the stained-glass windows.

At his side stood Varynx, Vice Headmaster and the infamous Spear Lord of the whale-beastkin. The tension between them was not of hostility—but of war silently brewing in their thoughts.

"Varynx," Maxxarion murmured, "how many moles do you think we're dealing with?"

Varynx crossed his arms. "More than one. It had to be coordinated—someone inside, feeding information. Maybe even multiple departments."

Maxxarion's brow furrowed. "I didn't think my academy would fall this far. So many snakes, right beneath our feet…"

 "I'll head to the High Elf territories, try to calm Archduke Sylveran. But if he won't listen—I'll approach the Sword Empress. She might be able to cut through that arrogant pride of his."

Varynx nodded.

Maxxarian grunted. "As for the first-year island excursion—the plan goes forward."

Varynx blinked. "Even now?"

"Especially now," Maxxarion said. "If there are moles within the Academy, it's not safe to keep the first-years here. Class S-1 is exceptional—nearly every student in it has the potential to reach Rank 8… or higher. We've already lost three. I won't lose more."

"You still trust Solan's prophecy?" Varynx asked.

Maxxarion gave a rare smile. "Solan doesn't lie. He may be vague… poetic, even. But his predictions always come to pass."

"So who's guarding the students? I'll be occupied rooting out traitors."

"The demon boy—Toran—has agreed. And Solan is sending the Sword Saint and the Blood Blade Sovereign."

Varynx raised an eyebrow. "You got the Fist Lord's approval? That's rare. But… two Rank 9s? Isn't that overkill? Even the Dark Order wouldn't dare—"

"They will," Maxxarion interrupted. "They'll come with at least five Rank 8s. Maybe more. I suspect they'll send a Rank 9 too."

"Then what about Alaric Valerian? Can he handle that pressure?"

Maxxarion laughed, a deep, rumbling sound. "You all underestimate him far too much. He's the son of a monster. The entire Valerian bloodline—from the old man, to Alaric, and now Arthur—are monsters in their own right."

Varynx's expression darkened. "Then I'll send a hundred elite knights with them. No chances."

Maxxarion nodded approvingly.

"And while I'm gone…" He turned, eyes glowing like molten gold. "Capture those damn moles. No matter where they're hiding."

Varynx smirked. "You have my word."