CHAPTER 285: EXAM (7)

Morgana must have been thinking the same thing, because her voice darkened. "We suspect infiltration. Someone has been feeding the Veil details about the academy’s old networks. I’ve already begun an internal sweep, quietly."

She turned her eyes on him again, and the weight of her gaze was almost physical. "And that’s where you come in."

Merlin blinked once. "...Me?"

"You and Varen," she said. "You’re the only two second-years capable of handling multi-affinity disturbances without relying on external stabilizers. You’ve both faced uncontrolled mana environments before. And—" her lips curved faintly, "—you both have a knack for surviving impossible situations."

"That last part doesn’t sound like a compliment."

"It isn’t."

He exhaled through his nose. "So what do you want me to do?"

Morgana reached into a drawer, pulling out a small black sigil plate, engraved with runic patterns that pulsed faintly blue. She slid it across the desk toward him.

"This will give you access to the lower conduits," she said. "You’ll accompany a small task group tomorrow night. Quietly. You’re not to engage unless necessary."

Merlin picked up the sigil, turning it over between his fingers. "And if I find them?"

Her answer was immediate.

"Don’t kill them."

He looked up. "That’s unusually merciful of you."

"It’s practical," she said evenly. "Dead men tell fewer secrets than terrified ones."

Merlin smirked slightly. "You’re assuming they’ll be terrified."

"Of you? I’d hope so."

That earned a faint laugh from him, quiet, genuine. "I’ll see what I can do."

Morgana nodded once. "Good. Dismissed."

He turned to go, but her voice stopped him at the door.

"Merlin."

He glanced back.

Her expression softened, barely, but it was there. "Be careful. The Veil may be small, but they’re not amateurs. They experiment with mana at the edge of sanity. If they’ve survived this long, it’s because they’ve learned how to weaponize what others fear to touch."

He gave a small nod. "Understood."

"Good." She looked out the window again. "And Merlin..."

"Yes?"

Her voice dropped, quieter than a whisper.

"Whatever happens down there, don’t let the academy’s students see you fight seriously."

He paused.

Then, slowly, he smiled. "Of course not."

The door shut behind him.

And the moment it did, Morgana’s faint reflection in the glass tilted her head, the barest trace of unease shadowing her eyes.

"Not yet," she murmured to herself. "He’s not ready to know what’s buried under this place."

That night, Merlin stood outside beneath the moon again, the sigil plate cold in his palm.

He could already feel the faint hum of the mana conduit buried deep under the academy, the rhythm slow, like a beast asleep in the earth.

Somewhere down there, the Obsidian Veil had begun their work.

And this time, he wasn’t going to wait for the story to play out on its own.

If this world wanted to rewrite itself around him...

He’d just start rewriting it back.

The next night, the academy was shrouded in fog.

It crept across the courtyards and through the arches, pooling beneath the silver lamps that lined the cobblestone walkways. The air smelled faintly of rain and iron, of mana still lingering from the recent rift.

At the far end of the western courtyard, a metal grate led down into what looked like nothing more than an unused maintenance tunnel. But the faint pulse of blue runes etched into the stone marked it as something else entirely, one of the academy’s oldest access shafts.

Merlin stood before it, dressed not in uniform, but in simple dark clothes, the kind that didn’t draw light or sound. The sigil plate Morgana had given him rested against his chest, faintly pulsing.

Behind him, footsteps approached.

"You’re early," Nathan said quietly, coming up beside him.

Merlin glanced over his shoulder. Nathan’s dark hair was tied loosely, a few strands falling across his face. His eyes, deep navy blue, shimmered faintly under the lamplight.

"I don’t like being late," Merlin replied.

"Neither do I," said another voice.

From the mist stepped Seraphina Alden, the air around her cool and precise as her expression. Her silver eyes darted over both of them before she nodded once. "We’re to wait for Captain Harlowe and the inspection unit."

"Inspection unit?" Nathan frowned.

"Two guards from the academy’s security division," Seraphina replied. "And a technician from R&D. Morgana’s orders."

Merlin said nothing, but inwardly he was already calculating. The fewer people, the better. Too many would make stealth impossible.

Moments later, the sound of bootsteps echoed from the main path, and three figures emerged through the mist.

The first was Captain Harlowe, tall, broad-shouldered, a faint scar running from his jaw to his ear. His black coat bore the emblem of the academy’s security division, and the faint scent of gun oil clung to him.

"Everhart. Varen. Alden," he said curtly. "You three are my students for the night, apparently."

"Apparently," Merlin murmured.

Harlowe’s eyes flicked to him. "Headmistress says you’re competent. Don’t make me regret trusting that opinion."

Merlin offered a thin smile. "I’ll try my best not to."

Behind the captain stood two armed guards, both silent, and between them, a smaller figure, fussing with a data slate. The technician. She was young, maybe mid-twenties, with brown hair tied in a messy braid and large glasses that seemed too big for her face.

"I—I’m Clara," she stammered. "Clara Wynn, R&D Division, energy flow specialist. I’ll be monitoring the conduits while you, uh... do the dangerous parts."

Nathan smiled faintly. "Sounds fair."

Harlowe grunted, stepping forward. "All right. We’re moving in. Standard formation. Keep chatter minimal."

He placed a hand on the sigil plate embedded in the wall beside the grate. The runes flared blue, and the heavy iron cover slid open with a deep metallic groan.

Cold air breathed out from the darkness below.

The descent began.

The tunnels beneath Starpower Academy were older than the city itself.

The walls were hewn stone, marked with faint runic carvings that flickered weakly as the group’s lanterns passed. Dust hung thick in the air, disturbed only by their steps.

Clara’s voice echoed softly as she held her scanner up to the walls. "Mana flow is stable up here... no signs of resonance drift yet."

"Keep it that way," Harlowe said.

They moved deeper.

Merlin could feel the weight of the mana here, not chaotic, but old, layered like sediment from centuries of experimentation. It wasn’t just power. It was memory.