CHAPTER 242: CHAPTER 242

February 15th, Shadowfire Sect (Brimstone Mountain)

Edge was seriously ticked off that Remillia had gone radio silent on him. Ever since he’d sent that letter, her responses had dried up to just this one cryptic message:

"You should wait for Angela to say it instead. And if she opens up, make sure to cheer her up and don’t ask many questions. Don’t forget that I also have a secret related to you so if you threaten me with that secret then let’s just spread our secret together in the whole Academy if you want."

It was like she was dangling a carrot and a threat all at once, and it drove him nuts. He couldn’t sleep for weeks as he wondered what Angela did back in Monfort.

The grueling 15-hour training session had finally wrapped up for the day, and now Cypher, Edge, and Angela were trudging back from the mail room, each clutching a fresh letter. They plopped down on a weathered stone bench overlooking the jagged peaks of Brimstone Mountain, the air thick with mana that energizes them.

Angela tore open her letter with that excited spark in her eyes, and out fluttered a photo that landed right in her lap. It was a snapshot of her and her brother, both of them pulling the goofiest faces imaginable. She just froze there, staring at it, held the photo close then placed it inside her pocket then glanced up at Cypher and Edge. "It’s been weeks, and you two are probably wondering why I bolted that day."

"Did something happen?" Cypher asked, his voice dropping a notch, like he was bracing for bad news.

"When you came back, you were totally down in the dumps. What really went on?" Edge chimed in, leaning forward.

Angela took a deep breath, her usual brightness dimming for a second. "My brother... Raph died..." she said, her words hanging heavy in the air.

Cypher and Edge went stock-still, their eyes widening like they’d just been hit with a ton of bricks.

"Condolence..." Cypher muttered, fumbling for the right thing to say.

"I’m sorry for your loss..." Edge added, his tone soft and genuine.

But then Angela bounced back to her old self, slapping them both on the backs with a grin that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Why are you two acting all weird now? It’s no biggie, really! I just figured I should tell you since you’re the only ones left in the dark about it." She laughed it off, but you could tell there was a crack in her armor, even if she was trying to play it cool.

So that’s why she was crying all night. Edge just happened to pass by her room since he was thirsty that night. It seems that was the reason why.

"Let’s read our letters before Master Claude shows up and chews us out again for slacking off," Cypher said, trying to shake off the heavy vibe and get things moving.

They’d all gotten two letters each, so they tore into them, the crinkle of paper filling the air as the mountain winds picked up.

"Did Remillia write to you again?" Angela asked, noticing Cypher’s grin spreading across his face as he read.

"Huh?" Cypher glanced up, caught off guard. "Umm, no, it’s from Christian."

Angela’s face scrunched up in a frown. "Let me see then!" She lunged to snatch the letter from him, but he yanked it up high, out of her reach. "Cypher!"

Meanwhile, Edge was grumbling under his breath, watching them get all buddy-buddy, so he scooted right between them on the bench and ripped open Whitney’s letter. His brow furrowed as he scanned it, then he turned to Angela with a puzzled look. "Hey Angela, have you seen Whitney’s letter?" He held it out, like maybe she’d know what the heck it was about.

Angela, all curious now, snatched Whitney’s letter from Edge and ripped it open, scanning it quickly. "Huh, nothing seems off here," she muttered, tossing it back.

"Wait, let me check Remillia’s," she said, grabbing the first envelope that got opened first and tearing into it.

"Wait, Remillia also wrote you a letter?" Edge asked, his voice a bit too casual, like he was fishing for info.

"Yeah," Angela replied, unfolding the paper. "Didn’t she write you one?"

"O-Of course she did!" he blurted out, lying through his teeth. That sneaky witch—she didn’t even wrote him a letter!

Angela nodded, reading aloud as she went. "Hmm... Remillia says that Whitney’s guild ran into some serious trouble. Seems the vice-leader was up to all sorts of illegal stuff behind their backs—smuggling, tax evasion, the works—but don’t worry, she managed to sort it out and get the bad guys locked up."

Edge leaned in, pretending to be interested while his mind raced. "Sounds like Remillia’s been busy playing hero again," he grumbled inwardly, but kept a straight face.

Cypher, still clutching his own letter, chuckled. "Typical. When does she ever sit still?"

The group fell into silence again.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Abyss, Thalor

n a mansion bathed in the soft glow of a single dim lamp, a man sat hunched in a chair, poring over a crumpled newspaper like it was his lifeline.

"Haa...." He exhaled a long, troubled sigh, letting his head droop forward.

At that exact moment, the door on the opposite side of the room flew open with a bang, and in stormed a guy decked out in a worn leather jacket, his boots thudding against the floor.

"What, did something happen?" he mocked, dropping into the chair across from him with a sneer plastered on his face. "Did you blow all your money on gambling again?"

"...Yeah. Anyways, Damian, now there’s only a little scar on your cheek. It’s barely noticeable," the first man retorted calmly, brushing off the taunt without missing a beat.

Damian blew up, his face reddening like a kettle about to whistle. "What?"

"You know, where that girl’s dagger got you, right? I still remember you getting all woozy just from a smack with the hilt," the guy shot back, a smirk playing on his lips.

The memory hit Damian like a punch—flashing back to that day months ago. Fury and straight-up humiliation boiled up inside him every time he thought about it. Disgrace wasn’t something he’d ever tasted before, and it stuck in his brain like glue, vivid and unforgiving.

Damian flinched, his hand shooting up to the faint scar on his cheek, his sneer morphing into a full-on glare. "Keep talking like that, and I’ll make sure you get one too," he growled, his voice low and threatening.

But the guy wasn’t backing down, clearly not fazed by the warning. "Then you should have never let it happen. Like I always say, you shouldn’t overestimate yourself." He leaned back, crossing his arms, enjoying the jab a little too much.

Damian’s fists balled up tight as he shot daggers with his eyes at the guy. "I can win if I fight her again."

"That’s what you think," the man replied, his tone dripping with doubt.

"I was just underestimating her," Damian insisted, trying to salvage some pride.

"So you lost to a single dagger?" the man pressed, not letting up.

Damian clamped his mouth shut, scrambling for a comeback but coming up empty. He couldn’t argue that one.

That woman had taken him down with just one dagger, shoving him back and carving a nasty gash on his cheek. He still couldn’t wrap his head around how a single blade could pack that much punch. The wound stuck around for a whole month, leaving him too mortified to step foot outside. Embarrassing as hell, and the memory burned like salt in the cut.

The guy just smirked, knowing he’d hit a nerve.

Just then, the butler strolled in carrying a tray of food, his footsteps echoing softly on the floor. "Master Yoru."

"Hmm?" Yoru responded, glancing up from his brooding.

"Are you not feeling well today?" the butler asked, setting the tray down with a concerned look.

Yoru flashed a grin, shaking his head. "Don’t worry about it. An important matter went sideways, but I just got the scoop. Seems I’ve been holed up in Abyss for too long."

He tapped the newspaper spread out in front of him. The butler leaned in, peering at the headlines, and muttered, "Raphael Forbes’ death... what’s this?"

"Just a little hiccup," Yoru said casually, like it was no big deal. "He was supposed to be alive, but some pest killed him."

The butler nodded slowly, sensing the undercurrents, while Yoru’s grin lingered—part amused, part calculating. Whatever was brewing, it felt like the calm before a bigger storm.

Damian fixed Yoru with a hard stare, then jumped to his feet. "I’m leaving."

"Where are you going?" Yoru asked, barely glancing up from his newspaper.

"To the arena," Damian growled, his voice tight with pent-up anger.

"Hahaha," Yoru let out a full-bellied laugh, shaking his head.

"What, you got a problem with that?" Damian shot back, his fists balling up again.

"No," Yoru said, still smirking.

"If you do, then let me fight those guys," Damian insisted, practically begging now.