The War Halls, as usual, stood pristine—a testament to the wealth and power of its inhabitants. Lavish decor adorned every corner, the kind of luxury only afforded to the best and wealthiest students. These halls were not merely a place to reside; they symbolized the prestige and influence of their occupants.

    The students of the War Halls were both powerful and influential, and such individuals required someone capable of managing their whims and excesses. That''s where the Head Maid came in. She didn''t just oversee the upkeep of the dormitory; she maintained order with an iron will. Even the most arrogant nobility dared not defy her authority.

    "Perhaps because she''s a noble herself," Damon thought, his lips curling into a small smirk.

    The Head Maid ensured that everyone in the War Halls received equal treatment. Despite his status as a commoner, Damon had always been treated no differently than the rest. Her fairness was undeniable—under her care, every student was equal, regardless of birth.

    And that was precisely why Damon had never crossed her. She wasn''t someone you trifled with lightly.

    "Nothing happens in the War Halls without her knowing," he mused, recalling the rumors whispered among the students.

    Today, however, he planned to test that theory.

    Crossing the grand double doors, Damon entered the War Halls, his steps light yet deliberate. The grand entrance led to a sprawling staircase that curved upward in a show of opulence. The halls were eerily quiet, save for the distant shuffle of maids. Their presence didn''t concern him. His target was someone else entirely.

    Ascending the stairs to the second floor, Damon navigated the corridors with precision, his shadow perception expanding and contracting as he moved. The bright, clean halls were lined with extravagant decorations—paintings, vases, and sculptures that probably cost more than an average person''s annual income. He briefly considered how much he could make selling one of these treasures on the black market but dismissed the idea.

    "Too much trouble."

    Stopping in front of a door, he spread his shadow perception across the area, scanning for any signs of movement. The coast was clear. The door itself, however, posed a problem.

    Doors in the War Halls were state-of-the-art, outfitted with magical security measures imported from the Magic Continent. They required an authorized fingerprint, a pager, a personal key, or one of the maids'' key cards to unlock.

    He''d considered stealing a key card from a maid but decided against it. The cards left records, and their absence would raise alarms.

    "That''s just gonna draw in the Head Maid," he muttered.

    That left him with one other option. Dangerous? Yes. But necessary.

    Damon made his way up to the next floor and stopped in front of another door. Unlike Marcus''s, this one opened without resistance.

    A maid was heading straight for the room, and her steps had already reached the door.

    With no time to spare, Damon slid under the bed, pressing himself flat against the floor.

    The door creaked open, and a young blonde maid stepped inside, carrying an empty basket marked with a number.

    ''Laundry pick-up,'' Damon realized grimly.

    His heart sank as he remembered the hollow arrows still nestled in the bed frame. The cursed ore''s subtly influence gnawing at his thoughts, amplifying his panic. He felt like a fool for putting himself in such a precarious position.

    The maid moved toward the bed.

    "Hmm. Something is wrong..."

    Damon''s breath caught in his throat. He could see her polished black shoes and the hem of her pristine white apron.

    "This bed hasn''t been made properly," she muttered. "Was I careless?"

    Damon''s blood ran cold as she adjusted the bedding. The cursed arrows were just inches above him, separated only by a thin piece of wood. The effects weren''t strong because it usually took time...he did not want to be here any longer than he had to.

    The maid sighed contentedly. "There, much better."

    She turned away and disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of the door clicking shut echoing in the room. Damon didn''t waste a second. He rolled out from under the bed, sweat dripping down his forehead, and bolted for the door.

    Opening it gently, he slipped out, taking care not to make a sound. Once outside, he walked briskly down the hallway, his senses focused on the maid''s presence behind him.

    Just as he rounded a corner, he collided with something soft, the impact sending him sprawling to the floor.

    "Ouch, what the hell—" Damon''s words trailed off as he looked up, his face paling instantly.

    ''Head maid Matilda''