Villainous Instructor at the Academy
Chapter 110: Beneath the skin

Chapter 110: Beneath the skin

Floor Five wasn’t supposed to exist.

The platform’s glow died the moment I stepped off. No way up. No ladder. No exit. Just me, stale air, and the oppressive weight of things not meant to be remembered.

The sigil on the mural pulsed faintly. It wasn’t magic, not in the traditional sense. No wards. No enchantment. Just something older. Hungrier.

The Pattern Remembers.

The phrase echoed in my head like a chant I hadn’t meant to learn. My hand twitched involuntarily, the skin along my fingers itching like something beneath the surface was trying to draw itself out.

I approached the mural. It was carved into the wall, but the lines shimmered ever so slightly, like they refused to be defined by stone alone. And then I noticed it: tiny etchings spiraling out from the central sigil.

Names.

Dates.

Coordinates.

Some were in languages I didn’t recognize. Others were in dead dialects only seen in fragments from field reports and forgotten ruins.

But a few were in common tongue.

"Sorrow of Year 612 A.R. — Lost Cohort 3." "Vault Breach — Sector Delta — 709 A.R." "Instructor Roderick Vaughn — Designation: Bound Witness."

I froze.

His name wasn’t just carved here—it was part of the pattern. As if he was meant to die. Not by fate, not by chance.

By design.

My thoughts spiraled. Roderick. Loyal to a fault. Brave enough to walk into death if it meant saving students. But if this mural was right, he wasn’t just another casualty. He was planted. Anchored. Part of a larger structure.

It made sense in a terrifying, revolting way. That Noctis Ardentis wasn’t just a school for shaping future war assets. It was a ritual ground. Every event. Every tragic loss. Every impossible incident. Each one a thread.

A thread in a Pattern too large for any one man to hold.

But I wasn’t just any man.

I was Allen Cross. Gamer. Obsessed freak. Lore hunter.

And now, Lucian Drelmont.

Unwilling participant in a system that thought me expendable.

Well, screw that.

By the time I clawed my way back to the main archive level, the assistant was gone, and the sun had already vanished from the horizon. Evening had bled into night without fanfare, and I reeked of dust, old blood, and paranoia.

I returned to my quarters and immediately locked the door. I didn’t trust the walls. I didn’t trust the windows.

I barely trusted myself.

I pulled out the Grimoire of Patterns.

It had changed.

The leather was warmer. Softer. Almost pulsing. I opened it and flipped past the familiar entries. Rune logic. Basic carvings. Pattern layering.

And then—

NEW PAGE UNLOCKED

Subroutine Designation: Ghost Strings Category: Bound Pattern Variance Warning: Manipulation of this pattern without anchor rites will result in feedback collapse or personality drift.

Underneath that:

User Identified: L. Drelmont. Access: Temporary.

So the Grimoire knew. It recognized the change in the pattern. Either the mural triggered it, or it was always meant to.

I studied the diagrams. They weren’t standard rune glyphs. They were spirals. Overlapping circles. Interwoven threads with no clear starting point. This wasn’t about controlling magic. This was about...

Controlling fate.

Or more terrifyingly—reading it.

I shut the book.

"Okay," I whispered. "So the academy is part of a massive ritual engine. Roderick is a sacrifice. Gale probably knows. And someone wants me gone before I disrupt the schedule."

My door creaked.

I hurled a dagger at it before the creak finished.

The door splintered. On the other side—

"Professor!?"

Felix.

He dodged the blade by sheer luck, tumbling into the room like a frightened deer.

"Oh for the love of—" I rubbed my temples. "What are you doing here?"

"You told me to drop off the scavenger reports tonight!"

"Not after curfew! And knock, damn it!"

He crawled up, handing me a crumpled folder. "Sorry! Also... there’s something weird in the dorms."

I paused. "Define weird."

He gulped. "Cassandra hasn’t returned. Mira went to look for her and said there’s a smell in the hall. Like iron. Or burnt meat."

I stood. Grabbed my coat. The Grimoire. Two knives.

"Where?"

"North wing. Third floor."

We ran.

The North wing was quiet. Too quiet. The usual lanterns flickered low, as if struggling to remain lit. The smell hit halfway up the stairs.

Charred hair.

Old blood.

And something... chemical.

Mira was waiting at the stairwell, eyes narrowed, staff in hand.

"She didn’t come back," she said. "And someone left a rune mark on her door."

I examined it.

It wasn’t standard Academy glyphwork. It was older. More brutal. A hunting mark used by Outer Tribes.

A claim.

Whoever placed it had marked Cassandra for collection.

"Get the rest of the class. Arm up. Lock down the dorms. I’m going after her."

Julien appeared behind me. "Like hell you are alone."

Wallace skidded into view, goggles strapped on. "We hacked the dorm wards. I can track the residual mana."

I blinked.

"...Alright, Gremlin. You get one compliment. Use it wisely."

He grinned. "I will treasure it always."

Ten minutes later, we were back in my office.

There were two things I didn’t expect to find in my office that morning: a pile of paperwork taller than Garrick, and a gold-embossed envelope sealed with the crest of the Board of Elders.

The paperwork, unfortunately, I could ignore no longer.

The envelope?

That was new.

I flipped it open with the tip of a paperknife and scanned the contents. Formal language. Excessive capitalization. The usual flair for drama that came with anything from the Board.

"Congratulations on the performance of Class C during the recent Field Simulation. Your class is now being considered for early participation in the Inter-Academy Convergence Tournament."

Of course.

Because why let a bunch of half-recovered students rest when you can throw them back into the fire for glory?

I dropped the letter on my desk and leaned back in the chair.

They really wanted us dead.

I looked over at the stack of assignments I had yet to grade, the weekly evaluation scrolls, and the request forms for gear repair. Most of it could wait.

The door creaked open before I could stand.

"Professor?"

Mira.

She peeked in, eyes already narrowed with suspicion. "You forgot you were supposed to run us through tactical formations today, didn’t you?"

I raised a hand in mock offense. "I would never."

"Uh-huh. Then why are you wearing your ’I just woke up and remembered I’m a teacher’ face?"

"That’s my face every day."

She sighed and walked in fully, dropping a folder onto my desk. "I brought the new team formations. We’ve been rearranged for the tournament trials."

I raised a brow. "They’re really pushing it, huh?"

"You’re surprised?"

"No. Just disappointed."

I took the folder and flipped through. Julien and Garrick were being split into separate squads. Mira and Cassandra stayed together. Felix was being put with Wallace. That was either going to be brilliant or apocalyptic.

"They’re testing us," I muttered.

Mira folded her arms. "What else is new?"

I stood, sliding the folder under my arm. "Let’s go educate the future murderers of tomorrow."

The training yard looked like someone had smashed a battlefield and a circus together. Class C was already there, half of them arguing over the new formations, the other half watching Felix and Wallace build something out of scrap metal and what suspiciously looked like a toaster.

"Do I want to know?" I asked as I approached.

Felix beamed. "It’s a rune-powered proximity mine! But, like, non-lethal. Mostly."

Wallace nodded eagerly. "We’re calling it the Whimper Popper."

Julien groaned. "That sounds like a drink you get in the seediest bar in Lower Quarter."

Garrick crossed his arms. "If that thing explodes near me, I’m making both of you run laps until your legs fall off."

"Alright, children," I said, clapping my hands. "Time for a lesson in battlefield formations, survival tactics, and how not to cry when someone sets your eyebrows on fire."

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. "That last one seems oddly specific."

"Don’t ask."

They lined up, grumbling but moving fast. The aftermath of the last trial had burned some bad habits out of them. There was still sarcasm, still banter, but the undercurrent of discipline ran deeper now.

"New formations mean new responsibilities," I said, pacing in front of them. "You’re going to hate them. That’s normal. If you liked them, I’d assume you were dropped on your head as a baby."

Felix raised a hand.

"Yes?"

"I was, actually."

"That explains so much."

They laughed. Even Garrick cracked a grin.

I kept going.

"You’ll be running a mock scenario in exactly fifteen minutes. The Academy has graciously loaned us the illusion yard—fully simulated terrain, real-time adaptive constructs, and the strong possibility of third-degree burns."

"Sounds fun," Julien said.

"That was sarcasm, Smartass."

"I know."

"Good. Keep it sharp. You’re squad lead today."

He blinked. "Wait, what?"

I pointed to the list. "Page two. Your team includes Garrick, Wallace, and Felix. God help you."

Mira coughed. "That’s a death squad."

I nodded solemnly. "Not for them. For anyone they run into."

Julien groaned and walked off to rally his squad, already dragging Felix away from his Whimper Popper. Cassandra and Mira joined Garrick and Leo in Squad Two. The rest of the students formed up under Ria, the quiet fire mage who never spoke unless directly addressed.

Fifteen minutes later, the simulation began.

The terrain shifted under their feet, transforming the courtyard into a dense woodland ravine. Fog rolled in, and ghostly howls echoed through the trees.

"Reminder!" I shouted from the elevated platform. "This is not real, but pain is simulated at 70%. So don’t be stupid."

Felix immediately tripped over a root and faceplanted into a fake bush.

I sighed. "We’re off to a fantastic start."

Squad One moved cautiously, Julien taking point. Wallace hung back, scanning with his goggles. Garrick smashed a tree that looked at him funny. Felix whispered something about using birds as scouts and got ignored.

Squad Two, by contrast, moved like a knife through the terrain. Mira was clearly in charge, even if she pretended not to be. Cassandra moved like smoke, vanishing between trees. Leo... well, he complained, but kept up.

Halfway through the sim, Squad Three got ambushed by a pack of illusion hounds and scattered like headless chickens. I made a note: "Ria needs more assertiveness training. Or a taser."

"Julien’s group is adapting," Mira observed, appearing beside me.

I didn’t flinch. Much.

"You’re supposed to be in the simulation," I said.

"I am. Illusion clone."

She pointed, and sure enough, her double was crouched beside Cassandra in the trees.

I whistled. "Impressive."

She smirked. "I figured I’d scout the instructor’s commentary too."

I handed her a scroll. "Then help me grade. Points for Julien’s strategy, minus ten for Felix yelling ’LEEROY JENKINS’ before charging."

"Fair."

"And Wallace just hit a fake deer with a frying pan."

"Also fair."

By the end of the simulation, the teams had completed objectives, neutralized threats, and accidentally set the forest on fire once.

Progress.

As they regrouped in the courtyard, sweaty and bruised, I clapped my hands again.

"Not bad. Could be worse. You could’ve all died horribly."

Felix raised a hand again.

"Yes?"

"But we didn’t!"

"That’s the spirit."

I looked over them one by one—bloodied, dirty, and alive. My students. My troublemakers. The academy’s shame.

My class.

"Alright," I said. "You’ve got three days until the first Convergence match. Rest. Train. Eat something that won’t try to kill you. And if you see any instructors glaring at you in the hallways, smile and wave."

"Why?" asked Cassandra.

"Because we live in their nightmares now."

That evening, as I sat in my office, Mira dropped another note on my desk. This one wasn’t from the academy.

It was sealed in red wax, marked with an unfamiliar insignia—curved lines wrapped in a spiral, like a snake eating its own tail.

"You got mail," she said.

"Thanks."

"Want me to open it?"

"No."

She lingered.

"Something wrong?" I asked.

"You ever get the feeling we’re being watched?"

I looked up.

"Constantly."

She left without another word.

I opened the envelope.

Inside was a single card.

A time. A place. A name I hadn’t heard in a long time.

And a message:

"We saw what you did in Black Stone Mountain. We have questions. Come alone."

I leaned back and stared at the ceiling.

The past never stayed buried long.

Especially not mine.

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