Damn Academy - Chapter 194

[Episode 194] Backstage Maneuvers (10)

The villagers stepped aside, sensing danger, as the Templar knights approached.

Leading the Templar escort, Silveryn followed behind. Rober Feis, the scholar of the magic sword, had only been traveling towards the holy city for two days, but he already wore an expression of exhaustion.

Silveryn frowned at his pallid face, riding alongside him.

This was more than mere fatigue. His complexion had turned pale, and he was sweating profusely. The smallest things would make him jump, a sign of his hypersensitivity.

It was an indication that he was suffering from black magic. While it was expected that such days would come, black magic manifested earlier than anticipated. Perhaps the warlock had anticipated that Feis would be summoned to the holy city and set a trigger.

Silveryn said to him,

“How much longer can you endure?”

“I’m not sure. The dreams… I can’t catch any sleep because of the dreams.”

“If it’s okay with you, can you tell me what you’ve been dreaming about?”

Feis hesitated, his mouth opening and closing. He was scared.

“That… that is…”
T his w a s c op i e d f r o m k ing mt l .o r g

“We need to know what difficulties you are facing.”

After much deliberation, he finally spoke.

“Alright. I had a family. Last night in my dream, I met with my family.”

“I wasn’t aware you had a family.”

“They are no more. My wife was human, and all my children were adopted. They have all been dead for many years now.”

“And in the dream?”

“The family in my dream was as vivid as if I were seeing them before my eyes. Their soft skin, their voices, their gazes. It felt as if I had traveled back in time to meet them again. It was such a warm and longing scene, I didn’t want to wake up. If I could experience that moment of happiness again, I would give anything.”

“…”

“Then, suddenly, an unknown man appeared in my dream. He broke into my house, seized my family by their hair, and dragged them to the living room. That young man, with his blue hair, began to slash them one by one with a knife. He started by gouging out my wife’s eyes and tongue… then sliced open her belly to remove her entrails.”

Rober Feis clenched his lips tight, trembling as he continued.

“My wife screamed my name, begging for help. And my children too… I screamed until my throat was raw, but I couldn’t do anything. I was paralyzed, as if pinned down by sleep paralysis. It was… it was…”

“It’s okay, you don’t need to say any more. I have an idea of what it might be.”
T hi s wa s c o p i e d fr om ki n gm t l . o r g

He suddenly burst into tears. He was completely drained, emotionally.

“Do you know what this is?”

It was one of the ways a warlock would toy with sentient beings.

“If there were no other signs, it might be ‘The Dream Walker.'”

“Is that a warlock too?”

“No, more like a peculiar sort of sorcerer. It could be one acting under a warlock’s instructions to approach you.”

‘Dream Walkers’ were also a category of mages.

Even though they were brimming with magical talent, spending their lives in a vegetative state prevented it from manifesting. Some of them who couldn’t harness their abilities developed a unique power: the ability to enter people’s dreams.

To those ignorant of magic, they were known as incubi or dream demons.

“If they’re ‘Dream Walkers’, it might actually be a relief. They can’t harm you directly.”

“But the horrible dream…”

T h i s w as co p ie d f r o m kin g m t l . o r g
“Your fear reaction is self-induced. ‘Dream Walkers’ just prompt you to dredge up memories, they can’t control everything. Any other signs?”

After pausing, he spoke again.

“In the dream, at last, the man came towards me and thrust the Wailing Sword into my stomach.”
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“And then?”

“And then… when I woke up in the morning…”

He tremulously unlaced his robe, revealing a raw patch of skin on his abdomen.

There, from the pit of his stomach to below the navel, was a fresh, blue scar.

Seeing this, Silveryn’s expression grew serious.

“Did this just appear in the morning?”

“Yes.”

“Forget what I said about ‘Dream Walkers.'”

“…?”
T hi s w a s c o p i ed f r o m k i ng mt l . or g

Although research on black magic was intense, almost no substantial information remained in the world. More accurately, it had been destroyed.

Therefore, there were no established methods to counter black magic.

Only a handful of texts on black magic survived in this world, and those that remained were entombed beneath unknown territories beyond the northern lands of death.

The curse that Rober Feis bore was unlike anything Silveryn had seen before.

It was uncertain if he would survive the journey to the holy city.

Having made her calculation, Silveryn briefly released the reins and pulled a piece of parchment from within her attire. She blew air over the tip of her finger and began scribbling rapidly with her fingernail.

She quickly jotted down Feis’s symptoms and tied the parchment to Stitch, sending it soaring into the sky.

Feis watched the Stitch ascend and asked,

“Did you send it to the holy city?”

“No.”

She didn’t expect a proper solution, but the group she reached out to was the most likely to have answers in this world.

The lands of death where no living being could survive. And the only group daring enough to explore it was the elite unit of Eternia, the Nameless Knights.

***

I found myself walking through the fog, along a flat pebble path with no bends or turns. With each breath, a faint fishy smell lingered.

Led by something unknown, I moved forward, not knowing where I was or where I was headed.

Nor did I know what lay ahead.

Soon, I reached the lake’s shore, now grey as if ash had been sprinkled upon it.

Enveloped in a strange déjà vu, I stooped at the water’s edge and looked at the reflection.

It wasn’t my own face that looked back but that of another—a young man with clear eyes and blue-tinged hair.

Seeing him, I became aware that all of this was a dream.

I had encountered these scenes in a dream a few days ago. The only difference was that back then, the man before me had appeared corpse-like, but now he seemed very much alive.

The man gazed vacantly and reached out to touch my face. Yet the ripple of water barely stirred, having no effect on my world.

I remained still, doing nothing. As the ripples calmed, the man’s face became visible again.

He seemed to be trying to speak.

[Why can’t you be caught…]
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Before the sentence was complete, I woke from the dream.

Thorn Garden dormitory. The dim ceiling of my room greeted my eyes. A faint moonlight scattered by the fog seeped through the curtains. It was still some time before dawn.

My head ached, and my body felt as heavy as if I had been doing hard labor. My right hand felt awkward, as if blood couldn’t circulate through it.

Lifting my hand, something followed. Someone else’s arm.

My hand was intertwined with another’s.

Turning my head, I saw someone’s head at the edge of the bed. Long, silver hair scattered and faintly shining in the pale moonlight.

Someone had been lying with their head on my bed.

Sensing my movement, the woman slowly lifted her head and looked at me through the darkness.

“Trisha…?”

She untangled our fingers in surprise and stood up. Without a word, she ran out the door.

After she left, an overwhelming fatigue crashed over me. I could not bring myself to move and fell back asleep.

***

Th i s w a s c o pi e d f ro m k i n g m t l . o r g
When morning came, I got up with a foggy mind and reflected on the events of the pre-dawn. The dream was a blur, and so was the image of someone lying next to the bed.

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Something crunched underfoot. On closer inspection, the floor was littered with parchment as if a thief had rifled through the place.

Picking up one piece, I recognized it. These were all theater scripts.

Trisha must have been in my room doing something while I slept.

“…”

I gathered the scripts and headed to the kitchen. The silence of the second floor told me Trisha hadn’t woken yet.

I lit a fire in the stove and put a pot of water on. I placed some leftover bread on a plate and added fruit and honey to the pot for jam.

While preparing breakfast, a disheveled Trisha entered the kitchen, dragging her pillow behind her.

“Damian…”

She rubbed her eyes and climbed onto the table, meant for placing food, and curled up with her pillow for a nap.

“Get down. Breakfast will be ready soon.”

She tucked her knees into her nightgown and curled into a ball.

“…Warm me up.”

“Why were you in my room last night?”

She suddenly opened her eyes wide as if splashed with cold water. She looked around in a panic and rambled.

“I, I, last night, just practicing my script…!”

“Why would you practice in my room?”

“I can’t concentrate without my counterpart!”

Trisha got up and hesitated before adding,
T hi s w a s c o p i ed f r o m k i ngmt l . o r g

“Did I… bother you, by any chance?”

I remembered promising to help her with her script reading before going to Barvisia. I had completely forgotten and failed to follow through. The thought of Trisha reading her script in front of my sleeping form made me feel sorry for her.

“No, it’s fine. But next time, do it when I’m awake. I’ll help, so don’t fall asleep in strange places.”

Trisha blinked several times and seemed pleased with my response.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Great! I’ll go get my script from my room!”

She bounded out of the kitchen noisily, full of energy.

I stopped cooking to watch her leave and suddenly remembered her rushing out of my room the night before.

Was it because she had changed her nightgown? Or was I too familiar with Trisha in disguise?

The figure from last night seemed somewhat alien compared to Trisha now.

My consciousness had been hazy, making it hard to remember correctly. Perhaps even the brief awakening had been part of a dream.

***

For the first class, before the break of dawn, I emerged from the labyrinth and headed towards the Guardian Tree.

Then, a whooshing sound cut through the air from somewhere.

A Stitch struggled toward me across the clearing near the Guardian Tree, weighed down by a particularly hefty pouch it carried in its beak.

The unidentified Stitch dropped the pouch before me and, lightened, soared back into the sky.

“…?”

I picked up the pouch to check the contents. Inside, it was filled with enough gold coins to fill a fist. Alongside the coins, there was a letter.

I immediately grabbed the letter to see who it was from. It bore a name I recognized, the signature of Gesin Greig, the Swordmaster at the pinnacle of swordsmanship, and Sion’s teacher.

“…!”

A sense of foreboding rushed through me, and I swiftly drew a dagger and threw it at the departing Stitch.

But true to a Swordmaster’s consecrated object, the Stitch agilely dodged my throw and drifted away. Its trajectory seemed to mock me, as if waving a finger saying there’s no chance of sending it back.
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“…Ah.”