B4: Chapter 9: Battle for the Academy

Chapter 9: Battle for the Academy

I pushed my divine speed to its limits, racing through the Academy's corridors as the sounds of battle grew louder ahead. The familiar stone walls blurred past me, each one holding memories of my time as a student here. Now those same halls ran red with blood, defiled by an unprovoked assault on this institution of war.

The intersection came into view, and I witnessed Professor Kellins locked in desperate combat. His conjured blade of pure energy cut through the Kingdom soldiers' armor like parchment, each strike precise and lethal. The magical weapon blazed with scholarly fury, its light casting dancing shadows on the walls as it carved through enemy ranks.

But sheer numbers threatened to overwhelm the historian. For every soldier he cut down, two more pressed forward to take their place. His companion, a younger instructor whose lightning bolts had been crackling with power moments before, now struggled to maintain even basic spells. The man's face was pale with mana exhaustion, sweat beading on his forehead as he forced weaker and weaker bolts from his trembling hands.

The Kingdom platoon sensed victory approaching. Their formation tightened as they prepared for a final push that would crush the two professors and claim the fleeing students beyond.

They never saw me coming.

I slammed into the center of their formation like a falling star, my twelve-foot frame crushing three soldiers instantly beneath my momentum. Bones snapped and armor crumpled as bodies scattered in every direction from the impact. Before the survivors could react, my nine tendrils erupted from beneath my robes.

The dragon-headed appendages moved with predatory grace, each one striking with the force of a battering ram. Jaws lined with auric steel teeth tore through plate as if it were cloth, ripping soldiers apart in sprays of crimson. One tendril wrapped around a trooper's torso and squeezed until ribs snapped like kindling. Another whipped sideways, taking off three heads in a single sweeping motion.

My sword-lance materialized in my right hand, its mana chamber humming with barely contained power. I swept it in a wide arc, the blade cleaving through a dozen soldiers at once. Their screams cut short as the weapon passed through them, leaving nothing but falling pieces and a fountain of blood that painted the Academy's ancient stones.

The Kingdom forces had expected to face exhausted professors and frightened students. They found a god of war instead.

Caught completely off-guard by my sudden appearance and overwhelming violence, the soldiers couldn't form any coherent defense. Some tried to retreat, only to be caught by my tendrils and torn limb from limb. Others attempted to attack me directly, their weapons bouncing harmlessly off my invulnerable flesh while my blade found the gaps in their armor with surgical precision.

Professor Kellins and his companion seized the opportunity I'd provided. The historian's energy sword flared brighter as he pressed his attack, cutting down fleeing soldiers with renewed vigor. His associate managed to summon enough mana for one final lightning bolt that arced between multiple targets, leaving them convulsing on the blood-slicked floor.

Within moments, the last Kingdom soldier in the platoon fell to Kellins's blade, the man's final scream echoing off the stone walls before fading into silence.

The sudden quiet felt almost oppressive after the chaos of battle. Only the sound of labored breathing and dripping blood marked the aftermath of our violent encounter.

Professor Kellins turned toward me, his energy sword flickering out as he released the spell. Despite the carnage surrounding us, his scholarly composure remained intact.

"Thank you for the assistance," he said, inclining his head respectfully. His eyes studied my transformed appearance, noting the midnight robes, the imposing height, and the thorny crown mask shadowing my face. "You're Widow, aren't you? The student who defeated Professor Shawe?"

I nodded slowly. That name serves well enough, though I go by Vardiel now.

"My apologies, Vardiel. And thank you again." He gestured toward his exhausted companion, who leaned heavily against the wall while trying to catch his breath. "Professor Marcius and I were running out of options. Your timing was... providential."

Marcius managed a weak smile between ragged breaths. "Providential indeed. I don't think I had another spell left in me."

I surveyed the massacre around us, my enhanced senses already detecting more Kingdom forces moving through distant corridors. What's happening here? Where are the Academy guards? The rest of the faculty?

Kellins's expression darkened. "As soon as the Kingdom soldiers breached our defenses, I rushed to the faculty quarters to gather the higher-level professors. We needed to coordinate a proper defense with our most powerful instructors leading the charge."

He paused, his scholarly manner unable to fully mask the horror of what he'd discovered.

"I found a massacre, Vardiel. Many of our colleagues had been killed in their own rooms, but their wounds..." He shook his head grimly. "The nature of the injuries suggested they'd been caught completely off-guard. Assassinated rather than killed in honest combat."

My tendrils writhed beneath my robes as cold understanding settled over me. You suspect traitors among the faculty.

"I do." Kellins nodded gravely. "There's been a significant rift in our teaching staff ever since Headmaster Kalder's death. When Harmony was named as his successor, many faculty members disagreed with the policy changes she implemented."

What kind of changes?

"Most notably, she replaced our traditional class-based grading system with one based purely on merit. No more automatic advantages for noble-born students." His mouth twisted with distaste. "Many of our aristocratic instructors were... displeased. They felt their traditional privileges were being stripped away."

Professor Marcius straightened against the wall, having recovered enough breath to speak. "Some of them made no secret of their resentment. They believed commoners had no business competing on equal footing with their noble betters."

The pieces fell into place with sickening clarity. The Academy's defenses had been compromised from within, betrayed by instructors who valued their aristocratic prejudices more than the institution they'd sworn to serve.

So the Kingdom found willing collaborators among our own faculty, I said, my voice carrying a dangerous edge.

"It appears so." Kellins adjusted his bloodstained robes. "Which means we can't trust all of our colleagues. Some may still be working with the invaders."

I nodded, filing this crucial intelligence away. The Academy's corruption ran deeper than simple military assault; it was a coordinated effort to destroy everything Harmony had tried to build.

You and Marcius should focus on protecting the students, I told them. Get them to the most secure locations you can find and keep them alive.

"What about you?" Kellins asked.

I'm going to find more survivors. And I'm going to start hunting down the traitors who made this possible.

Kellins considered this, then nodded toward the deeper levels of the Academy. "You should check the Castellan's office first. As head of security, he should have activated our magical defenses and protective wards the moment the attack began. The fact that he didn't suggests something has befallen him."

Understood. I wished them both safety, then launched myself deeper into the Academy's bowels where the Castellan maintained his domain.

Time to discover just how far this betrayal reached.

***

The journey to the security office became a gauntlet of violence. Kingdom troops had spread throughout the Academy like a plague, their armor clanking through corridors where students once walked freely. I couldn't simply bypass these soldiers; each group I encountered was actively hunting survivors, and leaving them alive meant more Academy blood on my hands.

The first squad I found had cornered three Rank C students in a storage room. I materialized behind them like death itself, my tendrils erupting from beneath my robes to puncture armor and spine before they could scream. The students cowered against shelves of supplies, wide-eyed at my transformed appearance.

Get to the southern arena, I told them. Stay together, stay quiet.

They nodded frantically and disappeared into the maze of hallways.

Two more squads fell before I reached the lower levels. Then another group of five soldiers attempting to break down a barricaded classroom door. Each encounter was swift and brutal; my divine speed and strength made their weapons and armor meaningless. Steel bent and shattered against my tendrils while their crossbow bolts couldn't penetrate my armor.

By the time I approached the Castellan's office, my midnight silk was splattered with blood, though none of it was mine.

The security office sat in the Academy's deeper levels, near the gateway that led down into the Academy Hellzone. Heavy stone walls and reinforced doors should have made this area an impregnable fortress. Instead, I found the corridors eerily quiet, broken only by the distant sounds of battle echoing from above.

I reached for the office door when it suddenly swung open. Two Academy guards emerged, crossbows raised and aimed directly at my chest. Their faces showed the strain of prolonged combat, eyes darting nervously as they took in my imposing height and shadowed features.

"Hold it right there!" one of them barked. "State your business!"

I raised my hands slowly, making no sudden movements that might trigger their weapons. I'm here to help. The Academy is under attack, and I'm trying to find survivors.

The guards exchanged uncertain glances. My appearance clearly unsettled them: the thorny crown mask obscuring my features, the midnight robes that seemed to absorb light, the unnatural height that forced them to crane their necks upward.

"You're not Academy personnel," the second guard said suspiciously. "And those robes... what are you supposed to be?"

Before I could respond, a familiar voice cut through the tension.

"Stand down, both of you."

The imposing form of Captain Marca emerged from the doorway, his scarred face studying me with recognition. Years of combat had marked him with old wounds, and fresh blood stained his armor from recent fighting. His experienced eyes swept over my transformed appearance with the calm assessment of a veteran warrior.

"You're Widow," he said with certainty. "Langdon's old student. I recognize the snakes." He pointed at my tendrils.

I frowned beneath my mask. They're dragons, actually.

Marca shrugged with the pragmatic indifference of a man who had more pressing concerns than monster identification. "What do you want here?"

I came to see the Castellan. The Academy's magical defenses should have activated the moment Kingdom forces breached our perimeter. I need to know why they're still down.

Marca's expression darkened, and he gestured for his guards to lower their weapons. "The Castellan's dead. Most of my guardsmen are dead too, poisoned."

The word hit me like a physical blow. More betrayal?

"A few hours before the attack began," Marca continued, his voice carrying the weight of bitter understanding, "Princess Ellewyn of House Swords came to our security station. She presented my men with refreshments: wine, pastries, fancy delicacies from the royal kitchens. Said it was to thank us for our hard work protecting the Academy."

My tendrils writhed beneath my robes as cold fury built in my chest.

"The Castellan couldn't refuse a gift from royalty. He and most of the guards partook of her 'generosity.' An hour later, they were convulsing on the floor, dead from whatever poison she'd laced the food with. The Kingdom attack began almost immediately after."

A growl escaped my throat before I could stop it. Not only were there traitors among the faculty, but the students as well. I remembered Princess Ellewyn; she had been young, gracious, intelligent. She had approached me once, trying to recruit me into House Swords with promises of advancement and royal favor. Her kindness had seemed genuine, her offer sincere.

To think that same young woman had orchestrated the cold-blooded murder of Academy guards.

Is there anyone else who can activate the magical defenses? I asked.

Marca let out a bitter laugh. "If there had been, don't you think the defenses would already be up? The Headmaster had access to the system, along with three senior faculty members. But they all went with Harmony to negotiate with the King days ago."

How many guards do you have left?

"Twelve here at the security office. Another forty scattered throughout the Academy, fighting and searching for survivors." Marca's scarred face showed the grim calculation of a soldier assessing impossible odds. "I don't like our chances, Widow. Most of the faculty are dead, my guard force is decimated, and there are still hundreds of Kingdom troops marching through our halls."

I smiled grimly beneath my mask, the expression invisible but audible in my voice. Don't worry, Captain. This school has an army of its own.

Marca looked up at me, shock replacing his grim resignation. "You're not seriously thinking about using the students."

Why not?

"They're just kids!" he shouted, his professional composure finally cracking.

This is the War Academy, I reminded him calmly. It trains the best warriors in the world. Those students may be young, but they're well-trained and powerful. Every one of them has gone down into the Hellzone and survived combat against monsters that would terrify seasoned soldiers. They can handle a large group of thugs in armor.

Marca looked like he wanted to continue protesting, but something in my stance made him reconsider. He studied my face for a long moment, then shook his head with grudging acceptance.

"You're definitely Langdon's student," he muttered. "Is there any way I can help with this insane plan of yours?"

Send your men out to find any combat-capable students they can locate. Tell them to gather at the southern arena. We're going to organize a counterattack.

Marca nodded, already turning to issue orders to his guards. "Good luck, Widow. You're going to need it."

Thank you, Captain.

I launched myself back into the maze of corridors, my enhanced senses searching for more signs of battle, more survivors to rescue. The Academy's salvation lay not in its broken defenses or depleted guard force, but in the young warriors it had trained. Time to see if their education had been worth the price they were about to pay.