Seventy Seventh Seven-Chapter 57: Shabby Duel

Seven adjusted his wrists, rolling them slightly to shake off the lingering ache where Jun had pinned him down.

'Well, that could've gone worse.'

He had half a mind to complain about the unnecessary roughness, but knowing his luck, that would only earn him another scolding—or worse, another suspicion.

Instead, he shifted his focus to the real problem: getting through the rest of the entrance exam without more trouble.

…Which, given the way things were going, seemed pretty unlikely.

He inhaled the crisp afternoon air, letting the tension from the interrogation seep out of his muscles. The sky was tinged with the first signs of sunset, casting long shadows over the academy grounds.

Seven giggled.

"Just as planned."

Between almost being accused of conspiring with a Lycanthrope and now having both a battle-crazed proctor and a Vice Headmaster keeping tabs on him, things were definitely off to a great start.

But then again, what better way to make up for missing the previous tests than to return in the most dramatic way possible?

A win-win situation.

Not only did this mess ensure he could still take the remaining parts of the entrance exam, but it also gave him the perfect opportunity to investigate the eastern forest.

If there was even the faintest clue about that illusion he had been trapped in, he needed to find it.

"Hah…"

The price for that chance, of course, was suspicion.

Not that he had expected anything less.

Step.

His feet carried him aimlessly across the academy grounds, the weight of the day settling in. He wasn't exactly tired, just… restless.

Too many things weren't adding up.

Clusters of applicants whispered in hushed voices, some still shaken from the massacre in the forest.

Others stole cautious glances toward the faculty building, where the Lycanthrope had been taken.

Seven ignored them.

Instead, his gaze drifted upward—toward the distant tower that loomed in the heart of the academy.

The Headmaster's office who, until now, was absent.

'Did father cause him that much damage?'

Sigh.

If anyone knew what the hell was going on, it would be the people sitting up there.

Not that he had any business poking around.

Yet.

Sigh.

He exhaled for the second time, making a mental note to keep an eye out.

If someone wanted to use him as a pawn in whatever game was being played, they were going to be sorely disappointed.

Growl.

His stomach grumbled.

'Right.'

'I haven't eaten anything yet.'

When was the last time he ate?

Before getting drilled to death repeatedly in that illusion? The handful of fruit he grabbed during the fifth test before getting pinned to the ground?

Whatever the case, those fruits were not enough to alleviate his hunger.

Step.

'Priorities.'

Shaking off the lingering unease, he turned his steps toward the shabby inn.

'Food first.'

'Answers could come later.'

He put his hands inside the pocket, and found not a single speck of Sevrins.

'And money.'

Step.

By the time he reached the inn, the sun was dipping closer to the horizon, casting an orange glow over the worn-out signboard.

Seven stepped inside, only to find the grumpy innkeeper standing by the trash bin, holding his worn leather bag over it. The man froze when he saw him.

"What are you—"

"I'm sorry, sir! I thought you wouldn't come back."

Seven's brow twitched.

The innkeeper hurriedly shoved the bag at him, offering a nervous chuckle. Seven took it, his grip tightening the moment he felt the weight.

Or lack thereof.

It was empty.

"..."

"I'm sorry again, sir! I thought you wouldn't come back."

The grumpy-looking innkeeper repeated, eyes darting to the side.

Seven let out a slow, steady sigh. He should've expected this. He really should've.

After all, it's been more than a day since the scheduled stay expired.

Before he could say anything, the innkeeper suddenly rushed to the desk, fumbling through a small drawer.

Moments later, he pulled out eight small jars of Vitalis pills—one that Seven had bought himself and seven that Eden had given him through Iria back then.

"...?"

"...!!"

Silence settled between them as Seven stared at the innkeeper, then at the pills.

There was something missing.

His eyes narrowed.

The letter.

A letter from Eden meant to be opened only after the ceremony.

He lifted his gaze.

The innkeeper swallowed nervously.

"I—I'm sorry, sir. I thought—"

"Fudge up and give it to me."

The innkeeper flinched, hurriedly turning back to his desk. After a brief shuffle, he took a barely sealed envelope from the desk and placed it hesitantly on the counter.

Seven took it without another word, slipping it into his bag. He wasn't going to open it now.

Later.

For now…

"Meal."

The innkeeper nodded hastily.

"Right away, sir!"

Step.

Seven walked to the dining area, dropping into the nearest chair.

Minutes later, a steaming plate was set before him—a thick slice of warm rye bread, a small dish of honeyed fygs, and a bowl of hearty stew filled with root vegetables.

He picked up the spoon, twirling it between his fingers before finally taking a bite.

Warm.

Savory.

His shoulders relaxed slightly as he chewed.

He picked up the spoon, twirling it between his fingers before finally taking a bite.

Warm.

Savory.

Seven tore off a piece of the rye bread and dipped it into the thick stew, watching as the rich broth soaked into the crust.

His shoulders relaxed slightly as he chewed.

The Vice Headmaster, Cylinth, had let him go far too easily. Jun Kerian, the battle-crazed proctor, was still suspicious of him, and for good reason.

Sigh.

Seven pushed the bowl away and leaned his elbows on the table.

He needed to be careful.

If he pushed too hard, asked too many questions, he'd draw attention to himself, and right now, the last thing he wanted was to become some kind of case study for the academy.

Instead, he needed to be patient.

Observe.

Wait.

Another sigh escaped him. He hated waiting.

"Sir?"

Seven blinked, looking up to find the innkeeper standing awkwardly by his table, shifting from foot to foot.

"What?"

The innkeeper hesitated, then gestured toward the entrance.

"There's… someone waiting for you outside."

"Who?"

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The innkeeper shook his head.

"Didn't say. Just told me to let you know."

Seven studied his expression, searching for any hint of deceit, but found nothing. With a resigned exhale, he stood, grabbing his leather bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

Step.

As he stepped outside, the cool night air brushed against his skin as his boots barely made a sound against the worn cobblestone street.

Then, just beyond the flickering glow of a nearby streetlamp, a figure wrapped in a long cloak stood.

Hood drawn low over the figure's face as they met his gaze.

Seven didn't move closer.

"Looking for me?"

Silence.

The figure stepped forward, their cloak shifting in the dim light, revealing the subtle gleam of something metallic beneath the folds of fabric.

A weapon.

Step.

The wind rustled, whispering against the rooftops.

Vanish.

Before Seven could react, the figure disappeared.

'Theia's Eye.'

His left eye lit up gold, and in an instant, the world around him shifted.

Time slowed.

A trajectory—a thread of golden light—etched itself into his sight guided his gaze to the unseen attack aimed directly at his stomach. Without hesitation, he twisted his body to the side.

The blade whistled past him, cutting only air.

Stab.

A dagger buried itself into the wooden post where he had been standing just a breath ago.

Again.

The threads shifted.

Another attack.

Seven ducked low, rolling just as another strike carved through the space where his ribs had been. The glint of metal flashed through the dark, nearly too fast to track.

'He's trained.'

Seven slid back, grounding his stance just in time to avoid a third strike.

Without Theia's Eye, he wouldn't have seen it coming.

The artifact was the only thing allowing him to react with such precision. It turned the unseen into the obvious, and the unpredictable into something clear.

And that alone was why he was still standing.

The figure lunged, faster this time. Adrenaline surged through Seven's veins as a grin tugged at his lips.

This wasn't a fight he could afford to lose, but damn if it wasn't exhilarating.

Fingers tightening around the strap of his leather bag, Seven shifted, pivoted, and swung it forward—not as a shield, but as a feint.

The assassin dodged instinctively.

Seven struck. His fist snapped out, landing a sharp blow to the figure's ribs.

"Ghh—"

A muffled grunt followed, but the figure barely hesitated as it reached into their cloak.

Another dagger.

But this one gleamed with runes. Enchanted.

Dash.

Seven ducked beneath the slash, caught the wrist, and twisted.

Clang.

The weapon clattered to the ground, but the figure was already adapting, shifting their weight with a knee raised, aiming for Seven's gut.

Seven barely avoided it.

But before the figure could regain their balance, he moved first. His leg swept out, striking the back of their knee.

A solid hit.

The assassin stumbled, and Seven seized the opening. He drove his elbow into the figure's back, forcing them to the ground.

Before they could roll away, he kicked the fallen dagger out of reach and planted his foot against their shoulder, pinning them down.

The fight was over.

"Not bad."

Panting, Seven stared down at the cloaked figure beneath him.

Ding!

[Name: Lythian Ace (Oh Son-ji)]

[Main Talent: Assassination]

[Characteristics: Fourth Reader]

[Gift: Immortality]

"Oh Son-ji."

The assassin, Oh Sonji, Lythian rather, let out a soft chuckle.

"Fucker. How did you know?"