From MC''s Perspective.


    "Come here," the Deanmanded, his voice as frigid as the winter''s bite. A cruel, almost predatory glint flickered in his eyes as he gestured towards the imposing, iron-d cell at the far end of the chamber. "Lock him up."


    Themand hung heavy in the air, a sinister portent of what was toe. Before the echo of his words could fully dissipate, the room was plunged into an eerie twilight.


    Sinuous, shadowy figures materialized from the darkest corners, their forms indistinct yet menacing. They moved with unnatural speed, a silent, spectral ballet of malice.


    In an instant, they converged upon Craig Steel, their inky hands closing around him like iron manacles. With a chilling efficiency, they vanished into the shadows, taking their captive with them.


    I stood rooted to the spot, my mind racing toprehend the surreal spectacle unfolding before me. A cold dread crept into my heart as I stared at the empty space where Craig Steel had once stood.


    Were they golems? Some grotesque experiment gone awry? Or perhaps something far more sinister? The creatures were cloaked in an aura of otherworldly menace, their true nature a baffling enigma.


    The Dean''s attention finally turned to me, his gaze sharp and probing. "You''re a lucky one," he remarked, his toneced with a peculiar mixture of disbelief and suspicion. "How did you manage to survive that attack?"


    I forced a wry smile, my heart pounding in my chest. "I saw iting," I lied, my voice steady despite the turmoil within. "A repulsion spell managed to deflect his blow. Otherwise, I would be injured, or worse."


    The Dean''s eyes narrowed, his expression inscrutable. He seemed to be weighing my words, searching for any inconsistencies.


    Vincent Carey, unscathed amidst the chaos, was a ring anomaly.


    The Dean''s mind was undoubtedly racing, questioning the veracity of Vincent''s im, wondering if he possessed the true power of a level-5 wizard, or if some other Special Artifact was at y.n/?/vel/b//in dot c//om


    "Is there anything you''d like to add?" The Dean''s voice was a low rumble, carrying a weight of unspoken usation. His gaze, sharp as a hawk''s, drilled into Vincent''s eyes.


    "There was no one else here," he added, his voice t and final.


    A flicker of determination ignited within my eyes. It was time to reveal the unsettling truth he''d been harboring.


    "Actually, there was," I began, the voice low and steady. "I noticed someone following me from the dorms. When I entered the library, I sensed an undeniable killing intent directed towards me. But it wasn''t Craig Steel."


    A heavy silence descended upon the room as the Dean''s eyebrows rose in skepticism.


    "I ignored it initially and headed to the basic section. That''s when the attack by Craig Steel urred," I concluded, my voice tinged with a bitter aftertaste.


    The Dean''s eyes narrowed, the lines around his mouth deepening in concentration. A storm of thoughts seemed to be brewing behind his piercing gaze. "Are you saying there was someone else who wanted you dead?" His voice was low, each word carrying the weight of a question mark.


    I nodded, a grim determination hardening my features. "Yes."


    The Dean stood up abruptly, his movements sharp and decisive. "Show me," hemanded, his voice firm. With a gesture, the metallic cuffs binding Vincent''s wrists dissolved into a heap of molten metal, cascading to the floor with a soft metallic ng.


    A wave of relief washed over Vincent as he rubbed his wrists.


    I stood up, my gaze fixed on the Dean. Arge, holographic screen materialized above the Dean''s desk, its surface shimmering with an ethereal blue glow. The screen flickered to life, disying a live feed of the library hall, a silent and watchful sentinel of the recent events.


    My gaze was drawn to the pulsating blue screen, where a silent record of events unfolded. The footage began with my entry into the library, each subsequent moment a potential clue.


    Suddenly, a figure emerged from the shadows, its silhouette stark against the muted background. A chill recognition swept through me as I realized it was the same wizard who had exuded that chilling aura of malice.


    I extended a trembling finger towards the screen, my voice barely a whisper. "It was him," I managed to croak, my eyes locked onto the figure. "I''ve never seen him before. I don''t know why he would want me dead."


    The Dean leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he studied the image. With a deft touch, he manipted the screen, and a digital ovey appeared, revealing the wizard''s identity. "Bailey. Beast Hall. Level-7 Wizard," he murmured, a dangerous glint in his eyes. A sense of unease crept into my heart.


    Craig Steel had been a Level-7 Wizard as well. Could this be a sinister pattern?


    "I''ll handle this," the Dean dered, his voice firm. Relief washed over me. Perhaps this nightmare was finallying to an end.


    As I turned to leave, the Dean''s voice halted me. "Wait," he said. A flicker of something akin to respect passed through his eyes. "You''ve shown courage today. Be cautious."


    I nodded, my mind racing. The academy, once a sanctuary, now felt like a battlefield disguised as a ce of learning. The realization was bitter and sobering. In this world of shadows and secrets, there was no true refuge, only a constant vignce.


    The moment Vincent''s footsteps faded into silence, a cold, calcting mask descended upon the Dean''s face. His voice, low and menacing, echoed through the chamber. "Keep Bailey and his family under constant surveince," he ordered, his gaze fixed on a point in the shadows. A flicker, a subtle shift in the darkness, was the only response.


    Unbeknownst to the Dean, a silent observer had witnessed the entire exchange. In the ethereal realm of the Sub-Space, the Magic Lords watched with growing contempt.


    Their other wordly faces, etched with millennia of wisdom and power, mirrored their profound dissatisfaction. To think that the hallowed halls of the Royal Force Hall Academy had be a stage for such a despicable plot. The once revered institution had plummeted to a new depth of moral depravity in their eyes.


    The attempted assassination of a Level-5 Wizard was a tant overreach, a reckless disregard for the delicate bnce of power. Their astonishment grew as they witnessed Vincent Carey''s survival. Logically, a Level-5 Wizard was no match for a Level-7''s lethal magic. Yet, there stood Vincent, unharmed.


    A storm of theories erupted among the Magic Lords. Some postted a miraculous stroke of luck, a chance urrence that defied all odds. Others, however, were inclined to believe in a more sinister exnation.


    Could Vincent Carey be under the protection of a higher power? A Magic Lord, perhaps? If so, it would exin the inexplicable. A life-saving artifact, a gift from a benevolent patron, could be the key to this perplexing puzzle


    The crippled man, his body frail and twisted by age, sat unmoving in the heart of abyrinthine library. His eyes, though clouded by time, held an age-old wisdom that belied his physical frailty. He had witnessed countless machinations of power, betrayals woven into the tapestry of history.


    Yet, a flicker of concern ignited within him as he contemted the recent events at the Royal Force Hall Academy. Had the Dean, in his arrogance, underestimated the depth of corruption that had seeped into the institution?


    "It has been too long since I''ve visited those academies," he murmured, his voice a mere whisper in the hushed chamber. A decision trembled on the edge of his consciousness. Should he intervene immediately, or wait for a signal from the young man who had shown such unexpected resilience?


    Meanwhile, the news of the incident had spread through the academy with the speed of wildfire. Librarian Barren, his face a mask of practiced indifference, offered a sanitized version of events, a feeble attempt to quell the growing unrest.


    But the students were not easily deceived. Vincent Carey, a name synonymous with turmoil, was at the heart of the affair, and his presence cast a long shadow over the incident.


    Whispers of assassination attempts circted among the student body. Vincent''s past, marked by a series of brushes with death, fueled the spection.


    Yet, before the rumors could gain traction, a stern circr was issued by the academy, a desperate attempt to stifle the truth. The administration, fearing damage to the academy''s reputation, sought to impose a nket of silence.


    But the human spirit, ever resilient, refused to be silenced. In the secluded corners of the academy, students exchanged hushed conversations, their eyes filled with a mix of fear and fascination. The incident had shattered the illusion of safety, exposing the underbelly of a world they had once believed to be protected.


    Meanwhile,


    I copsed onto the bed, my body heavy with exhaustion. The ordeal in the library had been a near-death experience. My heart still pounded in my chest, a reminder of the terror I''d faced. I knew I couldn''t return to the Gregor Mansion. What if the Dean sent someone to protect me? That would be a disaster.


    I needed toy low, disappear from sight. For now, my dorm room was the safest ce I could be.