Professor Dufer and Fin stood outside the copper classroom door, neither eager to be the first to enter. An awkward pause stretched between them. Fin, ever the deferential one when nobles were involved, gestured politely. Dufer hesitated, but eventually relented with a nod. Fin was, after all, a northern born. They earn a lot of respect. Far more than Nobles like him.

  Professor Dufer wasn’t here for a lecture. He was here to search for a student.

  Kana.

  She hadn’t missed a single session since enrolling, and today marked her first absence. That alone wouldn’t have troubled her—but the circumstances had changed. She’d inherited the Bane Dagger Art, and from what the History of Bane Dagger Art recorded, she was the first girl to do so.

  He wasn’t the sentimental type, nor was he easily impressed. Yet Kana had managed both. The only girl in a class full of boys. A [Ranger], which many scoffed at in the context of melee training, and yet she routinely outperformed every single one of them. She was graceful with a dagger, lethal with a bow according to Professor Wor-en and Principal Light. Most students specialized—excelled at one weapon, fumbled with the rest, some were good but not as good as their primary weapon. Kana moved between them as though she’d been born holding both.

  And then there was the troubling part.

  She’d never used a skill, at least an attack type of skill. Not once. Not in sparring, not in training, not even when provoked. And yet she dominated. That fact alone sent a quiet chill through Professor Dufer. He’d trained prodigies before. He’d broken more than a few of them—meaning teaching them some hard lessons. Kana… he wasn’t even sure he could beat her in a serious duel.

  She might be the most talented student.. Then why did someone like her end up in the copper class? Should I question how professors did the students’ assessment? Should there be a re-assessment?

  As he pushed the door open, he spotted her immediately—messy black hair draped across her desk, face buried in folded arms. Two others were passed out nearby. One of the students noticed them enter and offered a quick gesture: sleeping.

  He exhaled, some tension leaking from his shoulders. Professor Fin muttered beside him, “Looks like I worried for nothing,” casting a glance at one of the boys slumped over.

  He’d planned to speak with Kana today—extend an invitation to the estate for the weekend, help her sort through the instructions from the Source. But seeing her like this…

  Maybe next time.

  He turned silently and left the classroom along with Professor Fin.

  … . ..

  “Ah, I missed class,” Kana mumbled, eyes still half-closed as the warm orange light of late afternoon spilled through the window.

  Suri yawned beside her, stretching like a cat. “Just one class. Still… we probably shouldn’t make a habit of this on weekdays.”

  Boris.. was still snoring.

  The room was empty. All their copper-class classmates had already left, probably eager to get home for the weekend—especially those whose families lived in the capital.

  The scene gave Kana a strange sense of déjà vu. The cafeteria was already closed, and Suri was quick to blame Boris for oversleeping. Not that she had much room to talk—she’d gone right back to sleep for a second round of naps.

  Now, the three of them were out behind the dormitory, seated on a long wooden log as a small campfire crackled between them. Kana had started the fire while Suri—ever prepared—brought out her secret stash of herbs for seasoning. From Kana’s [Inventory], Kana produced a slab of chicken-like meat that Suri bought from some famous butcher in the central district, which she now turned carefully over the flame, letting the skin crisp just right.

  “I’ll be visiting Duke Stark tomorrow,” Kana said, breaking the silence. “Make sure you stay together—and go where there’s a crowd. I’ll try to get back as soon as I can.”

  Her words pulled them back to the underlying tension they’d tried to ignore. The shadow man was still out there. Watching. Waiting. They didn’t know when he would strike again—or if he even needed to wait for nightfall. But so far, he hadn’t made a move during daylight.

  Still, they weren’t taking chances.

  Suri nodded silently, her eyes fixed on the roasting meat.

  Boris grunted. “Guess that makes me the personal guard tomorrow,” he muttered, eyeing Suri knowingly. “Especially if someone plans to go shopping again.”

  Suri raised an eyebrow. “You coming or complaining?”

  “Both.”

  Kana felt it first. Her [High Awareness] didn’t stretch far, but it was sharp. Something was off. Too many footsteps. Too many voices in the dark. People were coming and going through the academy’s front more than usual—and it was late. Weird.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  She squinted through the shadows, her [Ranger] class granting her eyes well-suited for the night. Several carriages were parked outside the front gates, their crests hidden by draped cloth. A group of coachmen huddled near the stone fountain. They were gossiping, clearly, but too far for her to catch any words.

  “Why are there so many people tonight?” Kana muttered, frowning.

  “Oh,” Suri said, almost too casually. “They’re in a meeting. King J is here.”

  “What!?” Kana and Leo shot up, voices overlapping in shock.

  “You saw the king?” Boris leaned forward, eyes wide beneath his thick brows.

  Suri gave a dramatic pause, lips tugged in that sly little way of hers. “Did not. One of his knights sensed my illusion, so I pulled it back. Didn't want to risk it.”

  Kana and Boris both slumped.

  The King. The most elusive man in the realm—more myth than monarch. Seeing him was rarer than finding a Drop Item. Most lived their entire lives without seeing him.

  Kana folded her arms, biting back the itch of curiosity. What could they possibly be discussing in there? War? Assassinations? Some Dungeon Items? Suspicious activity?

  She took a breath and shook her head. No. Not tonight. The risk wasn’t worth it. If a knight could detect Suri’s illusions, then snooping closer would be like waving a banner with her name on it.

  ….

  Principal Light stood at the edge of the room, expression taut, hands behind his back as the leaf powered lanterns flickered gently against the walls. The glow from their veins danced on the glass, casting strange shadows across the cramped space of his office, now filled beyond capacity. Nobles and professors pressed shoulder to shoulder around a hastily extended wooden table, their voices climbing over one another like waves.

  In the center, wearing a hood that cast his face into shadow, sat King J—silent, still. Watching.

  The Northern Exploration Program had been nothing more than a proposal a week ago. authored by Professor Fin and the Co-authored by Wor-en, it had been meant to prepare students for harsh survival beyond the safety of textbooks and controlled dungeon simulations. But he knew. The real intent behind the program.

  No one expected the King would take its matter to its own hands. Let alone call an emergency meeting.

  “I’ll advise my son to drop out,” One noble snapped, slamming his fist against the table. “He’s only in his second year. He’s never set foot in a real dungeon. Are you expecting him to die for your experiment?”

  Eyes locked to Professor Fin.

  “I’ve been to the north,” Professor Len Griffin muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’ve seen it. These students aren’t ready. Many will die.”

  “Then you understand the severity of the threat,” Professor Fin replied calmly, arms folded, unmoved by the storm around him.

  “They’ll die.”

  More voices joined in, rising like a swell of thunder. Debate became shouting. Reason drowned beneath fear.

  Until the King raised his hand.

  Silence.

  “Two years.” His voice was cold, raspy. “That’s how long the northern fortress will last based on the current condition.”

  “Five, if we pour all our resources. But that will give the others a chance to invade us.”

  Professor Fin blinked. It must have worsened since they left.

  King J waited, letting the words settle. Some exchanged glances. Others frowned, unable to get what he meant.

  “After that,” he continued, “The Dungeon Overflow will breach. Some of the monsters will reach us within months. Within a year, the capital will become the new front line.”

  Gasps. A few nobles paled. No longer theoretical.

  “There are villages between us and the north,” Wor-en added softly, unrolling a large map across the table. “Small ones. Forgotten by most. They will fall first.”

  King J leaned forward, his voice unwavering. “We either prepare now or perish later.”

  Professor Fin took the cue. “This isn’t about throwing children into chaos. We’re assigning professors to every student group. If the budget clears, each team will be backed by at least one Silver-ranked adventurer.”

  “We’ll tailor the assignments based on class and year,” Wor-en added, tapping specific points on the map. “First and second years will engage with low-level creatures, under close supervision. Third and fourth years will face mid to high-tier threats—but only those capable. We've run the numbers.”

  A nobleman across the table, voice cracking with restrained anger, asked, “And how can we be sure our sons or daughters will return?”

  No one answered at first.

  Then the King spoke again. “We can’t.”

  The silence that followed was heavier than before.

  “But we can ensure they’re prepared. That when the tide rises, they don’t drown like the rest of us. If we shield them now, we doom them later. Better to prepare them now.”

  Principal Light finally stepped forward, his voice quiet but firm. “We do not have the luxury of fear anymore. We only have time. And it's running out.”

  The meeting lasted until near midnight. Details spilled across parchment and tired minds—team sizes, class roles, healer distribution. How often rotations would occur. How to classify threats. It was chaotic. Messy. And, slowly, it became a well thought plan.

  By the time the final leaf powered lantern was dimmed, the Northern Exploration Program was no longer a proposal.

  It was a lifeline.