[The Fallen Prince]
It was the title of the novel Yvan had once read, a story that had captivated his attention more than he would have liked to admit. He had been commissioned to create illustrations for it—no, not just any illustrations, but ones specifically of the novel's most compelling and figure: the [Main Antagonist].
[The Fallen Prince] was not a typical tale of revenge or conquest. It followed Travis, the protagonist, on a journey not of vengeance, but of reunion. Travis was a young man searching for his family.
He hadn't much memories of his family or his real identity as Mordred Pendragon who could candidate for the throne of Britannia.
But eventually he will and he will try to get back what he had lost.
He was destined to the throne of Britannia currently in my possession.
'Was it something like that?'
Ivan wondered. His recollection of the novel was patchy, fragmented. After all, his attention had mostly been consumed by one character—the antagonist, which was himself now.
His former self, back when he was still on Earth, had skimmed much of the story, focusing solely on the details surrounding the Antagonist far more than Travis.
Now, as he stood in the grand corridors of the Academy of Ocryphia, Ivan found himself leaning against the cold stone walls, arms crossed, lost in thought.
"Lord Ivan."
The voice jolted him back to the present. Ivan turned his gaze toward Aaron, who stood a few paces away. He just had taken care of the unconscious student who regained the hall.
Ivan's eyes narrowed though in displeasure.
Aaron had called him by his true name.
The slip-up irritated Ivan. He had been reckless earlier—letting his disguise falter, revealing his true self even for a fleeting moment. Someone had seen him, and he had no intention of allowing further mistakes that might expose him prematurely. Ivan wasn't ready to be discovered, not yet.
A single slip and he would have to either leave or destroy the academy altogether to find what he wanted.
The reasons he had left behind the other in Britannia, the reasons he had infiltrated this place—all of it hinged on maintaining his secrecy.
Ludmila, Mikhail, Dimitri and Kamila were all in Camelot taking care of the after-battle since Camelot was in a pitiful state after Gevurah had invaded.
Meanwhile Ivan had to get rid of their death in a few years.
"My apologies... I mean, Leon," Aaron quickly corrected himself. Even as he spoke, he struggled to adopt the informality the situation required.
"Has it ended?" Ivan asked.
The Academy's opening ceremony had dragged on far too long for his liking. The pompous speeches, the hollow praise—none of it mattered to him. He had no intention of sitting through another half-hour of the director's droning monologue.
"I'll check right away," Aaron replied hastily. He turned on his heel and left to confirm the status of the event.
As Aaron disappeared down the corridor, Ivan shifted his gaze toward the large windows that lined the hall. His eyes swept over the sprawling campus outside.
The Academy of Ocryphia was a marvel to behold. It was a fusion of cutting-edge technology and architectural beauty, the product of the finest engineers in the world.
Towering buildings made of white rare marblestone surrounded the main building in which Ivan was finding himself. They were all here for the first day's speech of the Director in the Great Hall after all.
As Ivan scanned the surroundings, his eyes settled on a solitary figure sitting quietly on a bench. She was really beautiful, her long dark hair cascading down both sides of her face, unbound and free. It framed her features in a way that made her look almost ethereal. Her dark eyes gazed out into the distance, focusing on nothing in particular, lost in thought or perhaps in a world of her own.
Her uniform, the same as the other students, indicated she was a member of the Academy, and judging by her youthful appearance, most would assume she was a first-year like many of the others. But…
'I know her face from somewhere...'
Ivan's thoughts faltered for a moment as he tried to place her. He was certain they had never met, but an odd familiarity nagged at him, a sense that her appearance and demeanor reminded him of something—no, someone. Then it clicked. A name surfaced in his mind, as if drawn from the recesses of his memory.
Angel Elysphira.
She was a character from the novel, a fourth-year student, not the first-year her youthful appearance might suggest. Angel Elysphira, one of the most notable figures in the Academy but also in the Novel, not for her strength in battle but for something far more dangerous: her keen perception.
Just as the name solidified in his mind, Angel suddenly looked up, her gaze locking onto his with frightening precision. Her dark eyes, which had previously seemed to stare into nothingness, now bore directly into him. It was as if she had sensed his scrutiny from across the courtyard.
In that moment, most people would have looked away, embarrassed at being caught staring. But Ivan held her gaze, meeting it without flinching.
Elysphira... that family of Mediums?
The Elysphira family was one of the Great Noble Families, renowned across the world for producing the most powerful and gifted mediums. Every child born into that family possessed extraordinary talents for communicating with the spirit world, making them natural-born Exorcists, feared and respected for their ability to purge demonic entities.
They were not warriors in the traditional sense, but their connection to the supernatural made them precious assets.
And Angel Elysphira wasn't just any member of the family. She was a genius among geniuses, her abilities far surpassing even the high standards set by her lineage. Her reputation had reached far and wide, and though she lacked the brute strength to challenge someone like Ivan, her powers posed a different kind of threat—one that could be even more dangerous if she saw through the mask Ivan wore.
I should keep my distance from her. She might not be a direct danger to me in a fight, but if anyone could sense what I am, it's her.
After a few more seconds of holding her gaze, Ivan shifted his eyes away, severing the silent exchange.
Not long after, Aaron returned, his footsteps quickening as he approached Ivan. "It's over, Leon," Aaron said. "Everyone has been asked to join their assigned class. We should go now if we don't want to be late."
Ivan nodded in acknowledgment and fell into step beside Aaron as they began to walk away from the courtyard.
"Did you manage to gather any information on what I asked you to look into?" Ivan asked.
Aaron's face darkened, and he shook his head. "I tried, but neither my father nor I were able to find anything about the Hidden Vault. My father gave you the full layout of the campus, but—"
"It wouldn't be on any ordinary map," Ivan interrupted. "I need to locate that Vault."
"Yes... I also questioned a few students and even some teachers," Aaron replied. "But they all laughed it off, dismissing it as nothing more than a myth, Sir."
Ivan's gaze darkened; He had expected as much, but it did little to quell his growing irritation. The Asterion's Vault, to most, was nothing but a forgotten legend—a story whispered among the students, never taken seriously by the faculty. But Ivan knew better.
"Fifty years ago, there was an incident involving that Vault, did you look into it?" Ivan asked.
Aaron nodded. "Yes, Sir. I did a little digging. Back then, a first-year student was expelled from the Academy after murdering several of his classmates. He claimed it was because of the Vault—he kept ranting about it, but no one believed him. They all dismissed it as madness, as just the ramblings of a lunatic–"
"Aaron."
"Y–Yes?" Aaron stuttered.
Ivan regarded him with the same gaze.
"Find it."
"As you wish, Sir," he replied.
Aaron had struggled with the idea of the Vault's existence—after all, the teachers and other students had dismissed it so easily. A hidden vault within the campus, filled with ancient relics, sounded like something out of a fairy tale. But Aaron's skepticism was of no concern to Ivan. He didn't care what Aaron believed; all that mattered was finding it.
Ivan's mind was focused. The Vault wasn't just a forgotten chamber or a place of historical significance—it was far more than that. Deep within its sealed confines was a Relic of Seraphiel, an artifact of unimaginable power tied directly to the faith he and his followers revered.
The Vault was the main reason he had infiltrated the Academy to begin with.
The protagonist and his little group?
They were nothing to Ivan right now—but mere distractions.
He was leagues ahead of them.
Dispatching them would be effortless, something he could do at any moment of his choosing. For now, they were beneath his attention.