Free Web NovelThe stairs were very long.
Pavela counted the steps as she walked down.
Thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four...
The light from the gas lamps grew increasingly sparse until, eventually, she had to rely almost entirely on the fluorescent ore embedded in the walls.
That cold, blue-green glow made the entire stairwell look like the digestive tract of some deep-sea creature.
The air changed as well.
The air above ground carried the dryness of a sunny day and the scent of fallen leaves, but here... it was damp, cold, and filled with an indescribable smell, like rust or something else entirely.
Fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine.
Pavela's feet finally landed on level ground.
Before her was a corridor, much narrower than the teaching area above. The walls on both sides were bare rock, reinforced only at the joints with steam pipes and copper rivets.
At the end of the corridor was a door.
An iron door.
It was a heavy iron door with a complex locking mechanism, its surface covered in patterns Pavela couldn't understand. Under the light of the fluorescent ore, those patterns pulsed with a faint red glow, like some ancient warning.
The door was slightly ajar. freewebnovёl.ƈom
Pavela pushed the door open and entered.
It was a classroom.
If this place could even be called a "classroom."
It was much larger than she had imagined.
The room resembled a repurposed underground cavern with a ceiling about ten meters high, made of rough rock. A massive steam chandelier hung from the center, its brass frame entwined with dozens of pipes that emitted a low hum.
The floor, however, had been meticulously treated, paved with dark gray stone tiles. The gaps between the tiles were filled with a black substance that shimmered slightly under the light.
There were no desks.
Only a semi-circle of high-backed chairs made of black iron and leather, looking more like instruments of torture than furniture.
Three people were already seated.
Pavela stood at the doorway and took about three seconds to scan the room.
Three people.
Two men and one woman.
Each of them looked... quite "unique."
...
Closest to the door was a man.
Calling him a man might be a stretch; his face looked excessively young, perhaps seventeen or eighteen, but his eyes held a gloominess that didn't match his age.
He had a messy mop of black hair that looked like it hadn't been combed in days, with the ends curling out in every direction.
His skin was sickly pale, and a thin scar ran from the left corner of his mouth down to his chin.
He wore the academy's male uniform, but in a rather reckless fashion—his jacket was open, and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing his collarbone and the edge of some tattoo.
At that moment, he was carving something with a small knife.
Pavela looked closer; it was a piece of wood.
He carved with focus, wood shavings falling to his feet and forming a small pile.
"Another one."
He didn't look up, his voice raspy like sandpaper on wood. "This time it's a... girl?"
He finally lifted his eyelids, revealing a pair of dark gray eyes.
Those eyes narrowed slightly the moment they saw Pavela.
"Oh."
He uttered an ambiguous syllable and went back to carving his wood. "She's really small."
Pavela decided to temporarily ignore this fellow, whose social skills were clearly in the negatives.
The second person sat in the very center of the semi-circle.
She was a woman.
Or rather, a girl.
But Pavela felt it was strange to describe her as a "girl."
She looked about the same age as Pavela, maybe fifteen or sixteen, but her aura was like a fine aged wine—calm, reserved, and carrying a certain weight settled by the years.
She had extremely long platinum-blonde hair that almost reached the floor, coiling around the chair like a sleeping snake.
Her skin was also white, so pale it was almost transparent, showing the thin blue veins beneath her temples.
She wore the standard academy female uniform but had a large gray cloak draped over it, the hood pulled down to hide half her face, revealing only her dainty nose and pale lips.
She didn't look at Pavela.
She was looking at her own hands.
More precisely, she was looking at a ball of... light in her palm?
It was a cluster of faint silver-white light, like solidified moonlight, slowly rotating in her palm.
Pavela's pupils contracted slightly.
She recognized this light.
No, she hadn't seen this light before.
But something in her mind stirred slightly the moment she saw it.
Danger.
This was an instinctive judgment.
But Pavela's expression didn't change. She simply walked forward a few more steps and chose a chair furthest from the white-haired girl.
The third person sat at the far right of the semi-circle.
This was a man, without a doubt.
He was tall, even while sitting—his legs were excessively long, nearly stretching to the other side.
He had a lean build and broad shoulders, wearing the academy uniform as if it were combat gear.
His hair was deep red, like dried blood, cut very short into a buzz cut.
His face...
Pavela looked closely and noticed burn marks on his face.
It wasn't a small burn, but a large scar extending from his right temple all the way down to his neck.
The skin was twisted and shriveled, a gruesome texture of dark red and pale white.
But he clearly didn't care.
He didn't even try to hide it with hair or anything else.
He just tilted his head and studied Pavela with his only good eye, the left one.
That eye was golden, like burning embers.
"The one from the Schwartz Family?"
His voice was unexpectedly calm, even curious. "I've heard of you. You caused quite a stir at the dueling arena yesterday."
He grinned, revealing a smile.
The scar made the smile look a bit menacing, but Pavela could tell it was a sincere, friendly one.
"My name is Frederick von Ashford."
He raised a hand and gave a casual wave. "You can call me Fred. Everyone does."
Pavela settled into her chair and adjusted her posture.
These chairs were clearly not designed for comfort; the backs were too straight and the armrests too high, making it feel as if invisible hands were pressing down on her shoulders.
"Pavela von Schwartz."
She introduced herself politely, her voice crisp and flat. "Please take care of me."
"Oho, noble etiquette."
The black-haired man carving wood gave a sneer, still without looking up. "No need for that here."
"Reinhardt, don't scare the newcomer."
Frederick spoke up to stop him, his tone tinged with helplessness. "It's her first day; can't you act a bit more normal?"
"I am normal."
The man called Reinhardt finally looked up, staring at Pavela with those gloomy gray eyes for a few seconds before looking back down to continue carving. "It's you lot who aren't normal."
Pavela raised an eyebrow slightly.
But she chose not to comment for now.
"And she is...?"
Her gaze turned toward the white-haired girl, questioning Frederick with her eyes.
"Alicia."
Frederick's voice lowered slightly. "Alicia Frostmoon. She doesn't talk much. Don't mind her."
Frostmoon.
Pavela searched her mind for the surname but found no related memories.
Not an Imperial noble, yet she had a surname.
The style wasn't from Usar either.
Alicia still didn't react, as if she hadn't heard their conversation at all.
The silver light in her palm began to change shape, from a sphere into a flower, then from a flower into a butterfly, finally dissipating like a wisp of smoke.
"There aren't many people."
Pavela looked around. "Just the four of us?"
"Oh, more than that."
Frederick leaned back, a hint of a smile flashing in his golden eyes. "Instructor Margaret has more students than just us. It's just that the others are out on missions."
"Missions?"
"Yeah, all sorts of missions."
Frederick waved his hand casually. "Some are in the north, some in the east, and a few were sent to investigate something... anyway, they're quite busy. You'll meet them eventually."
He paused, showing a playful smile.
"Actually, we all get along quite well."
"...Really?"
Pavela's gaze swept over Reinhardt and Alicia.
One had barely looked up the whole time, and the other seemed to live in her own world.
This was called "getting along well"?
Frederick clearly read her expression and explained with a laugh:
"Don't be fooled by appearances. Reinhardt here just has a foul mouth, but when it comes to a real fight, he's more reliable than anyone. Alicia... well, she's a bit special, but as long as you don't provoke her, she's actually very gentle."
"Gentle?"
Pavela looked again at the white-haired girl who seemed isolated from the world.
"For example, last time some blind fool was rude to her."
Frederick's tone became light, as if telling a funny story. "Alicia just gave him a look that made him have nightmares for three weeks before letting him off. Isn't that pretty gentle?"
"..."
Pavela felt her understanding of the word "gentle" might need an update.
"Hey."
Reinhardt suddenly spoke, his voice still raspy. "Don't scare the newcomer away."
"I'm not," Frederick spread his hands innocently. "I'm building up her mental fortitude."
"Then your construction is a failure."
"You care too much, Knife Boy."
"Who are you calling Knife Boy, Burn Face?"
The two bickered back and forth; though their words were sharp, Pavela could feel there was no real malice.
This was more like... daily banter between friends.
She relaxed slightly.
Although none of these people seemed easy to deal with.
But at least they didn't look like the type to stab someone in the back.
"By the way."
Frederick suddenly remembered something and turned to Pavela. "What are you?"
Pavela blinked.
"What?"
Frederick was stunned for a moment, seemingly not expecting that answer.
"You know... The Way Back."
He looked at her with a "you've got to be kidding me" expression. "Which path are you on?"
"I don't know."
Pavela's answer was blunt and straightforward, without any intention of hiding anything.
"General Margaret said I'm some kind of Destroyer. But to be honest, I have no idea what that means."
She spread her hands, her tone somewhat helpless.
"The Way Back, Wayfarer, sequence... I only heard these terms recently. What they are exactly, how they work, what the rules are—I haven't a clue."
The room went silent for a few seconds.
Reinhardt's knife stopped mid-air; it was the first time he had completely ceased his movements.
Frederick's expression shifted from surprise to confusion, and then to an indescribable complexity.
"Wait."
He sat up straight, his golden eyes fixed on Pavela. "You're saying... you became a Destroyer and have lived until now without knowing any of this?"
"That's about right."
Pavela nodded, her attitude so frank it was almost innocent.
"I only know that once I lost control and really wanted to... destroy things. Then General Margaret told me that if I didn't learn to control it, I would eventually be consumed by my own power."
She paused and tilted her head.
"So, I came here."
Frederick and Reinhardt exchanged a look.
That look contained too much information for Pavela to fully grasp, but she could sense shock, disbelief, and... a subtle hint of awe?
"You're a wild one?"
Reinhardt finally spoke, his voice deeper than before. "No guide, no contract, no ritual... getting this far purely on instinct."
"If 'wild' is what that means."
Pavela shrugged. "Then I suppose I am."
"No wonder the General personally brought you in."
Frederick leaned back, his expression turning meaningful.
"A Destroyer of the Path of the Tower, and a wild one at that... You're either a genius or a lunatic."
"Maybe both."
Pavela smiled slightly. "My self-perception is still being updated."
Reinhardt stared at her for a few seconds before lowering his head to continue carving his wood.
But this time, the corners of his mouth seemed to turn up slightly.
"I take back what ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ I said earlier."
He said, a nearly imperceptible hint of approval in his voice.
"You're normal."
The iron door was suddenly pushed open.
The heavy grinding of metal echoed through the empty basement like the low growl of some great beast.
Pavela looked back.
Two people stood at the doorway.
Leading the way was a tall, thin man in his forties, wearing a well-tailored black tailcoat.
His hair was salt-and-pepper, combed meticulously; his face was lean, and a pair of gold-rimmed glasses sat on the bridge of his nose.
He didn't look like an instructor.
He looked more like a butler for some noble family.
But Pavela noticed the way he walked—silent, fluid, his center of gravity always in the optimal position for movement.
This was a stride perfected through rigorous training.
Not a butler.
An assassin.
Or... he used to be.
And walking behind him...
"Good morning, children."
Major General Margaret von Oppenheimer's voice came from the doorway, carrying its usual laziness and playfulness.
She wasn't wearing her military uniform today, but had changed into a simple dark dress with a dark green trench coat draped over it.
Her left shoulder was slightly bulged, the sign of a bandage.
Her gaze swept over the four people present, finally landing on Pavela.
"Oh, you're here."
She walked to the center of the semi-circular chair arrangement and stood opposite the white-haired girl, a smile appearing on her face.
"It seems Fred has already made the introductions?"
"I've got the gist of it,"
Pavela nodded, "though I seem to have revealed some things I shouldn't have."
"Like the fact that you know nothing about The Way Back?"
Margaret raised an eyebrow, her tone teasing.
"It's fine. Here, ignorance is not a sin."
She spread her arms in an exaggerated gesture of welcome.
"Welcome to hell, Miss Pavela."
"I will be your Gatekeeper, Margaret von Oppenheimer."
