35. Fiend (Patreon)

Luke sat in silence, the gentle hum of his system interface slicing through the dull murmur of pre-class chatter. The flickering window before him wasn’t visible to anyone else, a confidential ability granted to him alone—an invisible privilege that let him peer into the status windows of his peers. He moved through them with the focus of a surgeon, analyzing trends, tracing patterns, watching the slow crawl of numbers inch upward as students improved with time.

Then he stopped.

Roy’s status window appeared. And for the first time in a while, Luke leaned in.

The numbers he saw weren’t just surprising—they were unsettling. Most of his main stats were nearing 50s. And Luke attributed the reasoning to the new 'Title' Roy's screen had. Kobold Slayer.

Roy had already begun tackling Beginner 3-star Kobold dungeons, a tier higher than the Spider Cave Luke had cleared not long ago. Most students weren’t even close to attempting 2-star challenges, and yet Roy was pushing boundaries. The pattern became even clearer as Luke scanned through the windows of Roy’s usual circle. Their stats had surged alongside his, indicating a coordinated party, likely formed early in the semester.

But even that didn’t explain everything. Roy’s growth wasn’t merely the result of group synergy. His stat gains had leapt at a rate that hinted at some deeper advantage—something carefully hidden. Luke could recognize it because he carried a secret of his own.

He blinked the window away.

Still, the thought didn’t stir much concern. Whatever method Roy was using, it wouldn’t be enough. Luke was certain of that. In time, he would outpace them all.

A subtle creak sounded as the door opened.

Professor Elric entered the room with the same measured poise he always carried. His footsteps echoed with finality, commanding silence without ever needing to raise his voice. Within seconds, the scattered hum of voices died down, as if the very presence of the man urged quiet obedience.

He made his way to the front of the room and gave a single glance to the assembled class before speaking.

"As some of you may have heard," he began, voice clipped but steady, "a new student will be joining us today. They are somewhat late to the semester, but I expect you to offer them the respect and courtesy extended to any member of this institution."

He turned toward the door.

"You may enter now."

A moment passed.

Then she appeared.

The moment the girl stepped into view, the atmosphere within the classroom shifted. The change was immediate and visceral. Chatter ceased. Backs stiffened. Even breaths seemed to falter.

She was tall, her stride composed and silent as she moved into the light. Her skin bore a rich tone of warm crimson, smoothed like fine clay, faintly marked with symmetrical ridges across her collarbone—delicate yet sharp, almost like ritualistic engravings carved by nature itself. Her ears, long and curved back like an elf's, bore a subtle twist, and from her forehead rose two small but undeniable horns—elegant in their shape, curling slightly toward her temples.

She did not speak. She didn’t need to.

The tension that rippled through the room was instant and absolute.

Whispers erupted—sharp and panicked, bitter and disbelieving. Some muttered behind hands, others couldn’t suppress their sneers. From corners and rows came wary glares, a mix of fear and loathing. Even among the diverse mix of students—elves, dwarves, orcs, beastkin—the reaction was almost uniform.

Disdain.

Disgust.

Distrust.

Only the humans from Earth remained puzzled, unsure of what exactly had caused the mood to turn.

But Luke understood.

He had read the records. Studied the war chronicles. The word fiend carried weight in Eldoria—a heavy, bloodstained weight. Their kind had once stood alongside demons during the Great Demon War, a calamity that nearly shattered the world’s balance. Entire empires had fallen. Countless lives lost. Though the war ended centuries ago, its shadow had never truly lifted. The descendants of those infernal legions were forever marked by it.

And now, one of them stood in the doorway of Berch Gyara Academy.

The very academy tasked with producing the next generation of heroes.

It was unthinkable.

Why? Why would Sylvie Redfern—a woman known for her strategic brilliance and ruthless discernment—allow a fiend to walk through the gates of an institution that symbolized humanity’s recovery? The implications were staggering, and the backlash would be nothing short of catastrophic. Luke’s thoughts spun in silence, lips pressed into a tight line.

The mutters had grown louder. Accusations on the edge of being voiced. Students shifting in their seats, some rising ever so slightly.

Then Elric acted.

He didn’t raise his hand. He didn’t shout.

He simply released it.

The aura that rolled from him wasn’t seen—it was felt. A silent pressure that wrapped around the classroom like a vice, dense and suffocating. It was cold, refined, surgical. There was no malice in it, only authority—the kind that brooked no refusal. Students froze mid-motion, mid-thought.

And then it passed.

"If any of you question the decisions made by this Academy," Elric said, his voice smooth as steel drawn from its sheath, "you are free to file a formal complaint through the appropriate channels. But you will not bring that noise into my classroom."

A tense silence fell again. And this time, it remained.

He turned to the girl.

She had shown no response to the hostility. No flinch, no hesitation. Her eyes drifted lazily across the classroom, unimpressed and unreadable. The slight curl to her lips might have been amusement—or sheer boredom.

"Introduce yourself," Elric instructed, expression carefully neutral.

She tilted her head.

"Lilith Grinmaw," she said. Her voice was low, unhurried, almost disinterested. She didn’t raise it, yet everyone heard her.

Elric’s fingers pinched the bridge of his nose in a rare display of exasperation. He already knew she wouldn’t make this easy. The students wouldn’t welcome her, and she wasn’t inclined to care.

"Find a seat," he muttered. "We begin shortly."

She began walking, her gaze gliding across the room once more. Some students looked away. Others stiffened as her eyes passed over them. None met her gaze for long.

Then her eyes locked onto Luke.

Her lips curved upward.

It wasn’t threatening.

But it wasn’t comforting either.

It was knowing.

Luke’s spine prickled with unease.

She moved toward him, steps fluid, ignoring the widening gap students created around her. Her destination was clear.

The seat beside Luke.

Trenton was already sitting there, caught mid-turn as she stopped in front of him.

"Move," she said.

Her tone wasn’t cruel or hostile. Just absolute.

Trenton stared for a moment, looking like he might protest. Then he caught her expression—or perhaps the silence that followed—and he slumped to his feet with a defeated sigh. He cast Luke a look that combined pity, apology, and fear.

It was the look of a man who had just passed a death sentence to his friend.

Lilith slid into the seat without another word.

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Luke sat unnervingly still, his chin resting on a knuckle as he tried to focus on Professor Martha’s droning lecture about familiar healthcare. Diagrams floated in the air—projected by magic—outlining anatomy models and mana-linked threads between summoners and their companions. His quill scribbled automatically, but his thoughts were nowhere near the subject matter.

Because she was still staring at him.

Lilith Grinmaw.

She leaned against her desk with the kind of relaxed arrogance that came naturally to someone utterly unconcerned with social norms or scrutiny. Her elbow propped her head up, her fingers gently touching her cheek as her piercing eyes remained fixed on Luke—unblinking, unashamed, and uninterested in anything else. The blatant staring was driving him insane.

He refused to meet her gaze. He refused to give her the satisfaction.

But inwardly, he was wracking his brain.

What the hell does she want? What is her game?

She hadn’t said a word to him since class started. Not even a smirk or whisper. Just that silent, amused gaze that drilled holes into his composure. He tried to analyze it, tried to make sense of it, but there were no patterns—no logic. Just her and that goddamn stare.

When the class finally ended, Luke didn’t wait. He shot up from his seat and exited before the professor could even dismiss them, letting the idle classroom chatter fade behind him. He headed straight for the canteen, hoping for a breath of normalcy and some peace of mind. Lunch was a sacred hour. He would eat, talk nonsense with Trenton and Jasmine, and ignore the strange direction his morning had taken.

He reached the canteen and chose an empty table tucked into a corner. The noise of students ordering food and dragging chairs created a buzzing background hum. He sat down, letting out a long breath.

Finally.

No Lilith. No stares. No weirdness.

He waited.

And waited.

But neither Trenton nor Jasmine showed up. Instead, just as he was beginning to feel the silence again, a familiar presence glided into the seat across from him.

Clink.

A tray of food slid onto the table. The smell of seasoned meat and crisp greens reached him before he even looked up. But he didn’t need to look.

"You're kidding me," he muttered.

Lilith rested her chin on her hand once more, a soft smile tugging at her lips as her crimson eyes danced with amusement. Around them, murmurs bloomed instantly. Students leaned in to whisper, pointing and speculating without shame. Luke could feel their stares like needles.

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Alright," he said finally, picking up his fork. "I'll bite. What’s going on? Why are you following me around like some creepy shadow?"

Lilith’s smile widened, and she gave a short, melodic laugh.

"Took you long enough. I was starting to wonder if you were mute."

Luke rolled his eyes. "Haha. Hilarious. Seriously—what do you want?"

She tilted her head. "Don’t flatter yourself. It’s not you I want. My master told me to stick close."

Luke’s brow furrowed. "Your master?"

She nodded casually and pulled something out—he didn’t know from where. A neatly folded letter, sealed with a wax emblem.

"Sylvie Redfern," she said, as she slid the letter across the table. "She told me to keep an eye on you. Said to pass this on."

Luke froze for a second, everything clicking into place.

Sylvie Redfern.

It had been so long since he heard that name in any meaningful context. The first person to bid on him during the Candidate Ceremony. The one whose interest had unexpectedly ignited Garhan’s envy and pushed the bidding war that landed Luke in Garhan’s camp. And after that, nothing. Not a single message. No summons. No tasks. Not even a hello.

And now this?

He carefully took the letter and tucked it into the inner pocket of his jacket. His voice was low. "So she sends a demon-born emissary instead of a message. Nice."

Lilith smirked. "Fiend, thank you very much."

He narrowed his eyes. "How did you know who I was the moment you walked into the class? Did Sylvie give you a picture or something?"

Lilith’s expression brightened further. There was laughter in her eyes now.

"Nope. She just told me to find the most handsome guy in the room."

Luke blinked.

He let out a wry chuckle, thinking she was teasing—until he caught the sincerity in her expression. That threw him off. He scratched the back of his head, trying to play it cool, but the slight embarrassment creeping up his neck betrayed him.

Lilith cleared her throat and looked away, her tone softening.

"So... since my master said so, I guess we should be friends."

Luke gave her a look. "Yeah, totally. Friends. That’s us."

She didn't seem fazed by the sarcasm. Her gaze flicked toward Luke’s shoulder.

"You’ve got a cute pet."

"I know," Luke said, rubbing Szeth’s scaled head gently. The metallic serpent remained coiled and half-asleep, his three-colored crystal tail flicking lazily in response.

He glanced around, lowering his voice slightly. "Still haven’t figured out how to recall him. Everyone else seems to have that spell, but..."

He trailed off. According to Professor Martha, not all familiars came with the Familiar Recall spell. Some, though rare, existed permanently in this dimension. Szeth was one of them. Thankfully, his weightless form made it easy to carry him around, but the inconvenience still nagged at Luke. He made a mental note to look into spell alternatives later.

Their lunch passed in relative silence after that—awkward but not unpleasant. Students continued to glance their way, but Lilith paid them no mind, and Luke stopped caring after the first ten minutes. When they finished, they returned to class side by side.

Professor Yorth entered the lecture hall moments later. He was one of the more pragmatic instructors—stern but fair.

"Listen well," he said without preamble. "This may be an academy, but we don’t measure progress through traditional means. No semester exams. No final written tests. Everything you do here is graded by your actions—by results of mock tests and events."

The room quieted. The weight of his tone was clear.

"And now," he continued, "you have a chance to push those results even further. As of this week, your academic phase transitions. You will be given the opportunity to take on your first official missions in the real world."

The announcement sent a ripple through the room. Excitement, anxiety, curiosity. All mixed.

Luke sat up straighter.

Things were finally about to begin.

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Lilith GrinmawLilith Grinmaw Staring at Luke------------------