Damn Academy

In the Embrace of the Master

A ragged, balding old vagrant stepped forward.

One of his eyes had turned white, fully devoid of function, while his arms and legs were thin and withered like twigs.

Despite his frail appearance, the vagrant moved with the languid grace of a noble.

Demian knew. His sight was not far gone, and he was not a true vagrant. Merely one of the countless forms the Doppler had learned to mimic.

Clap, clap, clap.

He slowly applauded Demian, revealing yellowed teeth in a grin. There was no respect or reverence in that smile. It was mockery.

Demian sensed that this Doppler was different from those he had faced before.

To understand and wield mockery required a sharper intellect. It seemed to think and act beyond mere imitation of human behavior.

The vagrant spoke in a voice laced with a metallic rasp.

“Welcome back to hell… apprentice of the grand sorcerer.”

Surrounded by Dopplers, there was no escape. Demian looked up at the sky. The dark clouds writhed like serpents. The word “hell” felt rather fitting for a Doppler.

He closed his eyes for a moment, lost in thought. He considered those replaced by Dopplers. He could not even fathom how many had been sacrificed. They must have rotted away, unwept and unburied, without even a small grave to call their own.

And he thought of the prophet, who had died with a pierced throat. He believed the prophet should not have met such an end. He deserved a better conclusion.

Demian opened his eyes.

He did not respond to the Doppler. It would learn and mimic his voice, his manner of speaking.

The vagrant continued.

“You will… die here… and be replaced.”

“….”

“Everything you have learned will become meaningless. That artifact, the swordsmanship, the status of a disciple, the teachings of the academy—none of it matters.”

“…”

A few Dopplers wore grinning expressions, their lips curling into grotesque smiles that stretched to their ears. Before Damian, they seemed to have no intention of appearing human.

From among the enemies, a Guardian wielding a sword began to stride forward. His uniform, soaked by the rain, clung to his thick, muscular arms. He was the body of a seasoned swordsman.

Observing the Dopplers, it was clear they were not preparing to charge as a group.

The Doppler drew his sword and gradually quickened his pace toward Damian. With a precise motion, he swung the blade.

Clang!

Damian parried the strike but felt a numbing sting in his hand. Moreover, being born of a beastly lineage, his raw strength surpassed that of any human.

Yet, it was not enough to corner Damian. After a few exchanges, he deciphered the pattern and swiftly severed the Doppler’s neck.

The other Dopplers formed a circle, quietly watching the scene unfold. There was no flicker of emotion at the death of their kin. It felt as if they were spectators at a street performer’s act.

Only then did it dawn on him. The Dopplers desired not for Damian to surrender and accept death, but rather to struggle against it.

This fight would surely continue until they absorbed Damian’s swordsmanship.

A Doppler, draped in a traveler’s robe, charged at him with a sword held in both hands.

Clang! Clang!

The Doppler thrust the sword in a manner Damian had never experienced before. Twirling like a dancer, two blades struck in a single rhythm. His feet spent more time hovering than touching the ground. Unaccustomed to such flamboyant swordplay, Damian was pushed back step by step.

He recalled that this style of swordsmanship existed in the hot southern continent. Yet, it was not merely imitation; the movements flowed like water, seamless and without flaw.

And the battle stretched longer than before.

As the exchanges exceeded ten, Damian suddenly thrust his sword with blinding speed.

The wooden blade pierced the Doppler’s chest.

“Kyah! Kyaaah!”

As the sword was sheathed, the Doppler let out a sound true to his kind, writhing in pain.

Damian kicked the incapacitated foe aside, clearing him from his path.

There was no moment to rest. As it was his turn, a Doppler clad in imperial knight’s armor charged at him.

This one wielded the orthodox swordsmanship of the imperial order. Having seen many students in Eternia who practiced similar techniques, Damian recognized it well.

Clang! Clang!

The swords clashed fiercely in a series of intense exchanges.

Though it was a refined imperial style, Damian found it strange how the techniques subtly shifted as they fought.

Then, unexpectedly, a blade struck from an unforeseen angle, grazing Damian’s ribs.

He retaliated by pushing the opponent away with his foot, creating distance.

Taking a moment to catch his breath, he readied his stance again. Warmth trickled down his chest. When he touched it, his hand came away stained with blood. This was no trivial opponent.

Had he ever seen blood during a sword duel with a classmate? He remembered that not a single one, except for Zion, had.

His skills were not lacking at all compared to the students of Eternia.

The Dopplers, pushed back, quickly regained their stance.

“…”

“Cough, cough, cough… cough, cough, cough.”

A few Dopplers began to laugh unpleasantly, revealing their yellowed teeth.

Damien bit his lip.

That Doppler mirrored him perfectly. The angle of the sword, the position of the feet, the shape of the hands, even the rhythm of breathing matched. It was as if he were standing before a mirror, creating a disorienting illusion.

Damien glanced around at the Dopplers surrounding him. The more he fought, the more his techniques would be absorbed by them.

*

The afternoon classes at Eternia were abruptly suspended. Though the exact reason was not disclosed, the students knew it was due to the incident at Claridium.

In front of the professors’ building, students gathered, worried about the fate of the art club members.

Rumors spread like wildfire, multiplying and echoing in every corner.

“They say the entire art club is trapped in Claridium. Everyone’s gathering to form a rescue team.”

“No, they all got out safely, I heard!”

“Did the Dopplers show up and they ran away? It’s ridiculous for Claridium to struggle against a few Dopplers.”

“I heard Damien died while trying to help them escape!”

As those students speculated, professors were summoned for an emergency meeting, entering the main building one by one.

The area near the professors’ building was guarded by security and teaching assistants, blocking students from entering.

“Everyone, return to the dorms!”

“Please let us know about Hailey! Please!”

“We can’t give you any definite answers. Step back!”

Cecile rushed to the professors’ building, wearing pajamas with a coat thrown over. In her haste, her hair was damp with sweat.

Clutching a thick stack of documents, she craned her neck, peering through the crowd of students at the main building.

“Cecile?”

Marta called out to Cecile with a puzzled tone upon seeing her. But there was no response.

“Cecile, Cecile!”

Only when she approached from behind and grabbed her shoulder did Cecile turn to look at her friend.

“Cecile, what are you doing here…?”

“…Marta.”

“Are you okay?”

Cecile’s face was smeared with tear tracks.

“No, not at all.”

“Is it because of Damien?”

At the mention of Damien, Cecile wiped her tears away with her forearm, as if refusing to answer, and turned her body away again. She fixed her gaze on the main building of the faculty, leaving Marta behind.

Marta couldn’t bring herself to speak again.

Whispers swirled around the art department and the Claridium, but none of the rumors concerning Damien were good.

There were tales of Damien being left alone, of him being dead, of the art department abandoning him and fleeing—these were the only grim stories echoing around them.

“Professor Candinella!”

Cecile shouted as she spotted Candinella about to enter the main building.

But the crowd was so thick that her voice was quickly swallowed.

In her haste to push through the throng, Cecile stumbled and fell hard to the ground.

The papers she had clutched in her arms scattered across the floor. Her clothes were dirtied, blood trickled from her knee, yet she was too busy picking up the papers to care. Even as people jostled her and stepped on her hands, she was desperate.

Seeing this, Marta rushed to help her. It was strange for Marta, a long-time friend, to see Cecile, usually so proud and unyielding, in such a state of desperation. As she handed the papers back, Cecile accepted them without a word of thanks and pushed through the assistants to approach Candinella.

“Professor, Professor!”

Cecile gripped Candinella’s wrist tightly. Candinella looked at her, eyes wide with surprise.

“…?”

“Damien, is Damien okay? Where is he right now? You know, don’t you?”

“We are doing our best to understand the situation. You should return to the dormitory. Your presence here is only a distraction.”

“Please, save my friend Damien. Find a way to rescue him, somehow. Please, please. You’re a war hero, aren’t you? Can’t you do something with magic?”

Candinella, unable to shake off her own wavering heart, spoke softly.

“The physical distance is too great. The power of magic is vast, but it is not omnipotent.”

“If that’s the case… then…”

“We will do everything we can. There are many ways to track down Doppler. The imperial troops stationed near Claridium will soon be dispatched for support… Damien will be okay.”

Tears welled up in Cecile’s eyes again. She looked like someone suffering from the worry of a husband dragged off to war.

“No. I don’t think it will end so easily. You know that too, Professor. The problem is far more serious than that. You understand what it means that the most skilled Claridium has fallen to such a state. Damien could lose everything.”

Cecile’s words seemed to strike a nerve, and Candinella’s expression hardened slightly.

“This. This is the information I found. It will surely help.”

Candinella stared at the documents Cecile offered, her arm trembling as she held the stack of papers. With her resolve softening, Candinella took the documents and reassured her once more.

“I will take this information into account. Now, you should go back. Don’t listen too closely to the rumors.”

Cecile was caught by the late-arriving assistants. As she was dragged away, Candynella looked on with pity.

Marta followed Cecile, arriving too late. When she finally found her again through the crowd, Cecile was sitting in the street, her face hidden in her hands, weeping.

“Cecile….”

Marta approached, placing a hand on Cecile’s shoulder to support her.

The Cecile Marta knew was a woman like a viper, one who would somehow survive alone even if the world crumbled around her. She could never have imagined that a single man could bring her to such ruin.

*

Damien’s sword cleaved through Doppler’s upper body.

This was the twenty-first, yet the number of Dopplers surrounding him showed no sign of diminishing.

With each battle, Damien’s body was nearing its limits. Blood mixed with rainwater streamed from the rips in his clothes, torn by the blades.

And the Dopplers grew fiercer, their swords becoming increasingly difficult to counter.

As they watched Damien cornered, the Dopplers sneered.

When the next opponent stepped forward, Damien hurled his wooden sword away.

The attack, aimed at an opening, pierced the opponent’s shoulder and lodged into the wall before they could even prepare.

“Kyah! Kyaaak!”

The ambushed Doppler was pinned against the wall, writhing in pain, but no one came to help.

Damien made no move to finish him off, merely keeping his distance and waiting.

Soon, he took an action the Dopplers had never seen before.

He knelt on one knee, closed his eyes, and steadied his breath.

None of the Dopplers understood Damien’s actions. They could not even guess what it meant. It was not a choice of death, for there was still life in him, yet it was too calm to be a desperate struggle.

The Doppler, who had been impaled by the wooden sword, finally freed himself and charged at Damien.

With a fierce momentum, he closed the distance quickly, but Damien did not flinch.

Even as the frenzied Doppler’s blade surged toward him, piercing his shoulder, Damien did not open his eyes.

In a razor-thin moment, Damien twisted his body to evade. Then, seizing the sword discarded by a nearby corpse, he swiftly plunged it into his opponent’s neck.

“Guh, Graaah, Gwaak.”

Damien pierced the throat and drove the blade into the ground. Like an insect pinned by a pair of tweezers, the Doppler thrashed helplessly.

The next Doppler, sword in hand, charged at him. Mimicking Damien’s previous movement, he thrust his blade toward Damien’s neck. But Damien severed the opponent’s arm. Before the severed limb even hit the ground, he drove the sword into the opponent’s neck.

“Gwaak, Gwaak!”

And without mercy, he impaled him, driving the sword into the earth. Two bodies writhed in agony.

The next Doppler met the same fate, unable to even strike once before being pierced through the neck and falling to the ground.

The following Doppler, keeping his distance, attempted to meditate like Damien. Such a clumsy imitation could never succeed. He died with Damien’s thrown sword piercing his brow.

A stir began to ripple among the Dopplers. It was because Demian’s swordsmanship rendered their attempts to mimic him utterly ineffective. The evolution of the swordplay was happening on Demian’s side instead.

Demian, having pinned down a Doppler that had dared to challenge him, left it writhing in agony before immediately entering a state of meditation.

With each fight, the only thing that increased was the number of Dopplers stuck to the ground, flailing helplessly.

Eventually, they began to come at him in pairs, then in threes, launching their attacks against Demian.

And when they realized that even that was futile, the Dopplers charged at him all at once.

*

After the meeting, Calios stood with his hands clasped behind his back in the main hall of the Faculty Building, where the entire landscape of Eternia was laid out before him.

His assistant, Delphion, waited silently behind him. Upon hearing news of Claridium and Demian, Calios fell into deep thought. In a situation where every moment was critical, his hesitation gnawed at Delphion’s insides.

“Calios-nim.”

“Speak.”

“Are you considering lending your strength to Claridium? If you give the order, I will seek the fastest passage available.”

“Even if we leave at once, it would be too late.”

“Then….”

“Stop. My going will not change the outcome.”

Calios despised the waste of unnecessary emotions. He was quick to calculate even in matters of feeling, preferring a highly economical approach. If the outcome could not be altered, he would no longer expend his mental energy on it.

Perhaps he had already calculated Demian’s situation as well.

“Do you truly believe Demian can handle the Doppler swarm? No matter how exceptional his talent, he lacks experience and has not trained under you for long.”

Calios stroked his beard with one hand.

“You seem to worry about him more than I do.”

“You have shown considerable fondness for him, Calios-nim. That is why I have kept a close eye on him.”

Calios let out a breath of disbelief.

“If you had truly been observant, you would know which side is facing disaster.”

Delphion blinked, unable to grasp the meaning behind his words.

“What do you mean by that…?”

“He is worse than the Dopplers.”

“…Pardon?”

Calios shook his head slowly, fixing his gaze out the window.

“We will be of more use remaining in Eternia.”

*

Before the House of Love, where the prophet met his death, the ground was littered with Dopplers, each one pierced through the neck. Some had perished, writhing in agony, while the rest remained fixed to the earth, caught in a state that was neither life nor death.

Using the skills of humanity honed over many years, a full-scale assault was launched, yet no one could bring down Damian.

After finishing the battle against dozens of Dopplers, Damian retrieved the wooden sword embedded in the wall. Though victorious, he was far from unscathed.

Without even brushing aside his damp, disheveled hair, he staggered toward a destination unknown.

He came to a halt before a ragged Doppler, who clapped and mocked him.

This Doppler, missing both arms and legs, was in relatively good condition otherwise. Damian had deliberately left him alive, just enough to suffer.

“Kiak! Kiaaak!”

As Damian approached, the Doppler shrieked in terror. Having witnessed Damian tear through his kind, fear gripped him tightly.

Damian seized the Doppler by the collar and lifted him off the ground. For the first time, he spoke directly to the creature.

“Tell your filthy leader. I will hunt you down one by one and tear you apart without mercy.”

“Kiak! Kiak!”

The Doppler, caught by the collar, could not meet Damian’s gaze, twisting and turning in a futile attempt to escape.

Despite the many Dopplers he had slaughtered, Damian’s eyes still burned with unquenched rage.

“I have not come to hell. I am your hell.”

—