"Can't a fellow catch a decent night's rest around here?" A voice from across the cramped room grumbled. "I've been pounded to pieces by that demonic instructor. I couldn't even properly visit Adela today. By the gods, if she wasn't such a delightful lady, I wouldn't put up with this madness." The speaker then buried his face into a pillow, still muttering to himself.

The chubby guy cast his gaze upon the other boy and huffed disdainfully before resuming his meal.

Asrar released a weary sigh, yet refrained from inquiring about the time anymore. He surmised that it must still be prior to the striking of midnight as his two roommates were both awake.

Among his roommates, Baldwinn, the chubby lad, was a fifteen-year-old with a voracious appetite. He never forsook the chance to partake in a bedtime snack and was enamored with chicken, which was now really considered a rare treat in this academy that imposed numerous restrictions.

And Gawain, the sleeping youth, was a handsome sixteen-year-old with a penchant for self-adoration. His appearance was paramount in his mind, above even his admiration for the fairer sex. He was often caught perusing texts in search of ways to improve his looks, and he spent countless hours gazing into the looking glass, trying out various hairstyles in an attempt to perfect his appearance.

Though each of them possessed pecuilar personalities, they were both of noble blood or affiliated with nobility in some way. After all, it was a challenging feat for mere commoners to secure admission into the "Black Hand Academy".

The three of them were boarding a branch of the Black Hand Academy called—"Raven's Perch".

Throughout the kingdom, numerous other branches of the academy flourished, though Asrar was cognizant of only two others: the renowned "Serpent's Den" and the nearby "Owl's Nest".

However, not only the Black Hand Academy but also the Wizarding Academy and the Iron Legion Academy boasted numerous branches dispersed throughout the kingdom. This was due to the challenge of accommodating all students within a single location, particularly for the latter two institutions, which admitted commoners of exceptional talent as well.

It had been a week since that harrowing experience started plaguing his dreams. The occurrence, in truth, had also transpired in reality, as a week earlier he had been granted leave from the academy to visit his sister, who had passed out during a tournament match.

And he, along with his family members and the guard Waller, had fled the nursing home unscathed, following Harold's effortless triumph over the so-called "witch". However, at no point in time had they encountered the shrouded figure that kept appearing in his dreams; they had merely defeated the nurse, and the spellbinding illusion dissipated almost instantly.

The denizens, patients, and personnel of the nursing home were thrown into a state of disarray as they too were ensnared by the illusion. Upon its lifting, all fled in a frenzied stampede, toppling one another in their haste. Eventually, word of the event spread throughout the city like a plague.

Harold's head throbbed from the situation, as he had lacked the time to rectify it. He spread the 'truth' that a wicked witch was to blame and had already been captured, to calm the worries of the townspeople.

Harold's suspicion simmered like a cauldron's brew, so he dispatched the nurse to the dungeons' chamber of torment in search of answers. He didn't believe one bit that the nurse was a witch, since she lacked the methods of one. Yet, even after the extended hours of anguish, the nurse's lips remained sealed, and all that escaped her mouth were frantic mutterings, like those of a crazed lunatic.

The following day, an emissary from the monastery of light made an appearance at their estate, his bearing proud and arrogant as he demanded the handover of the supposed witch.

Harold's suspicion festered, while Algar, who was originally preparing to return to his academy, nearly hurtled down the stairs, his hand itching to draw his blade and confront the Inquisitor's arrogance. On the brink of violence, he was restrained by the swift actions of his loyal servants.

And thus, after that episode had ended, the inquisitor and his entourage departed, taking the nurse in tow.

Yet, despite everything that transpired, both Harold and Asrar remained steadfast in their conviction that the nurse was not, in fact, a practitioner of witchcraft. The reason was simple—she was too weak.

While the monastery's people left, the cleric, accompanying the inquisitor's entourage, remained in order to tend to Earline with the holy power at his command. However, he was displeased with Alger's actions and voiced his discontent with huffs and snorts. It was only upon the promise of a hefty sum that he agreed to heal the girl, much to Harold's frustration. The expenses weighed heavily upon Harold, causing him to exhale in vexation, and for an hour straight he took his son to a secluded place, imparting his wisdom and rebuke, before his mother came and remedied the situation with a smile.

She was Harold's wife—Cordelia Nightingale, once a beautiful woman from a fallen noble house, who became Cordelia Averille when she wed Harold, a commoner of surprising ambition.

The reason for her absence from the nursing home was due to the fact that upon hearing of her daughter's injury, she fainted on the spot, and was left in the care of their loyal servants whilst the others set forth on the carriage.

This, showcasing just how much she cared for her children; however, despite her kind and nurturing nature, Asrar was not of her blood, and thus, her children with Harold—Algar and Earline—were only Asrar's half-siblings.

Asrar's mother, a simple villager, had passed away from illness, and his memories of her appearance were but faint wisps of a distant past.

With a groan, Asrar pushed himself upright, feeling the after-effects of his long slumber in every aching muscle. As he took stock of his surroundings, he suddenly remembered the events of the day, realizing he had slept for a full day, missing Master Aelwen's class.

He sighed heavily before his thoughts turned to the instructor, whose beauty and tranquil appearance hid a fiery spirit that loathed all who dared to miss her teachings.

She most likely wouldn't believe whatever excuse I gave.

The reason for his prolonged sleep was simple, albeit tumultuous. Night after night, his sleep was disturbed by a recurring nightmare that had tormented his mind for the past week. And with the grueling exercises inflicted upon him by that relentless female instructor, it was no wonder he succumbed to a full day of slumber after enduring it all.

Fortunately, after a long day's sleep, he felt renewed and refreshed, the remnants of his nightmare fading away. And now, unable to return to bed, he made the decision to venture outside and take a quick stroll.

With a concern for the chill of the night, he donned warm garments from his wardrobe and carried with him a flickering oil lamp and a book. The book was a copy of the first volume of the "Chronicles of Eldor", which recounted the tale of a prince from a long-lost country and his quest to reclaim his kingdom. He hoped that the book and lamp would make the night a little less lonely.

Asrar was uncertain if the story was based on truth or merely its author's fantasy, yet he had spent the past seven days devouring its pages. His purpose was to immerse himself further in the world of the book and become more acquainted with the ways of this world.

And the reason for such a thing was simple—he had regained his past life memories.

Indeed, Asrar's memories of his past life had resurfaced on that fateful day. He remembered being a physician from a world called Earth, one advanced beyond the one he now inhabited; to be more precise, he was a toxicologist. Which was the main reason why he quickly detected the poisons on the desserts.

In his former life, he had been born into a middle-class family that supported him unwaveringly, nurturing his success in his chosen profession.

While in this world, he was born in a small, impoverished village and had grown up with the difficulties that came with such a life. But his father had risen to nobility when he was but ten years old, and their circumstances had dramatically improved since then.

However, despite residing in this world for nearly fifteen years, Asrar had never taken the time to learn and study it, not until the memories of his past life came flooding back.

Sigh. I used to be really laid back.

Quietly, Asrar reached for a darkish green cloak hanging from the door, put it on, and made his exit, leaving behind his two roommates, one lost in peaceful dreams and the other contentedly savoring the remnants of a meal.

The moon shone like a beacon in the star-spangled night sky, illuminating Asrar's path as he pondered past missteps and the looming threat he was facing in those nightmares. He strolled out of the small dormitories and onto the road ahead.

Not all of the road was illuminated by magic bulbs, so he carried an oil lamp to guide him through the darkened parts of the route.

Asrar walked directly past the training grounds and veered away from the enchanted garden, where couples were known to rendezvous. The garden was guarded by two regal stone lions, whose vigilant gaze sprung to life at night, as if they possessed their own spirits.

Ironically, the stone lions that guarded the garden were a source of great frustration for the lovers who sought to rendezvous within its walls. The males, in particular, after days of training and piled up stress, were consumed with desire, and the enchanted garden was their only haven of amour. Yet, the watchful gaze of the stony beasts made it nigh impossible for them to indulge their passions at night.

Some rumors of those who dared to defy the lions and indulge in trysts regardless of their presence had come to Asrar's ears. Yet, those who dared to ignore the lions' warning did not have a good ending. The stone lions, it seemed, never slumbered, and their unyielding vigilance ensured that the rules of the academy were upheld.

After going further down the road made of cobblestones, he reached a large stone gate that served as an entrance to the great hall. This was the gateway to the great hall, an adequate place for learning and studying, where the students and masters of the academy gathered in revelry and knowledge-sharing.

Just one year ago, venturing forth in the starlit hours was strictly forbidden, as was entry to the enchanted garden. But now, under the rule of the new Headmistress, many edicts have been lifted and old restrictions cast aside, freeing the students to explore and experience the nightlife of the academy.

Even though the rules changed, not many people were found in the light-filled great hall. And only a few people wore cloaks, the majority of whom wore black and purple cloaks. The others were employees or guards on their night shift.

There were only a handful of students, but since he was the only one wearing a green cloak, he stuck out like a sore thumb.

In the halls of the academy, the students were adorned with cloaks of three colors: green, black, and the coveted purple. The color of one's cloak determined their rank among the students, with the purple cloak signifying the highest rank, black representing the middle ground, and green being the lowest rung on the ladder.

Upon their induction into raven's perch, the students underwent rigorous trials to showcase their abilities. Asrar and his two current roommates were deemed lacking and awarded the green cloak, marking them as a group. This shared accolade resulted in their living together as roommates.

He kept a calm face amidst the disdainful gazes of the childish students who wore black and purple cloaks, some no older than fifteen or sixteen, as he strode further into the cavernous hall. Occupied tables surrounded him, so he set his sights on one particular table with a large but creaky wooden bench. Taking his seat, he placed his book on the table and snuffed out the oil lamp; after all, the room was suffused with light.

The great hall was vast, and to light it fully with costly magic bulbs was not feasible for the academy. Thus, the hall was bathed in flickering torchlight, casting shadows along its towering walls.

From his chosen table, he had an excellent view of the whole room, and after a half hour of reading, he put down his book and gazed in wonder at the spectacle of light and shadows in the great hall.

Suddenly from his peripheral vision. He spotted a figure sitting right beside him on the wooden bench.

He was startled but calmly looked to his right, and to his amazement, it was someone he knew—Master Aelwen?

It seemed like, at some point in time, she had also arrived and chosen to sit beside him.

Did she just arrive, or did she wait for me to finish reading?

The instructor was a lady in her mid-twenties, with a gentle look and a calm and beautiful appearance. She was dressed in a long robe with an elaborate golden pattern embroidered on the collar and sleeves, and her hair was long and blonde, cascading down her back.

.

"It appears that young Averille has little regard for our lessons, choosing instead to bask in the pages of vain tomes. At least if you're missing my class, it would be wise to delve into a more enlightening volume, like the one I hold here." The instructor smiled, presenting a book entitled "The Art of Poisoning."

A shiver ran down Asrar's spine as he understood the instructor's playful threat; nonetheless, he was still a bit embarrassed as the instructor caught him perusing the pages of a fantasy book. But he couldn't just tell her that he was reading it because this was the only book in the library that talked about their world.

However, he retained a calm look and turned to meet her eyes, which were sparkling blue.

Now looking closer, it's no wonder everyone I know fell in love with this woman; she looks so graceful and feminine.

When she noticed him staring at her intently without shifting his gaze like most boys his age do, a flush of embarrassment washed over her. To hide her nervousness, she gracefully brushed a strand of golden locks behind her ear, revealing a dazzling earring that glimmered in the light.

At the sight of the earring, Asrar was struck with a sudden realization. Then he spoke slowly, "Surely you jest, fair lady. I have no recollection of missing your class. Indeed, it would be a wonder how I could have missed the first-ever class, yet to be taught, in the art of alchemy at the halls of Raven's Perch."

The beautiful woman remained silent for a while before asking, "How did you know?"

"Though your appearance bears a striking resemblance to Master Aelwen, you must be aware that she serves as our esteemed weapons master, and it is known that she shuns adornments such as earrings, believing they encumber her fluid movements. Furthermore, your appearance betrays a youthful air that belies the Master's maturity." he explained respectfully.

"Indeed, you are correct, good sir." She joked, "I am not Master Aelwen, but her sister." The lady paused, her lips curling into a smile. "Yet, your knowledge of my identity raises another question. How did you realize that I am the newest master of alchemy?" she asked, her voice lilting with amusement.

"It was but a simple assumption," he replied, shrugging his shoulders in a casual manner. "Since I perceived the tome in your hand, "The Art of Poisoning", and since I had never heard of someone that looked like Master Aelwen teaching here, I assumed you must be the new alchemy master."

With a fleeting glance about the hall, Asrar observed that the onlookers were regarding him and the new instructor with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. He was not surprised, since he knew that this stunning young lady, who was about to become a new master at their academy, would not go unnoticed. Many a pair of eyes, belonging to young men clad in ominous, black, or purple cloaks, burned with an intensity that betrayed their intense interest.

Perceiving the gazes of the assembly upon her, the beautiful lady coughed in embarrassment, her cheeks flushing with a delicate color. "I will now take my leave," she said, a smirk playing on her lips as she struggled to suppress a chuckle. "Fear not; I shall not fail to impart on my sister your thoughts on her lack of beauty and unbecoming demeanor." With a final chuckle, she turned on her heel and made her way out of the hall.

Shit! When did I say that?!

Asrar was taken aback, and hastened to call out, "Wait!" She turned back to face him, and he stopped, a sigh escaping his lips. "How do you know me?" he asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

She didn't reply, but instead continued on her way, leaving the flabbergasted Asrar behind.