Wralq raised his head by the smallest degree.
His expression remained calm, his shoulders relaxed, and his posture perfectly composed.
Nothing in his face suggested irritation or unease.
He looked every inch the respectful, obedient ward his new family expected him to be.
“No, sister.
I did not,” he replied.
His voice was smooth and measured, carrying no hint of defensiveness.
“At the orphanage, my duties were mostly limited to assisting the headmaster with the financial ledgers and overseeing the small study room.” Lyra, who had been leaning against one of the foyer’s marble pillars, gave a sharp, contemptuous laugh.
“Ledgers?” she repeated.
“An orphan who knows how to calculate?
You probably ruined the accounts and stole whatever money you could get your hands on.” The accusation hung in the grand entrance hall.
A pair of servants standing near the staircase lowered their eyes.
Neither dared to look directly at the three young people gathered beneath the enormous crystal chandelier.
The polished black-and-white floor reflected the chandelier’s pale light, as well as the cold, watchful faces of the Corvus family’s daughters.
Wralq did not react.
“The records were relatively simple, sister,” he said.
“The monthly budget averaged one hundred and twenty silver coins.
It was distributed among twenty-four children and three caretakers.
The largest expenses were food, firewood, medicine, and clothing.
I helped balance the accounts so that the orphanage would not run out of provisions before the end of the month.” For a brief moment, Clara said nothing.
It was barely noticeable—a slight pause, a flicker of surprise in her eyes—but Wralq caught it immediately.
She had expected him to stammer, apologize, or perhaps attempt to defend himself with vague claims of innocence.
She had not expected a precise answer backed by figures.
Still, Clara recovered quickly.
Aristocratic pride was an efficient armor.
It covered uncertainty before anyone else could see it.
“Hmph.” She tossed her head back, causing the silver ornaments woven into her hair to chime softly.
“Knowing a few trivial calculations changes nothing.
Don’t flatter yourself, Wralq.
You are still nothing more than a stray brought into this household because Father needed to secure the family’s recommendation.” Her words were deliberately cruel.
They were meant to establish the order of things.
Clara was reminding him that he had not entered House Corvus as an equal.
He was not a son, not a brother, and certainly not a member of the family in any meaningful sense.
He was a convenient tool—a name added to their household records so the family could preserve its academy placement.
Wralq understood that perfectly.
He lowered his head by several degrees, just enough to appear humble without looking frightened.
“Yes, sister.
I understand.” The response was exactly what Clara wanted to hear.
“I am here solely to fulfill my obligation and preserve House Corvus’s recommendation, according to Father’s wishes.
I will do my best to follow the household rules and welcome any guidance you choose to offer.” He spoke with such sincere politeness that even the servants seemed to relax.
Clara’s lips curved with satisfaction.
“At least you understand your place,” she said.
“Keep your head down.
Do not embarrass Father.
Do not interfere in matters that do not concern you, and stay out of our way.” “Of course.” “And don’t mistake this arrangement for acceptance,” Lyra added.
“You may be living under this roof, but that does not make you one of us.” Wralq turned his eyes toward her, maintaining the same mild expression.
“I would never presume otherwise.” That answer seemed to please her even more than his earlier submission.
Lyra gave him one final glare, then followed Clara toward the grand staircase.
Their heavy silk dresses whispered against the polished wood as they climbed.
The faint scent of expensive perfume lingered in the air behind them, mixing with the colder smells of stone, wax, and rain-dampened earth drifting in through the entrance doors.
The sisters continued speaking as they disappeared from sight, their voices becoming less distinct with every step.
At last, the upper corridor swallowed them.
The house fell silent.
Wralq remained where he was.
He stood in the center of the foyer with his hands folded before him, his head bowed, and his posture still carrying the quiet submission expected of a dependent ward.
He waited until the last sound of footsteps had faded.
Then he waited a little longer.
Only when he was certain no one was watching did he slowly raise his head.
The obedient expression vanished.
It did not fade gradually.
It simply ceased to exist, as though it had been a mask removed from his face.
The warmth drained from his eyes, leaving behind an icy, unreadable calm.
Inside his consciousness, Mammon let out a low chuckle.
“A flawless performance.” The demon’s voice did not travel through the air.
It vibrated in the deepest corners of Wralq’s mind, dark and amused.
“Flattering the arrogance of small minds is always the most efficient path to freedom.
They now believe you to be an obedient, harmless tool.
They will not waste a single second monitoring your movements.” Wralq turned away from the staircase.
“Arrogance breeds blindness,” he thought.
“Their indifference is my greatest asset.” “Indeed.
The proud rarely notice the hands moving beneath the table.” Wralq did not answer.
He had already begun reviewing the house in his mind.
The manor was larger than it appeared from outside, but its internal structure was simple.
The servants’ quarters occupied the eastern wing.
The family rooms and formal parlor were located on the second floor.
The patriarch’s study was on the third floor, behind a locked door reinforced with a basic detection spell.
The private library was on the ground floor, positioned at the rear of the building and rarely used in the evenings.
That was where he was going.
He crossed the foyer without making a sound.
The private library’s doors were made of dark mahogany, each panel carved with the crest of House Corvus: a black-winged raven clutching a silver ring in its talons.
Wralq placed one hand against the handle and paused briefly, sensing for magical wards.
There were several.
Most were meant to protect the books from fire, moisture, and insects.
A weaker ward monitored the doors and would alert the head steward if someone entered after midnight.
None of them posed a meaningful threat.
Wralq adjusted the flow of mana through his fingertips.
A thread of dark energy slipped across the lock.
The ward shivered, failed to recognize the intrusion, and settled back into silence.
The door opened.
The scent of aged parchment, dried leather, and polished wood greeted him.
The library rose two stories high, its walls concealed behind floor-to-ceiling shelves.
Narrow stained-glass windows lined the far side of the room, allowing the last blue-gray light of evening to filter through images of saints, ancient kings, and long-forgotten battles.
A brass clock ticked somewhere near the fireplace.
Wralq closed the door behind him and moved between the shelves.
The collection was respectable, though hardly impressive.
House Corvus possessed no high-tier forbidden grimoires, no sealed relic manuals, and no complete records of ancient demonic magic.
Most of the family’s valuable texts had either been moved to the capital or placed under the protection of the Royal Academy.
Still, the library contained information that was far more useful to Wralq at present.
He scanned the titles with practiced speed.
Regional geography.
Political lineages of the capital.
Military organization.
Academy regulations.
Entrance examination records.
The Royal Academy’s outer grounds.
He selected three thick volumes detailing the academy’s historical admissions examinations, along with a tactical map of the central district.
After checking the surrounding shelves for any hidden observation spell, he carried the books to a small desk in the back corner.
The desk was positioned beneath a tall window and partially concealed by a column of shelves.
From there, he could see the door without being easily seen by anyone entering the room.
Wralq sat down and opened the first book.
For the next four hours, he read.
He did not read like an ordinary student.
He did not linger over beautiful descriptions or pause to consider the opinions of previous scholars.
He reduced each page to information—numbers, patterns, names, procedures, weaknesses.
The academy’s written examination had been changed six times in the last twenty years.
The practical examination had been revised twice after several students suffered mana backlash.
The examining archmages were selected according to rank, political affiliation, and field of expertise.
The academy’s outer testing grounds contained seven arenas, though only four were used during the initial admissions period.
He memorized the dimensions of each arena.
He studied the location of the observation platforms, the positioning of the instructors, and the routes used by academy servants to transport injured applicants.
He noted which sections of the grounds were covered by surveillance arrays and which were left unguarded.
By the time he reached the chapter on spell evaluation, the sky outside had darkened completely.
Wralq turned to the section describing the magic-testing conduits.
“The initial phase evaluates raw spell control and matrix efficiency,” he murmured.
His finger traced a diagram showing a series of crystalline conduits arranged around a circular platform.
“Applicants are required to channel a predetermined amount of mana through the artifact.
The conduit measures activation speed, stability, energy loss, and structural integrity.” He turned the page.
“Most applicants rely on rigid Divine Runic formations.
The structure is stable, but the formation requires too many intermediate nodes.
The average casting delay is between one and three seconds.
Energy leakage is approximately thirty-eight to forty-three percent.” Mammon’s laughter stirred in the darkness of his mind.
“And with the Demon Runic dual-ring structure I taught you, your casting time is effectively instantaneous.
The outer ring stabilizes the spell while the inner ring compresses the mana before release.
There is almost no energy loss.” “There is still some,” Wralq replied.
“Less than one percent.
To those primitive measuring tools, your spellwork will appear either impossibly flawless or completely incomprehensible.” Wralq continued studying the diagrams.
He was not satisfied with simply possessing a superior technique.
Superiority attracted attention, and attention was dangerous.
If he performed too well, the academy’s instructors might investigate him.
If he performed too poorly, he might lose the opportunity he had worked so hard to obtain.
The ideal result was not victory.
It was control.
He needed to appear talented enough to justify his admission, but not talented enough to provoke suspicion.
Capable, disciplined, and perhaps unusually efficient—nothing more.
Wralq reached for a scrap of paper and began making calculations.
His current mana reserves were sufficient for the examination, but the testing conduits would not measure reserves alone.
They would measure the shape and behavior of his energy.
If he compressed the mana too aggressively, the instrument might register an abnormal density.
If he relaxed the inner ring too much, his results would appear ordinary, but the process would become slower.
He adjusted several figures.
Then he began again.
Outside, dusk gave way to night.
The servants lit the wall lamps one by one, but no one entered the library.
House Corvus’s daughters were probably attending to their evening routines, while the head of the household remained occupied with a political gathering elsewhere in the city.
Wralq worked without interruption.
When he finally closed the books, the brass clock near the fireplace had passed eight.
He rose from the desk and returned each volume to its original position.
He aligned the spines with the books beside them, brushed away the faint impression his fingers had left in the dust, and checked the room one last time.
Nothing appeared disturbed.
No one would know he had been there.
Wralq left the library and made his way toward the rear of the manor.
His assigned quarters were modest compared to the rooms occupied by Clara and Lyra.
The chamber contained a narrow bed, a writing desk, a small wardrobe, and a single tall window overlooking the private training yard.
The furniture was clean but old.
One of the bedposts had been repaired, and the curtains had faded from years of sunlight.
It was more than enough.
He entered, locked the door, and tested the frame to make sure it would not rattle if someone attempted to open it from the outside.
Only then did he remove his coat and sit cross-legged on the floor.
Wralq closed his eyes.
The world receded.
His breathing slowed until it was nearly imperceptible.
His awareness turned inward, following the movement of mana through his body.
The energy passed through his muscles and sensory nerves, filling him with a low, constant vibration.
Inside his mind, two concentric circles emerged.
The outer ring was formed from dark, angular glyphs.
It rotated slowly around the second ring, its symbols shifting in patterns that no Divine mage would have been able to decipher.
The inner circle remained still, dense and precise, compressing the flow of mana into a core of concentrated power.
The Demon Runic dual-ring structure.
He had spent months learning it.
At first, activating even a single glyph had caused severe pain.
The runes had rejected his mana, tearing through his internal pathways like heated blades.
But his body had adapted.
His control had improved.
The structure that had once felt foreign now rested within his mana core like a second skeleton.
Wralq began the evening’s exercises.
Haste.
He triggered the spell without moving a finger.
For an instant, the mana in his legs surged, prepared to transform his body into a blur of explosive speed.
He dismissed the spell before it could fully activate.
Concealment.
The air around him bent slightly.
The light touching his body grew weaker, sliding away from his outline.
Again, he released the spell without making a sound.
He repeated the process.
Activate.
Control.
Dismiss.
Activate.
Control.
Dismiss.
Each cycle became smoother.
The runes responded faster.
The distance between thought and execution gradually disappeared.
Mammon watched in silence for a long time.
“You are still holding back,” the demon finally said.
“I am refining control.” “You are afraid of using the power.” “I am being cautious.” “A different word for the same weakness.” Wralq ignored him and continued.
The truth was that Mammon was not entirely wrong.
Wralq understood the danger of his power better than anyone.
He also understood that every spell carried a cost.
The Demon Runic system was efficient, but it was not harmless.
If he pushed too far, the demonic energy could leave traces in his aura—subtle distortions that experienced mages might notice.
He could not afford mistakes.
Not here.
Not before entering the academy.
The training continued until midnight.
By then, the dual-ring matrix had settled perfectly into his mana core.
It responded to his will with almost no delay.
The spells were no longer techniques he had to consciously construct.
They had become reflexes, as natural as breathing.
Wralq opened his eyes.
For several seconds, he remained motionless on the floor.
Then he rose and walked to the window.
The courtyard below was quiet.
Moonlight spilled across the hedges, silvering the leaves and casting long shadows over the gravel paths.
Somewhere in the distance, an unseen night bird called once before falling silent.
Beyond the estates of the minor nobles, the Royal Academy dominated the skyline.
Its towers and spires rose above the city like jagged stone fingers, each one crowned with blue-white magical lights.
Even from this distance, the academy seemed less like a school and more like a fortress built to defy the heavens.
Tomorrow would be the final day of preparation.
In less than forty-eight hours, the academy gates would open, and every ambitious noble heir, prodigy, and common-born talent in the region would gather for the entrance examinations.
Wralq rested one hand against the cold window frame.
His violet-tinted eyes reflected the distant lights.
The trap had been laid.
His identity was secure.
His cover within House Corvus was stronger than he had expected.
His magic was refined, his route was planned, and his enemies remained unaware of his true intentions.
For now, Clara and Lyra saw him as a stray.
A harmless orphan.
A grateful, obedient tool with nowhere else to go.
Wralq’s expression did not change.
That misunderstanding would protect him longer than any barrier spell.
Inside his mind, Mammon gave another quiet, satisfied laugh.
“Tomorrow, the game begins.” Wralq looked toward the academy’s distant spires.
“No,” he thought.
His gaze hardened.
“Tomorrow, everyone else begins playing the game.” He turned away from the window and extinguished the lamp.
“In truth, it began the moment I walked through this family’s door.”