Damian’s eyes snapped open.

His head was pounding, a sharp ache that spread from his temples down through his neck, his vision swam for a moment before focusing.

Trees.

Dense forest surrounded him on all sides, ancient and wild, their branches reaching toward a canopy so thick that moonlight barely penetrated. The air here felt different, heavier, saturated with Aura that made his skin prickle.

’W-where am I?’

The question came sharp and immediate.

He tried to stand but his legs wouldn’t cooperate. The headache intensified, forcing him back down to his knees. His hands pressed against the forest floor covered in moss and dead leaves.

’W-what just happened? How did I get here?’

His combat instincts were screaming at him that something was wrong, that he’d been moved without his permission, that danger was close.

Then he heard it.

Tsk tsk tsk tsk

The sound of someone clicking their tongue in amusement.

"Young people these days are really carefree and full of youth, having drinks late at night."

The voice came from somewhere behind him.

"Not like our time where we had to spend every waking moment running around saving people from one disaster or another."

Damian’s head snapped toward the sound.

A man sat several meters away, his back facing Damian, positioned beside the massive corpse of a beast.

The creature was enormous, easily the size of a small building, its scales catching what little moonlight filtered through the trees. Even dead, the Aura radiating from it was unmistakable.

S rank.

The kind of beast that required military intervention to handle, the kind that could level cities if left unchecked.

And this man was sitting beside it like it was a piece of furniture.

The man himself wore ancient-looking robes, the kind Damian had only seen in historical archives, fabric that flowed like water despite having no wind to move it. His long orange hair was tied in intricate knots that suggested both tradition and careful maintenance.

But what made Damian’s blood run cold was the complete absence of presence.

The S rank beast corpse radiated power even in death.

The man radiated nothing.

There was no Aura signature, no pressure and no indication that anything extraordinary sat there at all.

Which meant he was either completely ordinary or so far beyond Damian’s perception that the gap might as well be infinite.

And it was obvious which option was more likely.

"Who... are you?"

His voice came out rougher than intended, strained by the headache still pounding through his skull.

The man didn’t turn around.

Instead, his hand waved casually through the air.

And Damian’s body moved without his permission.

An invisible force wrapped around him like gentle hands, lifting him from where he knelt, pulling him through the air with the same ease someone might move a chess piece.

He couldn’t resist, couldn’t even try to activate his skills or summon his weapon.

His body simply obeyed the force, floating through several meters of space before being deposited on the ground directly beside the man.

Seated, as if they were old friends gathering for a conversation.

The man’s hand waved again.

And the S rank beast corpse burst into flames.

Pure orange flames that erupted directly from the creature’s flesh, sustained by nothing but the man’s Aura made manifest.

The heat was immediate and intense, washing over Damian’s face, making the air shimmer.

And still, the man radiated nothing, just a casual gesture that set an S rank corpse ablaze with fire that shouldn’t exist.

"There we go."

The man’s voice carried satisfaction, like he’d just solved a minor inconvenience.

"Much better to talk around a proper fire, don’t you think? Sets the mood for meaningful conversation."

Damian’s mind was racing, trying to process what was happening, who this person was, why he’d been brought here.

’Teleportation without warning, control over my body like I’m nothing, killing an S rank beast and treating it like kindling.’

Every piece of information pointed to the same conclusion.

’This person could kill me as easily as breathing.’

The man finally turned his head, looking at Damian for the first time.

His face was handsome in a way that suggested both youth and age simultaneously, features that could belong to someone in their thirties or someone who’d lived for centuries. His orange eyes caught the firelight, reflecting it back with an intensity that felt almost predatory.

But his expression was friendly and open, the kind of smile that invited trust and camaraderie.

But it made every survival instinct Damian possessed scream louder.

"You’re probably wondering why I brought you here."

The man’s smile widened slightly.

"Can’t have our conversation where anyone might overhear, after all."

He gestured at the burning beast casually.

"Academy has too many ears, too many eyes and too many people who’d get the wrong idea about a Patriarch having a friendly chat with a student."

Damian’s breath caught at the implication.

’Patriarch!’

The word landed like a physical blow.

Imperial families were led by Patriarchs, the strongest members of their bloodline, individuals who’d reached heights of power that made A and S rank awakeners look like children playing with wooden swords.

’Orange hair, orange eyes, fire manipulation...’

The pieces clicked together with terrible certainty.

"You’re the one from the Royce family."

It wasn’t a question.

The man’s smile became genuinely pleased, like a teacher watching a student solve a difficult problem.

"Very good."

He gestured casually at the burning beast between them.

"Found this fellow trying to break through the forest’s outer wards. Nasty business, S rank beasts getting that close to students. Someone needs to clean up these messes before they become problems."

His tone suggested he was discussing household chores rather than killing something that required military mobilization.

"But that’s not why I brought you here, of course."

The Patriarch’s orange eyes studied Damian with casual interest.

"I wanted to have a conversation... Man to man. Clear up some misunderstandings before they become bigger problems than they need to be."

Damian’s jaw clenched, his hands pressed flat against his thighs to keep them from shaking.

"What misunderstandings?"

"Well."

The Patriarch leaned back slightly, his posture relaxed despite sitting on bare ground.

"You’ve been making quite a bit of noise lately, Damian Valcor."

The casual use of his full name made Damian’s stomach turn.

"Your Student Council reforms, your orphanage network, your little Mafia organization... Changing weapon art accessibility, overhauling justice systems, organizing unsanctioned training expeditions into the forest."

He said it all with the tone of someone recounting mildly entertaining news.

"And then there was that business with young Jorah."

The Patriarch’s smile never wavered.

"My great-grandson, actually. Hot-headed boy, always was. Takes after his father’s side."

The casual way he mentioned their blood relation despite what Damian had done made his throat tight.

"You cut off all his limbs before leaving him for the medical staff to find."

He paused.

"Impressive work."

Damian whispered.

"What... do you want?"

"I wanted you to understand something."

The Patriarch’s voice remained friendly, almost gentle.

"We could erase you and your entire organization if we wished. Your Mafia, your orphanages, every person you’ve recruited, every connection you’ve made... Gone by morning."