Chapter 39: Mysterious Professor

The night was cold and very cruel, and the dark depths were even deeper. Jumping into the sea was a dangerous gambit, the likelihood of death was extremely high for the young Lily. Anne was also not in good shape—she hadn't regained consciousness despite the chaos of the battle.

He was afraid, terrified, unsure of himself. A feeling of weakness and helplessness gnawed at his heart, like icy tendrils coiling tighter around his chest.

His breaths came in shallow gasps, his mind racing with self-doubt. The weight of responsibility pressed down on him like an anchor, dragging his confidence deeper into the abyss.

The icy grip of the dark waters dragged Alicarde down, each stroke a desperate fight against the unforgiving sea. With Anne cradled in one arm and Lily clinging weakly to his back, he struggled to keep their heads above the surface.

Every wave crashed over them, threatening to pull them under, the sea merciless as he fought to get them to safety. Salt water burned his throat, his muscles screaming for rest, but he pushed on, driven by sheer willpower.

He had never been the best swimmer. Lily held on to him, her frail arms slipping as the cold weakened her grip, forcing him to support her with every few strokes so she wouldn't slide into the dark embrace of the cruel, icy, unforgiving sea.

The weight of the two lives clinging to him felt like lead pulling him under, but he refused to give in.

'Just a little further,' he thought, teeth chattering from the cold. 'I can't let them die here.'

Lily's grip slackened, her small body growing limp, her fragile fingers sliding from his shoulders. Panic surged through him as he realized she was losing consciousness, her body becoming dead weight in the frigid waters.

"Stay with me, Lily," he gasped, spitting out a mouthful of salty water as another wave crashed over them.

"Please, stay with me... please hold on just a little longer... don't... don't die." His voice trembled, cracking under the weight of his desperation.

His violet eyes, usually so sharp and intense, now reflected only fear and despair. Each shallow breath he took was a struggle, the freezing water sapping his strength with every second.

Her head lolled against his shoulder, unresponsive. The sight of her pale, lifeless face sent a fresh wave of terror coursing through him. He was losing her—he was failing them.

'Why... why am I so useless? I can't even protect one little girl,' his mind spiraled into darkness, the cold and exhaustion amplifying his doubts.

'I'm failing them,' he thought, the realization cutting deeper than any blade or claws. 'I can't save them. I'm not strong enough.'

'Why am I so weak?' Alicarde's doubts caught up to him like a relentless tide threatening to drown him.

With a final, herculean effort, he kicked against the current, his muscles burning with exhaustion. The distant lights of the docks seemed like a beacon of salvation, but they were still so far away.

He pressed on, doubts creeping into his heart—was the girl on his back dead already? He had to get there fast.

'Please, just a little more,' he begged silently, forcing himself to keep swimming, his body running on pure adrenaline.

Finally, his feet found the rough texture of the dock's edge. He hauled himself up, using the last reserves of his strength to lift Anne and Lily onto the cold, hard ground. His arms felt like lead, his lungs burning as he gasped for air. Collapsing beside them, he shook with exhaustion, his body trembling uncontrollably from the cold and exertion.

"Anne... Lily..." he whispered, his voice barely more than a ragged breath. Anne lay still, her chest rising and falling shallowly. Lily was unconscious, her face pale and cold, her breath so faint it barely stirred the air. He leaned closer, his heart thudding in his chest, just to make sure they were in fact alive.

He cursed himself under his breath, his failures crashing over him like the relentless waves that had nearly swallowed them. The sight of their fragile forms haunted him—his heart felt like it was being crushed under the weight of his own inadequacies.

'I'm useless. I couldn't protect them. I couldn't save them.'

His mind replayed the horrors of the factory—the screams, the sight of Lily's mother being torn apart before her eyes. The despair in Lily's gaze as her world shattered. He had promised to save them, to be her hero, and he had failed.

'Pathetic, useless...' his dark thoughts suffocated him like the sea had moments ago.

'What kind of hero am I?' he thought bitterly. 'I couldn't even protect a child. I couldn't save her mother. I made the cruel choice of abandoning her.'

He couldn't even cry. Once again, his curse of being unable to shed a tear returned. Was this pain an illusion? He wondered if this meant he cared less, if the sorrow he felt was any less real without the cathartic release of tears.

His heart felt like it was breaking under the weight of his guilt, the pressure squeezing it like a vice. He wanted to scream, to rage against the cruel fate that had brought them to this point. But all he could do was sit in the darkness, watching the fragile bodies of those he had failed.

The distant sounds of the city were a cruel reminder that life went on, indifferent to their suffering. Alicarde closed his eyes, his body aching, his spirit shattered.

'I'll never forgive or forget this failure. I will never forgive. I swear... I swear,' he vowed silently. 'Never.'

He wasn't quite broken yet, but his heart nursed a growing grudge, a festering wound that fueled his bitterness. He sat there on the cold, unforgiving concrete, despondent, staring at the distant building where he had tasted humiliation, tasted defeat. The bitter taste of it lingered in his mouth like bile.

Burying his face in his thighs, he sat there, overwhelmed by his despair, unable to move forward or backward.

"Reality is so cruel," his voice low, a sad echo of his misery.

He had flung his sword at the enemy earlier. He wasn't worried—it would return. It always did. That was its one redeeming quality. Until it did, he was unarmed, vulnerable. But he didn't care. He was too lost, too broken in that moment to feel anything but the hollow weight of his failures.

The crates on the docks stood silent, an uninterested audience to his suffering, the light from distant lamps casting long shadows that seemed to mock him, to remind him of his insignificance in the grand scheme of things.

"What do I do now? Where do I go next?" he asked no one in particular, his voice empty and devoid of hope.

Yet someone answered.

"I suppose we get out of here for starters." The familiar voice cut through the cold silence like a knife, imperious and strict.

He turned, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of Professor Malefica Farmazoană. She stood there, unruffled by the chaos around her, her expression calm and commanding.

Malefica was dressed impeccably, as always, in a stylish dark off-the-shoulder blouse that highlighted her elegant collarbones, paired with a long, flowing green skirt that accentuated her figure. Her glasses framed her sharp eyes, and her long, wavy hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall of midnight. Large hoop earrings swung gently with her every movement.

He only gave her a despondent glance. He had already seen her in this outfit today. Normally, he would admire her beauty, but right now, he was in no mood.

"Who are you really?" he asked, his voice hollow but laced with suspicion.

"You were hinting at this in your office before, weren't you? And now you show up out of nowhere... are you involved in Anne's kidnapping?" His despondent eyes flickered with a spark of cold accusation.

Malefica was silent for a moment, her eyes sweeping over Anne and Lily before she sighed softly.

"I am not, believe it or not. I followed you with a spell. You didn't show up in my office, so I used a tracking spell," she answered calmly.

Alicarde's eyebrows rose in surprise, but his voice grew more aggressive. "Spell? What are you talking about?"

From the corner of his eye, he noticed a familiar black metal not too far from him. His sword had returned.

He swept his hand along the ground, feeling the cold, familiar sensation of the blade beneath his fingers. He picked it up, standing to his full height and pointing it directly at Malefica.

Her expression remained calm, unfazed by the sharp edge now aimed at her.

"Having one's professor at blade point—that's a cause for expulsion, or did you not read the student handbook?" she said sternly, her voice carrying a note of dry amusement.

Alicarde's patience was running thin, his emotions on edge.

"Quit your BS and answer my goddamn question, or you won't live to see my expulsion."

Malefica turned to face the sea, her expression distant and thoughtful.

"I am a witch, a daughter of the soil if you would. I was born on these lands," she adjusted her glasses slightly, "so rest assured, I am not your enemy, neither am I allied with those strigoi."

Alicarde lowered his sword a little. He remembered the word 'strigoi' from his conversations with Carrisa—subclass vampires, servants to higher-ranking vampires.

"So... that's what they are," he muttered. "Tell me what you know, Professor."

Her expression was unreadable as she met his gaze again. "Seeing as this is no longer an academic matter, you may call me Malefica."

"Fine... Malefica," he spat her name, his tone cold. "Talk."

She adjusted her glasses, the movement precise. "We can talk elsewhere. First, we must leave. We aren't safe here. Carry Miss Amicus, and I will take the girl."

With the last of his energy, Alicarde lifted Anne, following closely behind Malefica as they made their way to her luxurious car. He hesitated for a moment, taking in the sleek design. This woman... she wasn't just any professor. His doubts only deepened.

As the car sped off into the night, Alicarde stared into the darkened city streets. He would get his answers, one way or another.