Chapter 9: The Headmistress

"I cannot heal everyone like this." An elderly man said, his voice frustrated. "The number of people injured is mind-boggling. We need more clerics or a paladin with high healing." The old man, wearing a long brown robe with a white cloak, had a symbol of the gods on his chest, indicating that he was a believer from the monastery of light.

The old man's weary gaze fell upon the middle-aged woman beside him, who wore the same brown robe and white cloak adorned with the holy emblem. Her hat, though smaller, marked her as an equal in rank.

The middle-aged woman's eyes were filled with contempt as she spoke to the old man, "That wench said there would be no survivors among the green cloaks. Why do we have to waste our precious time and resources healing them?" Her tone was dismissive and cold, as if the lives of the students were worthless to her.

The two clerics, hailing from the revered Monastery of Light, were assigned to offer their aid in Raven's Perch. The branch was responsible for their payments, while the Black Hand Academy was obligated to donate funds to the monastery on a monthly basis to keep the clerics in its branches.

The infirmary was a beehive of activity, with people scurrying back and forth, providing care for the wounded. Despite their efforts, the personnel could only do so much with their limited knowledge and resources. They had already administered basic treatment and bandaged the wounds as best they could, but they knew that the injuries were beyond their abilities. The hope of recovery lay in the hands of the clerics, who wielded holy powers that could work wonders. Hence, the personnel were anxiously awaiting their arrival, hoping that they would come soon and save the injured nobles.

The sight inside the infirmary was a gruesome one. The green cloaks lay there, their bodies battered and broken, and their cries echoed through the hall. Some had minor bruises, while others had deep lacerations that bled profusely. A few were even missing limbs, their agony evident as they wailed in pain. It was a heartbreaking scene.

After exhausting most of their powers, the two clerics collapsed into chairs around a table in a private room within the infirmary to rest and discuss their next course of action. They knew they couldn't simply ignore the nobles who had survived the ordeal. As they spoke, a small knock on the door interrupted their conversation. Before they could even respond, the door swung open, revealing a figure walking with an imposing manner.

As the figure entered the room, the clerics couldn't help but sit upright. It was a woman whose dark red robe swirled around her as she moved with an air of authority, and the silver chain around her neck glinted in the light. Her long silver hair cascaded down her back in waves, and her eyes were as black as night, piercing the souls of those who met her gaze. A raven perched on her shoulder, its silver beak shining in the dim light of the room.

"It would seem that our venerable clerics are facing a trying time in our humble academy," she said with a smile that did little to hide her smugness. Her words dripped with haughtiness, as if she looked down upon the clerics with an air of superiority.

Both the old man and the middle-aged woman exchanged glances, their brows furrowed. Finally, it was the woman who spoke up, her tone firm and resolute. "Headmistress," she said, her voice tinged with reproach, "this was not our agreement. We have already expended all of our powers and even depleted some of our most precious resources in the effort to heal those who were all but presumed dead." The old man nodded his agreement, his expression somber.

However, the headmistress's words were like a poisoned arrow, dripping with venom and sarcasm. "Oh," she said, her voice laced with scorn, "it seems that the people from the monastery are not as holy as they would have us believe. It appears that they value their worldly possessions more than the lives of the innocent. Who would have thought?"

The old man's scowl deepened, and the middle-aged woman snorted in disgust. "Enough with the pretense," she spat, her eyes flashing with anger. "As the headmistress of this academy, you not only sacrificed your own people, but you allowed one of your own instructors to be killed." The woman shook her head in dismay, continuing to address the headmistress with a scathing tone. However, It was clear that she had no regard for the lives that had been lost, as she was more concerned with putting the haughty woman in her place.

But contrary to the middle aged woman's expectations, the woman only smiled in response to her scathing words. "Contrary to your monastery of light," the headmistress said, her voice calm and measured, "I do not pretend to be righteous. Every action I have taken has been in accordance with the noble families, and as you can see, Raven Perch remains safe and sound, unlike our sister branches, who have suffered massive losses. One even had their holy tether stolen. I am not privy to the news from the Iron Legion Academy or the Wizarding Academy, but if they acted righteously, they too would not have met a favorable end." The headmistress chuckled, her demeanor as proud as a peacock displaying its feathers. On her shoulder, the raven shifted its wings, as if agreeing with her words.

"Lady Vivienne, even if you are of royal blood, that does not grant you the right to speak ill of the monastery. It would be wise to mind your tongue from now on." The headmistress's smile faded at the old man's words, and she looked at him with a cold gaze. It was clear that she did not appreciate being reprimanded in such a manner.

And as soon as he mentioned her connection to royalty, the atmosphere in the room grew tense. Her eyes flashed with a hint of anger, though it was barely noticeable. After a brief pause, she spoke up, her voice cold and sharp: "Address me as headmistress, not lady." She lifted a hand, and the raven perched on her shoulder spread its wings and took flight, soaring towards the old man. The bird's sharp talons glinted in the dim light, and it seemed poised to strike.

The sudden attack of the headmistress caught the old man and the middle-aged woman off guard. They were both stunned and did not have time to react. The raven, with its sharp claws and beak, flew straight towards the old man. With fast reflexes, the latter yanked off the cross-shaped earring from his ear, drawing a bit of blood in the process. In an instant, a brilliant light enveloped his body, creating a protective barrier around him as he let out a sigh of relief.

Yet, with a loud bang, the raven forcefully broke through his protective barrier, its silver beak tearing through the magic like it was paper. However, after that brief pause, he quickly retreated to the side of the middle-aged woman. In a panic, the woman frantically tore off another cross shaped earring and held it up, summoning a powerful barrier to shield them both from the raven's ferocious attack. The two clerics stood side by side, their faces grave.

Their hearts sank as they watched the raven continue its flight, though at a slower pace. This time, the barrier did not break so easily. However, It seemed that there was a weakness in its structure. Seizing this opportunity, the two clerics reached into their sleeves and withdrew a small, fist-sized amulet. With a flick of their wrists, they sent the amulet hurtling towards the ground, where it cracked open and revealed a pair of shimmering, flames. The tongues of holy fire sprang up from the ground, enshrouding the raven in a brilliant display of light and power. Even the headmistress was surprised by thsi sudden burst of power.

To their surprise, the headmistress stood completely still, her expression unreadable. The opposing party had expected her to react in some way, but it seemed that she was not so easily goaded. But their shock was far from over. Suddenly, from behind the tongues of holy fire, the raven that they had thought would be burned emerged unscathed. With a sharp cry, the bird launched itself once again towards the old man, its body aglow with a radiant silver light that seemed to emanate from within. The raven's entire body shimmered with a silver light, not just its beak as before.

The two clerics' hearts pounded in their chests as they watched the raven approach. They couldn't help but wonder why the headmistress was attacking them. After all, to attack someone from the monastery was to invite death upon oneself.

As the seconds ticked by, the tension in the air grew thicker, and the old man's resolve hardened. He gritted his teeth before suddenly, with a swift motion, he pushed the middle-aged woman in front of him, using her body as a shield against the oncoming raven. The woman let out a horrified gasp, her body trembling with fear.

Right then, the raven broke through the woman's eye, drilled a large hole through her skull, and blasted her brains, killing her on the spot. Her other eye darted in horror as her corpse fell to the ground, her lifeless body crumpling like a rag doll. In her last moments, the woman could not understand why the headmistress had attacked her or why the old man, whom she loved so dearly, had sacrificed her in such a gruesome way.

After the middle aged woman's corpse fell with a thud, the raven returned to its owner's shoulder, its feathers turning black.

The old man, his wrinkles etched deeply into his skin, backed up towards the back of the room, clutching a golden feather tightly in his hand. With a quick flick of his wrist, he burned the feather to bits and let out a maniacal laugh. "You have gone insane to even dare to kill the people of the monastery," he spat out, his voice laced with fury. His eyes blazed with a fiery intensity as he watched the headmistress take something from her sleeves. The old man's face contorted in rage as he watched her, his voice rising to a fevered pitch. "Stop what you're doing! I've already alerted the bishop. A squad of paladins will come and reduce this cursed academy to ashes. You don't seem to understand the gravity of your situation."

"Surely you jest," she said, her voice honeyed with amusement. "Burning the feather directly is only a method to inform them that there is a situation. You actually have to use the right words to tell them the details. But since you had no time, you didn't." The old man's face contorted with shock and disbelief. "How..." he began, but the headmistress cut him off with a wave of her hand. "Secondly," she continued, her voice ringing out clear and strong, "I did not kill her; you did." Before the old man could retort, the headmistress reached into the folds of her robes and produced a small orb that glimmered in the dim light. It was identical to the one the bullheaded figure had been clutching, and it pulsed with a weird energy.

The old man's eyes widened in astonishment as he gazed upon the precious orb before him. "How did you come to possess such a valuable artifact?" he asked in disbelief. He clenched his fists in anger and muttered to himself, "Even if this orb recorded the incident of me taking her life, the high priest would understand that it was out of necessity." He tried to reassure himself, but deep down, he knew that he couldn't escape the repercussions of his actions.

However, the headmistress seemed like she already expected his answer, and with a swift hand, she took out a parchment from god knows where. The old man's expression darkened further, and he squeezed the words out of his gritted teeth, "What do you want?"

"Hehehe," she cackled, her eyes gleaming with light. "Let all those who have dared to take from me know that my ambitions soar higher than any mortal could fathom." With a wicked grin, she took two steps back, her robes billowing behind her as if caught in a gust of wind. "And as for you," she turned to the old man, her voice low and menacing, "you know what needs to be done, don't you? Or shall I have to impart my instructions?" The old man lifted his head, his old features etched with fear, and nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on her.

She slowly shut the door behind her and left the old man slumped in his chair.

The headmistress strode through the winding, labyrinthine alleys of the infirmary. The flickering torches cast their meager light upon the walls, their feeble flames struggling to dispel the shadows that clung to every corner. As she turned a corner, she descended a narrow set of stairs, the torches here burning brighter and brighter until the air was thick with their searing radiance. At last, she came to a heavy door at the end of the stairs.

With hushed steps, she slipped into the hidden location, a tiny chamber whose walls were adorned with musty tomes and yellowed parchments, each one illuminated by the flickering flame of a guttering candle. The sole furnishing was an ancient oak desk, its surface strewn with a pile of worn folders that lay open on one side. The entrance through which she had just passed was on the right, while to her left was another door, offering a tantalizing glimpse into the labyrinthine depths of the underground construction. Settling into the chair at the desk, she began to pore over some reports.

It was not long before the door to the left creaked open, admitting two figures into the dimly lit chamber. With a low bow, they approached the headmistress, their eyes cast downward in deference. Ignoring them, she continued to pore over the tomes before her, her slender fingers tracing the faded ink on the page. At last, with a flick of her wrist, she gestured for them to take a seat.

"Headmistress," a man spoke, his voice trembling with deference, "your insight has proven true once more. The Mirdon's Skull Cult has returned, as you foresaw, after a century of slumber. Even the royal seers and the headmasters of other academies failed to see their return coming." Seating himself, the middle aged man spoke with respect as he fumbled with the hat in his hands. "Your wisdom and power surpass all others, your high, um, headmistress." he stammered. The headmistress regarded him with a cool gaze, but a small smile played at the corners of her lips. At her nod, the raven perched upon her shoulder spread its wings once more, letting out a piercing cry that echoed through the chamber.

A stunning lady in her twenties sat next to the man, her long golden tresses cascading down her shoulders and her blue eyes sparkling like the clearest sapphires. Her beauty was so mesmerizing and tranquil that the middle-aged man couldn't resist stealing several glances from the corner of his eye. Had Asrar been present, he would have instantly recognized her as Aelwen's younger sister and their new alchemy master.

The headmistress halted her task and gazed upon the woman, her voice softening to a gentler tone. "Greetings, Lady Adelina. How fares the blueprint for the healing potion?" She inquired with a friendly smile; her demeanor toward the woman was markedly different.

"I still lack a few crucial ingredients, and as I arrived only two days prior, I have yet to establish my alchemical workstation in the newly erected laboratory," the woman stated, her voice devoid of either subservience or arrogance, though a smile played at the corners of her lips. "Moreover, I followed your instructions to the letter and brought no assistants with me. Unfortunately, Master Keiran, who possessed the knowledge and proficiency to aid me, passed away unexpectedly..." Noticing the anger flaring from the headmistress's eyes, the woman wisely chose to halt her words.

As the atmosphere turned icy, the middle-aged man quickly interjected, "Fear not, Lady Adelina. There are plenty of students of purple and even black cloaks who can assist you in your endeavors. My nephew, Leofric, possesses a degree of knowledge in the field and is exceedingly diligent. He would make a fitting candidate for the position." Upon hearing his suggestion, Lady Adelina merely inclined her head, considering that, although it may require some time, she could train capable individuals from amongst the students to serve as her aides. "It seems this is our only recourse, though it may necessitate some effort," she thought to herself. The middle-aged man nodded in approval, gratified that Lady Adelina had responded to him at last.

"Now that you have mentioned it, how is the situation with the black and purple cloaks?"

"Yes, Headmistress! All of the students are being held in the subterranean passageway located within the enchanted garden," the middle-aged man replied, his tone laced with confusion. "However, after the attack, I dispatched our guards and the Raven's shadow sentinels to scour the forest and activated the enchantments surrounding both the garden and the infirmary. Regrettably, those insane cultists failed to take the bait and instead avoided the infirmary, where the two clerics resided. Though I cannot discern the reason why..."

The headmistress pondered with a quill pen pressed to her lips. "Have you deduced why some of the green cloaks managed to survive?" The man shook his head. "The boars were supposed to direct them all towards the cultists, but it seems that an unforeseen circumstance arose." Leaning back in her chair, the headmistress exhaled deeply. "If we had been the first to capture one of the minotaurs, it would have been a momentous achievement. Nonetheless, our current situation is not without its merits. I can continue to operate in the shadows without arousing suspicion from the Black Hand headquarters." The raven cawed again, punctuating the conversation.

"Yes, Headmistress. Your plan was very well thought out. The cultists rely on human blood to stay on bare ground as they are loathed by the light god. So by giving them precisely what they craved, they should have consumed the dummies we hid among the green cloaks. Which would deplete their power over time, and if they had attacked the infirmary next, they would have been trapped by the enchantment we set up especially for them. The only things I don't understand are how you knew they would attack today and how you made them believe that the two clerics were among the green cloaks. It's like you have an insider..."The headmistress just smiled, but she remained silent.

Moments passed, and the room got filled with an eerie silence as the headmistress sat quietly, contemplating her thoughts. Suddenly, a shadowy figure materialized from the wall beside them, appearing like a dark mist that coalesced into a human form. "Headmistress, we have discovered the cause," the mysterious figure said, wearing a strange black cloak that seemed to absorb the light around him. He stood with respect, but his words faltered as he took notice of the two guests in front of him, their presence unexpected.

"Speak freely; they are no strangers," the headmistress declared. With a swift nod, the figure complied: "The boars were lured by a potent brew of oil, crafted to mimic the scent of a boar in heat" The gathered crowd exchanged surprised glances, intrigued by the revelation. "The creator was but a novice, a student seeking to hunt the boars in the trial. But in their eagerness, they added too many ingredients, causing all the boars to stray from their intended path toward the cult. It was this mistake that saved the lives of more than a hundred green cloaks and the novice themself." The headmistress nodded thoughtfully, her curiosity piqued. "And what of the creator of this oil? Who were they?"

"By the sight of the dummy that pretended to be young Lord Eadric, the one responsible was a student of the House of Averille, known as Asrar." the speaker revealed, drawing the attention of the headmistress and a middle-aged man. The name held no familiarity for them, but Adelina, seated beside them, suddenly stiffened, a glint in her eye.