Happenings On The Field Trip [12] - Aftermath

The night had finally given way to morning, and Quill sat upright on his bed in his tent.

Despite the lack of external injuries, the internal damage he had sustained was definitely in need of a good rest.

He had refused to go to the infirmary, much to Emrys's concern and pleas.

The infirmary was undoubtedly overwhelmed with students, and more than anything, Quill needed solitude to process everything that had happened.

The clock read 10 AM. The buses meant to transport the three classes back to Sentinel were delayed until 1 PM, giving him some precious hours of peace.

Quill's eyes scanned the blue window's message he had received during the night.

[I have to say, I'm really impressed by the path you've taken—one I never expected to see. You've definitely earned my respect, and you deserve a reward for your wits. Unfortunately, the @&#!$%^&*@#! won't let me give you what you truly deserve. But I can offer you a useful recommendation instead. You can pick a new trait of your choice. I highly recommend going for the Trait [Glaciate]; it'll definitely help in tonight's fights.]

Lucky for him, it was still accessible. Other messages tended to vanish after a while.

"...Unfortunately, the—argh," he winced as a sharp pain shot through his head each time he tried to decode the garbled text.

The effort was futile and left him more frustrated.

"This is becoming too complicated to handle," he muttered, rubbing his temples.

The information he had as the Reader was a significant advantage, but the world he was now part of seemed intent on throwing curveballs.

Plotlines he hadn't known existed were emerging, and his current identity—Quill Nocturne—made everything even more unpredictable. 

Unexpected events kept blindsiding him, and he couldn't afford to be caught off guard again.

His mind drifted back to Weiss Licht.

The chaos of the previous night, before the Reapers appeared, had nearly thrown all his plans into disarray.

His deal, driven more by improvising than a solid plan, had managed to defuse her for now. Only to entangle himself in another set of problems by helping Weiss.

His past life as Elias had taught him the basics of hierarchy and politics, skills that were proving invaluable now.

Politics could be as lethal as any battlefield, a lesson he had learned the hard way.

Quill exhaled deeply. Weiss's hatred for him was far from extinguished.

In fact, he suspected it had only intensified.

She would likely use him as a pawn and discard him once he was no longer useful.

He couldn't blame her—he would have done the same the culprit he despised.

This underscored his need to grow stronger. Weiss's raw power far exceeded his own. 

Without his traps and strategic thinking, he stood little chance against her. 

He couldn't depend solely on Erisa for protection. Quill didn't know exactly what Weiss had planned for him, but he was certain that without Erisa's intervention, it could have gone disastrously wrong.

The path ahead was fraught with danger, but he had no choice but to walk it.

Or did he? Why was he still trying? Did he still need to return to his world? Was there a reason to stay in this one?

Quill closed the blue window and leaned back, closing his eyes.

He had a lot to think about, but for now, he allowed himself a moment of rest.

Someone tapped lightly at the tent's entrance. "Excuse me, Master Quill, may I enter?"

Quill recognized Erisa Nocturne's voice and replied, "Yes, please come in."

As Erisa entered the tent, Quill couldn't help but marvel at her resilience.

She had fought almost nonstop through the night, yet here she was again, showing no signs of fatigue except for the lingering blue bruises on her skin.

"Please, sit." Quill gestured to one of the chairs in the tent.

"Very well," she replied, taking a seat with the same composed demeanor she always carried.

"I wanted to inquire about your condition. After all, you endured quite a lot yourself... However, it seems you are well," Erisa began, her eyes scanning him for any signs of lingering injury.

Quill nodded, "I appreciate your concern."

Erisa's expression grew more serious."I will not press you on how you knew the Reapers would attack, but I must point out that part of the information you provided was incorrect."

Quill's brow furrowed in confusion. "I don't understand."

"You informed me that the swarm would be led by a Devastator, a second-grade Reaper. But we were confronted by a Desolator—a third-grade Reaper."

Quill's eyes widened in shock. "Wait, what...!"

Erisa paused, letting the weight of her words sink in. "Given your reaction, it appears you were not expecting that."

He certainly wasn't.

This was a significant deviation from the storyline he knew.

A third-grade Reaper wasn't supposed to appear until the "Sentinel's Downfall" arc. The fact that one appeared so early changed everything.

"H-How did you survive it then?" Quill asked, bewildered. The idea that all the professors, and Erisa, could face such a horrifying foe and live seemed implausible.

"Professor Mendoza mentioned that we were extremely fortunate. It was a newly evolved one. Among the Hunters, there is an unofficial ranking based on subcategories within the Graded Reaper system. To put it simply, it was a Desolator of Degree I."

'A more specific grading system...? Why can't I remember something this important?'

Quill had the knowledge about Reapers being able to evolve to higher grades—that was their whole purpose—but an unofficial grading system? This was completely new.

'Why... This was never part of the novel...?'

"...How many degrees exist?" Quill asked, trying to grasp the new information.

"Three. A Desolator of Degree III represents the strongest form before evolving into an Overlord of Degree I."

The way Reapers evolved by devouring souls was straightforward.

A Reaper had no limited lifespan; it lived until it was killed, potentially for centuries. The most powerful Reapers, like Overlords or Apex, could have accumulated hundreds of years of experience.

"...How did they know it was a Degree I?"

"I have never encountered a Desolator myself, but as Professor Mendoza informed me, one can gauge their Degree based on the length of their horns. However, this detail pertains specifically to the Desolator-graded Reaper."

Quill twitched, recalling vague references to horn sizes in the novel. '...So this degree system was always there, just never specifically revealed to the readers...?'

"Though, truth be told, the horns of the Reaper we faced were already quite long, making me fearful of the strength of a Third Degree Desolator."

Hearing Erisa admit fear made Quill remember she was only a year older than him. Her maturity often made him forget her youth.

"I-I'm sorry. I wasn't aware of the Desolator."

"It is not your fault. If anything, you prepared me for the attack, making it easier for me to adapt to the battle," Erisa reassured.

This was a serious issue.

As Professor Mendoza had pointed out, their luck had been extraordinary.

Imagining a full-strength Reaper of the third grade, the night could have turned into a catastrophe.

'...But why? How? Did the story rewrite itself because Erisa is here? ...Changing the difficulty, as if trying to balance it out... Like some game.'

It was already puzzling why there was a horde of Reapers here in the first place—something even he, as the reader, didn't understand.

But now the situation was getting even more complicated?

"Though I am not going to press you on that matter, I do have another question... Were the ice traces yours?"

Her red eyes bore into his.

In the heat of the night, Quill's only thought was to execute his plan; the trait of [Glaciate] was merely a fortunate occurrence.

A fortunate occurrence that was undoubtedly a big help, but also too convenient to be purely chance.

This system was more mysterious than Quill initially thought.

He had no intention of hiding his efforts of that night, nor did he plan to brag about them.

"You know if a person takes this long to deny something, it's most likely a confession," Erisa said, breaking the silence.

"Master Quill, heed my advice: it would be best to remain silent about your achievements."

"...Why?"

"I apologize for speaking so bluntly, but your esteem is low, as is the awareness of the other families, including your own. If someone like you suddenly attracts attention and achieves success, it would unfortunately only bring enemies, even from within your own family."

Quill quickly grasped the situation. It was all too familiar.

As Elias, even small accomplishments like good grades had sparked jealousy.

His status as the son of the Rosental family, combined with his high reputation, had made him a target...

Something that had cost him his sister's life.

"I see..."

He paused, choosing his next words carefully. "Erisa, could I ask you for a favor?"

Erisa tilted her head, signaling him to continue.

"Could you tell me the whereabouts of Silas Edel's tent?"

Erisa gave him a skeptical look.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to do anything to hi—let me rephrase that, I'm not going to kill him or cause him any lasting injuries."

She sighed, hesitating for a moment, before showing Quill the location on his map displayed on his Scroll.

"Then I shall take my leave." As she moved towards the entrance, Quill called out, "Erisa?"

She turned to face him, seeing a young man smiling a genuine smile at her.

"Thank you for everything."

Quill was truly grateful.

Since his arrival in this world, he had felt alone, with no one to trust and nobody who wanted him around. He was shunned and despised.

Worst of all, none of it was his fault.

Although he knew Erisa's actions were driven by the hierarchical system, he didn't mind. It was simply something he needed—a reliable shoulder he could put some of his burden upon.

Quill thought he saw a flicker of a smile on her face, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. "There is no need,"she said simply, before leaving the tent.

Moments later, Quill emerged from his tent, greeted by the shining sun.

'...Sorry, Lili, but I need to vent some of this anger.'

He headed towards the location of Silas's tent.

/||\

Silas loathed the cowardice he had displayed the previous night, especially while his fellow students had risked their lives and fought bravely.

He, on the other hand, had spent more time evading the battle than engaging in it.

Did he want to see them die?

No, not at all.

He despised himself for acting so cowardly, a trait that painfully reminded him of his own father.

The idea of Reapers attacking the camp in such numbers had seemed impossible, so he hadn't prepared any potions to boost his physical abilities.

In hindsight, it was a stupid oversight, but how could he have anticipated such a turn of events?

Without any potions, he was basically a normal human being—well, as normal as a Gift user could be.

Gift users naturally had steadier bodies, more strength, and enhanced agility, but that didn't help him much in the face of such overwhelming odds.

The only potions he had were healing ones, which he always carried around. 

And even two of those had been taken from him, leaving him with just one.

He wasn't too irritated about that though.

Erisa hadn't told him who they were for, but it was easy to conclude that one had been for Weiss, who must have been the person informing her about the healing potions, since Erisa probably fought against her.

The other was likely for Quill, who had most likely been tortured by Weiss.

Silas stood in front of a small, ornate table, examining the single remaining red potion.

This healing potion was immensely valuable, capable of healing almost any physical damage.

It also required numerous rare and expensive ingredients, and his family—or rather, he—was far from wealthy.

He wasn't afraid of the consequences of the plan he had concocted with Weiss.

His only fear had been that Weiss wouldn't be able to control herself and would kill Quill, but fortunately, that hadn't happened.

This must have meant that Weiss had followed the plan, or so Silas believed.

She had tortured Quill to instill fear in him, to make him submit to her, and Silas felt no regret.

Quill Nocturne was a terrible human being, deserving of much worse.

Part of him didn't want to face Quill, fearing he might actually feel some pity for him. Yet, another part of him couldn't wait to see just how much Weiss had broken him.

*Szzzzzt*

Silas's tent flap flew open, a gust of wind preceding the sudden attack.

Threads wrapped around his arms, their weight dragging him to the ground. His head hit the carpet with a painful thud.

"Arrhg," he groaned, quickly rolling onto his back. The weight on the threads seemed to lighten, allowing him to scramble to his feet.

He grabbed the academy-issued sword lying beside his bed and slashed at the threads, severing them swiftly.

"Who is there!" he shouted, only to see another thread shoot towards the sword's grip.

Silas was too slow to react, and the thread wrapped around the sword's grip, yanking it out of his hand.

Then, as if the assailant had grown tired of playing, dozens of threads stormed into the tent, wrapping around his body.

Silas's face was forced into the carpet once again, his view limited to the ground and the figure now entering his tent.

He didn't need to see the person to know who it was. He had seen these threads and their wielder throughout the field trip.

"...I swear, if you don't let me go now," Silas began, his voice rising.

"Then what?" Quill interjected, cutting off Silas's threat before it could fully form.

"If you kill me or do anything to me, you'll be going straight to the Headmaster. The best you can hope for is just getting kicked out of Sentinel."

Quill remained silent, simply watching Silas struggle on the carpet. 

"You have no evidence of anything that happened, as my potion likely healed you entirely. Even if you tried, do you really think your word would stand up against Weiss?"

He was likely correct in his assumption.

Despite the diverse backgrounds of the students at Sentinel, everyone was treated equally by the professors.

Even though everyone knew this equality would only last the year, making hasty moves against anyone, assuming they were on par, could lead to repercussions after graduation.

Yet the headmaster upheld this system, disregarding names, power, or wealth.

This meant that Quill being a Nocturne wouldn't give him any advantages, making it unlikely that the Headmaster would support him over Weiss.

But...

"You really think you've got the upper hand, huh, Silas Edel—or should I say, Silas Jihan Viper?"

Silas's eyes widened in shock, his struggle against the threads ceasing instantly.

"H-How—"

"How do I know you're the son of the drug baron, Simon Jihan Viper? Just a guess... but one I'm certain Sentinel Academy would be very interested to hear."

"W-Wait..."

Simon Jihan Viper, Silas's father, was a notorious villain in the novel—a ruthless and violent leader of one of the largest crime syndicates.

Almost no one knew he had a son.

Quill moved the threads, lifting Silas's upper body so their eyes met.

"I wonder what would happen if the Headmaster knew about this... Perhaps the best outcome for you would be getting kicked out of the academy?" Quill mocked, throwing Silas's words back at him.

In reality, the Headmaster of Sentinel knew about Silas's father but had still allowed Silas to enroll.

Obviously, Quill knew about this, but Silas was unaware.

From Silas's perspective, he had successfully forged his documents to enter Sentinel, hoping to evade his father's control and achieve recognition as a renowned Hunter.

"No—no, you can't!" Silas's face paled. Quill ignored him, walking past to the small, ornamented desk where a glowing red potion lay.

He took the healing potion and pocketed it.

At this moment, Silas didn't even care about that. Quill could have all his belongings for all he cared.

His entire focus was on the threat hanging over him. 

If he were to be expelled from Sentinel, his only chance of escaping his father would diminish. At that point, he would be better off dead.

Quill stood over Silas, his piercing red eyes boring into Silas's vulnerable brown ones.

Despite everything, Quill knew Silas wasn't a bad person; in fact, he was quite the opposite.

It was remarkable that he had managed to retain his goodness despite his childhood.

Besides Quill understood the reason behind Silas's actions.

Oscar, Weiss Licht's brother, must have been someone important to Silas—perhaps a close friend.

And Quill had taken that very person away from him. Given his story, Quill could imagine how lonely Silas was after possibly losing the only friend he had.

Though this was just an assumption, as there was almost nothing written about Oscar in the novel.

It was a natural response to want to punish the supposed culprit.

But Elias wasn't Quill, and despite his understanding, he wasn't about to accept punishment for something he hadn't committed just to ease someone else's sorrow.

Silas and Weiss had crossed a line, even though they couldn't have possibly known that Elias was Quill—it had still happened.

"...Hey, Silas." Quill's voice was low and dangerous, his eyes narrowing like a viper's. Silas began to sweat, the fear evident on his face.

Quill kneeled, their eyes locked. Silas couldn't muster a word, paralyzed the intensity of Quill's gaze.

"Shoot me in the head while I'm asleep, push me into a swarm of Reapers to have my soul devoured, slice my neck with a sword," Quill paused, his voice growing more menacing, "but if you ever dare to poison me again, I will not show the restraint I am showing now. Consider this your first and only warning."

Finally, Quill stood up, his demeanor shifting to one of cold resolve.

"Don't take this too personally. Let's just say we're even. ...Oh, and don't worry, I won't tell anyone about your real identity, as long as you do one simple thing," his voice hardened, "Stay out of my way."

He added, "There's no need for things to be awkward between us next time we see each other. Just consider this a straightforward deal."

With that, he turned and left, the threads binding Silas falling to the ground.

Silas collapsed, catching himself with his hands, his face contorted in agony.

This was the last thing Silas had anticipated. Had Weiss failed?

He knew now that he had underestimated Quill Nocturne. This was no longer the Quill he had analyzed for months.

This Quill was far more cunning, and far more dangerous.