Reborn Financier-Chapter 57: Those Who Watch in Shadows

The bells of the academy did not toll. Not at this height.

Above the spires, where the sky clung tightly to stone, stood a forgotten tower cloaked in shadow. Ancient magic masked its presence — not just from the eye, but from thought itself. Few knew it existed, and fewer dared approach. And tonight, the silence was broken only by the rhythmic click of boots on marble.

A figure stood before a mirror not made of glass, but of liquid shadow. It pulsed faintly, showing scenes from below — the shattered courtyard, the bloodstained stones, and finally, the motionless body of Raelius being taken away.

"Hmm," the figure muttered, voice smooth, ageless, and wrong. "Raelius was a failure... too impulsive. Weak-minded. He broke too soon."

The mirror’s image distorted... then shifted — zooming in on a pale, unconscious girl lying in a sterile white bed under low candlelight. Bruises littered his chest. Her breathing was steady. Controlled. Alive.

"Meng Ji," the figure whispered with a smile. "Scarred. Disciplined. Resistant."

A long, pale hand — gloved in a black weave — reached forward and caressed the image like one might a delicate artifact.

"You may just be the one..."

Behind him, the room darkened unnaturally, shadows creeping like oil across stone. The figure turned away, his silhouette unraveling into mist.

"Let’s see what secrets you hold, girl."

And with a sound like paper tearing underwater, he vanished, leaving behind only the lingering scent of sulfur — and the low hum of a mirror that no longer showed anything at all.

As the shadow fades, the mirror’s surface shivers... and reflects a sliver of dawn.

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Morning broke with clouds like bruises across the sky. The academy’s usual bustle was strained — corridors filled with whispers instead of laughter, glares instead of greetings.

The rumor had spread like wildfire before sunrise: Raelius a noble from the powerful Horsen Empire is dead.

And though no official statement had been given, the students of the academy didn’t need confirmation. The scorch marks in the courtyard were proof enough. So were the shattered pillars. And above all else — the thick silence surrounding Class B.

Within the classrooms, tension hung like fog.

Some claimed Kaidën had bested Raelius in a duel. Others whispered of darker things — forbidden arts, demonic flares, the echo of screaming mana. A few murmured that Raelius had lost control... but no one believed he simply died.

Not without cause.

Students from Class A prowled the halls with renewed arrogance. One sneered as he passed a shaken B-Class pair. "What’s next? You people gonna bring a necromancer for the next trial?"

Another girl spat at the foot of a B-Class dorm entrance. "Maybe the next corpse will be one of yours."

Even the instructors weren’t exempt. Several gathered in hushed tones, exchanging side glances, their gazes flicking toward Kaidën’s name on the roster. Some muttered about curses. Others about containment.

Class B’s instructor, a normally calm woman, slammed a desk mid-lecture. "Enough. You will not speak of your classmates like that."

But the tremble in her voice betrayed her fear. Not just of Kaidën — but of what he might bring, or if he really was a demon like people taught.

The lecture hall fades, and in a quiet healing room tucked far from the main wing, a girl stirs.

The walls were white. Too white.

Kaidën’s eyes opened slowly. The air was thick with medicinal herbs, but beneath it... something sour lingered. He sat up, only to feel a pulse in his chest. The wound had closed, but the ache remained. He remembered everything — Raelius’s descent into madness. The twisted mana. The kill.

He remembered the way his own blood hummed — how everything inside him wanted to tear, to destroy, to burn.

But there was something else in the room.

A woman sat in the corner.

Robed in gray with no emblem, no crest — no presence.

He hadn’t sensed her.

"How long have you been here?" he asked, voice low.

"Long enough," she replied.

Her voice was soft, but off — each word measured like a prayer spoken backward.

"I’m Selith," she said. "A servant of the Shadowed Magic Tower of the Hosen Empire. Don’t worry, I’m not here to kill you."

Her lips curved into something that might’ve been a smile. "You’re far more interesting than that."

Kaidën’s fingers brushed against the dagger under his pillow.

"I didn’t invite you," he said coldly.

"No," Selith said. "But power like yours? It sends invitations of its own. You tore a hole in the world that night... and something looked through."

Kaidën’s eyes narrowed.

She stood slowly, tilting her head as if listening to something only she could hear.

"I can’t see what you are," she whispered. "But I saw... just enough."

Kaidën surged to his feet, his aura flaring — only to find the woman was gone. Not vanished with magic. Not blinked away.

She simply wasn’t there anymore. As if she’d never been.

The chair was empty. The scent she left behind was neither perfume nor poison — but rot.

And for the first time in a long time, Kaidën felt rattled.

But one thing was sure the Hosen Empire as taken interest in him but even though they might have sent someone to see how powerful he was, she was only able to see what kaidën wanted, meaning even though they are eyeing him, he was nothing more than a cockroach to them, at least that’s what he wanted her to see.

***********************************************

Outside, wind rakes through the trees, and in a separate wing, another bed rustles...

Darkness.

Then light — dim and flickering.

Meng Ji groaned, her limbs heavy. Her chest ached with every breath. Something cold ran through his veins — not fear, not medicine.

Emptiness.

She sat up slowly. The medical ward was quiet. Too quiet. She remembered the battle in fragments — Raelius turning. The black horns. The shrieks of mana.

And Kaidën.

That surge of godly energy. Her voice, cold and final.

But... there was a hole in the memory. A piece missing. A moment she couldn’t touch.

A presence entered the room.

She turned — expecting the usual nurse.

But the woman was unfamiliar. Her smile was too wide. Her hands too pale.

"You’ll be just fine, candidate," she whispered.

Before Meng Ji could ask, move, react, a sharp sting pierced her arm. She’d injected something — fast and practiced.

Her world tilted.

"You’ll sleep now. Sleep deep."

"W... who..."

Her face blurred.

And Meng Ji fell. Not into sleep. But into nothing.

As her head hits the pillow, the view shifts skyward — to a tower silhouetted by dying sunlight.

Alaric stood on the balcony of the Grandmaster Tower, his cloak fluttering in the cold wind.

Far on the horizon, the clouds churned black and purple — lightning crackling faintly in the distance, as though the heavens were holding their breath.

Behind him, in a sealed glass vault, twin daggers hummed.

Their hilts gleamed faintly. One pulsed with divine mana. The other with something... far darker.

Crack.

A thin fracture split the glass.

Alaric turned, face solemn, eyes filled with dread.

"So it begins," he murmured.

His hand gripped the balcony rail. Far below, life continued in blissful ignorance.

But the blades had felt it.

The shift.

The world was tilting — and the demons where moving.

To be continued...