Halochassis

The Silent Warlock led the detective through the quiet corridors of the academy and into an empty classroom. The room was bathed in the warm orange glow of the late afternoon sun, its rays slanting through the tall glass windows and stretching across rows of polished desks. Dust motes drifted lazily through the light, while the faint scent of parchment, ink, and aged wood lingered in the air. The distant chatter of students had long since faded, leaving only the occasional rustle of leaves from the courtyard outside.

Thankfully, only Croft had arrived for the interview.

Cattleo had half expected the Untouchable Windwalker to accompany the detective, considering the seriousness of the recent investigations. The prospect of facing both of them at once would have been troublesome. Yet fate appeared to be favoring him today. Croft had come alone, carrying only her briefcase, notepad, and stubborn determination.

It would be easy to eliminate this pesky detective if it ever comes to that, Cattleo thought coldly.

His expression remained blank as he took a seat opposite her, but beneath his calm exterior, his mind was already calculating possibilities. The classroom offered several exits. The nearest teachers were buildings away. If violence became necessary, there would be few witnesses.

Croft flipped open her notepad and began asking questions. Her inquiries focused primarily on his whereabouts during the disappearance of a freshman from the grade school division of the magic academy. She then moved on to another topic—the two missing children from the orphanage in Luminous City, who had vanished shortly after the Northern Fortress incident.

Her sharp eyes never left him as she spoke. Every answer, every hesitation, every twitch of his face was carefully observed.

Unfortunately for her, Cattleo was perhaps the worst possible interview subject.

The young warlock sat stiffly in his chair, fingers resting on his wand as though it were a lifeline. His naturally introverted personality, combined with his severe stutter, turned every response into a struggle. Simple questions resulted in fragmented answers, awkward pauses, and incomplete sentences. Sometimes several seconds passed before a single word escaped his lips.

“S-S-S-School…”

“W-W-W-With classmates…”

“N-N-N-No idea…”

The interview dragged on in this frustrating manner, yielding little useful information.

Well, this is why they call him the Silent Warlock, Croft thought while scribbling notes. He barely talks. And when he does, it's almost the same as remaining silent.

She tapped her pencil against the edge of her notebook, trying to maintain her professional composure. Although her face remained courteous, irritation slowly simmered beneath the surface. Interviewing witnesses was already tedious work. Interviewing a witness who required nearly a minute to answer a simple question was an entirely different challenge.

Still, she suppressed her annoyance. The detective had spent years cultivating patience. If Cattleo noticed her frustration, he gave no indication.

The interview ended sooner than expected, perhaps because Croft realized she would gain little from prolonging it. The sunlight outside had shifted toward a deeper amber hue, and long shadows stretched across the classroom floor as afternoon slowly approached evening.

Closing her notebook with a soft snap, Croft stood up and offered the young warlock a polite smile.

“I'll be staying in the vicinity,” she said while gathering her belongings. “I'm supposed to conduct an on-site inspection around the Magic Academy for the next three days, so you'll probably see me around.”

“S-S-S-Sure,” Cattleo replied with a small nod. “T-T-T-Take c-c-c-care.”

Croft adjusted her fedora before dusting off her coat. The leather of her briefcase creaked softly as she picked it up. Without another word, she exited the classroom and made her way through the academy grounds.

Cattleo remained motionless by the window, watching her departure.

The detective crossed the courtyard and passed through the academy gates. Beyond the mountain path below lay a modest inn nearly an hour away—the nearest place capable of accommodating visitors. Judging from her direction, that was undoubtedly where she intended to stay.

His eyes narrowed slightly.

If everything goes awry, that inn would be the ideal place to strike.

The thought surfaced with chilling ease. A quiet room. Minimal witnesses. Convenient escape routes through the surrounding forest.

Yet he did not act immediately.

Instead, he continued watching until Croft disappeared from view.

Only after confirming that nobody else remained near the gates did Cattleo turn toward a large tree standing proudly in the center of the courtyard. Its thick branches swayed gently beneath the afternoon breeze, causing sunlight to flicker through the canopy like scattered gold.

Perched lazily atop one of the higher branches was a familiar figure.

A tall, muscular man reclined against the trunk as though he had not a care in the world. His long green hair cascaded down his shoulders, occasionally swaying with the wind, while his deep emerald eyes reflected amusement. He wore flowing eastern garments embroidered with draconic patterns that shimmered faintly whenever sunlight touched them.

The Ultimate Dragon Warrior, Qinglong Yin.

“Getting pestered again by that cheeky detective, huh?” Qinglong scoffed.

With effortless grace, he pushed himself off the branch and dropped several meters. He landed lightly on the stone pathway below, producing only a muted thud despite his size.

“That runt's investigating me too,” he continued, rolling his shoulders. “Something about the death of a professor months ago. Sheesh.”

His tone carried more annoyance than concern.

Cattleo stared directly into Qinglong's eyes.

The silent gaze conveyed a simple question.

Why haven't you eliminated her yet?

Qinglong understood immediately.

He scratched the back of his neck and shrugged.

“Well, we could easily do that,” he admitted. “The problem isn't killing the detective. The problem is everything that happens afterward.”

His expression darkened slightly.

“Lireina would definitely investigate. And Alexander would probably join her. The moment Croft dies under suspicious circumstances, we'll have two of the strongest Celestial Wardens breathing down our necks.”

The Dragon Warrior clicked his tongue.

“Not exactly worth the trouble.”

For several moments, silence settled between them. The wind rustled the leaves overhead while distant students could be heard returning to their dormitories.

Then Cattleo finally raised his wand.

Rather than speaking, he traced glowing symbols through the air. Thin strands of mana flowed from the tip of his wand like streams of pale blue light, weaving together into floating letters. The words hung before Qinglong's eyes, shimmering softly against the darkening afternoon sky.

How about we make it look like an accident?

The sentence dissolved and reformed into another.

Or better yet, pin it on the Iron Bandits.

Qinglong stared at the glowing letters as a slow grin spread across his face.

Now that was a suggestion worth considering.

“That’s quite a good idea.” The Dragon Warrior smirked, folding his muscular arms across his chest. The morning breeze stirred his long green hair as his emerald eyes gleamed with mischief. Unlike Cattleo, who preferred caution and careful planning, Qinglong often favored direct action. The prospect of removing an obstacle while shifting the blame onto someone else appealed greatly to him.

Cattleo raised his wand once more. Pale streams of mana flowed from its tip, forming glowing words that floated between them like ghostly runes.

Not now. Everyone will think it's too suspicious. Follow her for now and see if she discovers anything against us.

The letters shimmered for several seconds before dissolving into tiny motes of blue light.

Qinglong read the message and nodded in understanding.

“Okay then.”

Without another word, he bent his knees and launched himself upward. The force of the jump shattered the stone pavement beneath his feet, creating a small crater surrounded by spiderweb cracks. A violent gust of wind exploded outward, sending leaves and dust swirling across the courtyard.

For a brief moment, Qinglong's silhouette soared against the sky like a dragon ascending toward the heavens. Then he disappeared beyond the clouds, leaving only the fading whistle of disturbed air behind.

Silence returned to the academy grounds.

Cattleo let out a quiet sigh and adjusted his robe. His gaze swept across the courtyard, carefully checking every corner, every window, and every rooftop. Satisfied that nobody had witnessed their conversation, he calmly turned away.

The young warlock walked through the academy's winding halls, descending into areas that few students even knew existed. Eventually, he reached a concealed passage hidden behind a section of enchanted stonework. The wall slid aside with a low rumble, revealing a staircase that spiraled downward into darkness.

The air grew colder as he descended. The scent of chemicals, herbs, and boiling fluids became stronger with every step.

At the bottom lay his secret laboratory.

Rows of glass containers lined the walls. Strange ingredients floated inside preservation jars, while alchemical equipment hummed softly with magical energy. In the center stood enormous vats filled with crimson liquid that bubbled slowly under controlled heat. The room glowed with the eerie light of mana crystals embedded throughout the ceiling.

Without hesitation, Cattleo returned to work.

After all, the Fountain of Youth would not manufacture itself.

<><><><><>

Saint Marian Academy was generally regarded as one of the finest institutions in the kingdom.

Certainly, it was not without flaws. Bureaucratic inefficiency plagued certain departments. Some high-ranking officials were notoriously corrupt, more interested in political influence than academic excellence. There were even professors whose teaching methods bordered on questionable. Yet despite these imperfections, the academy's reputation remained largely untarnished.

Thousands of aspiring mages dreamed of studying within its walls.

The sprawling campus was a place where students spent the most formative years of their lives. Friendships were forged in classrooms and dormitories. Rivalries emerged during practical examinations and tournaments. Young men and women devoted themselves to mastering the magical arts while preparing for their futures.

Military magic remained the academy's most prestigious field, attracting ambitious students hoping to become battlemages, officers, or royal knights. However, other disciplines flourished as well. Alchemists filled laboratories with bubbling experiments. Healers studied the mysteries of life and restoration. Industrial mages developed magical technologies that powered cities and strengthened the kingdom's economy.

During the day, the academy was alive with energy and hope.

By the following morning, it would become something entirely different.

Under the cover of darkness, while students slept peacefully in their dormitories and professors rested in their quarters, the Iron Bandits began their operation.

They infiltrated Saint Marian Academy with frightening efficiency.

Small groups quietly eliminated isolated guards and replaced them before anyone noticed their disappearance. Some disguised themselves as academy security personnel, adopting uniforms stolen from their victims. Others entered the grounds disguised as laborers. Wagon drivers, janitors, maintenance workers, and delivery personnel moved through the campus unnoticed.

A handful of bandits even posed as professors.

The infiltration was so smooth that not a single alarm was raised throughout the night.

When dawn finally arrived and the academy resumed its daily routine, the trap was already in place.

Students flooded the campus pathways, chatting with friends and carrying books beneath their arms. Professors prepared lesson plans. Staff members reported for work.

Nobody realized that enemies surrounded them.

Then the Iron Bandits made their move.

Groups stationed throughout the academy simultaneously secured entrances and exits. Heavy wagons were overturned to block roads. Reinforced chains sealed gates. Barricades appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

Moments later, armed bandits stormed classrooms throughout the campus.

Doors burst open with loud crashes.

Startled students jumped from their seats while professors instinctively stepped forward to protect them.

“We are the Iron Bandits!” one masked raider shouted. “Stay in your rooms and nobody gets hurt!”

Panic immediately spread across the academy.

Students exchanged frightened looks. Some screamed. Others began preparing spells beneath their desks.

Meanwhile, another group of bandits seized control of the academy's communication systems. They stormed the bell tower and took over the magical amplification network connected to every classroom and administrative building.

A deafening bell rang throughout the entire campus.

The sound echoed across the mountainside, causing birds to scatter from nearby forests.

Then a voice boomed from every enchanted speaker in the academy.

“We are the Iron Bandits! Stay in your rooms, and your safety is ensured!”

The announcement reverberated through hallways, classrooms, dormitories, and offices alike.

“We are only here to bring judgment to the Silent Warlock. If you are here, show yourself at the courtyard at noon. Failure to do so will result in some of the professors and students getting hurt!”

The message ended, leaving behind a heavy silence.

This was the first phase of Adzeel's plan.

Take the entire academy hostage.

Force Cattleo into the open.

However, there was one major flaw in the operation.

Saint Marian Academy was not an ordinary school.

Its students were mages.

Even first-year students possessed enough magical capability to overwhelm common criminals. A low-ranking Iron Bandit might intimidate civilians, but against trained magic users, many of them were hopelessly outmatched.

The resistance began almost immediately.

A classroom door exploded off its hinges when a student launched a Fireball directly into a bandit's chest.

“Fireball!”

Elsewhere, blue lightning crackled through a corridor as another student retaliated.

“Lightning Bolt!”

A spear of ice shot across a lecture hall and impaled a raider before he could even raise his weapon.

“Ice Spear!”

Within minutes, the entire academy descended into chaos.

Explosions shook buildings. Flames spread across walls and ceilings. Lightning flashed through hallways like miniature thunderstorms. Shards of ice shattered windows and covered floors with frost. The smell of smoke, ozone, burning wood, and spilled alchemical reagents filled the air.

Students and professors fought side by side against the invaders.

Bandits were blasted through walls, thrown down staircases, and struck by barrages of spells from every direction. Cries of pain mixed with battle shouts. Magical projectiles streaked through the campus like colorful comets, illuminating the morning with flashes of red, blue, gold, and violet.

The carefully orchestrated raid was rapidly spiraling out of control.

Instead of terrified hostages waiting obediently in their classrooms, the Iron Bandits found themselves fighting an entire academy full of trained spellcasters.

And at least for the moment, the defenders were winning.

Meanwhile, Adzeel, the bandit leader, stood near the carriage waiting at the foot of the mountains, where the road narrowed beneath jagged cliffs and the early wind carried the scent of pine, dust, and distant smoke. The morning was bright, but the air around him had already gone sour with bad news. By the time the reports reached him—of academy students resisting, of bandits falling back, of the so-called hostages turning into fighters—his temper had already begun to boil.

“These fucking morons really have no use,” Adzeel snapped, his voice sharp enough to make the nearby bandits flinch. He stormed toward a large crate set beside the carriage, his boots scraping against the gravel. The wooden frame rattled faintly as his subordinate bandits hurried after him, their armor clinking nervously with every step.

“We are sorry, Bandit Leader!” they cried in unison, panic tightening their voices.

One of them yanked open the massive crate, and the morning light spilled across the contents inside. Towering within it was the three-meter power armor known as the Halochassis—Armaros. Its black and crimson plating absorbed the light in hard, polished angles, while streaks of red along its frame seemed to burn like fresh embers. Even while dormant, the machine carried an oppressive presence, like a sleeping beast waiting to be awakened. The metal smelled faintly of oil, heated steel, and magic-infused machinery.

“Send a pigeon,” Adzeel ordered coldly, not even sparing the bandits another glance. “Tell every bandit to withdraw. Especially the weaklings. I’ll handle this myself.”

“Yes, Bandit Leader!” the bandits replied at once, scrambling to obey.

Adzeel stepped toward Armaros without hesitation. The armor’s chest split open with a deep mechanical hiss, panels unfolding outward like a blooming iron flower. Inside, the cockpit glowed with dim magical light, its interior lined with fitted controls and enchanted conduits. Adzeel climbed in, and the moment he settled into place, the Halochassis began to close around him. Plates locked into position one after another with heavy, precise clicks until the armor sealed perfectly, snug as a glove and imposing as a fortress.

Then Adzeel spoke in a low, commanding tone.

“Awaken, Armaros.”

For a heartbeat, nothing moved.

Then Armaros’ green eyes flared to life, bright and sharp beneath the armored helm. A pulse of energy rippled through the chassis, humming through its joints and wings. With a grinding roar of metal and magic, the giant armor lifted itself upright, flexing its crimson-black wings wide enough to cast long shadows over the crate and carriage below.

It took one deliberate step forward, then another, each movement shaking loose pebbles and dust from the ground. Adzeel guided it toward the open sky.

Armaros spread its wings fully, and in a violent burst of force, it launched itself upward. The air shattered around the armor with a thunderous sonic boom that cracked through the mountain pass and sent nearby birds scattering into the sky. Wind tore past the camp in a violent gust, whipping cloaks, banners, and loose debris into a frenzy.

Within seconds, the black-and-red figure of Armaros was already climbing into the heavens, leaving behind only the fading roar of its ascent.