Students lay scattered across the ground—some unconscious, others barely moving.

Several were bleeding heavily, their uniforms stained dark beneath them. Their shallow breaths told me they were alive, but just barely.

It didn't take much to piece together what had happened.

Everything here…

every fallen student…

every drop of spilled blood…

It all pointed to Clarice.

Why had she transformed like that?

Why attack her own classmates?

What could have possibly pushed her this far?

And more importantly—

Where were the professors?

This was the Academy.

During training.

Professors were supposed to be monitoring everything, ready to intervene the moment danger appeared.

But the place was silent.

No footsteps.

No magic flares.

No teachers rushing in to stop her.

Had they really let things reach this point?

My grip tightened.

Moreover, the dragon Lumine was still at the academy.

A being powerful enough to erase an entire army with a flick of her claws.

Yet she hadn't appeared.

No intervention.

No presence.

Nothing.

Why?

Before the question could spiral any further, Lisa's calm voice cut in.

"There's a barrier surrounding us."

Her tone was steady, but her expression was tight.

And suddenly, everything made sense.

A barrier—one strong enough to block even a dragon's senses.

Someone had sealed off this area completely.

"…Louis Vermore."

Clarice, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke.

She said my name softly—but there was weight behind it.

I stepped forward, hand tightening instinctively around my sword.

Even the air felt heavy.

"Did you do all this?" I asked.

My voice wasn't loud, but every word trembled slightly at the edges.

Part of me prayed I had misunderstood.

That this was some kind of joke or trick.

Clarice didn't respond right away.

She slowly swept her gaze around us—at the injured, groaning students; at the friends clutching their wounds; at the ones who were barely conscious.

Her expression didn't change.

Not even a flicker.

Then she looked back at me.

"Ah. Yes," she said lightly, almost like she was answering a mundane question.

"I did it all."

My breath hitched.

"Why would you do something like this?" I demanded.

My voice sharpened—not out of anger, but confusion.

Nothing about this made sense.

Clarice had always been quiet, almost gentle.

Soft-spoken, shy even.

I knew nothing about her—not really—but I had never imagined she was the type to cause… this.

A massacre.

But she only stared at me with those unreadable eyes, as if the suffering around her had nothing to do with her.

As if it were all just part of a routine morning.

And for the first time,

I realized I had absolutely no idea who Clarice truly was.

We weren't close.

In fact, I couldn't even say I had particularly positive feelings toward her.

But there was one thing I did know about Clarice:

Even if everything between us had started from a misunderstanding…

Even if she had once swung her sword at me based purely on her own misguided sense of righteousness…

She wasn't someone who belonged among villains.

Her "justice" may have been twisted, immature, and painfully self-righteous,

but it was still rooted in something genuine.

Which was exactly why—

Why on earth was this happening now?

I waited for her to answer, my patience thinning as the situation around us continued to worsen. But Clarice didn't say a word. Her lips were pressed tightly together, and she stared at me with those crimson eyes—eyes shining with something raw and tightly restrained.

A long silence stretched between us.

Just as I opened my mouth again—because at this rate, people's conditions might deteriorate before we got anywhere—

"…I envied them."

"…What?"

Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it pierced the quiet like a blade.

"I coveted their brilliantly shining talents."

I stared at her, momentarily stunned.

What kind of nonsense—

But I shut my mouth.

Because despite how absurd it sounded, Clarice wasn't someone who would say something like that lightly.

She continued, her voice trembling faintly.

"At first… I really believed I could overcome anything with effort. I thought if I trained harder, pushed myself more, I could catch up. I truly did."

Her fists clenched at her sides.

"But no matter how hard I tried… I couldn't even imitate them."

Her gaze lowered, the weight of her own words sinking into the silence.

Jealousy. Inferiority. Desperation.

All emotions she had buried so deeply under her rigid pride were finally surfacing.

And for the first time—I realized how fragile she really was behind all that righteousness.

Clarice's voice carried on, thick with emotion—so heavy it felt like it pressed against my chest.

And everything she said…

I understood it far too well.

"I swung my sword until my palms were raw, hoping that someday I could become a knight."

As she spoke, an image rose vividly in my mind:

Clarice alone in the training grounds long after sunset, swinging her sword again and again, hands blistered, shoulders trembling—yet refusing to stop.

"I thought if I worked hard enough, I could become like them."

The knights she admired.

The heroes she dreamt of joining.

People who stood tall and shone brightly—everything she wanted to become.

"But reality proved otherwise. No matter how hard I tried… someone like me could never reach that dream."

Her voice cracked slightly.

Reality was merciless.

Clarice wasn't gifted. If anything, she had even less talent than the average person.

The wall that stood before her dream was impossibly steep—too thick, too high, too cruel.

And from that struggle… came the emotions that had been festering in her heart.

Inferiority.

Jealousy.

Despair.

My chest tightened painfully, throbbing in sync with her words.

The remnants of the original Louis's emotions—his negativity, his frustration—surged within me, as if trying to claw their way out.

"So I decided to achieve my dream at any cost," she whispered. "Even if it meant selling my soul to the devil."

"…Devil?"

The word was so out of place I couldn't stop myself from frowning.

Devils didn't exist in this world.

Or at least… they weren't supposed to.

So what did she mean?

Was she simply using the word metaphorically, referring to someone ruthless?

Or—

…Is there really a devil?

If that was the case, then this situation was far more dangerous than I thought.

This world didn't have legendary heroes or saints destined to slay ancient evils.

No grand prophecies.

No divine protection.

Just ordinary people living in a world that could be cruel enough on its own.

So if something like a devil actually existed…

Then Clarice's story wasn't just tragic anymore.

It was terrifying.

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