The next morning, the rising sun cast long, slanted shadows across the walls of the dormitory. The early silence was shattered by a loud, commanding voice.
"Wake up! Everyone, up it's time for breakfast !"
Mr. June's sharp tone echoed through the halls like a war drum, snapping the students from their slumber.
Theodore stirred, rubbing his eyes in irritation. He noticed how quickly the noble students scrambled to obey, some nearly tripping over themselves in their haste. Strange. These pampered brats were acting like soldiers. He had assumed they would complain about early wake-up calls, but instead, they followed orders without question.
Mr. June approached Theodore, his expression softening—almost unnervingly so. He patted Theodore's head, his lips curling into a smug grin.
"Good morning, my little prince."
Theodore froze.
His fingers twitched, fists clenching at his sides as irritation turned to pure rage.
"Little prince?"
The syrupy tone. The condescension. It was enough to make Theodore want to rip his hand away and break his fingers.
But instead, he forced a smile—a chilling one, the kind that never reached his eyes. "Good morning, Instructor June," he said, emphasizing the title as if reminding the man of his place.
Mr. June simply chuckled, withdrawing his hand.
The dining hall of the dormitory was spacious, with high wooden beams and long tables lined with neatly arranged dishes. The scent of freshly baked bread, sizzling eggs, and warm soup filled the air. Maids dressed in simple, earth-toned uniforms moved swiftly, placing trays in front of the students with practiced efficiency.
Despite the lavish spread, Theodore ate in silence, observing.
Cai and Marvin bickered over who could eat the most without passing out, while Vincent—sitting at the far end of the table—kept stealing glances at Theodore, clearly unsure of how to mend the rift between them.
After a quick meal of egg soup and cheesecake, the students were led outside for training.
The air was crisp as they ran laps through the open fields before moving into the narrow dirt roads of Daunt Village's center.
The village, now bathed in the morning sun, looked as lifeless as it did the day before. The wooden houses were old but sturdy, their stone foundations cracked with age. A few villagers peeked out from their homes, their tired, sunken eyes watching the passing students with equal parts hope and fear.
Theodore could feel it—the underlying tension hanging over the town like a storm cloud.
At the heart of the village, Mr. Smith—the village chief—stood waiting.
The man's frail frame was deceiving. Despite his age-worn hands gripping a cane, his presence alone was commanding.
The students lined up instinctively, standing stiff under his piercing gaze.
When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of sorrow and countless losses.
"Our village has been cursed for generations," Mr. Smith began. "Every full moon, a woman emerges from the forest—a spirit of malice. She takes our children… and sometimes, she kills those who get in her way."
The students tensed, shifting uneasily.
"Last night, she was quiet. But tonight…" The village chief's expression darkened. "She will come again."
A murmur of fear spread among the students.
"Tonight?"
"That's terrifying…"
Silence followed, thick and heavy.
Then, one brave student hesitated before asking, "Why don't you just leave if it's so dangerous?"
Before Mr. Smith could answer, Miss Lidia stepped forward, her sharp gaze cutting through the air like a blade.
"Do not ask such thoughtless questions," she snapped.
The village chief, however, simply raised a hand, calming her with a faint smile.
"It's alright," he said, his voice gentler. "We cannot leave because this land is sacred to us. It is blessed."
To demonstrate, he knelt down, pressing a small seed into the soil.
A few seconds passed. Then—
A tiny sprout emerged.
In an instant, the sprout grew, stretching toward the sky, its leaves thickening, bark forming, branches twisting upward. Before their very eyes, it transformed into a fully-grown tree.
The students stared in stunned silence.
The village was alive.
"This land is our life," the chief continued, his gaze sweeping over the students. "But that blessing has turned into a curse. We have tried to fight her, but the spirit never reveals herself. She strikes from the shadows, stealing our children, spreading her dark magic. We've lost so much already…"
The weight of his words settled over them. The mission suddenly felt far more real.
Breaking the tense silence, Mr. June stepped forward, summoning something with a flick of his wrist.
A second later, a collection of dark, tactical suits appeared, floating in midair.
Each student received a suit—it was form-fitting, reinforced at the shoulders and knees, designed for both mobility and protection. The fabric shimmered slightly, enhanced with defensive enchantments.
As Theodore pulled his on, he noted how lightweight it was. Despite its dark, battle-ready appearance, the suit moved as if it were a second skin.
Mr. June's voice rang out, breaking their focus.
"Rest now. Go back to the dormitory. Tonight… we hunt."
The village chief added, "Oh, I nearly forgot. We've prepared swords and other weapons for the students. The creatures that the curse spirit releases… they are monstrous, terrifying. They only come out at night."
A heavy silence fell over the students. Monsters? No one had mentioned that before.
Some gulped, others shifted uncomfortably. The mission suddenly felt more real.
After returning to their quarters to change, Theodore sat on his bed, adjusting the unfamiliar fabric of his suit. Across from him, Marvin and Cai were deep in thought, their faces unusually serious.
Marvin leaned back, running a hand through his dark curls. "Don't you think it's strange? They refuse to leave this village despite being hunted by a monster?"
Theodore hummed in agreement. He had been thinking the same thing.
Something was off.
The villagers spoke of their land being blessed, yet it was also cursed. Why stay when their children were being taken? What were they hiding?
Cai scoffed, stretching his arms. "Bah, just leave it. We'll break the curse, end of story."
Theodore wasn't satisfied with that answer. He needed more information.
Standing up, he moved toward the door.
"Where are you going?" Cai asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Walk," Theodore replied simply, locking the door behind him.
As Theodore stepped outside, the air felt heavier, thick with unspoken fears.
Villagers moved in silence, their faces drawn and tired. Children peered through curtains, their eyes wide with both curiosity and fear. It wasn't just the curse that made this place feel lifeless. It was as if hope itself had withered.
Theodore's sharp gaze studied everything. A town cursed for decades… and yet, not a single sign of rebellion? No efforts to leave, no desperate attempts to fight back?
Something was being kept from them.
His wandering brought him to the farthest edge of the village, where a thin man sat in front of a small, crumbling house.
Theodore stopped.
The man was sharpening a sword, his hands moving with eerie precision. His hollowed cheeks, dark circles, and scarred face told a story of years of suffering. Yet, his expression was void of emotion—as if he had already died inside.
Theodore narrowed his eyes.
This man wasn't ordinary.
He took a step forward—
A hand clamped onto his shoulder.
"Don't go near him."
Theodore turned to see Mr. Smith, the village chief. His voice was low and firm, his normally calm demeanor tense.
"That man is cursed. We all keep our distance."
Theodore turned back to the man, eyes narrowing. Instinctively, he activated his shadow sight, scanning for any traces of dark mana, curses, or supernatural influence.
Nothing.
There was no cursed aura. No magical residue.
Theodore frowned. "Are you sure he's cursed?"
Mr. Smith nodded gravely. "He sacrificed his wife and children to the spirit. That is why he lives like this—haunted, broken."
Theodore felt his stomach twist. He looked at the man again, his lifeless eyes, his motionless posture—and yet, something didn't add up.
(He looks haunted, yes… but his hands are steady. A man driven mad by guilt wouldn't still be sharpening a sword so perfectly.)
Theodore's mind raced.
If the man was so dangerous, why let him stay?
If he had committed such an atrocity, why was he still alive?
And most importantly, why hadn't Mr. Smith mentioned him before?
Theodore's eyes darkened. (He's lying to me.)
But why?
Theodore sighed, pretending to drop the matter. "I understand," he said, schooling his expression into neutrality.
Mr. Smith seemed relieved. He patted Theodore's shoulder. "It's best not to question too much, young prince. That man has no love for strangers, and he may harm you."
(Harm me? He looks like he barely has the will to live.)
Still, Theodore nodded. "Okay, I'll head back."
He turned away, making his way toward the dormitory. But just before entering, he glanced over his shoulder.
Mr. Smith was speaking to the man in hushed tones. The man, who had been silent before, was now staring directly at Theodore.
Unblinking. Expressionless.
A chill ran down Theodore's spine.
Back in his quarters, Theodore lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
His thoughts spun like a web of intricate puzzles.
The cursed man. The chief's secrecy. The untouched land. The missing children.
None of it fit together properly.
Why was the man still alive if he had done something so unforgivable?
Why hadn't the chief mentioned him before?
Why had he stared at Theodore like that?
Something about this village was deeply wrong.
Theodore turned to the window, his gaze drawn toward the forest's edge.
Beyond the village, the trees stood unnaturally still. The cursed mana swirled like an unseen storm, its presence pulling at him, whispering… tempting.
He exhaled slowly, fighting the urge to step closer.
And then—
Somewhere in the village, a woman began to cry.
The sound was thin, ghostly, filled with grief so raw that it chilled the bones.
The Night Weeper had awakened.