God's Tree-Chapter 225: The Unseen Lesson

Argolaith remained in the back corner, still cloaked in the stillness he had woven around himself.

The lecture moved on.

Elder Mirith's teaching style was unlike anything in the public halls. There were no repeated definitions, no diagrams. Instead, she spoke in layered concepts, expecting her students to mentally anchor abstract thoughts to structured magical theory in real time. Spatial compression. Echoed displacement. Shadow folds between dimensions.

It was advanced.

Far beyond what the academy shared with the rest of its student body.

And yet, Argolaith understood it.

Perhaps not all of it in exact terminology—but enough to follow the patterns. Enough to know when she was holding back, when she was leading them in circles to provoke discovery.

Still, after the third hour, he grew… bored.

Not disinterested.

Just amused.

They hadn't noticed him.

Not one of them.

So, when the class paused for a short break and the students began quietly murmuring to one another, stretching or refreshing their spell focus tools—

Argolaith moved.

Soundless.

Effortless.

From shadow to shadow.

He walked up to each student's desk and took their pencils—whether arcane stylus, floating script wands, or enchanted ink rods—and vanished them into his coat.

He studied their reactions. freёnovelkiss.com

None noticed.

Not immediately.

A few kept scribbling with residual ink, unaware their tools were already gone.

One student did glance around but assumed their stylus had fallen under the desk.

Still not one sensed the presence moving around them.

Elite, yes. But not alert.

By the time the break ended and the students returned to their seats, Argolaith had visited every desk.

He stood silently again in the back corner, arms crossed.

Amused.

Waiting.

Elder Mirith resumed the class by turning slowly to face them all.

"A question," she said, folding her hands behind her back. "Would you say you're always alert?"

One of the older students straightened. "Yes, Elder."

Another echoed the answer with more confidence. "We remain focused and aware at all times."

Mirith's eyes drifted slowly across the room, pausing for a heartbeat on each face.

Then she gave a slow, knowing smile.

"Interesting."

A few students blinked, confused by her tone.

Then Mirith raised her voice slightly.

"Tell me, then. Have your writing instruments gone missing?"

Silence.

Chairs scraped. Hands darted to desk surfaces.

Gasps echoed softly.

One by one, they realized.

They were all gone.

Every stylus. Every quill. Every arcane scribing tool.

Gone.

"What—?"

"I had it before break—"

"This doesn't make sense—"

Panic settled in—not fear, but the uncomfortable recognition of having missed something.

Something that shouldn't have been possible.

Mirith let the tension rise just long enough before speaking again.

"The lesson is this: awareness without perception is just confidence. And confidence, without humility, invites intrusion."

She paused.

Then her gaze flicked back to the room.

"There is someone in this room who has never attended a single lesson here before today."

All heads turned.

Eyes scanned.

No one found anything.

"You have five minutes to find them."

Argolaith smiled faintly in the back.

A test.

He liked this elder.

So he decided to play.

He reached into his coat and pulled out one of the student's pencils, gliding between the illusion-light shadows at the edges of the room like a breeze. With care and precision, he placed the stolen pencil on the desk of a different student—directly in front of them.

The student blinked in surprise, looking around.

Then another.

He handed the next pencil to a second student, one who hadn't even realized theirs was missing.

Confusion spread like ripples on still water.

And the rest?

He passed them—every last one—to Elder Mirith, placing them silently into her open palm.

She didn't flinch.

Didn't look at him.

Just gave the barest tilt of her lips into something that might have been a smirk.

A shared understanding.

The room spiraled further into disarray, voices rising now as students argued, searched, and hypothesized about enchantments, illusions, and saboteurs.

Argolaith leaned back against the wall.

Hands behind his head.

Watching.

Calm.

Unseen.

And very much in control.

The chamber pulsed with quiet tension.

Seconds ticked by.

The students—normally composed, self-assured, and above such uncertainty—had descended into scattered whispers and searching glances.

Some tapped detection runes. Others cast soft waves of mana to feel for irregularities. A few even tried to summon mirror illusions to scan the room from multiple angles.

None of it worked.

They couldn't find him.

And he was right there.

In the back.

Still. Silent.

Smirking.

Elder Mirith stood near the center of the classroom, hands clasped loosely behind her back, watching with faint amusement as the best and brightest the academy had to offer struggled not with theory—but with reality.

"Two minutes."

Her voice echoed like a blade tapping stone.

The students scattered further, their calm crumbling.

A boy near the front pulled out a scrying talisman and activated it—only for the image to flicker and die.

Blocked.

A girl on the far left muttered a trace chant and extended a ribbon of light across the room, scanning for cloaked presences. The ribbon passed over Argolaith's form—

And did nothing.

He hadn't cloaked himself with illusion or invisibility.

He was simply too still, too perfectly folded into the rhythm of the room.

Not hiding with magic.

Just not being seen.

The ribbon moved on.

Argolaith shifted only slightly, the faintest tilt of his head as he watched them falter.

He didn't gloat.

But he didn't pity them either.

They were supposed to be the best.

He wanted to see how long they could chase their own failure.

And then—

One of them paused.

The plain-looking boy who had entered last, the one with no visible aura, no badge of magical lineage or flashy gear. He stood near the edge of the desks, still and quiet, eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

He didn't search the air.

He didn't wave his hands or cast a scan.

He just watched the room.

Watched how the shadows moved.

Watched how the air bent faintly where it shouldn't.

And then—

He looked at the back corner.

Right where Argolaith stood.

Their eyes met.

For a single heartbeat.

The boy's pupils dilated slightly. His expression changed—not into shock or accusation…

But acknowledgment.

He said nothing.

Just gave a tiny nod.

And turned away.

"Time's up," Elder Mirith said.

The students snapped back to attention.

"None of you found him."

Murmurs rose. Some looked at one another, still convinced there had to be a trick.

But then—

Mirith opened her hand.

And revealed eleven writing tools.

Some students gasped.

Others stared, pale.

She spoke quietly.

"He moved among you. Took your possessions. Returned them. Stood in your midst without alarm. Some of you walked within arm's reach of him."

The girl with the silver-threaded robes clenched her jaw.

"What kind of magic is that…?"

Mirith met her gaze.

"It's not magic."

Silence.

"It's discipline. Clarity. Control. The absence of waste. The mastery of stillness."

The silver-robed girl looked down.

But Mirith wasn't finished.

She turned toward the back of the room.

"Argolaith."

He didn't flinch.

He stepped forward out of the shadows without ceremony, letting his presence return with a soft ripple that made the students instinctively shift back in their seats.

He didn't stand by them.

He remained near the wall, arms loose at his sides.

Elder Mirith inclined her head slightly.

"You may join… or you may continue to watch. The choice is yours. But the lesson has already begun."

Argolaith said nothing.

Just gave the faintest smile.

The boy with the unreadable aura smirked faintly to himself.

The rest of the students… said nothing.

For the first time, they understood.

He wasn't here to join them.

He was here to test them.