My Soul card is a Reaper-Chapter 1033: Dreams of the Past: The Witchcraft

Back at the inn, the truth was far more grim.

Arjuna lay wrapped in layered quilts, face pale and drenched in sweat, his breath ragged.

His once-vibrant eyes were dulled, his nose red and running, lips cracked.

Beside him, Yudhisthira sat leaning against the wall, barely conscious.

Bheema, the strongest of them all, looked worse—his chest rising and falling as if every breath was a battle.

Their room smelled faintly of medicine, incense, and worry.

Instructor Catherine stood beside the bed, her face cold but her hands trembling. She had stayed with them the whole night. All treatments, all healing scrolls, even spiritual restoration spells had failed.

"I’ve made the call," she said quietly to Beowulf, Rael, Eon, and Nuada, who stood nearby. "We’re pulling out."

Beowulf didn’t argue. Rael and Eon shared a glance, neither liking it, but understanding.

"We’re returning the three of them to the Academy," Catherine added. "Directly to the Head Principal. Maybe... maybe he’ll know what this is. Once we investigate the reason, we will find out who is behind this situation."

The journey home was fast, but quiet.

Once back at the academy, the brothers were rushed to the Healing Wing, past stone archways and floating herb gardens. There, Achilles began his diagnostics.

Golden glyphs hovered above their chests. He frowned.

Then scowled.

Finally, he stepped back.

"It’s not natural," he said grimly to Catherine. "It’s airborne. A corruption laced into the air they breathed. It targets the lungs. Slowly eats at the vitality and energy flow. Their immune systems are resisting but barely."

Catherine’s face darkened. "Are you saying this was..."

Achilles interrupted her with a nod, staring at her seriously. "Yes. This doesn’t happen by accident. There was indeed foul play. But the problem was that there was no trace of any soul signature. So, this wasn’t a direct attack but more like letting them be exposed to some kind of toxic fruit or cursed artifacts."

"Can you help out, Headmaster?" The instructor asked.

To which Achilles replied seriously. "Not right now. We have to wait until their lungs are infected completely and no immunity is left in those kids. Only then can I use the Solar Baptism to clean everything. But until then, they will have to suffer."

Meanwhile, Rael stood alone in the academy courtyard that night, staring at the empty seat where Arjuna always sat during evening training.

Eon joined him.

"Do you think this was a coincidence?" she asked.

Rael’s jaw tightened. "No. It happened right before the quarterfinals. To all three brothers. Only them."

They stood in silence, wind brushing through the leaves.

Meanwhile, in the healing wing, magical lamps flickered quietly against the white stone walls, but the tension in the air was anything but peaceful.

Three beds were laid side by side.

Arjuna, Yudhisthira, and Bheema lay unconscious, breathing shallow, bodies clammy, spirit energy weak and flickering like candles in a storm.

Achilles stood between them once again, eyes glowing faintly, his hands hovering inches above their chests.

Instructor Catherine watched from a distance, fingers clenched tight, lips a thin line.

Achilles exhaled deeply and finally muttered: "It’s time."

He raised both hands and closed his eyes, activating a divine technique he received from his mother.

"Divine Extraction: Solar Baptism."

A radiant glow erupted from his palms—not golden, but almost white-hot, as if forged from the core of the sun.

Divine symbols formed in the air, spinning in ancient patterns: Sanskrit runes, draconic swirls, and healer’s sigils known only to master-class Arcana wielders.

The light pierced straight into the brothers’ chests.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then—

Hisssssssssss—

A black mist began oozing from their noses, mouths, and chests, like thick smoke drawn out by force. It writhed and hissed, resisting, fighting to stay inside.

Achilles’ jaw clenched. Sweat beaded on his brow.

"You’re not staying in there," he growled. "Come out."

The divine energy intensified, a wind whipping through the room.

The smoke screeched and shrank into a tight mass. With a final pulse of light, it was wrenched free from all three bodies and sealed inside a crystalline orb Achilles had prepared.

The black mist thrashed inside like a captured demon.

The moment it was contained, the energy inside the boys stabilized.

Arjuna’s chest rose with a clean breath.

Yudhisthira stirred, eyelids fluttering.

Bheema grunted once and then coughed like a bear waking up.

Achilles stepped back, exhausted but victorious. "It’s done."

Instructor Catherine’s shoulders sagged. "Will they be okay now?"

Achilles nodded. "Their lungs will be sore for a few days. But they’ll live. They’ll recover fully."

She looked at the orb where the black mist still raged. "And that?"

Achilles narrowed his eyes. "This wasn’t some natural toxin. It’s an aura curse—infused into the air they breathed, laced with soul-rotting properties. My initial analysis was wrong. They weren’t exposed to some cursed artifacts. This is a curse placed by a demigod, one who mastered witchcraft."

Catherine’s face darkened. "Witchcraft?"

*

Three days passed in the blink of an eye.

The three brothers were healed and their strength was fully restored, becoming normal.

But mentally? They were quite scarred.

Not by the lingering effects of the curse or anything. It was from their very own people.

The moment they stepped back onto the academy grounds, they could feel it.

Whispers.

In the corridors.

At the training fields.

Even in the dining halls.

"Isn’t that the kid who lost both his matches?"

"They say he faked being sick..."

"Yeah, and dragged his brothers down with him. Selfish."

"The real heroes of the team were Beowulf and Rael. Not him."

Arjuna heard it all.

He said nothing.

But at night, he stayed awake, staring at the ceiling.

Bheema punched a hole in the wall once after hearing a particularly nasty group of second-years gossiping outside their door. Yudhisthira, as always, said little and stayed calm and tried to protect his younger brother, but his knuckles were white every time he gripped his spear.

Still, Arjuna was the first to break.

It was on a quiet afternoon when he left a letter on their shared table in the room. It was short. Barely a paragraph.

"I’m sorry. I don’t deserve this place anymore. I was weak, and my weakness brought you both down. I’m going to find strength. I don’t know when I’ll be back. Take care of each other until then."

However, He didn’t get far.

Because Bheema and Yudhisthira caught him at the academy gate, both were already packed.

"Where the hell do you think you’re going without us?" Bheema grunted.

Arjuna looked stunned. "What? No. You don’t understand, brother. I..."

Yudhisthira gently interrupted. "We made a pact, remember? We rise together. We fall together. If you leave, we’ll go with you."

Arjuna’s eyes welled up, but he nodded silently.

Together, they turned and made their way to the Headmaster’s Tower to formally request release from their duties as academy students so that they could venture into the wilderness and become stronger.

Inside, Achilles was already there, arms folded, gaze unreadable.

They bowed lightly, but before anyone could speak, a voice rose from behind Achilles’ chair.

"If you three are here to run away, then I must say... you’re far more disappointing than I imagined."

The brothers turned, surprised.

A man in silver-and-blue robes stepped forward. Tall, graying at the temples. His eyes were deep, fierce, and intelligent. His aura, though calm, throbbed with ancient authority.

He bowed slightly. "My name is Drona. Sent here by your granduncle, Bheeshma."

All three froze.

Arjuna’s mouth opened slightly. "Royal instructor, Drona?"

"The same." He looked at them with piercing intensity. "I trained kings and emperors. I once taught in palaces of stone and gold. And now, I’ve been summoned to teach again—for one purpose."

He pointed a finger at Arjuna.

"To see if you, son of Pandu, can truly become the archer destiny claims you are."

Yudhisthira blinked. "Wait—wait, our granduncle sent you?"

Drona nodded. "Bheeshma believes your path has become clouded. He believes your strength needs to be reforged—not just with technique, but with purpose."

Bheema folded his arms. "You think a couple of lessons from you will fix all this?"

"No," Drona replied coolly. "I think you all need to be broken down. And rebuilt."

He walked toward the center of the office and turned to Achilles and the Headmaster.

"I request official leave for these three students," Drona said. "Starting today, they are under my private tutelage. Their training will not happen in these halls. But when they return..." His gaze sharpened like a blade.

"They will silence every whisper in this academy."

Achilles looked at the Headmaster, who gave a single nod.

"Permission granted."

The brothers glanced at each other.

And for the first time in days, Arjuna stood up straight.