Path of the Extra-Chapter 243: The Headmistress’ Disciple

"I—I can't breathe…!"

Lumine panted, gasping for air as he crumbled to his knees on the soft grass, his forehead pressing against the rough bark of a tree trunk.

Sweat drenched his white T-shirt and black pants, glistening under the harsh sunlight as fresh beads rolled down his body. His right hand still clutched his sword—barely—before his grip loosened, and the weapon slipped from his fingers, landing with a dull thud on the ground.

With great difficulty, as if his body had turned to lead, Lumine turned himself around, collapsing onto his back against the tree trunk. His chest rose and fell heavily.

"I—I can't… no more… please…!"

He pleaded, his voice raw, but the only response was the whisper of the wind against the endless field of grass. He was alone—just him and the lone tree standing in this vast, empty land.

Gritting his teeth, his pale face contorted in desperation. He called out again, weaker this time.

"Please…"

The mana in the air stirred at his plea. Then, a voice answered.

Soft. Gentle. Like a lullaby. Hypnotic. The kind of voice that could make anyone fall into a trance.

Lumine bit his lip hard, forcing himself to resist its pull.

"I thought you wanted to become stronger. To become a hero."

"I do! But… if I push any further, my arms will literally fall off!"

Lumine shouted, his voice hoarse. He barely had the strength to lift his head.

"Then will you give up?" The voice remained unwavering. "Is this the limit of your endurance? In a real fight, you won't even get the luxury of asking for a moment to breathe. Your arms might be cut, eaten, or smashed beyond recognition—and yet, a real hero would not beg for mercy. Not even a second of it. A hero stands, despite the pain. As long as the mission isn't complete, a hero cannot fall."

"I…"

Lumine bit down harder, drawing the faint taste of iron on his tongue. He had no argument against those words. They were true, and he knew it.

If this much pain and exhaustion could stop him, then in a real battle—he'd already be dead.

Even so…

Even as he pushed every fiber of his being to move, to stand…

He couldn't.

His body betrayed him, failing before his mind could even command it.

He collapsed against the trunk once more, his head falling forward in defeat.

A sigh drifted through the air.

"Your body has reached its limit. Very well—you have ten minutes."

Lumine's eyes widened. A breath of relief left his lips, and his body relaxed.

Then, the mana rippled again.

Before his eyes, a woman appeared.

Despite the blistering heat, she wore a fur-lined black coat, high boots, a leather jacket, and tight black pants. The weight of her presence alone made his breathing grow unsteady.

She held out a bottle of water.

"Drink this."

"Oof—!"

Before he could even react, she tossed it at him. It hit his chest, knocking out what little air he had left.

She sighed, stepping forward and crouching down in front of him. Without a word, she twisted the cap open and brought the bottle to his lips.

A bitter smile curled onto Lumine's face. Nervous. Uneasy. Scared.

"H-Headmistress, i-if you just give me a moment, I can drink it myself—"

"Drink."

Her voice left no room for argument.

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"Y-yes."

Obediently, he parted his lips, and she tilted the bottle.

The cool water rushed down his throat, soothing and refreshing, until not a single drop remained.

"Haa…"

He exhaled, the relief washing over him.

"T-Thank you, Headmistress."

She said nothing. She simply stood, tossing the empty bottle aside as if it were nothing.

Lumine smiled bitterly.

That was just like her.

The truth was… she terrified him.

Well, she would terrify anyone.

Even now, she was restraining her aura, but its weight still loomed over him like an unseen blade pressing against his skin.

She rarely spoke. Her expression was always cold, her eyes even colder. And her words? Colder still.

Lumine had never seen her smile.

Never once.

His gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he let out a quiet sigh.

This was his master.

The headmistress.

The very woman who had never taken a disciple in the entirety of history.

And yet, somehow—

Lumine was her disciple.

It had already been a week since he became her disciple. In that time, many things had changed.

For starters, ever since the faction meeting, Celestina Frost and Azriel Crimson had stopped attending class. As for why—no one knew. Officially, nothing had been stated. But rumors... rumors existed. Some claimed that the Crimson Prince and the Frost Heiress had embarked on a mission together. Not because they were friends. Not because they were close. Well, perhaps they were—but that wasn't the reason. They belonged to the same faction: the Frost Faction. Lumine knew this because he had seen it himself on the day of the meeting.

That same meeting where, somehow, he had managed to bring both Vergil and Anastasia into his and Yelena's faction. Well, 'managed' wasn't quite the right word. The two had offered to join of their own volition, and neither he nor Yelena had any reason to refuse. But still... it was odd.

The rumors were at least partially true—Celestina and Azriel were in the same faction and had gone on a mission together. But beyond that, even Lumine didn't know what was real. What was certain was that the mission, initially categorized as C-tier, had somehow escalated to A-tier. They said that Celestina had slain a Grade 3 Abyssal single-handedly but had lost her entire left arm in the process. That she was still unconscious. They said Azriel had killed another Abyssal on the same mission, but at the cost of his eyes—also still incapacitated. Other rumors claimed the two were in a permanent coma or even dead, with the truth being hidden from them.

These whispers spread among the cadets, passed from one to another. But none were confirmed. The academy itself had said nothing.

By the third day of their absence, Lumine decided to investigate. His first stop was Nol, Azriel's personal butler. But Nol had only given him a cold shoulder, refusing to answer anything. So he went to Azriel's room, which was just one floor above his own. There, he had been greeted by a familiar figure—Amaya, Azriel's personal maid. As always, she was professional, neither warm nor cold. She simply told him that Azriel was fine but resting and unable to see anyone. At the very least, it was reassuring to know he was alive. But it left too many questions unanswered.

In the end, he had to let it go. He briefly considered visiting Celestina's room—but dismissed the thought. It didn't feel right to go to a girl's quarters, especially that of a princess. With Azriel, he had some sort of friend-like relationship. But with Celestina? She had always been kind, yet distant. Keeping others at arm's length in a way Lumine couldn't quite explain.

That was the situation with the two royals of his class.

Beyond that, something else had happened—he and Yelena had somehow passed the test to become Freya's disciples.

The test... it had been more torture than anything else.

It had been simple. Brutally simple. Attack Freya.

The Headmistress herself—while she was using her aura.

The moment she unleashed it, both he and Yelena had collapsed, their faces buried in the ground. The pressure had been overwhelming, suffocating, like a thousand blades piercing their bodies and pinning them down. It never ceased.

Lumine had no idea how much time had passed. He only remembered making eye contact with Yelena at some point. In that moment, they both realized something: they were still conscious. And that meant they could still fight.

Then, Yelena had done something. Lumine didn't know what, but he had felt the mana ripple—not from Freya, but from her. And suddenly, he could move. Just a fraction. Almost insignificant.

But not quite.

With all his remaining strength, he turned—hurled his sword toward Freya—before his body gave out.

The blade barely traveled a meter before her aura crushed it, slamming it into the ground. It should have shattered. It would have. But unbeknownst to Lumine, Freya had deliberately controlled her aura so that his soul weapon wouldn't be destroyed.

Still, the attack had failed.

Then, without warning, her aura disappeared. Both he and Yelena were certain they had failed the test.

Until Freya spoke.

"Both of you pass."

And then she had left. Just like that, leaving them collapsed on the ground.

Since that day, he hadn't seen or heard from her—until today. But only he had been called. Not Yelena.

Freya had simply stated that Yelena would undergo a different kind of training. Lumine had wanted to protest, to say he would rather train alongside her. But he hadn't. Especially after Freya had given her reasoning:

He was pathetic.

His swordsmanship, at the very least. He had no fundamentals. No foundation. No skill. He might as well have been swinging a brick.

So, she had given him his own training regimen.

And today, he had just completed half of it:

10,000 horizontal swings. 10,000 vertical swings.

That was it.

And yet, he had never been so exhausted.

Lumine lay against the trunk of a tree, panting, his gaze drifting toward Freya. He found it a pity—how distant and cold she was, despite being so breathtakingly beautiful. If she smiled more, he was certain anyone would fall for her.

She stood motionless, staring at the cracked sky, her expression unreadable. And yet, Lumine thought, if someone were to paint her like this, the piece would sell for millions of velts.

A thought crossed his mind.

'As Headmistress, she must know about Princess Celestina and Prince Azriel's absence, right? They're two great children... and she's my master now. I'm her disciple, so... it should be fine if I ask, right?'

He hesitated for a moment, then looked at her and parted his lips—only to freeze.

Nothing about her had changed. Nothing except one detail.

There was a flicker of melancholy in her eyes.

It lasted only a second before vanishing.

Lumine found himself staring at her, wordlessly.

'Why did she seem sad just now...? Can she even feel such emotions? And if she can... what was she thinking about?'

The idea of Freya being sad made Lumine feel an odd ache in his chest.

'I want to ask... but I have no right to. I don't know anything about her.'

Nor were they close enough for such questions.

"Is there something you wish to say? Or are you ready for 10,000 push-ups, Cadet?"

"H-Huh?"

Lumine flinched, startled. His face paled.

'T-Ten thousand push-ups!? S-She's crazy! Crazy!'

He gulped. He wasn't ready. And his ten-minute break wasn't up yet!

Licking his dry lips, he cautiously asked, "Headmistress... do you know anything about Prince Azriel and Princess Celestina's absence?"