By mid-November, winter had essentially arrived.
The academic exchange delegation from Aloran Royal Academy had arrived the Sunday before last.
Ten days had now elapsed of the two-week academic exchange.
The weather in Ikerite was fickle and drizzly. After a long absence, howling winds swept through the campus once more, bringing a sharp, noticeable drop in temperature.
"What a noisy tempest," students complained of the weather.
Following Wednesday's classes, the lawns were practically deserted, devoid of students picnicking or reading. Instead, people pulled their coats tightly around themselves and hurried along, eager to get from the classrooms back to their dormitories to escape the wind that tousled their hair and the ominous sky threatening rain at any moment.
At the end of the path along which the students scurried, the trees of an expansive botanical garden huddled stubbornly together, their leaves shivering in the gale. Only the Old Liberal Arts Building, standing deep within, rose resolute against the wind.
Third floor, student council room.
Outside the window, a brisk, indifferent wind prowled the exterior walls with wanton disregard, searching for any crevice along the sill through which to invade.
Yet within this warm room, heavy curtains and sturdy masonry kept both the chill and the wind completely at bay, leaving only a cozy, homey comfort.
Near the bookcase, Vice President Asna leisurely sorted through documents, though the president was nowhere in sight.
With Aloran Royal Academy's academic visit drawing to a close, the student council's duties were no longer so demanding.
These few peaceful days had finally allowed Dean Loren to set his anxious heart at ease; all that remained was to send the surviving students of the Aloran Kingdom safely on their way three days from now, and all would be well.
In the student council room's lounge area, two other people sat on the sofa. A cup of hot tea and a mug of hot cocoa rested on the coffee table as they enjoyed this brief respite of tranquility.
"If that's the case, why don't you just call your ace Cervini into the arena already?!"
"No way! We'll never let you disturb Big Sis's judicial exam!"
"Then enjoy the thrashing!"
"Aaaargh!"
"..."
Hyperion rested her chin in her hand with a puzzled expression, her gaze entirely fixed on the magic screen mounted on the wall of the student council room.
The screen was broadcasting live sights and sounds from the artificial Shadow World event currently underway on campus.
The Shadow World currently being shown appeared outwardly as a laboratory. The transparent life-support pods surrounding it were filled with grotesque horrors: restrained humans and demons whose limbs had been ruthlessly torn, twisted, and stitched back together, transformed into indescribable, taboo abominations.
Sunken into the center of the laboratory was a circular arena. Chains hung from the surrounding walls, the far ends shackling gruesome corpses—some already decayed to bare bone—as if foreshadowing the fate of the vanquished.
Within this inescapable colosseum, gloomy light lent a metallic sheen to every contoured muscle. The ten combatants varied in build, but each was solidly built and taut with power. At this moment, no clash of weapons echoed through the arena; instead, it was filled with the oppressive weight of flesh slamming against flesh, the muffled, thunderous impacts of bone and muscle colliding.
They were engaged in a five-on-five team battle.
Yet this was hardly an evenly matched contest.
It was, without question, a one-sided slaughter.
The fighters on the dominant side charged forward like tigers. Relying on technique and bodily agility to evade incoming blows, they leveraged their momentum, striding in with ferocious speed to seize every opening. They slammed their opponents violently to the floor, stomping down with full body weight and brutal kicks that splintered the stone below into cobweb-like fissures.
With every savage crash, Hyperion's brow twitched.
The faces of the helpless side twisted in agony and terror.
After she watched for a while, the broadcast cut off and switched over to a different Shadow World.
"That was just an outright, one-sided beatdown."
Hyperion took a sip of her hot cocoa and shook her head, offering her assessment with a tone full of pity.
Though her demon lineage gave her a faint instinctual urge for slaughter, witnessing such a brutal struggle still struck her as callous.
Beside her on the same sofa, Lanqi had been reading quietly, though he had also glanced up briefly at the arena on the screen.
"Why do people enjoy fighting so much?"
Lanqi mused with his usual unworldly, detached air.
"Well, sometimes purposeful strife isn't necessarily a bad thing—think of it as a form of motivation. For example, here on campus, if there were no competition whatsoever, people might grow complacent."
Hyperion had always felt Lanqi took winning and losing far too lightly.
Perhaps he needed a bit of competitive spirit to become more normal?
"..."
Lanqi pondered this, looking down at the book in his hands once more.
"So that's how education works after all?" he murmured.
It seemed Hyperion's remark had sparked an epiphany in him.
"?"
Seeing Lanqi grasp her meaning so readily only made Hyperion feel a twinge of unease.
Leaning down, she tilted her head to peer at the cover of the book in his hands.
It was a volume Lanqi had borrowed from the School of Sages' Ancient Tower Library last weekend.
Embossed on the cover was the title: *On the Origin of Species and the Theory of Evolution*.
Hyperion: "..."
"It says here: natural selection, survival of the fittest," Lanqi explained.
"No... I don't think things here need to be quite that ruthless..."
Hyperion choked for a long moment before finally managing to speak.
She suspected Lanqi simply couldn't move on from his Purgatory Corridor Academy; his educational philosophy had to be deeply colored by demons.
Year-round, the Southern Continent enjoyed relative peace and stability compared to the demon-inhabited Northern Continent. It was blessed with abundant resources, convenient trade and transportation, and none of the calamity-stricken lands left behind by failed Tier 9 Shadow Worlds.
Hyperion had heard that within the giant empire along the Northern Continent's southern coast—the Protos Empire—major academies governed by the Department of Education practiced a harsh regime of strict hierarchy and ruthless elimination. Competition among students was not merely fierce but cutthroat, and inter-school rivalries harbored countless dark undercurrents.
Compared to that, the campuses of the Southern Continent, with their orderly rules and friendly atmosphere, were practically a paradise.
Naturally, people displayed different mentalities and adaptabilities when living in different environments. This was likely why Lanqi had been tormented throughout the day during his first day at Ikerite Academy, only to reign supreme the moment night fell and he arrived at Purgatory Corridor Academy.
No one could say for sure whether the Northern Continent might actually be more fertile soil for someone like Lanqi.
Just as Hyperion was fretting over how to delve deeper and steer Lanqi away from this misunderstanding, the door to the student council room opened, and the council president stepped inside.
Monaster's pearwood-colored hair was smooth and dashing, his genial aura tinged with a hint of dignified authority.
Behind him trailed Frey.
Evidently, the pair had just returned from the School of Knights.
Only when heading to the School of Knights to handle troublesome business did Monaster bring Frey alone along.
Chapter 218