Dragon's Awakening: The Duke's Son Is Changing The Plot
Chapter 71 - 70 - Back to the academy.

Chapter 71: Chapter 70 - Back to the academy.

The next day.

Velmoria Academy, class 3S.

Raven leaned back in his seat, arms crossed behind his head, and stared at the ceiling like it held the answers to all of life’s misfortunes.

It didn’t.

But at least it wasn’t screaming "I AM THE FIRE!!" at him.

’Mana drunk...’ he thought dryly. ’That old lunatic actually got mana-drunk.’

The events of the previous evening played in his head like a fever dream wrapped in a midlife crisis.

One moment, he and the others were enjoying a rare, peaceful dusk, and the next, Crisaius Von Vaise had emerged like a shirtless phoenix from the depths of retirement.

He had arrived with the dramatic flair of someone auditioning for a rock opera and the mana control of a toddler with a flamethrower.

Raven pinched the bridge of his nose again, déjà vu setting in. That man... was his master.

’Hard to believe,’ with his eyes closed, he thought, ’that a sane guy like me is his disciple.’

The thought of being his disciple physically pained him.

Frankly speaking, Crisaius getting mana-drunk wasn’t uncalled for.

That old man hadn’t used mana for almost five decades.

So, when he activated his physique and unlocked his mana, the feeling of having mana flow through his veins would’ve been too pleasing.

Worse, the mana he absorbed by using the Soul-Kiln cultivation method was purer than the mana he knew, increasing his ecstasy.

But there was one thing he did wrong—

’The idiot got mana-high and crash-landed into our lives like a divine clown with a redemption complex.’

If that wasn’t enough, he started training them.

Raven tilted his head forward and let his gaze slide over his group.

They were scattered across the classroom like the aftermath of a failed uprising.

Clara sat at her desk, groaning quietly as she leaned her forehead against the cool wood, arms limp at her sides like she had just completed a military campaign and lost.

Jessy was next to her, massaging her shoulders like she’d fought a mountain.

At some point, she mumbled, "I got the bird. Why did I get the bird...?" in a tone typically reserved for veterans recalling war trauma.

Crisaius had asked the poor girl to catch a bird bare-handed. She was denied the use of a weapon.

Jake had fallen asleep with his face smooshed into his textbook, drooling slightly. There was a vague imprint of the word "Foundations of Tactical Positioning" on his cheek.

Maybe digging and filling holes took a toll on him.

Then there was Rufus.

He had made a small pillow out of scrolls and was whispering to himself. "One leg. Just one leg. It’s not natural."

’He deserved it,’ Raven shrugged.

Rufus was a walking dummy to be bullied in Raven’s eyes, so he didn’t care whether he was told to stand on one leg while carrying weights.

In his eyes, it was well-deserved.

Alex, on the other hand, wasn’t even sitting upright—he was half under his desk, fetal, clutching a juice box like it was a lifeline.

The squirrel from yesterday was still on his head, more alert than he was.

Finally, there was Siris.

She was the only one upright, and she was smiling.

’Creepy.’

Raven wasn’t surprised.

He turned back toward the front of the classroom and sighed.

He wasn’t here out of compulsion or necessity.

No instructor would dare mark him absent. No grade would ever be held against him. He was free to train on his own, far from the structure and bureaucracy of academia.

And yet, here he was.

He was sitting in a classroom with his half-dead squad and twenty other students who kept throwing him glances.

Not friendly ones.

They weren’t looking at him like a peer.

They were looking at him like he was a bomb someone had forgotten to disarm.

Some stared with fear—probably still recovering from the knowledge that Raven had defeated a layer six knight.

Others looked with suspicion—after all, was it really possible to defeat a layer six while being a plate four?

And a few... kept their distance.

Even now, the surrounding seats near him were conspicuously empty.

Not a soul dared to sit beside him.

Well, except for one.

Selena Velmoria.

Since this was class S of the third year, only the best of the best were here, yet among them, only she was sitting close to them.

She was on the seat beside Clara, listening to the lecture.

’She is the model student like she was supposed to be, huh?’

He had noticed that she was exactly how she was supposed to be when she was in her first year.

According to the plot, she would’ve tried to kill herself many times, so how was she still behaving normally?

He hadn’t been active in the plot for two years, yet there was no change in the main heroine of the academy arc.

’How is that even possible?’

He couldn’t understand.

But since she was fine, he let it go.

’Maybe the plot didn’t progress at all due to my absence.’

That was a good thing.

Just then, in a corner, a girl coughed. Raven glanced at her. She flinched.

’...Great. They’re scared of me. So much for the protagonist’s treatment.’

He leaned forward and rested his chin on his hand.

Was this isolation?

Was this the price of associating with Crisaius and delaying the plot?

Of choosing the hard path?

He gave it a full two seconds of deep thought before deciding—

’Yeah. Totally worth it.’

He smirked faintly to himself.

Because even if the classroom felt cold...

Even if everyone treated him like a walking red flag...

Even if his group now saw him as the unfortunate soul who’d dragged them into spiritual boot camp...

He had earned something better.

Strength. Progress. Plot points.

He had a plan.

A long game.

And this chaos? This distance?

It was just the beginning.

"Hey," Clara murmured, lifting her head from her desk, eyes tired but curious. "Are we... going to survive another day of his training?"

Yes, Crisaius had said that he would be training them every day.

Raven glanced at her and shrugged. "Maybe. Depends on whether he finds more boulders."

Clara groaned and collapsed again.

A few students nearby gave her worried looks. One girl mouthed, "Blink twice if you’re in danger."

Raven chuckled softly.

Yeah.

Academy life was going to be enjoyable.

.........................

Meanwhile, deep within the heart of the Vaise family manor, in a hall lined with ancestral portraits and the weight of history, Crisaius Von Vaise stood—unrecognizable.

His hair, usually resembling an electrified broom, had been tamed and slicked back, glistening with more oil than dignity.

His robe was formal, navy blue with golden embroidery, and he wore it with the unease of a man being forced to attend his own funeral.

For once, there were no vines, no sparks of chaotic energy, and no unprompted martial arts poses.

"I feel naked," he muttered, tugging at the collar. "Not even a single leaf or scorch mark..."

The door creaked open, and Argon Vaise stepped in.

The temperature dropped instantly—not literally, but the pressure he exuded could turn steam to ice.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a sharp black suit. His red eyes held the weight of expectations and the chill of a blizzard.

He looked at Crisaius in silence for a long moment.

"You’re dressed."

Crisaius sighed. "Unfortunately."

Argon stepped closer, his presence heavy. "Why are you here? And why did you ask me to call in the elders?"

Crisaius smirked. "What, can’t a forgotten master visit his old disciple without suspicion?"

"You don’t visit. You vanish."

"...Fair," Crisaius muttered, scratching his beard. "But this time, I didn’t come to stir the pot."

Argon said nothing, waiting.

"I’m back," Crisaius said at last, his tone serious now. "Not the ghost I was. Not the relic. I’ve recovered. I can use mana again."

That got a reaction.

Argon blinked. Just once. His gaze sharpened.

"How?"

Crisaius shrugged. "Ancient secrets. Fortuitous events. The usual."

He didn’t reveal it was because of Raven, as it was up to that guy when he wanted it to be exposed.

A long silence followed. Argon’s jaw tightened, just a fraction.

"You’re not lying."

"Of course not. Lying to you is like juggling knives in a minefield."

Argon stared at him for a moment longer, then nodded.

"...Good."

That one word held more trust, more weight, than an entire speech.

Crisaius chuckled, folding his arms. "Still the same icy bastard. But I’ll take that as your blessing."

Argon didn’t respond. Instead, he turned toward the hallway leading to the inner chamber.

"They’re waiting."

"Ugh, yeah. The elders." Crisaius groaned. "Hope they’re ready for disappointment."

As Argon reached the door, he stopped and looked back.

"If you’re back..." he said quietly, "stay this time."

There was no emotion in his voice but command, like the clang of iron.

Crisaius, however, blinked.

Then smiled.

"...Heh. You almost sounded like you cared."

Argon was already walking away.

"Don’t make me regret it."

Crisaius let out a long breath and straightened his robe again.

"Right. Time to go pretend I’m someone responsible."

And with that, the old lunatic walked toward the storm of politics, secrets, and expectations—with a clean shirt and a smug grin that said he’d rather be anywhere else.