Transmigrated as the Villainess Princess - Chapter 149

Chapter 149: Mysteries (Special Chapter)
The newly built Xizonrie First Military Academy on Agartha was more than just an institution, it was a world of its own, filled with ancient relics, forgotten magic, and whispers of a past that refused to be buried.

Although it stood as a beacon of progress and unity, there were those who believed the academy was cursed from the very beginning.

Legends of the academy’s five houses grew alongside its reputation, each house shrouded in mysteries that students whispered to one another late at night, careful not to let their voices carry too far.

Even among the bravest of warriors, there were certain halls that no one dared to walk alone, certain books in the library that were never opened, and certain rooms that remained locked for reasons that no one fully understood.

The House of Solvann, the warriors’ domain, was built upon what was once believed to be an ancient battlefield.

The land beneath its grand training grounds was said to be soaked in the blood of fallen soldiers from forgotten wars.

Some claimed that at night, the air still smelled of steel and death, and if one listened closely, they could hear the faint clash of swords and the cries of warriors who had long since perished.

The most terrifying of all the tales was the story of the “Unfinished Duel”, a battle between two warlords who had once fought for dominion over Agartha.

It was said that their souls never left the battlefield, forever locked in combat.

Students who trained too late into the night sometimes reported seeing shadowy figures clashing with invisible weapons, their movements so fast that they were only glimpsed for a fraction of a second before vanishing.

Some who dared to interfere in the duel, whether by mistake or by arrogance, were found unconscious on the training grounds, suffering from wounds inflicted by no visible blade.

The House of Vanderin, dedicated to magic and sorcery, had its own horrors.

The tower that served as its main hall was said to have been built upon an ancient altar, a place where unknown beings once whispered secrets into the ears of those who dared to listen.

The oldest texts in the academy warned that magic was not merely a tool to be used, but a living force that had a will of its own.

Some students who studied late into the night swore they saw their books move, their pages turning on their own, revealing spells that were never meant to be read.

Others claimed that the mirrors within Vanderin’s halls reflected not their own faces, but the faces of those who had gone mad from wielding too much power.

The most chilling legend, however, was of the Silent Spellcaster, a former student who had attempted to control an unknown force from beyond the veil.

It was said that one night, the student’s voice was stolen from them, leaving them unable to cast a single spell.

They were never seen again, but some claimed that on the quietest of nights, one could hear frantic whispers echoing through the tower, as if someone was desperately trying to cast a spell that could never be spoken.

The House of Elemrian, home to the healers, should have been a place of peace and restoration, yet even here, shadows lingered.

The infirmary, where future healers learned their craft, was said to be watched over by an unknown presence.

Patients who stayed overnight often spoke of feeling hands that were not there, cold fingers brushing against their wounds as if something unseen was attempting to heal them.

Some whispered about the Nameless Healer, an entity that had once been a student but had given their life in pursuit of knowledge that was never meant to be gained.

It was said that this spirit continued its work even in death, appearing to those on the brink of life and death.

But not every healing came without a price, some who received its touch awoke with eyes clouded by visions, seeing things they should not have been able to see.

Others found themselves hearing voices that spoke of futures that had not yet come to pass.

The House of Niantherim, the builders and engineers, had its own terrors.

The great underground workshops of the house were filled with machines and constructs of all kinds, but some believed that not all of them were made by mortal hands.

There was a story among the students that spoke of a hidden chamber, one that was never recorded in any blueprint and could never be found twice in the same place.

Those who stumbled into it found themselves trapped in a space where the walls seemed to breathe, the machines moved of their own accord, and the air itself carried the whispers of long-forgotten minds.

One student, years ago, had reportedly vanished into the depths of the house’s underground tunnels, leaving behind only their tools and a notebook filled with incomprehensible symbols.

Though no official records confirmed this tale, every year, a handful of students would claim to see shadowy figures moving among the gears and cogs, their forms twisted as if they had become one with the machines they once sought to master.

The House of Cekriontem, where the future leaders of the academy were trained, was perhaps the most feared of all.

It was a place where history was preserved, where the knowledge of the past was studied to ensure a better future. But history, as many knew, was not always kind.

Deep within the house’s main hall lay the Whispering Archives, a library that was said to contain the collective knowledge of all who had ever led.

Within its walls, one could find records dating back to the earliest days of Sirius, even to the time before the academy itself existed.

But not all knowledge was meant to be uncovered. There was an unspoken rule among the students, never open a book that appears out of place.

It was said that some books did not simply contain knowledge, they contained souls.

Those who ignored this warning found themselves haunted by visions of past rulers, leaders who had made terrible mistakes, their voices whispering warnings that only the cursed could hear.

Despite these legends, Xizonrie First Military Academy continued to thrive, its halls filled with students eager to carve out their own destinies.

Many dismissed the stories as mere superstitions, tales crafted to frighten newcomers and test the bravery of those who sought greatness.

But for those who had walked alone through its corridors at night, who had heard the whispers in the wind and felt unseen eyes upon them, the academy’s mysteries were all too real.

And somewhere deep beneath Agartha’s surface, beneath the very foundation of the academy, something waited.

Something ancient. Something patient. It had been there before the academy was built, before Agartha had become a thriving world, before Sirius had even known its name.

And it was watching.