Evolving My Undead Legion In A Game-Like World

Chapter 658: Director

As something eventful was unfolding in the Land of Origin, something equally significant was taking place back in Aurora.

Right now, in one of the academy’s buildings, three students sat before a familiar figure: Michael, Rynne, and another of their classmates.

In front of them sat Director Arven.

They were in his office, and Michael had to admit, the director wasn’t only colorful in identity but also in his surroundings.

The room looked less like an office and more like a chaotic blend of everything imaginable. Papers, books, and half-open files lay stacked in uneven piles on every available surface.

The walls were painted in mismatched tones, pale blue on one side and crimson on the other, as if the painter had lost interest halfway through. Several unframed paintings hung crookedly, and none seemed to belong together; one was a portrait of a noblewoman, another a landscape of a barren desert, and another looked like a child’s messy attempt at abstract art.

The curtains were bright yellow, their edges frayed, clashing violently with the dark green carpet that looked like it had seen better centuries. A small lamp on the desk flickered weakly, its light barely holding steady as it cast long, twitching shadows across the walls.

A large stuffed chair sat behind the desk, its fabric torn at the corners, revealing patches of cotton. And sitting in it was Director Arven himself.

The man was seated cross-legged on a cushioned chair, dressed in his usual flamboyant manner. His dyed hair, a striking mix of blue and violet, glimmered under the dim light.

"Director Arven," Rynne began cautiously, "may I ask why we were summoned?"

Arven lifted his gaze, eyes sparkling with mischief as a slow smile tugged at his lips. "Summoned? Such a grim word, dear Rynne. Let’s call it invited for a chat."

Michael’s brow twitched slightly.

A few minutes ago, he had received a notification on his Edgeband, a short, crisp message summoning him to the director’s office.

He didn’t have anything against Director Arven personally, but there was something about the man that always made his skin crawl.

Only heaven knew how relieved he was when he realized he wasn’t the only one summoned. But that relief didn’t last long. Seeing who else had been called, Michael immediately understood that this wasn’t some casual meeting.

Seated beside him were the other top students of Year One: Rynne, who ranked second, her short silver hair glinting under the weak light of the desk lamp, and another boy he didn’t recognize, whose nervous fidgeting made him seem out of place among the two. The only thing that linked them was that all three occupied the top positions in their year.

Which meant this meeting wasn’t simple.

Director Arven’s office only reinforced that uneasy feeling. It looked less like an office and more like a madman’s collection room.

Arven’s smile lingered, but the eyes he used to look at them were wrong.

Michael felt it at once. Rynne did too; her posture tightened by a hair. The director’s gaze kept returning to the two of them as if the third student were a shadow on the wall.

The boy at third tried to sit straighter, but Arven did not spare him a second glance.

"Usually," Arven said at last, tapping a fingertip against a stack of crooked folders, "this sort of thing would be handled by the principal or the vice principal." He sighed, staring at the ceiling like it offended him. "But they flew off to a God knows where, and now I am the one babysitting an entire academy."

On the topic of the principal, Michael found himself quite interested.

After all, the principal wasn’t just any figurehead; he was the single most powerful individual in the academy.

Yet for all his supposed power and prestige, Michael had never actually met him.

What made the situation even stranger was that the principal himself had scheduled a private meeting with him weeks ago and then vanished.

Michael couldn’t help but speak out this time.

"Director Arven," he began, keeping his tone polite, "you mentioned the principal and vice principal left. Do you happen to know where they went? Or when they’ll be back?"

"Hmm... you’re curious about our dear headmaster, are you?"

Michael didn’t answer immediately, though inwardly he sighed. To be honest, it wasn’t that he was eager to meet the man. He just wanted to get it over with. Every few days, he found himself wondering when that long-delayed meeting would finally happen, only to feel that dull anxiety creep up again when there was still no news.

He wanted the matter settled, nothing more.

Arven chuckled softly, resting his chin on his hand. "Ah, Michael," he said, drawing out the name like he was savoring it. "I would love to tell you where the principal went. Truly, I would. But unfortunately..." He spread his hands with exaggerated helplessness. "Rules. You know how it is."

Michael frowned slightly. "Rules?"

He was mildly disappointed, though not surprised. Still, before he could let that feeling settle, Arven’s grin widened, his voice lowering. "However, if you were to do one small thing for me, I might be tempted to break a rule or two."

Michael raised an eyebrow. "A favor?"

"Nothing dreadful," Arven said quickly. "Merely a task. A simple one, for someone of your talents. You do it, and I’ll tell you everything about our elusive principal."

Michael’s answer came faster than the director probably expected. "No."

Arven blinked. "That was quick."

What Michael wanted to say but couldn’t was that if it were another instructor, he might have hesitated for two seconds before refusing, as he preferred not to owe anyone over something unnecessary.

The atmosphere in the room grew strange after that.

For a brief moment, no one spoke. Director Arven’s grin remained fixed, though his eyes narrowed just slightly.

Michael kept his expression neutral, though inwardly he could feel the tension thickening. He didn’t regret his answer, but there was no denying that the air had taken on a heavier, almost suffocating tone.

Fortunately, Rynne broke it.

"Director," she said suddenly, keeping her voice polite, "why exactly were we called here?"

The question seemed to draw Arven’s attention away from Michael. His eerie smile softened into something resembling genuine delight, though that only made him seem more unnerving.

"Ah, yes, that," Arven said, snapping his fingers.

"Ah, yes, that," he repeated, snapping his fingers again as if he had just remembered why they were there in the first place. "You see, my dear students, the year is drawing to a close. Which means a new one is about to begin."

"And as you may or may not know, the academy always grants a short holiday during this period. A time for students to rest, return home, see their families, and all that sentimental nonsense."

At that, Michael’s expression relaxed slightly. Finally. For once, it sounded like something normal, something he could look forward to. He hadn’t seen his family in months, and the idea of returning home, even briefly, stirred a quiet warmth in his chest.

But then, Arven kept talking.

"Unfortunately," the director continued, his tone dripping with false sympathy, "that little privilege doesn’t apply to everyone."

The good feeling vanished.

Michael’s brow furrowed. "Meaning?"

Arven grinned, showing a flash of teeth. "Meaning, my dear top three students of Year One, that while the rest of your classmates enjoy their holiday, you will be going somewhere else."

Rynne’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Somewhere else?"

"Yes," Arven said, his voice dropping to a gleeful whisper. "To hell."

For a second, no one moved.

Michael blinked. "...Excuse me?"

The director leaned back, utterly at ease, watching their expressions with open amusement.

At first, Michael thought Arven was cursing him. His tone certainly made it sound that way. But then he caught the faint seriousness in the man’s eyes.

And that was when it clicked.

Hell wasn’t a figure of speech in Aurora. It was real.

Arven, seeing the confusion ripple through the room, clapped his hands together. "You see, top three, top four, top ten, they’re all given opportunities. But there’s a small difference."

He lifted a finger and wagged it playfully in the air. "Students ranked fourth and below can choose to join the expedition. They can also refuse and go home to their cozy little beds for the holiday."

Michael could already tell where this was going, but he waited.

"However," Arven continued, "for you three, it’s mandatory."

The third student made a strangled noise. "Mandatory? As in, we don’t get a choice?"

"Exactly. Consider it a reward for excellence. The academy believes that those who reach the top must also bear the heaviest burdens. Growth through pain, or something poetic like that."

Third place then asked another question. "And if someone, hypothetically, wanted to avoid this?"

"Ah," Arven said, pretending to think, "then that someone would need to lower their rank. Quite a bit, actually."

He tilted his head, his voice turning almost teasing. "Drop to fourth place or lower before the year ends, and you’re free to go home like everyone else. No questions asked."

Then, Arven’s expression changed. The grin faded. His posture straightened, and when he spoke again, his voice was no longer light or amused.

"But I’d be disappointed if that happened."

The words came out deeper.

Michael’s gaze sharpened a bit.