Building a Terrorist Group in The Academy Novel

Just as Aiden was preparing to go to the auction...

The Empire’s capital.

A city teeming with over 60 million souls, its sprawl extending beyond 500 kilometers, a testament to the empire’s vastness and power

The capital was renowned for its grandeur and opportunities, a place where anyone could find their fortune.

As you walked along the main roads, it wasn’t uncommon to encounter people from all walks of life and races—elves, dwarves, and even the beast kin.

A sight that was unimaginable just a decade ago.

But with the Demon Lord now posing the greatest threat, the two most powerful empires—Luvenitia and Germonia—had formed an alliance, alongside the smaller nations.

These two powerhouses controlled most of the world’s resources and influence. On the other side was the Demon Kingdom.

Despite being called a "kingdom," its vast territory bordered both empires and numerous smaller states. It was a constant reminder of the looming danger.

In just ten years, the demons had managed to conquer half the continent.

The western half now belonged to them, while the eastern half was where the remaining races held on, united in their survival.

Even with the alliance, many countries had already been erased from history.

The Luvenitia capital stood as the heart of the empire. By day and night, the city thrived with life.

The sound of millions of voices echoed through the streets, and queues of merchants stretched endlessly at the gates, bringing goods from every corner of the continent.

Smiling faces, children laughing with their parents, the warm glow of streetlights, the joyful bustle of commerce—all created a comforting atmosphere. It was a city that promised hope and prosperity.

It was known as "The City That Never Sleeps."

Business boomed day and night, with sellers shouting from every stall to draw attention to their goods.

The roads were packed with traders and shoppers, creating a sense of constant motion.

But for all its beauty and prosperity, there was a darker side to the capital. A place that most people preferred to forget.

The slums.

If the main roads sparkled with joy, the slums were drowned in shadow.

Streets barely illuminated, with only the occasional lamplight at corners. The air was heavy, filled with the smell of despair.

Here, the outcasts lived. The criminals, the scum of the city—pickpockets, thieves, murderers, rapers and even worse.

Guards patrolled only the edges, leaving the slums as a lawless zone, where danger lurked around every corner.

It was no man's land.

In one particularly dark corner, a hooded figure lay motionless on the cold, damp ground.

Nearby, several homeless people huddled together for warmth, but the figure lay apart, silent and still, like a corpse.

No one bothered to speak to it anymore. They had tried, but it had not moved.

As the night wore on and the moon reached its peak in the sky, the others had long since fallen asleep.

The hooded figure remained still, one knee drawn up, a hand resting lightly on it.

Beneath the hood, only shadows could be seen.

Suddenly, the figure trembled, as if struck by lightning.

A pair of glowing purple eyes opened from beneath the hood.

They shone like amethysts, sharp and filled with an overwhelming arrogance, as if nothing in the world could touch the woman who owned them.

Pride gleamed in their depths, a fierceness that mirrored Aiden’s—but in a deep, regal purple.

Her face was still hidden, but her emotions were palpable.

Her eyes reflected both disbelief and excitement, the kind of raw, childlike thrill one feels upon hearing long-awaited good news.

A voice echoed in her mind.

“Head north and find a man named Aiden Hoyle. He will be the one to fulfill all your dreams.”

Her entire body trembled violently at the sound.

So many questions raced through her mind, but she clung to the voice, desperate. After countless years of waiting, an opportunity had finally come.

The voice, cracking and faint, clearly hindered by some interference, continued:

“You should hurry. Now that I’ve contacted you, they won’t sit idly by. I’ve done my part of the pact. Whether your dreams come true or not is up to you now, Mireille.”

Mireille's chest tightened as the voice echoed in her mind, the weight of centuries pressing down on her.

How long had it been?

Once, she was celebrated across the world—the Hero who had defeated the Demon Lord.

Her name had inspired awe and admiration.

But that was before the betrayal. Before those closest to her, those she had fought alongside, turned on her.

Labeled a traitor to the Empire, she had been hunted like an animal.

Her fall had been swift and brutal.

Just when she thought her end had come, with a thousand regrets weighing down her final breaths, the dark goddess had appeared.

Like a shadow cutting through the light, she had reached out to Mireille in her last moments.

A lifeline wrapped in shadow, a pact forged in hatred.

Mireille had taken it without hesitation.

The goddess had asked only one thing in return: that Mireille wait. Wait, and let her hatred grow.

Wait, and let her vengeance sharpen like a blade.

For thousands of years, Mireille had laid low, her once-glorious name all but forgotten by history. But the fire inside her never dimmed.

It had only grown fiercer, fanned by the passage of time.

She had waited like a slumbering dragon, her rage simmering in the depths of her soul.

Her power had been stripped from her, but her will had become harder than steel.

No longer was she the naïve hero who believed in justice.

No longer would she fight for an empire that had thrown her away.

She would fight for herself—and for the vengeance she had been denied.

“Aiden Hoyle...” she murmured, tasting the name on her lips like a secret promise.

The voice of the goddess had cracked and faded in her mind, but the command was clear: Find him. This man would be the key to fulfilling her long-buried dreams.

As Mireille rose from the cold, hard ground, her movements were slow, deliberate, like a creature awakening after centuries of sleep.

Her back was straight, her posture unyielding, radiating an aura of absolute determination.

The shadows around her seemed to retreat as if acknowledging her presence.

Her purple eyes gleamed like twin amethysts, bright with arrogance and an unshakable pride.

They burned with the same ambition as Aiden’s, but where his eyes held calculated ruthlessness, hers were filled with raw, ancient power.

She had once made the world tremble, and now, she would do so again.

The once-glorious hero, whose name had echoed through history, now stood with the quiet ferocity of someone who had seen the rise and fall of empires.

Her fists clenched tightly, and a faint smirk tugged at the corners of her mouth. She wasn’t done yet.

But then, her expression darkened.

She had paid a steep price for her survival. Her powers, the source of her legendary strength, had been lost to escape the relentless pursuit of the world.

The goddess had warned her that the cost would be high.

Still, a new spark of power remained inside her. She could feel it, buried deep within, waiting to be reignited.

With the knowledge she had accumulated over millennia, regaining her former strength was only a matter of time.

Time... and vengeance.

Mireille’s eyes gleamed with a dangerous light as she stood to her full height. Her presence alone would have made even the bravest warrior hesitate.

Her aura was as sharp as a sword unsheathed, ready to cut down anything in its path. She was no longer a hero bound by ideals.

She was a weapon honed by betrayal, a force that would not be stopped. The empire had once called her its savior—now, it would know her as its worst nightmare.

The dragon had awakened.

Her hood concealed most of her face, but there was no mistaking the suffocating pressure radiating from her.

Her posture was straight, her back unyielding, and from within the shadows of her cloak, those sharp, gleaming purple eyes seemed to pierce the very soul of anyone who dared look at her.

The homeless began to tremble, instinctively backing away.

Their hearts pounded as a crushing aura enveloped the entire alley, growing heavier with every passing second.

Some tried to speak, to ask what was happening, but their voices faltered under the weight of her presence.

One by one, they collapsed.

The aura she emanated was too much for their weakened bodies, and they fell unconscious, overwhelmed by a force they couldn’t comprehend.

It was as if their very lives were being pressed down by an invisible hand, squeezing the air from their lungs.

Mireille didn’t spare them a glance as she walked past their crumpled forms, her steps steady, filled with purpose.

Her mind was set, her mission clear. And now that she had risen, nothing—not even the fear she invoked—could stand in her way.

Several kilometers from where Mireille stood, in the heart of a grand temple, knelt a woman dressed in a white robe, her hair a snowy white.

She was the High Priestess of the Church, the head of the religion that worshipped the Goddess of Purity.

Her beauty was ethereal, almost divine.

She wore a priest’s ceremonial gown, adorned in gold, and over her eyes, a white cloth was tied, signifying her blindness.

The more favor a person gained from the gods, the paler their hair became.

She was one of the Six Great Saints, known across the empire. Even the emperor had to give her face.

She knelt in the great cathedral, praying before the statue of the Goddess of Purity when a sudden tremor ran through her body.

She collapsed to the floor, trembling.

The surrounding priestesses and nuns rushed to her side, worried, trying to help her stand.

But the High Priestess shook violently, her body wracked with fear. She gasped, “A calamity... a great calamity is coming to the Empire... a monster is rising within it...”

Tears spilled from her sightless eyes, the terror in her voice unmistakable.

The nuns recoiled in shock, murmuring amongst themselves.

The High Priestess had never been wrong before.

Her visions had always come true.

The High Saint’s voice trembled, but this time, her fear was not as all-consuming. “What I saw… was a beast, but it was not fully formed. It was like a dark cloud swirling into shape—powerful, but still incomplete. Something… or someone… is gathering strength.”

Her pale hands gripped the edge of her robes as she continued, her eyes seeing far beyond the physical world. “This beast, it wasn't yet unleashed, but I could feel its presence growing.

It was coiling, its hunger stirring, waiting for the right moment to break free.”

She paused, her lips quivering as she spoke again. “In the center of it all, I saw… eyes. Red eyes, glowing like embers, piercing through the shadows. They burned with ambition, with fury—looking straight into my soul, as though nothing could escape their gaze. Those eyes… they were the core of this beast.”

The priestesses surrounding her exchanged nervous glances, the vision clearly unsettling them.

Yet, there was a sense of uncertainty—this was not the full catastrophe they feared, but the early signs of something taking root.

“It’s only beginning,” the High Saint murmured, her voice distant. “This beast is not yet ready, but when it is… I saw the strength it will wield. It will rise from the darkness, born from the will of those who crave power. And when those eyes stare down at the world, they will see nothing but their goal—unyielding, unstoppable.”

Her breathing slowed, and she seemed to regain some composure, though the intensity of her words lingered. “It’s coming,” she whispered, her voice soft yet certain. “Not today, not tomorrow, but soon. The first steps are already being taken. And when the beast is finally whole, it will change everything.”

As her words faded, a cold shiver ran down her spine, and her body trembled involuntarily.

Even now, long after the vision had passed, those red eyes haunted her.

Each time she closed her own, she saw them—searing, relentless, and terrifyingly focused.

No matter how much she tried to steel herself, the memory of those eyes pierced her once again, leaving her hands shaking and her breath shallow.

She could only hope that when the time came, someone would have the strength to face that gaze—because she knew, deep in her heart, that she never could.

As the High Saint sat in the lingering silence, another wave of divine energy surged through her, a presence far more gentle, yet undeniably powerful.

The voice of the goddess, clear and resolute, resonated within her mind.

“The time has come to prepare. The Hero’s Selection, foretold by destiny, will be brought forward. One month from now, the hero who will face the rising darkness shall be chosen.”

The High Saint gasped softly, the weight of the goddess’s words pressing on her. “I will personally choose the one worthy,” the divine voice continued. “The Empire must not delay. The path to salvation lies in this chosen soul.”

The sacred message faded, but its gravity remained.

The priestesses watched as the High Saint slowly rose to her feet, her fragile body trembling from both the revelation and the fading echoes of her earlier vision.

Her heart raced with uncertainty.

Her voice wavered as she spoke to those around her. “The Selection Ceremony will be held one month earlier… by the will of the goddess herself.”

The room filled with murmurs of surprise and unease.

The High Saint could feel their gazes on her, waiting for further explanation, but she had none to give. The goddess had spoken—her will was absolute.

But even as she delivered the divine command, a gnawing fear clung to the High Saint’s heart.

The vision of the beast, incomplete yet terrifying, loomed in her thoughts.

The red eyes that had scorched their way into her soul now seemed like an omen of what was to come.

As she steadied herself, her fingers tightly clasped the white cloth covering her eyes, her mind swirling with doubts. “Will the chosen hero be enough?” she wondered silently, her lips tightening into a thin line.

“Can they face what I’ve seen?”

The image of those eyes—burning, merciless, and unflinching—rose in her mind again.

And she trembled, hoping desperately that the hero to be chosen would have the strength to fight against such a beast.

A beast born not just from raw power, but from a will that could bend the world to its desires.

“May the goddess’s chosen be ready,” she prayed quietly. “For they will need more than just courage to withstand what’s coming.”