Building a Terrorist Group in The Academy Novel

A group of men stood in the corridor, their ages ranging from middle-aged to elderly. There were no more than ten of them, their polished suits and gleaming rings reflecting the dim light.

The murmur of polite conversation filled the air, barely concealing the real discussions taking place beneath the surface.

Though their appearances varied, one thing was common among them: their smiles reeked of sinfulness, as if each curve of their lips had been stitched with threads of deception.

Every grin stretched too wide, revealing teeth that gleamed like promises they had no intention of keeping. Those smiles held no joy—only the reflection of deals that had ruined the lives of thousands.

They had been standing there for a while.

Finally, one of them, unable to remain patient, approached Abraham, who stood right in front of the door.

He was a well-fed man, his short arms resembling those of a pig. Every time he smiled; his eyes turned into small, glistening beads.

Showing his stained teeth, he raised his voice so that everyone could hear: "Lord Abraham, pardon my eagerness, but I think all the gentlemen here are wondering the reasons for the Marquis's urgent call." He turned to face the group. "I suppose everyone is busy with the procedures we discussed in our previous meeting."

At his words, the others began to nod, exchanging low murmurs of agreement.

Abraham, looking uneasy, cleared his throat and answered, "I'm afraid I don't know the reason myself. The Marquis hasn't shared his plans with me."

The well-fed man frowned, clearly dissatisfied. "Hmph. How does he expect us to stand here like fools when our time is being wasted?" he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for those around him to hear.

BAM

Just as the well-fed man was about to continue his complaint, the loud sound of the doors opening interrupted him.

As soon as the doors swung open, Aiden's voice rang out from inside the room. His tone alone carried a chilling edge, making the men in the corridor feel as if they'd been plunged into an icy cave.

The room was cloaked in darkness, but Aiden's figure stood out—a shadow between the two sofas, his arms crossed.

Only his eyes, glowing red like two burning coals, were visible, reflecting the same coldness as his voice.

"Don't worry, you won't have to wait any longer," Aiden said, his hand gesturing for them to enter. "Come inside. The Marquis has prepared a gift for your unwavering loyalty to the Hoyle family."

The irritated expressions melted away, replaced by forced smiles. Some began to rub their hands together, eager for whatever rewards might await.

"The Marquis's grace is far beyond our worth," one murmured.

"We are not deserving of such generosity," said another, bowing slightly as they shuffled forward.

"It feels like were taking advantage of the Lord's grace" said another.

One by one, they stepped into the room, but as soon as their feet crossed the door frame, a strange unease washed over them.

The room felt... wrong.

The darkness pressed in around them, thick and heavy, carrying a faint metallic scent.

At first, it was subtle, almost easy to dismiss, but with every step deeper into the room, the smell grew stronger.

It clung to the air like a damp fog. Some of them recognized it—the sharp, unmistakable scent of blood. Yet, no one dared to voice their unease, their eyes darting nervously toward each other.

Then, Aiden flipped the switch, and the room flooded with light.

The Marquis's body lay on the floor near the corner, half-hidden by shadows, a pool of dark red blood surrounding it like a grotesque frame.

The sight wasn't gory, but there was a stillness in the air, a chilling quiet that seemed to speak louder than any cry of horror ever could.

They froze, hearts pounding in their chests, though none of them made a sound. Their eyes widened in shock, their faces draining of color, as if the blood from the room itself had been pulled from their bodies.

No one spoke, the weight of the sight locking their tongues in place. Their minds, however, raced.

The air in the room was suffocating now, as if the very walls were closing in. The floor beneath them felt sticky, though none dared look down to confirm why.

Aiden, unfazed, remained where he was, his calm demeanor in stark contrast to the horror before them.

"The emperor has given me a special order," he began, his voice steady. "To root out corruption from its core in this territory. And he sent assassins to protect me... and help enforce his will."

The words hit them like a physical blow. Their mouths gaped in disbelief, but no one dared speak.

Their flattering smiles had vanished entirely, replaced by expressions of naked fear and shock.

Eyes darted nervously, wide with terror as the full weight of Aiden's statement sank in.

The man who had been so eager to complain moments before was now trembling, his lips twitching as if he wanted to speak but couldn't find the words.

Every one of them felt the chill, as if an invisible noose had just tightened around their necks.

Aiden let the tension hang in the air for a moment longer, savoring the fear that had taken root in the hearts of the men before him.

He uncrossed his arms and stepped forward, his shoes echoing in the now-silent room.

The blood had congealed into a dark stain on the floor, but none of the gathered men dared to look.

"The reason for this meeting," Aiden began, his voice low but carrying easily in the quiet room, "is to inform you that the Marquis was found conspiring with the Demon King."

Gasps broke the silence. The men exchanged panicked glances, their faces going pale.

The air seemed to grow colder by the second, like an invisible frost creeping over them, sinking deep into their bones.

They could feel the chill not just in the room, but in the situation itself. The ground beneath them seemed to shift, their footing no longer stable.

"He was a traitor," Aiden continued, his words cutting through the room like a knife. "Caught in the act of plotting against the empire. That is why he's dead."

A murmur rippled through the group, their eyes darting between each other, looking for any hint of a way out. But there was none. The walls seemed to close in, and the smell of blood became sharper, more suffocating.

Some of the men were visibly trembling, their hands shaking at their sides. The room, once full of smug arrogance, was now a chamber of terror.

Aiden's next words made it worse.

"This week, the Emperor's Shadows will be investigating each and every one of the Marquis's subordinates," he said, his voice colder than before. "The Emperor is furious. He will leave no stone unturned in his search to cleanse this territory of corruption—especially any ties to the demons."

Panic overtook the room.

The men began to shift uncomfortably, the weight of the accusation pressing down on them. Their breathing became uneven, their gazes wild with desperation.

They knew the Emperor's wrath was inescapable.

Even the thought of running was useless—there was nowhere to hide.

If the Emperor wanted them dead, they would vanish from this world, no questions asked. And if they fled, their guilt would be obvious.

One by one, they fell to their knees, their faces pale with dread, their bodies shaking uncontrollably.

Some clutched their chests as if their hearts might stop at any moment. The reality of their situation hit them like a sledgehammer.

They were doomed, and they knew it.

But Aiden wasn't finished.

"I spoke with the Emperor," he said, his tone softer now, though still carrying that cold edge. "I begged him for your lives."

The words hit the men like a lifeline. Tears welled up in their eyes, not just from fear but from overwhelming gratitude.

They looked at Aiden as if he were the last flicker of hope in a pitch-black storm, their savior in the face of certain doom.

They saw in him not just a noble, but a beacon of salvation. Tears of relief streamed down their faces, their gratitude like a torrent threatening to spill over.

"As a sign of your loyalty," Aiden continued, his voice calm and measured, "the Emperor expects you to offer a token. A small contribution of wealth to prove your allegiance to the crown."

The men nodded furiously, tears still falling. "Yes, yes, of course!" they muttered, their voices cracking.

They bowed lower, their hands trembling, as if every moment in Aiden's presence was a blessing. For them, it was like seeing a hand reach down from the heavens, offering salvation when all seemed lost.

With their hearts pounding, they shuffled out of the room, still quivering from the fear that had gripped them, but with a strange sense of relief that they had narrowly escaped the gallows.

As the last man left, the room fell into a heavy silence.

Only Abraham remained, standing still, his face drained of color, eyes wide in disbelief.

He couldn't move, couldn't breathe. When he finally realized he was alone with Aiden, a deep sense of dread washed over him. His legs buckled beneath him, and he dropped to his knees, his hands shaking as he clasped them together.

"P-please, Young Master," Abraham stammered, his voice a desperate whisper. "I swear, I've never had anything to do with demons. I've been loyal! I'll serve you like a dog, anything you ask. Please… spare me."

Aiden stared at him in silence for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, a cold smile curled across his lips.

"If you wish to prove your loyalty, Abraham…" Aiden gestured toward the bloody corpse of his uncle, still lying motionless in the corner of the room. "Clean up this mess."

Abraham's face twisted in horror, but he swallowed hard and nodded. His trembling hands moved to the body, the blood still warm to the touch.

His face contorted as he forced himself to begin the gruesome task.

Aiden's smile widened, his eyes glinting with satisfaction as he watched. The room, thick with the smell of blood and fear, seemed to mirror the cold satisfaction that radiated from him.

The scene ended with Aiden's cold, triumphant smile as he turned and walked away, leaving Abraham to his task.