Chapter 56
‘Do you also know the whereabouts of the other two keys?’
‘No.’
Even her tone changed in an instant—the leader of Sky.
He had asked with such desperate eyes, as if he had been searching for those keys for a very long time, but unfortunately, Ceres had no answer she could give him.
There were three black keys in total.
And three people who possessed them.
Herself—Grace Ellicia—and…
‘Artia. And… Kainel.’
After all, they were the ones who had created this information network called Sky.
At that time, the very concept of buying and selling information didn’t even exist.
There were no professionals who dealt in intelligence; all information was gathered solely through the power of one’s noble house.
It was out of that frustration that Sky was born.
‘Isn’t the name kind of lame?’
‘What’s wrong with it? Sky! It’s cool! It means all the information under the heavens belongs to us.’
‘Grace says it’s lame. Change it.’
‘Change it? To what? G-K-A-L? Frozen human, “Sky” is way better than the weird name you came up with!’
‘We took one letter from each of our names—what’s wrong with that?’
‘What’s wrong? It’s childish! And why is my name the last one?’
‘Both of you, shut it. We’re going with “Sky.”’
‘See? Even Grace thinks G-K-A-L is stupid!’
‘Really, Grace?’
‘…….’
‘Stop asking! Grace is avoiding eye contact!’
“Yulia, what do you think of the name G-K-A-L?”
“It sounds like some monster that lived a thousand years ago.”
…Yeah, no. Definitely not.
G-K-A-L? What a disaster. Sky was way better.
Anyway, they had secretly formed the intelligence network and managed it together.
That didn’t mean they stood at the forefront.
They appointed a separate leader to run it, while the three of them stayed behind the scenes, only supporting it—and taking whatever information they needed when necessary.
Artia, however, insisted on making the Black Keys. She said they needed a mark to prove the identity of the founders, should the need ever arise.
‘So you don’t know the whereabouts of the other two?’
Apparently, Artia never handed her key to anyone else.
And Ceres was the same.
Even her beloved disciple, Enoch—she never gave it to him. She sealed it away in a pocket dimension instead.
‘It’s my organization. As long as I can use it when I need it, that’s enough.’
When they first created Sky, the idea was to have a useful tool for emergencies—not some hereditary legacy to hoard or pass down forever.
They all had a fondness for the group, but ultimately wished for it to live on by its own means.
Artia and Kainel had agreed with that.
That must be why Artia never passed her key down either.
‘And Kai…’
Who knew? He hadn’t left the Duchy of Persia in ages. Maybe he simply stopped being involved.
The fact that the current leader of Sky was asking about the whereabouts of the other two keys proved it.
No one possessing one had shown up in all this time.
If she’d had more money, maybe she could’ve just used a different information network altogether.
“You, at least, have to believe in my innocence, Yulia. I really didn’t want to stir up that quiet sky. But what else could I do? It’s the only way to solve this without much effort.”
“Mm, I believe you, sis. But… I don’t really get what you’re saying right now.”
“It’s complicated. Anyway, let’s finish your homework.”
“Okay.”
Ceres hugged the little girl on her lap closer, resting her chin on the top of Yulia’s head as her fingers moved nimbly across the desk.
After a while, her gaze drifted to the window.
‘If I’d gone through someone else, I wouldn’t have this kind of annoying trouble attached to me.’
She watched the shadowed landscape outside with an indifferent look, then shook her head lightly.
“By the way, where’s Antonian?”
She glanced at the darkening sky, now painted in the deep colors of sunset, and asked about her younger brother’s whereabouts.
He should’ve been home long ago from the academy.
“Oppa’s been coming home late every day.”
“Every day?”
“Yeah. He said he’s been training till late.”
…Training?
What was that supposed to mean? Not studying, but training?
“Sis.”
Yulia looked up, her tone slightly scolding—as if realizing Ceres didn’t understand.
“You really don’t know what department he’s in?”
What? Why did she suddenly feel like she was being scolded?
“What department is he in?”
“Swordsmanship.”
“Huh?”
“Oppa’s learning swordsmanship.”
“Haah… haah…”
“Damn it…”
“Huff…”
Night was falling over the academy’s training grounds.
Students who should have long since gone home were still there—dozens of them.
The problem was, several were lying sprawled across the ground.
About ten students, all covered head to toe in dirt, as if they’d rolled across the ground dozens of times.
Meanwhile, those standing around them looked completely fine.
“For the next week, you’ll be the ones cleaning and maintaining the training grounds.”
“Why even set a period? You’ll be doing it all the time anyway.”
“Exactly.”
The sneering faces of the standing students were full of mockery.
“Haa… haah…! We— we never agreed to that!”
“Oh, come on. We said before the match that the losers would do it, didn’t we?”
“You guys… huff… made that up yourselves!”
“Then you should’ve won. No one forced you to lose.”
“You bastards…!”
Among the fallen was Antonian, his teeth clenched tight.
He shouted back through ragged breaths, but his defiance only deepened their smirks.
“Let’s go.”
“Yeah.”
“Have fun cleaning.”
As the bullies walked away leisurely, Antonian’s fists trembled—then slowly unclenched with a long sigh.
He couldn’t even count how many times this had happened now.
Did he really have to endure this kind of abuse just because he wasn’t as skilled?
“Haah… damn…”
“So annoying…”
“This is such crap…”
He turned his head to see his groupmates—just as angry, just as humiliated.
The students from Group A had been tormenting them under the excuse of “sparring” for over half a year now.
When the academy reorganized the classes by skill level early this year, the bullying had begun.
As swordsmanship students, they could tolerate tough duels—it was still experience, after all—but this?
“Calling it ‘sparring’ is generous. They’re just using us as toys!”
“Agreed. Never thought I’d see the day beatings filled with contempt and scorn would count as ‘training.’”
“If we don’t comply, they block us from using the practice grounds, and the professors don’t even listen to our complaints. Honestly, I’ve stopped expecting anything from them. Talking just makes my throat sore.”
Antonian said nothing, but his silence was agreement.
When the groups were formed, it was obvious that family background had been taken into account.
No professor dared to scold the high-ranking noble children who made up Group A.
‘You should be ashamed of your lack of skill!’
Even the instructors said things like that—blaming them instead.
“I thought getting into the academy would mean I’d made it.”
“My parents already think I’m practically a knight.”
“Damn it…”
Grievances spilled out one after another.
They’d all entered with big dreams, only to be crushed by an ugly reality.
They couldn’t even practice properly because of the nobles’ bullying.
“Since when is being poor and weak a crime?!”
“Oh, it’s a crime.”
“…What?”
“If you’ve got no money, no power, and no skill, that’s a crime.”
A sudden unfamiliar voice rang out.
Antonian froze—the only one who recognized it—and sat up quickly.
“…Sis.”
It was Ceres.
She stood there, watching him and the others sprawled on the dirt.
Tap, tap.
Ceres approached, brushing the dust off Antonian’s back before meeting his eyes.
“What are you doing here?”
“Just passing by.”
“What’s that supposed to mean…”
Ignoring his disbelief, Ceres continued dusting him off calmly.
A few days ago, after hearing from Yulia that Antonian was studying swordsmanship, she had quietly kept an eye on him.
Every evening, he came home exhausted, dragging his feet.
At first, she thought he was just training hard—but when he kept returning covered in dirt, she started to suspect something.
What kind of “training” left him like this every day?
To find out, she had gone to the academy herself—only to witness her younger brother being mercilessly beaten by boys his age.
It wasn’t sparring. It wasn’t practice.
It was humiliation.
“Antonian.”
“…What.”
How much had she seen?
Had she watched him being shoved and mocked like that?
Antonian bit his lip, a mix of shame and anger twisting inside him.
