I Killed The Main Characters

"You couldn't take my queen if I handed her to you on a silver platter."

Gareth retorted, earning a snort from one of the onlookers.

The other three knights watched intently, some munching on snacks pilfered from the kitchens.

"Forget the game..."

One of them chimed in, a younger knight with a crooked smile.

"We all know Gareth's going to win.

Let's talk about something more interesting. Like Professor Scarlett."

The mention of her name drew a collective groan of agreement.

"Ah, Professor Scarlett...."

Sighed one of the onlookers dramatically, placing a hand over his heart.

"Those eyes could freeze a man solid, and those legs—"

"Don't even start."

Leon interrupted, his concentration breaking as he glared at the younger knight.

"I'm still trying to figure out how she manages to look so… distracting in a lab coat."

"Forget the lab coat..."

Gareth chimed in, leaning closer.

"It's the way she says 'incorrect' when someone messes up in her Advanced Magic Theory class.

I'd fail on purpose just to hear her say it."

The group erupted into laughter, the chess game momentarily forgotten as they exchanged exaggerated tales of their interactions with the enigmatic Professor Scarlett.

But their mirth was short-lived.

A sudden, loud crash echoed through the hall.

The unmistakable sound of shattering glass and things breaking reverberating through the ornate space.

The knights froze, their laughter dying in their throats as they exchanged wide-eyed looks.

"What the hell was that?"

Leon whispered, already reaching for his sword.

"It came from… the princess's room..."

One of them said, his voice tense.

Without another word, they bolted toward the source of the sound, their armor clinking as they ran.

The corridor seemed to stretch endlessly, the chandelier's golden light casting ominous shadows that danced on the walls.

When they reached Princess Elara's door, they found it tightly shut.

Gareth rattled the doorknob.

"Locked.

Of course it's locked."

"Step aside..."

Leon said, already channeling magic into his palm.

Flames licked at his fingers, illuminating the tension etched into his face.

With a sharp motion, he released a burst of fire magic at the lock.

The door exploded inward with a deafening boom, smoke curling from the charred wood as they rushed inside.

Even though the doors to the students dormitories had protection magic sealed in them.

For someone like Leon who was trained very well and had an insurmountable knowledge in magic engineering, he knew exactly where to hit the runes on the door.

Usually having them unable to work for an exact period of 10 seconds.

The room was in disarray.

The once-immaculate bed was rumpled.

The sheets tangled and half on the floor.

The curtains billowed in the night breeze, framing the shattered window where shards of glass glittered like malevolent stars.

The faint scent of blood and something darker lingered in the air.

And the room bore signs of a struggle—overturned furniture, a splintered chair, and signs of struggle.

But no princess.

The knights stood in stunned silence, their earlier banter and laughter now a distant memory.

"She's gone..."

One of them muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Their gazes turned toward the broken window, the night outside yawning like a dark, endless abyss.

***

The dim light of the moon barely seeped through the dusty windows of Old Man Wilfred's shop.

Casting long, eerie shadows over the cluttered shelves filled with potions, scrolls, and odd trinkets.

The silence of the night was disrupted by the clanking of armor and heavy boots.

As a group of knights, led by Professor Scarlett, combed through every inch of the shop.

The air inside was thick with tension.

The flickering light of the lanterns making the whole scene feel like a surreal interrogation.

Professor Scarlett, as composed as ever, stood by the counter, her sharp eyes watching Old Man Wilfred intently.

"Wilfred..."

She began, her voice low and deliberate.

"....you know why we're here.

We received credible information that the missing student, Noah Ashbourne, may have been seen in the vicinity of your shop.

We're just following protocol."

Old Man Wilfred leaned on the counter.

His expression neutral but his grip on the edge of the wood firm.

"Credible information, you say? Pfft.

I've been running this shop longer than you've been alive, Professor.

No student's been through here, missing or otherwise.

Now, I suggest you and your entourage leave before my patience runs out."

The knights ignored his protests, opening every cabinet, checking behind every stack of goods, and knocking on the walls for hollow spaces.

They were methodical and unyielding, leaving no corner untouched.

One of them finally stopped near a hidden trapdoor partially obscured by a stack of crates.

"Miss Scarlett..."

The knight called out, pointing to the trapdoor.

"...there's something here."

Scarlett's eyes narrowed as she stepped closer.

She gestured toward Old Man Wilfred.

"Open it."

Wilfred's face twitched, but he forced a grin.

"Oh, that? It's just my storage cellar.

Nothing but old barrels, crates, and parchment.

Hardly worth your time."

Scarlett crossed her arms, unamused.

"Open it, Wilfred...

Or we'll do it ourselves."

Reluctantly, Wilfred stepped forward, brushing the dust off the trapdoor and unhooking the latch.

"Fine. But you're wasting your time..."

He grumbled, pulling it open to reveal a set of rickety wooden stairs leading into darkness.

The air wafting up was damp and cold, carrying the faint smell of mildew.

Professor Scarlett turned to the knights.

"Check it thoroughly. Leave no stone unturned."

As the knights descended into the basement with their lanterns, Scarlett stayed behind, watching Wilfred closely.

"You seem unusually reluctant, Wilfred.

Anything you want to tell me?"

Wilfred shrugged, his tone casual but laced with irritation.

"Just annoyed at having my shop treated like some kind of criminal hideout.

You used to come here all the time, Scarlett, buying ingredients and asking for advice.

Funny how quickly that respect vanishes."

Scarlett's eyes softened for a moment.

A flicker of something resembling regret crossing her face, but she quickly masked it.

"This isn't personal, Wilfred."

"Sure doesn't feel that way..."

Wilfred muttered under his breath, turning away to rearrange a stack of bottles.

Minutes passed before the knights returned.

Their faces blank as they reported to Scarlett.

"Nothing down there, Professor.

Just a mess of old barrels, crates, and dusty parchments.

It's freezing and damp—

No one could possibly live there."