Daemon's arrival at the Imperial Magic Academy in Austria was a study in chilling efficiency and rigid formality. The journey itself, sealed inside the Kaiser's plush, high-speed carriage, had transitioned him from a locally problematic commoner to a state-controlled asset. Upon finally stepping onto the massive Imperial campus, the difference from the traditional halls of Berlin was immediately apparent. The academy's aesthetic was utterly modern, reflecting the Kaiser's philosophy of power, technological superiority, and pragmatic efficiency rather than outdated feudal tradition.
The uniforms worn by the students reflected this drastic shift: gone were the impractical, flowing robes typically favored by traditional mages. They were replaced by sharp, military-style coats, jackets, and trousers (or skirts) designed for swift, unencumbered movement and bearing the severe, pragmatic colors of Imperial Germany: black, gold, and deep red. It was a uniform that signaled military service and political alignment, not just academic pursuit.
Daemon was quickly escorted to his quarters. He was struck by the irony of his new circumstances. The commoners' residential complex, likely designed to impress and co-opt rising talents from the annexed territories, was far more luxurious than the specialized residence he had just won in Berlin. His individual unit boasted a comfortable living room, a spacious bedroom, a modern bathroom, a fully functional kitchen, and, most importantly for Daemon's future, a dedicated study. The complex itself, Daemon noted with calculating approval, featured a large, covered training area designed for advanced elemental and physical conditioning, and beneath the ground floor, a specialized, high-capacity forge—resources that instantly confirmed the Imperial Academy's superiority over its predecessor. His particular apartment was located strategically on the fourth floor, offering decent security and light.
Daemon immediately set to work, prioritizing research and security over rest or social interaction. His first and most crucial task was establishing a secure environment for his secrets. He began retrofitting the study, transforming it from a simple reading room into a functional, advanced scientific and alchemical lab. He was relieved to discover that, thanks to the recent annexation treaty, the Imperial Academy readily accepted the substantial credits issued by the absorbed Berlin Academy. His three thousand credits investment was put to immediate use.
He meticulously arranged his space: custom-built, heat-resistant work tables, dedicated reading tables that could support heavy tomes, shelves quickly organized to categorize his rune inks and papers, and specialized, imported lab equipment. Since Imperial mages rarely engaged in pure science, Daemon had commissioned duplicates of his exotic glass beakers, distillation apparatus, and complex calibration tools during his brief stay in Berlin, all of which now filled his new sanctuary. The room was not simply a study; it was a fortress for his intellect.
The final and most critical step was securing this sanctuary. To protect his work, his unique chemical compounds, and the profound secrets of his past life from inquisitive Imperial or noble minds, Daemon inscribed a terrifyingly complex array of defensive runes on the study's door handle and frame. The enchantment was meticulously layered, demanding both physical precision and magical control for entry. To open the door without triggering the trap, one had to channel a small, specific signature of Daemon's magic, calibrated to his unique Aetheric frequency. Failure to provide this precise signature—or any attempt to force the door—would result in the magical release of a small, fragile, magically suspended container positioned directly above the door. This container held a custom-designed cocktail mix of fast-acting, volatile poisons. The protective runes would instantaneously activate powerful heating elements around the container, causing the concentrated, volatile mixture to rapidly expand and explode, bathing the unprepared intruder in a dense, lethal, aerosolized poison mist. It was a precise, quiet, and absolutely final deterrent—a weaponized application of chemistry that no mage in this world would anticipate or survive.
Once the lab was secured, Daemon addressed his weapons. In the bedroom, he made a cold, strategic choice regarding his most potent tools. He only strapped one of the Mythril-Tungsten Chokuto blades to his person for active use, leaving the other secured in a separate, hidden space within the apartment's infrastructure. His cold logic dictated that this was necessary just in case the active blade was lost, confiscated, or damaged in some unforeseen, catastrophic circumstance. He would have a guaranteed, perfectly crafted backup—the true essence of the Adolf trophy—until he could procure the necessary Mythril-Tungsten alloy to make a replacement. He finished strapping the single Chokuto to his back, the cool metal a silent promise of the power he now carried into the Imperial halls. His Mythril-Tungsten ingots remained secured in the strongbox, ready to be melted down into replacements or new, experimental weapons.
He had just finished putting away the last of his tools, inventorying his resources, and mentally mapping out the most efficient routes to the under-complex forge when his work was abruptly interrupted. A sharp, single knock echoed through the apartment. When he opened the door, there was no one in the hallway. Instead, a crisply folded notice, bearing the formal Imperial seal, was pinned directly to the wood by a slender, enchanted dart. It was an Imperial mission brief. He had been assigned a mandatory mission, effective immediately, and was instructed to consult with his newly designated team—the first sign of the compulsory service Brandt had warned him about—to know the details and execute the objective.
Daemon sighed, the sound holding a hint of resignation at the loss of his planned study time, quickly superseded by a deeper shade of anticipation. This was the Empire's welcome: no rest, no ceremony, no gentle introduction, just immediate demands and the start of the required service. He pulled the note from the door, the Imperial game having commenced the moment he stepped off the carriage.