Seven Sins System Chapter 678. A Cat With Devil Horns

Seven Sins System Chapter 678. A Cat With Devil Horns

Azrael’s PoV

The time blinked 09:00 AM. Not late. Not early. Just that irritatingly functional hour.

I wasn’t in the infirmary.

Instead, I was seated around an oval obsidian table in the East Wing faculty room—surrounded by other mentors, instructors, and specialized support officers. One guy with a bark mask and mossy robes that smelled like compost. Probably from Druidry Support.

And right across from me?

Puriel.

Because of course the system had seated us across from each other. Diagonal, not quite direct—but enough to make eye contact if I looked up even slightly.

Which I didn’t.

Not today.

Not because it hurt. But because—for once—I didn’t need to.

I already knew what I wanted.

So instead, I stared at the glowing map projected from the center of the table. Wooded terrain. Tier-three combat zone. A place called "Shadowrae Hollow." Which, ironically, sounded a bit like my real surname—if someone mispronounced it while chewing gravel.

The area had a reputation. Wild mana surges. Inconsistent leyline flow. A few old-world ruins half-buried beneath moss and bad decisions.

And monsters.

Level 20 to 25 range. Perfect for first-years. Dangerous enough to keep them on edge. Not dangerous enough to kill them unless they were stupid or overconfident or both—which described about a third of this academy’s students.

“Doctor Allen,” someone said beside me.

I blinked. “Hm?”

The mentor beside me—a mortal, older guy with a buzzcut and a face like he ironed it every morning—gave a polite nod. “Your squad’s assigned to Sector C, north ridge. You’ll be leading suppression and cleanup. Primary targets are the burrowed Fangmaws and any displaced Timberfiends. Keep the students in formation.”

“Right,” I nodded. “North ridge. Fangmaws and Timberfiends. Got it.”

I pretended to jot that down.

Actually, I drew a cat with devil horns.

Professionalism.

Across the table, Professor Lin from Strategy Support adjusted her glasses and gestured toward the terrain map again. “Shadowrae Hollow has a minor mana disturbance at the southern quadrant. Recent scouting shows spike activity around twilight hours. We expect temporal-staggered spawns—likely scaled to panic magic or erratic aura bursts.”

“Meaning,” another mentor chimed in, “students that panic will trigger the bigger ones.”

“Correct.”

I nodded slowly. “So we're rewarding composure. Subtle psychological stress test?”

“Exactly.”

I liked it.

Still easy. But at least not mindless.

I jotted it down. “Don’t scream = don’t die. Noted.”

Someone coughed to hide a laugh.

Puriel still hadn’t looked up.

She was writing notes, her face unreadable. Perfectly upright posture. Angelic poise. She could’ve been sculpted from porcelain and divine guilt and I still wouldn’t have been surprised.

But here’s the thing.

I wasn’t spiraling.

Not anymore.

I didn’t keep glancing. Didn’t keep checking her expression. I wasn’t searching for some sign of forgiveness or secret longing or some celestial version of “I miss you.”

I just sat there.

Breathing.

Focused.

Not numbing myself. Just… me.

The mission briefing went on.

A younger staff member—some combat advisor with fresh bruises under his armor—spoke up from the end of the table.

“We’re seeing frequent packs of Windclaws and Thornlings on the southern path. Students will need to manage vision in heavy underbrush. Expect hit-and-run behavior from the monsters. Isolated ambush tactics.”

Windclaws. Agile, lanky, bird-cat things with sharp talons and annoying speed boosts.

Thornlings. Plant-based ambushers. Camouflage types. They’d stay still for ten minutes just to land one nasty strike to a student's thigh.

Still… nothing serious.

One clean slash to the neck, and they’d pop like squishy tomatoes.

I leaned back in my chair. “Are we allowing ranged cover spells or purely physical engagement?”

“Basic spells only. Single target. Area spell if necessary, but not using fire element or thunder.”

“Understood.”

A few more logistical things came up—ward points, emergency pulse triggers, illusion resets for failed missions. We had to pretend there was some danger to this. Keep the kids humble. Make them think their lives were at stake without actually letting them die. Good for their development.

I could’ve done the whole thing blindfolded.

But I didn’t zone out.

Didn’t daydream.

Didn’t drift.

Because everything in me was finally still.

Like something had clicked shut. Or opened. Or both.

“Mission starts after lunch,” the lead coordinator announced as the map dimmed. “All mentors to their designated posts by 13:00. Any final questions?”

Of course, some raised their hands.

“Excuse me,” a short mentor near the end of the table raised a hand. “What’s the evacuation protocol if the terrain collapses? North ridge’s cliffside is unstable during mana surges.”

The lead coordinator, a tall elf with a braid longer than her patience, replied smoothly, “Same as last term. Each squad leader carries a signal flare. One red, one gold. Red for full evac, gold for regroup at secondary point. West grove clearing. Got it?”

Heads nodded.

Another voice chimed in. “Are familiars allowed in this run?” It was the beastmaster mentor—tall, lean, with a feathered cloak like he’d slept in a hawk nest.

“Yes, with the condition that no summons exceed level 30,” the coordinator said, not even looking up.

A nervous hand shot up. A young healer, barely older than the students. “Will the medical teams get additional supply kits? We have a few high-risk recruits.”

The coordinator gave a brief nod. “Standard packs plus two extra.”

Then Puriel, calm and sharp as always, raised her voice. “And if the students face monsters above level 25?”

There was a pause.

The coordinator looked at her. “Then you don’t let them die.”

Simple. Cold. Final.

I listened, but I didn’t stare.

When the meeting ended, chairs scraped back. Papers shuffled. Small talk hummed in the air like bees circling caffeine.

I stood up.

Shouldered my satchel.

And walked out like a normal human.

Outside, the academy courtyard was busy—students running drills, support staff dragging crates of scrolls, and the sky above clear enough to make you forget the nightmares tucked beneath the treeline to the east.