The air in the arena seemed to freeze, leaving behind the metallic stench of blood and sweat evaporating under the scorching morning sun.
The cracked and jagged tip of my wooden sword pressed one millimeter deeper into Damius's neck. A drop of red blood slid down his pale skin, dripping onto the sand. Before me, Sir Vance stood stiffly. The veins on the knight's temples bulged, his hands gripping the hilt of his steel longsword until his knuckles turned white.
Vance wanted to take my head. I could see the killing intent flashing in his eyes. Yet, he dared not step forward.
As a corrupt instructor, his life was worth no more than a pile of horse manure in the eyes of the high nobles. If Damius died here, under his supervision, Viscount Greyvein would not merely behead Vance, but would flay his entire family.
"Lower your weapon, Kael," Vance growled, his voice trembling between anger and panic. "If you kill him, the academy will crucify you in the main square."
"Perhaps," I answered with a tone as flat as the surface of a frozen lake. "But he will die first."
Our gazes locked in a deadly mental war.
Vance tried to use his knightly aura to pressure me, a cheap trick that made rookie cadets wet their pants. To me? Compared to General Kaelzor's aura capable of making the sky burn, Vance's pressure felt like a gentle breeze.
However, behind my calm facade, my body was screaming.
The Sanguine Core inside my chest pulsed brutally, pumping magical energy too dense for my narrow and weak blood vessels. It felt as though hot lava were being injected directly into my veins. My vision began to blur at the edges, the torn muscles in my shoulder twitching uncontrollably.
Ten seconds, my mind counted. I only had ten seconds before my internal organs roasted, burned by my own magic.
Exactly at the fifth second, the sound of shoe heels clicking against stone steps shattered the silence of the arena. The sound was not loud, but somehow echoed clearly, cutting through the tension like a scalpel.
"Enough."
One word. Spoken with a tone so cold and absolute it made Vance flinch.
From the upper tribune, a girl walked down the stone steps. Her academy uniform was modified with a silver cape over one shoulder, the symbol of the Student Senate. Her pale blonde hair was pinned up neatly, framing a beautiful face that radiated natural arrogance.
Lysandra Morcant, daughter of Duke Morcant. The Ice Flower of Aethelgard. Her family's faction stood equal to, if not higher than, the Nightbane clan.
"Drawing a steel sword against an unarmed cadet in a sand duel is a violation of the Academy Code of Ethics, Article Four, Sir Vance," Lysandra's voice slid sharply. "Unless you wish for me to report your inability to control your emotions to the Headmaster, sheathe that sword immediately."
Vance's jaw tightened. He looked at Lysandra, then shifted to me, his eyes promising future death. However, he had no choice. With a rough clicking sound, he sheathed his longsword once more.
"You too, Cadet Kael. Release your hostage," Lysandra ordered, her gray eyes staring at me with a mixture of disgust and a hint of intrigue.
I slowly pulled the wooden tip from Damius's neck, taking a step back. However, as my gaze passed over Lysandra's shoulder, my breath suddenly caught.
Behind Princess Morcant, stood another girl.
She wore no Senate cape. Her uniform was ordinary. Her hair was as black as a starless night, falling freely past her shoulders. But what made my heart nearly stop beating was her pair of eyes. Those eyes were crystal blue, incredibly clear, staring directly at me across the distance separating us.
The girl smiled slightly. Not the condescending smile I so often saw from nobles, but an amused smile mixed with intense curiosity.
My head suddenly throbbed violently. During ten years in the bloody trenches of my past life, I had memorized the face of every commander, every traitorous noble, every mage, and every soldier I had ever slaughtered or who had slaughtered me.
But this black-haired girl... she did not exist in my memories. Not at all. Not in this academy, nor on the battlefield later. Who was she?!
My shock became a fatal trigger. The break in my mental focus caused me to lose control of the Sanguine Core.
As soon as the blood magic stopped pumping, the deadly weight of my physical damage hit me like a giant sledgehammer. My vision spun violently. The burning sensation in my blood vessels turned into a tearing pain.
I coughed violently, then vomited a clump of pitch-black blood onto the sand.
My body lost its balance. The morning sky of Aethelgard spun, and my knees hit the ground hard. A ringing in my ears muffled the suppressed gasps from the spectators. Darkness crept in from the corners of my vision.
The last thing I saw before my consciousness sank completely was a pair of black boots lined with smooth leather, stepping forward approaching me from the direction where the crystal blue-eyed girl stood.
The stinging smell of aloe vera potion and bitter roots was the first thing to greet my senses.
I opened my eyes slowly. The afternoon sunlight filtered in through a large window, illuminating the white ceiling of the academy's healing ward. I let out a long breath, feeling my chest tightly bound by bandages. The burning sensation was gone, leaving a dull ache in all my muscles.
"A cracked glass," I murmured to myself, evaluating my body. Forcing veteran combat experience and high-level blood magic into the body of an undernourished boy was tantamount to pouring lava into a glass cup.
I needed extreme physical training, and soon.
Suddenly, a nasal groan sounded from the bed to my right.
The dividing curtain was pulled back roughly. There, sitting propped up against a pile of pillows, was Cedric. From his forehead down to his upper jaw, he was wrapped in thick bandages like a mummy, leaving only two small slits for eyes and an artificial nostril made of rolled cotton.
"You..." Cedric's voice sounded funny because his crushed nose made his consonants nasal. "You ahh vheghy bhrave, trash! Mhy fhamily whill kill yhou!"
I turned, looking at him with a flat face. My first reaction was not anger, but the weary sigh of a grown man having to deal with a toddler's whining.
"You should be thanking me, Cedric," I said casually, my voice hoarse from a dry throat.
"Thankhing yhou fhor whath?!" he spat, spraying a little saliva into the air.
"Your nose was previously slightly skewed to the left, ruining the symmetry of your asymmetrical face. I merely performed a free bone correction. Even the royal healers would charge fifty gold coins for surgery that good."
Cedric's chest heaved rapidly. His eyes bulged behind the bandages, filled with overflowing anger. He raised his hand, preparing to throw the pottery vase on the nightstand at me.
I did not budge. My eyes sharpened, the dark aura from a thousand battlefields creeping from my gaze straight through his soul.
"Throw that vase, and I swear by the God of Death, I will rip out your ribs and use them as toothpicks," I threatened with a quiet, deadly voice.
Cedric's hand froze in mid-air. The memory of how I had slammed him, along with the horrifying gossip of what I had done to Damius hours ago, crumbled his courage.
He placed the vase back down with trembling hands. He pulled the blanket up to his neck, muttering incoherently toward the wall.
I ignored him, my mind already racing to formulate the next plan. Sir Vance's threat was real. After being humiliated in public, the noble faction would not let me live until the semester exams.
I needed real weapons. A wooden sword could not cleave iron armor. I also needed access to the Forbidden Forest behind the academy to train this body out of sight.
And what bothered me most, who was that black-haired girl earlier? Her presence was the only piece missing from the chessboard of my memory.
In a world where one unexpected variable could lead to a severed neck, I could not let that mystery roam unmonitored.
Meanwhile, far from the medicinal smell of the healing ward, the aroma of jasmine tea and agarwood filled a luxurious private room.
The room was soundproof, decorated with mahogany bookshelves and a red velvet carpet. In the center of the room, sitting on a silk-upholstered chair, Orvelis Nightbane stared at a chessboard made of ivory and obsidian crystal. His long, graceful fingers slowly twirled a black pawn.
Across the table, a student stood with cold sweat dampening his uniform collar. He had just finished delivering a report regarding the humiliating incident in the arena. About how Damius Greyvein, Orvelis's ally, was humiliated and nearly had his throat slit by Kael Draven.
The student swallowed hard, waiting for an explosion of rage. He prepared himself should his Young Master throw the hot teacup in his face. The Nightbane faction had just been slapped in public.
However, Orvelis's handsome face remained calm. His pale skin showed not a speck of emotion. His purplish eyes implied absolute mathematical calculation. Instead of getting angry, his lips curved to form a thin smile.
"Princess Morcant intervened directly to save a stray dog," mumbled Orvelis, his voice as soft as a silk caress, but as sharp as a razor. "Interesting. Very interesting."
"S-should we send an assassin to his ward tonight, Young Master?" asked the student with a trembling voice. "Kael is severely injured. He would be easily eliminated-"
Tap.
Orvelis placed the ivory pawn on the board, knocking down a black knight. That soft tapping sound cut off the servant's speech instantly.
"You think too narrowly, Marcus," said Orvelis without lifting his gaze from the chessboard. "Kael Draven became Damius's living punching bag without ever retaliating. Suddenly, overnight, he dares to challenge the instructor's authority. What do you think caused that drastic change?"
The servant shook his head stiffly. "I-I do not know, Young Master."
"A fool strikes an angry dog," said Orvelis while pouring tea into his porcelain cup. His movements were slow and very elegant. "It will only make the dog bite back indiscriminately. If my guess is correct, Kael might be hiding greater power than he showed today."
Orvelis lifted his cup, inhaled the jasmine aroma, then sipped slowly.
"A wise man does not dirty his own hands," continued the Nightbane Heir, staring at the fallen black knight. "We simply throw a piece of fresh meat coated in poison, and let the dog devour it greedily. Let him feel strong and think he is winning."
Orvelis's purple eyes finally lifted, staring at his servant with a quiet cruelty.
"Ensure the Academy approves Kael Draven's class transfer request to the Middle Class. Put him in a group with the monsters from the Blood Sword Faction for the Forbidden Forest Expedition next week. Let us see if this dog that has just learned to bite can survive against wolves that are truly starving."