Chapter 90

When Kai and I enter the tunnel that leads into the arena, I hear a laugh behind us. The sound bounces off the stone and trails us like a hook.

“The simple‑minded Valemont and the bastard, what a cute couple.”

I turn and see a regal redhead with piercing green eyes who carries herself as if she owns the corridor.

“Sabrina Margrave,” Kai hisses through his teeth. “What do you want?”

“We already sparred twice, Kai Valemont,” the redhead says, and her laugh drips with disdain. “Would you care to lose thrice in a row to me right now?”

“Oh, good Gods, another Margrave?” I say. “You’re Lucen Margrave’s little sister?”

“I’m

nobody’s

little sister.”

“It isn’t an insult, and it’s factual,” I snort. “But it’s alright. I can see that the mustache on your face must make you very insecure.”

“WHAT?! HOW DARE YOU?!” she shouts.

She still lifts a finger to her upper lip to check.

“Don’t worry, you can’t see it in the shadows. You must have soft hair. It’s a bit reddish, so it doesn’t stand out as much. Chill. I’m sure you’ll find a husband who likes a mustache.”

She sucks in a breath, and her eyes flare. I press a palm to Kai’s back, and I push him forward. We step into the light at the end of the tunnel while the redhead still reels.

“You know you just made her your mortal enemy, right?” Kai asks. He frowns because he knows trouble when he hears it.

“Nah, it’s a courting strategy. You tell a girl she’s ugly, and she starts liking you. You should try it if you’re interested in someone.”

“Oh my,” a sultry voice says behind me, “then I must take it as you not being interested in me since you said I’m, I quote,

you’re gorgeous

.”

I turn, and I find Princess Iskara with her guard squad right behind her. Their armor sits black and oiled, and their eyes weigh everything.

“Oh, no, well, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I bet. I also remember you saying that your master told you that if you were to meet a

beautiful princess,

you would have to teach her. I look forward to that, Jacob Cloud, and to you showing me your combat abilities today. Perhaps, if you are worthy, I will let you Tutor me. It is a pity that you like an immature woman like that one.”

“Me? No, no!” I wave my hands. “I swear, I

don’t

like her! Have you seen her?! What’s there to like?!”

An aura explodes behind me, and I turn just enough to see Sabrina Margrave glaring straight into my eyes with nostrils flaring like a bull that sees red.

“Dude, I told you, I’m not interested,” I say to Sabrina while Princess Iskara watches. “Please, leave us alone. You can have Kai, but I’m taken.”

“What?” Kai says. He has barely followed the exchange because he still tries to process why I talk to a Royal Infernal as if she were an old friend. “What?”

“Good luck, Jacob Cloud,” Princess Iskara says, and she winks at me.

We move toward a line that one of the Vice Principals is forming. The woman looks short and green‑skinned, and I can feel the power around her even though she stands still. The air buzzes near her like a wire under tension.

“Alright, the test is simple,” she says. “Pierce the barrier and retrieve the special token. That’s it. You can use whatever, including artifacts, as long as you crafted the artifact. Questions? No? Good. One at a time.”

Ten barriers stand across the sand, glowing like slabs of carved daylight. Ten gold pedestals hold ten white tokens that look like our obsidian ones, only pale and bright.

The first to move is the Highblood. The arena falls quiet when he draws a white spear that looks forged from one unbroken block. He lifts an arm to the crowd and smiles like he knows the script. He inhales, and white lightning crawls over his body and the spear. The world seems to dim because the light that wraps him steals from everything else. I have seen Veyl’s lightning, and this makes that memory look small. The difference between the Elf’s strike and this man’s power is the difference between sky and earth.

He reaches the barrier and taps it with the spear.

The barrier shatters into a million shards, and the crowd explodes in cheers that rattle the benches.

The Vice Principal looks impressed for a beat. She walks to the Highblood, swaps his old token for the white one, and speaks so everyone hears.

“Asterion Doryphoros is the first Champion of the five‑hundred‑and‑first year of the Lunar Era.”

Asterion Doryphoros,

I chew the name.

That is some name.

His enclave is in the first name. His main power is not lightning,

King Baalrek says.

They are born without a last name. The last name comes from their old language. He is a spear user. His first name suggests that it is not his real power. He is posing.

What? That’s not…

Before I can argue, Princess Iskara steps forward and calls a trident into her hand. Her red tail whips the sand. She cracks her neck and smiles at Asterion because he still stands near his pedestal.

“Cute,” she says.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

She does not speak again. She summons a wisp of black flames on the trident’s prongs, and she lets a few drops fall onto the barrier. The sound that follows rips the air like a scream poured into your ear. It howls like a thousand dying children, and the whole arena gasps and flinches as the barrier melts under that fire.

“What the fuck?” The words jump out of my mouth. The people around me say the same thing in nicer ways.

Asterion looks impressed. He gives her a slight bow that looks honest.

He is polite. I like the dude. Stop looking at her like that, though.

“Princess Iskara Drazhal,” the Vice Principal says. She exchanges the tokens. “Congratulations. We already have two Champions.”

A heartbeat later, a man appears as if he steps out of thin air. People gasp.

“The triad!” someone shouts.

“It’s a Dragonkin! Alongside a Highblood and an Infernal!”

The Dragonkin looks human except for patches of scales and slitted, azure eyes. He grins like a torch.

“Cute fire,” he says. He stands wider than Asterion, yet a touch shorter. “If you want me to, I can teach you how to generate real fire.”

He draws a huge breath, and he vomits a wave of flame that eats the barrier and the pedestal. He walks through the melted marble as if it were wet clay, fishes out the untouched token, and tosses it in his palm.

“Impressive stuff,” he says, and he hands it to the sighing vice principal.

“King Vyrrak Skarathys is our third Champion,” she says. Then she looks at Vyrrak. “You will be charged for destruction of Academy property.”

The fourth to go is Sabrina Margrave.

“Watch this, you two peasants,” she says to me and Kai.

She summons a long glaive. Droplets of water gather around her, and the mana density makes the air feel heavy. She does not walk to the barrier. She swings three times. Water projectiles rip across the space, riddle the barrier with holes, and the third swing shatters it like glass under a hammer.

She retrieves the token and hands it over with her chin lifted.

“Princess Sabrina Margrave, congratulations. We have our fourth Champion. Four out of four. Good.”

Huh. Those attacks are powerful.

You are going to embarrass yourself, Jacob Cloud.

Shut up,

I say.

That is your opinion.

The correct opinion.

We will see.

Kai steps up next. He looks more determined than I have seen him. He reaches into an Interspatial Ring and pulls a sword that nearly matches his height. He draws a breath that swells his chest, and then his muscles flex like cables. Runes flare across his skin. He swings, and the barrier breaks on the first hit. The crowd answers with a roar that trails him as he walks back.

“Prince Kai Valemont, congratulations. We are at five Champions.”

The noise spikes. People slap shoulders and pound the benches.

Is there something I don’t know about the number of Champions?

Prophecies, Cloud. Fate likes jokes. The Academy associates many prophecies with specific events. If you get ten Champions, you trigger a wheel of fate.

Three guys and two girls try the sixth barrier and fail. Their faces fall one by one.

What does that even mean, to have ten Champions? What happens then?

Oh, this is a good one,

King Baalrek says.

A normal‑looking guy with a regular sword strolls toward the barrier, and then he strolls back.

“What?”

He stops in front of the vice principal. She peers past him at the barrier. The arena hums with confused noise. She sighs.

“Show‑off,” she says. She walks to the barrier and pushes it with one finger. Two halves fall away, and the white token sits between them as if someone cut the world on a seam.

“Kaelrik… are you sure about your title?” she asks while she swaps tokens.

He nods.

“Kaelrik the Orphan! Our sixth Champion!”

The cheers roll again. People love a trick as long as it works.

A few more contenders try and fail, and my chest tightens because the line shrinks. Soon enough, three of us remain.

I guess it is not going to be ten, then,

I tell King Baalrek.

He does not answer.

One of the others is a Dwarf. He stomps to the barrier and sets a metal cylinder beside it. Then he runs away, as if he remembers that hands and faces care about distance.

“Are you insane?!” the Vice Principal shouts. She summons a wall in a snap. The new barrier drops between the cylinder and the rest of us.

The cylinder explodes with a flat crack. The inner barrier rips, and the pedestal disintegrates like old bread. Shards hiss across the sand and clink to a stop.

“These kids,” the Vice Principal growls as she stomps toward the Dwarf. “You! You will be punished for endangering other students! You stupid, idiotic artificers and your idiotic explosives! Do that again and you are

expelled

!”

“Sorry,” the Dwarf says in a low voice. “I just wanted to show off. The radius would have been contained—”

She snatches the token and makes the swap without looking at him.

“Boomgar Blackpo— this cannot be your name,” she says.

“It is.”

“Alright. Damn Dwarves.”

This Vice Principal seems very against Dwarves.

She is a Goblin, Cloud. Of course she is.

I have no idea what that means.

Sworn enemies. Goblins and Dwarves, so similar and so different.

“Boomgar Blackpowder for the seventh Champion!”

Before the green‑skinned woman can step back, someone runs in from the far side of the arena.

“Dammit, sorry! I fell asleep! Is this the Champion’s selection?!”

A disheveled guy with wild hair and eye bags skids to a stop and looks around like he lost his bed.

“Yes,” the Vice Principal says. “You are still in time.”

“Alright, good, good,” he mutters, and he lifts a hand. “That barrier?”

She points at one of the three that remain.

“Alright.”

A bolt of black magic snaps from his palm. It hits the barrier and eats the mana like a mouth that knows how to chew. People gasp and lean forward.

“He’s a Void Mage!”

“How did he control that Affinity?!”

“They’re so rare! They are as rare as members of one of the Three Great Races!”

He yawns, and he gives a thumbs‑up while he walks to get the token. He looks like he might nap on the way back.

“Orrivane Nyxmoor,” the Goblin Vice Principal says. “Congratulations.”

She looks at me and at the Goblin girl who waits with a small bundle in her hands.

“Let us see if we are making history today. It has been two eras since we have seen the full set.”

The Goblin student steps forward. Her face sets hard, and her presence feels heavier than anyone else’s so far. She reaches the barrier, draws out a compact device etched with tight runes, and fixes it to the glow. The lines wake, and the device hums. The barrier flickers and goes out like a snuffed candle.

The Vice Principal nods and smiles widely. She walks to swap the tokens.

“Zibrek Gearlash! Congratulations!” She hugs the girl. “You are the ninth!”

Every eye turns to me. The noise fades to a low pressure that sits on my ears. My stomach drops through the floor.

“

Fuck

,” I say under my breath.