Chapter 143

The corridors of Ytrial stretch quiet and cold this morning.

I walk through the misted courtyards with Elder Karl’s words still echoing in my head.

“If you’re looking for Professor Veythra,” he had said, stroking his long white beard, “you’ll find her by the eastern wing of the Astral Annex. She’s the only Infernal left who still teaches full-time now, did you know that?”

So here I am, crossing the long stone path that cuts through the outer gardens. The smell of wet moss clings to the air, and distant bells toll over the roofs.

Then—noise.

A rumble. Shouts.

I pause halfway down the archway when the sound grows louder—hundreds of feet, pounding.

I turn just as a crowd spills from the main street, students and servants alike rushing past in one sweeping current.

“What’s going on?” I grab the sleeve of the nearest boy sprinting by.

He nearly trips as he shouts back, “You didn’t hear? The Elven Royalty caught a traitor! They’re holding a public trial—Trial by Combat!”

“A trial? Here?” I ask, frowning. “At the Academy?”

“With the Headmaster’s permission!” the boy yells, already running again.

I stare after him.

The Headmaster allowing that? That doesn’t sound right.

Still, curiosity wins.

I glance once toward the eastern wing, where Elder Karl said Veythra would be waiting, and then toward the growing roar in the distance.

If the Headmaster really approved this, there must be a reason.

I adjust my cloak and follow the flood of people through the main arena at the Academy.

* * *

Walking through this giant crowd of people hurrying to see what I suspect is a public execution masqueraded as a trial by combat feels dirty.

Why are they rejoicing so much?

They said it’s an Elven traitor, no?

So, what stakes do non-Elves have in wanting to see such a person die other than selfishness?

To be fair, even though I’m walking slowly and not hurrying to this spectacle of death, I am no better. Curiosity moves me just as it moves everybody else. Maybe I’m just trying to think I’m more dignified than I actually am. Maybe I should run toward it, instead. That almost feels more genuine than taking this high ground.

The air is humid when I enter the arena—probably because of all the bodies packed together.

I haven’t seen so many people at the Champion’s test.

There’s a rabid hunger in the eyes of all the present.

A little realization hits me.

You can’t kill someone at the Academy and go unpunished. The Headmaster is the one who doles out death—he’s got a monopoly over it. This is one of the very few occasions when someone was allowed to kill somebody else. But why Elves? Why here?

When I look to the main box, the one overlooking the entire arena, where the most important people sit, I see the Headmaster there with a neutral expression behind his golden frames. Beside him, there’s Elves—many of them. All adorned in rich clothing and jewellry.

Why’s the Headmaster doing this?

I wonder.

Didn’t he say that justice was the most important thing? That he didn’t care about nobility and royalty? Then

why

allow these people to

slaughter

someone, even a criminal, here? What is he thinking?

For a moment, I see the golden rims of the most powerful man in the Academy turn to me. But maybe it’s just the sunlight playing games with me.

When the Headmaster raises a hand, a few minutes later, the entire arena goes quiet. The marbled bleachers watch in rapt attention. But it’s not the Headmaster talking. An old Elf walks forward and speaks, amplifying his voice with Mana.

“My name is Thalion of the Royal House Arendor! I thank the generosity of the Headmaster for gracing us with the privilege of being able to execute one of the most despicable people our country has sadly produced!”

A gate trembles, slowly pulled up by levers until the heavy, spiked metal fully opens.

The heavy clanking of chains fills the silent arena as a blue-eyed woman…

She’s not even a woman. That’s a girl. She’s gotta be my age,

I think to myself.

“Witness the Bastard!”

A wave of boos, mostly from Elves students, rises from the bleachers.

The girl stumbles forward with chains that drag across the sand and clank with every step she takes.

Her hair hangs matted and dark over pointed ears, and bruises mark her pale skin where the guards must have beaten her.

She looks up at the crowd with defiant eyes.

Thalion continues his speech while the boos fade into murmurs.

“This bastard child of House Arendor betrayed her own blood! She leaked secrets to the rebels and caused the deaths of hundreds in our borders! Justice demands her life, and the Royal House will see it done through combat! Who among you will champion our cause and end this filth?”

The crowd roars again, but I feel a twist in my gut because this doesn't sit right. She's barely sixteen and she’s done all that?

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Who the hell is this girl?

A tall Elf steps into the arena from the opposite gate, his armor gleaming silver and etched with runes that pulse with mana. He carries a longbow and a sword at his hip, and his face shows no emotion because duty has hardened him.

“I, Lirael of House Arendor, will execute the sentence,” he declares with a voice that echoes through the amplification spell.

The girl stands there in chains while her eyes lock on Lirael, and she doesn't flinch even though death stares her down. Lirael draws his bow with a slow pull, and an arrow notches itself as if mana guides it. The crowd hushes because they sense the kill coming, but then gates creak open from the sides of the arena. Five more Elves step in, each armored like Lirael, and they fan out around the girl so that she faces a circle of executioners.

“What the hell?” I mutter.

“Six counts of treason. This bastard girl faces

six

counts. Therefore, five have offered to be the champions for this trial besides my nephew.”

Ok, this is preposterous

.

Elves hate those who do not conform to their society, Jacob Cloud. Among all the races, they’re the most neurotic. And it’s not close.

King Baalrek, I don’t know what the girl has done, but can I do something?

I look as they remove the chains from the girl and give her a simple, rusty sword.

When Lirael’s aura erupts, I raise an eyebrow.

That guy’s at Intermediate Diamond Rank…

Another aura erupts from one of the five fighter. Another Intermediate Diamond Rank aura...

Both of them are at Intermediate Diamond Rank.

But then, water starts dripping from the girl and surrounding her, with her aura matching the other two’s.

The rest of them are mostly at Early Diamond Rank, but none of their auras feel particularly impressive.

The one with an Intermediate Diamond Rank aura, a woman with silver hair braided tight, raises a spear while she chants under her breath, and runes glow along the shaft.

“I, Elowen of House Arendor, join to ensure justice,” she says, and her voice booms through the same spell. “I will put an end to this

whore

.”

Next to her, a broad-shouldered Elf draws twin daggers that flicker with green light, and he positions himself so that he blocks any escape toward the west gate. “I, Terael of House Arendor, stand for the fallen,” he declares, and his tone bites like acid because hatred fuels it.

The third Elf, taller than the others, summons a whip of vines that crackle with energy, and he coils it ready while he steps closer to the girl's flank. “I, Sylas of House Arendor, enforce the blood debt,” he announces, and the crowd cheers louder now that the spectacle grows.

Fourth comes an archer like Lirael, but she carries a crossbow loaded with bolts that hum faintly, and she kneels to aim low so that her shot targets the legs.

“I, Miriel of House Arendor, seal the traitor's fate,” she states flatly, and no emotion shows on her face because duty has numbed her.

The last one, an older Elf with scars across his cheeks, wields a greatsword that he plants tip-down in the sand, and he stands guard at the girl's back so that she can't retreat. “I, Gathriel of House Arendor, end the shame,” he growls, and his grip tightens on the hilt while mana surges through the blade.

“Nimirea Arendor, are you ready to pay for your crimes?” the old Elf asks.

The arena holds his breath.

“Who is that, that all these Elves want to kill her so bad?” I hear someone ask.

An Elf student spits on the ground and replies, “she’s the Wandering Knight’s bastard daughter. Sir Renquell Arendel.”

I widen my eyes.

“He never raised her. No one knows how she got this strong. She was raised by savages, they say. She aided the anti-royalists who often try and overturn the monarchy.”

“Damn,” a spectator comments before shrugging. “I guess she deserves it then.”

This makes no sense. Why would the Headmaster allow this?!

There’s something you can do, Jacob Cloud. But there’s a good chance it will get you killed.

Suddenly, I turn to see two familiar faces walking towards me.

You know what? I think I’ve got this

.

* * *

“Let the trial begin!”

Nimirea takes a good look at her opponents.

This is going to be a tough fight

, she thinks.

The old Elf's words hang in the air before the arena erupts in cheers, and she grips her rusty sword tighter while her water aura surges like a tidal wave that crashes against the sand.

She doesn't waste time on words, and she launches forward as Lirael releases his first arrow that whistles through the air with mana trailing behind it. But Nimirea twists her body in a fluid dodge so the arrow buries itself in the ground behind her, and she counters by summoning a whip of water that lashes out and forces Lirael to leap back before he can notch another.

Elowen charges next with her spear thrusting like a serpent's strike, but Nimirea parries the blow with her sword while she channels water to form a shield that absorbs the impact and sends Elowen stumbling sideways.

Terael darts in from the side with his daggers flashing green, and he aims for her ribs because he sees an opening, yet Nimirea spins and kicks up sand that blinds him momentarily so she can slash at his arm and draw first blood.

The crowd gasps as Terael retreats with a curse, and Sylas cracks his vine whip forward to ensnare her legs, but she leaps over it while her water aura hardens into spikes that she hurls at him and forces him to roll away.

Miriel fires a bolt from her crossbow that hums with energy, and it grazes Nimirea's shoulder because she's dodging multiple attacks now, but she doesn't flinch as she retaliates with a wave of water that knocks Miriel off her knees and soaks the sand around her.

Gathriel swings his greatsword in a wide arc from behind, and his Mana surges through the blade so it glows with power, yet Nimirea ducks under it while she sweeps her leg to trip him and follows up with a sword thrust that he barely blocks with the hilt. She's holding her own against all six because her movements flow like a river that adapts to every obstacle, and the Elves exchange frustrated glances as they realize she's not the easy kill they expected.

But the pressure builds when Lirael and Elowen coordinate their attacks so Lirael shoots high while Elowen stabs low, and Nimirea deflects the arrow but takes a shallow cut from the spear that slows her step. Terael presses the advantage with his daggers slicing in quick succession, and she blocks most but tires as Sylas's vine whip finally wraps around her ankle and yanks her off balance.

Miriel reloads and aims for her chest while Gathriel raises his greatsword for a finishing blow, but it's Terael—who's one of the minor warriors at Early Diamond Rank—who sees the real opening and lunges with his daggers poised to stab her side because her guard drops for a split second.

“Shard Dominion!”

In a flash of fire, the dagger gets redirected away.

Nimirea turns to see a young man with deep blue eyes smiling at her.

Thalion, the old man, whirls toward the young man with fury in his eyes.

“Who dares interrupt royal justice?”

“I do,” he says. “Jacob Cloud, Champion of the Academy. If this is trial by combat, then, she can be aided by her own champions.”

The six move closer again.

Thalion roars in laughter.

“I know of your name! You little rat,” he says, ignoring the Headmaster behind him. “Well, if you choose to die today, that will be to the great benefit of my people! We’ll settle the score with not one, but

two

bastards!”

“Oh, see, I didn’t say I was coming alone,” Jacob smiles and one very heavy figure jumps off the bleachers into the arena, cratering the ground.

“Ouch, ouch. Oh man, that hurt!”

Everyone looks stunned at the fat guy, and even Thalion can’t help but laugh like a maniac.

“Hi, I’m Lancelot.”

“And that’s your help?! HAHAHA!”

But then, the air freezes and becomes colder as a mage slowly levitates down the bleacher, surrounded by one of the rarest types of magic.

Void Magic.

“My name is Orrivane Nyxmoor. I choose to partake on the side of Nimirea Arendor.”

We walk beside Nimirea and I announce.

“This is round two. Let’s have some fun.”