Chapter 154

For a moment, there’s silence—then Marcel bursts out laughing, loud and theatrical.

“Oh, now

that’s

the spirit!” he howls, clapping once in delight. “Finally someone around here with a sense of humor! Though, I must say, I wish I’d been the one to beat you bloody first, Jacob Cloud. Would’ve been good for the family reputation.”

“Keep dreaming, baldy,” I shoot back.

The hall erupts with a mix of gasps and muffled snickers. Marcel’s grin freezes, and his hand twitches toward his scalp before he catches himself.

Kai groans quietly beside me. Duke Dorian exhales through his nose, clearly unamused.

Valen’s smirk returns, though thinner now, forced. “You really are out of your depth, aren’t you?” he says, trying to sound composed. “Good. Maybe this will finally teach you your place.”

“Already know it,” I say, rolling my shoulders. “Front and center.”

The nobles whisper among themselves again, half scandalized, half entertained.

The hall erupts again, this time louder, meaner.

“How dare he speak like that, after his mother disgraced the House?” one noble says, voice sharp and nasal.

“Does he think he’s royalty?” sneers another.

A woman in embroidered violet leans toward her companion. “He should be grateful they haven’t stripped him of his skin for his tongue. Bastards don’t get to duel nobles.”

“Look at him—swinging that tongue around like it’s a sword,” mutters an older man with a jeweled collar. “Too bad the Queen didn’t muzzle both him and his mother when she had the chance.”

“And that tone,” another noble adds, smirking. “He forgets he’s the son of a

former

princess, not the heir of anything worth keeping.”

Laughter ripples through the room again, ugly and eager. Every word drips with spite, the kind that only people born safe can afford to throw.

The noise swells, chairs scrape, and silk rustles as the nobles begin to step back, clearing the marble floor between me and Valen. Someone mutters that the servants should fetch a healer. Someone else bets on how long I’ll last. The air thickens with the kind of excitement that only comes before a public humiliation.

My mother rises slowly from her seat. Her expression is calm, but her eyes flick between us. “Jacob,” she says, her voice even. “His name is Valen Valemont. He’s not a fool. He’s strong—he’s at the Peak of Platinum Rank in terms of power, with a half a foot into Diamond Rank.”

I glance at her. “You saying I should back off?”

She shakes her head. “I’m saying don’t underestimate him. Nobles like him live for these moments. He’ll fight dirty if it keeps his pride intact.”

Valen draws his sword with a practiced flourish, letting the light catch along the blade. “Are we done with the family advice?” he says. “I’d hate for you to have regrets once this starts.”

Priscilla, my mother, looks at him, serene and unimpressed. “Just try not to embarrass yourself, Valen. It would be such a shame to lose to someone beneath you.”

“There’s no contest,” I say, resting my sword against my shoulder. “Let’s get this over with.”

The room goes still for a beat. Valen’s smirk vanishes. “No contest?” he repeats, his tone sharp. “You really think so little of me? Fine, then. If you’re so certain, I won’t hold back. I don’t mind if it ends in a duel to the death.”

“Tempting,” I say, smiling faintly. “But I can’t kill a fellow student without a good reason.” I shrug. “Sadly.”

That earns a round of laughter from the nobles around us.

“He’s going to regret that mouth,” one says.

“Valen will crush him. He’s built for this.”

“I heard he carries a top-grade enchanted shield—Human boy won’t even scratch it.”

“Let’s hope the healers are ready,” adds another, smirking.

Kai moves closer, his face drawn tight. “Jacob, think twice,” he mutters. “Valen isn’t just strong—he’s a Shield-type duelist. Pure defense. You’re a

Guide

with some

Breaker

aptitude. You can’t brute-force through him, and he’s a bad matchup for you.”

“Good thing I don’t plan on brute-forcing,” I whisper back.

Kai rubs his temples, “please, just… be carufel.”

“Your brother seems confident,” Priscilla, our mother, says.

“I am,” I smirk.

The nobles step back farther, forming a loose ring around the polished marble floor.

Valen exhales slowly and raises his sword and shield. The air around him ripples as Mana floods his body, thick and heavy, until a faint blue sheen coats his armor. It deepens to a liquid shimmer, flowing along his arms like a second skin. Droplets of condensed vapor fall from the edges, vanishing before they touch the ground.

“That’s his strongest Skill, it’s a Diamond Rank, Royal-Grade Armor Skill, Jacob,” Kai mutters behind me.

“You forget to say that it is not just a Royal-Grade Skill, but that my proficiency would have put alongside the Champions if the trial had been a competition of defense.”

The Grimoire hums in my mind, confirming it.

[

Skill Identified: Tideforged Bastion (Diamond – Defensive)

]

[

Effect: Generates a continuous layer of compressed liquid Mana armor, capable of redirecting kinetic force and dispersing magical impact.

]

His aura surges, heavy enough to bend the air around him. The floor creaks faintly under the pressure.

Valen smiles, smug and steady. “This is the difference between pedigree and improvisation,” he says, lowering his stance. “My Skill can rival the armor of a Champion. What can you do, Jacob Cloud? Flash your sword around until you tire yourself out?”

The nobles laugh again, emboldened by his display.

“I’ll let you strike first,” Valen adds, spreading his arms as the rippling armor tightens around him. “It’s only fair. Otherwise, this will end before anyone even sees what your shiny suit can do.”

I take a step forward and feel the weight of the new armor settle around me. It isn’t heavy anymore—it’s alive. Every movement hums with energy. Mana doesn’t resist the metal; it flows through it, redirected and amplified, almost as if the armor itself is helping me cast.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

I breathe once, and the runes along the plates answer. Good. Garin wasn’t exaggerating.

Valen plants his shield, laughing under his breath. “What now, Cloud? Going to recite a spell and hope it sticks?”

I raise my sword, the blade black as night. Shadow ripples up the edge as I channel Mana through it.

Shadow Blade

A faint, chilling vibration cuts the air. The black energy condenses, sharpening the blade’s edge beyond sight.

Valen just smirks. “A sword Skill? That’s cute. Go ahead—hit me.”

He doesn’t even move. The water around his armor thickens, turning almost glassy, a seamless dome of pressure. He’s confident. He’s used to letting others break themselves on him.

I move without warning. The step echoes once—then the blade flashes.

It’s fast, clean, no wasted motion. The strike connects dead center on his shield, sparks and liquid light scattering as the shadow energy bites down.

The nobles gasp—but Valen doesn’t even flinch. He grins wider. “That’s it? I thought you were supposed to be special.”

In his eyes, I see it—he’s already decided how this ends. In his head, I’m just a Guide, maybe a half-trained Breaker who stumbled into a fancy Skill.

He shifts his stance lazily. “Go on, Cloud. Show us what a ‘Fake Champion’ can do before you embarrass yourself.”

Before he can take it back, I strike nine more times in quick succession and the guy’s just laughing.

What he doesn’t notice is that the water where I struck has been tainted by darkness.

I keep swinging, layering another charge of Shadow Blade over the first. The black energy thickens, crawling up the sword’s edge like liquid night. A second layer, then a third. Each one hums deeper than the last.

Valen’s eyes narrow. His breathing changes—shallow now, deliberate. The rippling water around him begins to quiver. He’s sweating.

He’s burning mana just to hold that defense together now that I have used the afflictions generated by Shadow blade. At its current level, with the max stacks, it almost doubles the expenditure of Mana needed to upkeep your Skills.

I tilt my head.

“You realize that Skill of yours eats Mana like a monster, right? And… I just increased the cost. See, you’re already halfway dry.”

His smirk wavers. “What the hell did you do?”

“Nothing,” I say, smiling. “You let me strike first, remember?”

Something flickers in his eyes—understanding.

Too late.

He lunges, panic replacing arrogance. Water erupts from his armor, forming curved blades that hiss through the air toward me.

I move.

First Step of Mephistus flares beneath my feet—time and space stretching for an instant. I vanish from where I was, the water blades slicing nothing but air.

Then I summon Infernal Wings of Ash. Black feathers burst from my back, ash swirling in spirals of heat. I vault upward, twisting over Valen’s head. His blades chase me, but the wings fold and flicker—Shadow Flicker—and I reappear behind him with a super-fast-dash, untouched.

He turns, wide-eyed, struggling to keep up as his Mana drains faster with every swing.

He throws everything at me

Killing blows. Full force. No holds.

“Finish him!” one cries.

“Cut the beggar down!” another shouts.

They want blood. They want a lesson and a show.

Valen snarls and drives a water blade for my throat. He aims to end it. He expects applause.

My mother, former-Princess Priscilla, stands. Her voice is quiet but hard.

“That is

enough

,” she says.“Cease this now, Valen, or you disgrace the house further.”

Valen hesitates. Anger twists his face. He wants to push anyway.

I drop my shoulders and smile, small and steady.

“Let him try,” I say.

“I don’t want him holding back.”

Priscilla’s eyes flick to me, then to Valen. She breathes out. She lowers her hand but keeps watching.

Valen roars and lunges again. The room hushes to the sound of armor and breath.

I move. I wait. I watch the cost he pays each time.

Valen’s blades keep coming—fast, wild, desperate—but they barely worry me now. The armor hums, redirecting mana, syncing with my pulse.

Each movement tightens the feedback loop between me, the Grimoire, and the Skill itself.

Let’s ramp it up

.

I activate Heavenly Intuition, feeling for the my veins, making adjustments on the go.

The world slows. I can see the flow of mana leaving my sword, how each strike disperses too early, how the edges of Shadow Blade leak energy.

[Error detected: Mana bleed through Rising Sun Vein – 2.3%. Suggested correction: adjust Mana density to make it thinner.]

I adjust my breathing and the angle of my wrist. The next swing is cleaner. The mana bleed drops.

Valen stumbles a step back, his shield flaring to full power. The mana drain on his side is obvious now—he’s sweating just to keep his armor alive.

“Stop—what the hell are you doing?” he pants.

“Nothing,” I say, smiling. “Just learning.”

The Grimoire flares again.

[Skill recalibration in progress.]

[Shadow Blade – Lv. 76 → 82 → 89 → 94 → 100.]

The sword turns darker, the shadows condensing until the edge looks like a tear in space itself. Every swing now leaves a faint, lingering trace—a shadow wound—that drains mana from whatever it touches.

Valen’s aura flickers. His eyes widen.

“What did you do?!”

“Remember?” I say, stepping forward. “You let me strike first.”

I swing once more.

His armor shudders, and the liquid sheen breaks apart like spilled glass. Valen staggers, clutching his shield, mana leaking from every pore as the Mana Drain stacks climb higher.

Valen’s breathing turns ragged. The water armor around him flickers, the sheen breaking apart into uneven plates. Every second his Mana bleeds faster, his Skill fighting to stay active.

I see the cracks forming—literally. The Grimoire hums, showing red fractures spidering through his Mana shield. I take a step forward.

“Web of Withering,” I whisper.

Threads of dark energy crawl from my feet. They snake across the floor, weaving through the air until they reach him through the cracks in his armor. When they touch, his body jerks. His aura flares, then stutters.

His Mana drains twice as fast now. But it’s not enough.

I discussed this next move with King Baalrek before.

Blood of the Ancients.

A hot rush floods my limbs as vitality burns into pure Mana. The edges of my vision pulse red, but the strength hits instantly. The shadows around my sword twist, deepening into something sharper, hungrier.

The Mana drain increases as a result of me funneling more energy into Shadow Blade through Blood of the Ancients.

Valen swings once more, the water around his blade sputtering into steam midair. I parry easily, and the contact sends another surge of Mana Drain through him. His knees buckle. His shield arm trembles.

“What… did you… do?” he gasps, barely upright.

His armor collapses completely. The water hisses away. His sword clatters to the ground. He tries to take a step, but his body gives out before he can.

The nobles fall silent as Valen hits the floor, empty-eyed, his Mana completely gone.

I let the power fade, the shadows peeling away from him.

I exhale once and lower my sword. The room is dead quiet except for the faint hum of the runes in my armor. Then I glance toward one of the servants near the wall.

“Someone bring me a razor,” I say.

Gasps ripple through the hall.

“What did he just say?” a noble whispers.

“He can’t be serious.”

“This is a duel, not a tavern farce!”

“The insult—Valen’s father will have him flayed!”

“Someone stop him before he disgraces the House further!”

No one moves. The servant, pale and trembling, eventually hurries off and returns with a silver-handled razor used for grooming. I take it without a word.

Kai steps forward. “Jacob… do you really want to do this again?”

“I said it, didn’t I? I’m going to shave this entire House’s heads clean if it teaches them manners.” I glance back. “Plus, he accepted the bet. I’m sure it’d be dishonarable if I just backed away now without taking my due—bad luck, even..”

The nobles erupt again, hissing and muttering.

“He wouldn’t dare.”

“He can’t—not to a Valemont.”

“This will start a feud.”

“Someone stop him!”

I crouch beside Valen’s unconscious form, still breathing but drained white. His head rests limply against the polished marble. I hold up the razor, test the edge with my thumb, and smile.

“Relax,” I say to no one in particular. “I’m a man of my word.”

Then, under the horrified gazes of half the noble house, I drag the razor clean across his scalp. Once. Twice. Smooth, deliberate strokes until every strand of hair falls to the ground.

Once Valen is fully bald, I smile at my mother, who just smiles back and says, “come, Jacob, I want a word.”