Chapter 244: Starlight Realm.

Chapter 244: Starlight Realm. (Kofi Donation Bonus)

The cafeteria noise seemed to fade into a dull hum.

He slowly, deliberately, put his fry down.

’Shy?’

Creed’s internal monologue began with a slow, incredulous beat thrumming against his temples.

’Me? Shy with women?!’

Images flashed across Creed’s mind in rapid, blinding succession.

Lilith—a literal primordial succubus with violet curves that defied the physical laws of nature—draped completely naked across his chest in the villa, purring against his collarbone while begging him for another round of "energy transfer."

Tierra—a cold, silver-haired void assassin whose thighs could snap a reinforced steel beam—spooning him from behind in their oversized bed, softly biting his earlobe while whispering dark promises in the dark.

Meredith—the gentle, crystal-eyed divine hexer—blushing crimson as she timidly curled into his side beneath silk sheets, letting him trace the lines of her wings until dawn broke over the horizon.

He had spent weeks being triple-sandwiched by three otherworldly goddesses who treated his bed like a sovereign throne.

He had survived fifteen-hour marathon sessions with succubi that would have drained a normal Stage 2 Silver Awakened into a withered, hollow husk!

’Shy?!’

Creed screamed internally, feeling a vein visibly twitch beneath his navy headband.

’I have a harem waiting for me that could spark an international war just by stepping outside without coats! If Lilith were awake right now, she’d turn this entire cafeteria into her personal playground just to show these pampered noble brats what a real woman looks like!’

He took a slow, deep breath, forcing the internal rant back into the abyss.

The only reason he hadn’t looked at a single girl in this academy was because every woman here looked like a stick figure compared to the three thermonuclear bombs that belonged to him.

Besides, his summons were still trapped in the cocoons.

His system interface remained completely dark.

His forehead brand was leaking sub-zero static every time he thought too hard about cosmic rifts.

He had twenty-four hours of newly acquired Resonator time burning a hole in his pocket, Marcus Delacroix’s routine to dismantle, and the looming mystery of the Accord Anchor to crack.

Dating high-school girls with delicate silk ribbons was roughly ninety-seventh on his priority list.

"Right," Creed said aloud, picking his beast-burger back up with a completely deadpan expression.

"Totally terrified, Pascal. Shaking in my boots. You caught me."

"Ha! I knew it!"

Pascal beamed proudly, puffing out his round chest once more.

"Do not fret, Elder Brother! As your loyal tactician, I shall draft a supreme strategy guide for you! But we must prepare ourselves, for the banquet is not merely about romance. It is the crucible of our academic future!"

Creed chewed lazily. "You mean the house sorting?"

"The Great House Sorting!" Pascal whispered, his eyes widening with dramatic reverence.

"The Four Pillars of the Ambassadors Academy! The moment where the freshman lambs are divided among the wolves!"

Pascal leaned over the table, his voice dropping into an intense, conspiratorial murmur.

"Every student who enters this academy must be sorted into one of the Four Houses during the Starlight Banquet: Hearts, Spades, Clubs, or Diamonds. And it is not random, Creed. It determines your entire resource allocation for the next three years!"

"Explain," Creed said, genuine interest finally flickering behind his tired eyes.

"The House of Hearts," Pascal began, ticking a finger off, "is the domain of the support masters, the divine hexers, the alchemical geniuses, and the barrier architects. They hold the monopoly on the academy’s medical springs and elixirs. If you need recovery, you bow to Hearts."

Creed nodded slightly. Useful, but not his path.

"The House of Spades," Pascal continued, ticking a second finger, "belongs to the shadows. The scouts, the void assassins, the reconnaissance masters, and the single-target executioners.

They control the academy’s intelligence network and the mapping archives for unexplored rifts. Cross a Spade, and you wake up with three poisoned daggers pinned through your bedsheet."

"And Clubs?" Creed prompted.

"The House of Clubs," Pascal tapped a third finger, "are the vanguards. The juggernauts. Heavy armor, continental brute force, elemental siege arts. They are the ones who hold the line during Bastion Beast Tides. Thick skulls, thicker shields."

Pascal suddenly paused.

His theatrical expression vanished, replaced by an extraordinarily grim, uneasy shadow. He tapped his final finger against the wood.

"And then... there is the House of Diamonds."

Creed watched him closely. "The best?"

"The absolute apex predators," Pascal whispered.

"For three consecutive years, the House of Diamonds has won the Academy Inter-House Championship without dropping a single round. They are the house of pure martial dominance, supreme weapon intent, and high-tier sovereign paths."

Pascal shivered, rubbing his plump arms as if the temperature had dropped ten degrees.

"Every single terrifying senior talent—the top ten rankers of the third year, the ruthless heirs of the Great Four Families, the monsters who have cleared Stage 5 rifts solo—resides in Diamonds. They control Private Chamber Alpha in the Path Resonator. They hold the highest credit bounties."

Pascal leaned in so close Creed could smell the garlic sauce on his breath.

"And their House Captain... is a third-year monster who reportedly split a localized spatial rift with a single bare-handed strike. If you end up in Diamonds, Creed, you either become a god, or you get crushed under the boots of their seniors."

Creed leaned back against his chair, his blue eyes narrowing slightly beneath the edge of his headband.

’House of Diamonds,’ Creed thought.

The faint, dormant hum of his newly mastered Stage 3 Spear Intent began to tingle pleasantly in the tips of his fingers.

’A house that values pure martial authority above all else. Sounds like my kind of playground.’

"And that’s not all," Pascal added, his dramatic grin returning as he tapped the table.

"The sorting isn’t just a boring ceremony where an old hat reads your mind, Creed! The moment the four Houses take their seats on Wednesday night, it marks the ceremonial opening of the grandest prize of this entire institution—the Starlight Realm!"

Creed’s brow twitched under his navy headband.

"The Starlight Realm?"

"Oh, yes!" Pascal chuckled, his eyes practically bugging out with reverent excitement.

"A realm so vast, ancient, and stuffed to the brim with primeval resources that it is quite literally the one of the biggest reasons the Core bastions and the Great Families still swallow their pride and send their golden heirs to this school instead of keeping them pampered in their private estates!"

Pascal waved his hands wildly in the air, painting invisible landscapes.

"We’re talking ancient inheritances, untouched elemental fonts, forgotten beast dens, and natural treasures that could push a cultivation bottleneck straight into the stratosphere!"

Pascal dropped his voice to a conspiratorial hiss.

"And here’s the kicker: it only unseals its dimensional gates once every three years, and it stays open for exactly fourteen days! Two whole weeks of free-for-all exploration under the stellar canopy!"

He slammed his hand on the table once more.

"Every House, every faction, every greedy senior and wide-eyed freshman gets thrown into that sandbox to scramble for destiny itself! Whatever you harvest with your own two hands, you keep.

No taxes, no imperial requisition. By the time that portal swings wide on Wednesday night... the entire academy is going to descend into pure madness."

Silence settled over their table.

Creed looked down at his empty plate, then turned his gaze out the grand glass windows of the cafeteria.

Far in the distance, past the soaring crystalline bridges and iridescent banners, the massive academic towers pierced the clouds, bathed in brilliant, golden sunlight.

Fourteen days in an ancient realm teeming with boundless natural treasures.

Beneath his navy headband, the geometric slave brand gave a tiny, cool pulse.

It wasn’t a pulse of pain. It was quiet, predatory anticipation.

For his sleeping summons locked deep inside those cocoons, an untouched realm bursting with high-grade cosmic essence might be the exact catalyst they needed to awaken.

Three days until the Starlight Festival.

Creed reached up, adjusted the fabric over his brow with a faint smirk, and stood up from the table.

"Come on, potato," Creed said, tossing his crumpled napkin onto the tray. "Let’s go. If I’m going to have to deal with arrogant Diamond seniors, annoying banquet rituals, and a two-week free-for-all in the Starlight Realm on Wednesday..."

Creed’s grin turned razor-thin.

"...I need to spend the next forty-eight hours making sure my spear cuts even deeper."