Chapter 245: An Unexpected Guest. (Kofi Donation Bonus)

[Special Thanks To AshWyvern776 for another $100 Ko-fi Donation! You guys are amazing! As promised, here’s another ten Chapter Mass Release!]

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The midnight air drifting through the high tiers of the floating campus was cool and biting, carrying the sharp scent of damp stone, ozone, and distant cloud vapor.

Creed walked with his hands buried loosely in the pockets of his dark blue trousers, his navy headband pulled down tight over his brow.

His boots clicked in a slow, rhythmic cadence against the luminescent crystal tiles of the winding mountain trail that led up toward the private estates.

Behind him, the academy was quiet, cast in the pale, silver glow of the artificial constellations that drifted lazily through the upper sky.

He had just parted ways with Pascal at the lower junction.

The potato-headed boy had finally run out of dramatic monologues around the four-hour mark of their midnight spar, reduced to panting in a puddle of his own sweat while complaining that Creed’s spear was less of a training weapon and more of a personal meteorological disaster.

Creed had merely tossed him a bottle of water, cracked a grin, and told him that if he didn’t wake up on time for tomorrow’s conditioning class, he would drag him across the training grounds by his earlobes.

Now, alone on the path, Creed let the easygoing smirk fade, his thoughts sinking inward.

His mind replayed the duel against Alan Snow.

That silent, thirty-pace thrust that had shattered the arena’s boundary wards and physically pushed Instructor Varien back by three full steps hadn’t been an established Art.

It had been pure, unadulterated instinct—a spur-of-the-moment spark of inspiration born from the sudden explosion of his Stage 3 Spear Intent combining with his Spear Spirit Domain.

’I need to consolidate it,’ Creed thought, his fingers twitching inside his pockets, feeling the phantom weight of the Pale Horizon resting on his back.

He didn’t just want a lucky, improvised burst of power. He wanted to forge it into the official First Form of his Spear Domain Art.

If he could codify that silent vector—anchor the conceptual penetration of Stage 3 Intent into the 500-meter field of his Spear Spirit—he wouldn’t just have a ranged surprise attack.

He would have an inescapable, omnidirectional execution ground where every particle of air within his domain could deliver lethal, armor-piercing thrusts without warning.

And then there was the Triple Pounce.

During the grueling Gravity Basin trial under Varien’s six-hundred-kilogram collar, he had used a crude, entirely physical version of the technique to launch himself off the spear shaft and bypass the horizontal overhang.

But it had been raw biomechanics—straining his ligaments, tearing muscle fibers, and relying entirely on the brutal density of his Peak Stage 5 Physique.

’The True Form needs more,’ Creed analyzed coldly.

With his Path of Freedom now elevated to the Profound Realm, the Triple Pounce didn’t have to be limited to ground-bound kinetic springs.

He could weave the weightless, friction-dissolving concepts of the Profound Realm into each successive hop.

The first leap to shed inertia; the second to fold space; the third to strike with the compounded, unstoppable force of a falling meteor.

Beyond that, Creed knew his immediate cultivation had hit a temporary ceiling. His Paths—Freedom and Mountain at the Profound Realm, Killing at the Peak Realm—were already far beyond what an early Silver-stage Awakened had any right to wield.

Pushing them any further without solidifying his foundational Sources would be like building a skyscraper on a frozen puddle.

His priority had to be versatility. Refining hand-to-hand transitions, integrating his Death Gaze into his natural combat reflexes, and ensuring that even without active summoning, he could dismantle opponents who relied on elemental tricks.

’One step at a time,’ Creed exhaled, watching the warm mist of his breath disperse into the night air. ’Tomorrow, I go to the Path Resonator. And Wednesday... the Starlight Banquet.’

He rounded the final bend of the trail. The grand, futuristic outline of Villa 1139 came into view, its smooth white composite walls and floating decorative garden terraces looking tranquil under the starry sky.

Creed paused, his footsteps coming to an abrupt halt.

Standing near the perimeter lantern by his front gate was a silhouette.

She was leaning casually against the glowing white pillar, dressed in a sleek, dark-blue training jacket over form-fitting black leggings that accentuated the long, athletic curves of her legs.

Her long, silky blue hair fell in an effortless cascade past her shoulders, catching the pale silver starlight.

Amara.

Looking at her standing there in the quiet night, Creed couldn’t help but feel a strange, wry sense of nostalgia.

When they had first met in the Infernal Ice Bastion, right after Creed had saved her little sister Layla from a beast attack outside Moonlake, Amara had been the epitome of an arrogant, stone-cold noble.

She had looked at him like he was an insect, spitting that he was just another opportunistic gold digger trying to climb above his station by taking advantage of her sister’s kindness.

Creed had walked away back then without giving her a second glance, his pride refusing to be treated like a stray dog begging for scraps.

Then came the carrier flight where she had stared in disbelief at his rapid progress, followed by Phase 1 of the entrance exams.

They had been forced to team up in the treacherous jungle, rode a makeshift wooden raft down a raging river, and on that very raft, the ice queen had finally swallowed her haughty pride and offered him a sincere, blushing apology.

From that moment on, their dynamic had completely transformed.

She had backed him up while he shamelessly scalped golden crystals to desperate test-takers for over fifty million credits, and once they arrived at the Ambassadors Academy as classmates in the Elite Class, the icy hostility had long melted into easy, teasing banter and mutual respect.

Hearing the faint crunch of his boots on the stone, Amara turned her head.

Her striking, sky-blue eyes locked onto Creed. For a brief second, a flicker of nervous hesitation crossed her pale, sculpted features, before her lips smoothly curved into that familiar, slightly arrogant smirk she loved to wear around him.

"You’re out late, Class Captain," Amara said, her voice clear and smooth, carrying a playful edge through the midnight chill. "Here I thought the great Creed Walden was already fast asleep, dreaming about his glorious victory over poor Alan Snow." ℴ

Creed chuckled, walking up to the gate and coming to a stop a few feet away from her. "The great Creed Walden was busy putting up with a bald mascot who thinks push-ups are an affront to the cosmic heavens. Were you waiting long?"

Amara blinked, her gaze flicking away toward the floating bonsai trees for half a second before she casually pushed herself off the pillar and crossed her arms.

"Hardly," she said smoothly, flipping a lock of blue hair over her shoulder. "I just got here a few minutes ago. I was taking a walk after evening meditation and happened to end up near the upper ridge."

"Right. Completely by accident," Creed teased, raising an eyebrow with an amused grin. "Just casually strolling three miles uphill into the private villa sector."

"Shut up," Amara scoffed, though the faint pink tinge dusting the tips of her ears betrayed her composure. "Are you going to keep me standing in the cold, or do you actually know how to be a proper host?"

"Enter, my lady," Creed said with a dramatic, mocking bow, tapping his wrist against the gate’s runic sensor.