Chapter 359: One Verses Hundred [Bonus - PS]

Chapter 359: One Verses Hundred [Bonus Chapter PS]

All the one hundred nobles including the C-Rank noble, had bought null orbs to pause their stream .

They didn’t want to leave any evidence behind of their petty and pathetic try to corner Solomon and beat him.

The nobles were so desperate to secure the bounty that they completely ignored basic tactical formations.

A third-year fire mage hurled a blazing fireball at Solomon, but Solomon simply ducked. The fireball sailed over his head and struck a second-year wind mage squarely in the chest, setting the boy’s robes on fire and taking him out of the fight instantly.

An armored Vanguard student charged forward with a glowing shield. Solomon stepped inside the charge, grabbed the edge of the shield, and redirected the boy’s momentum, sending the Vanguard crashing into a group of three swordsmen who were trying to flank him.

The nobles’ talents actively sabotaged their own team. An earth mage tried to summon a wall of stone to trap Solomon, but he miscalculated the casting time.

Solomon vaulted over the rising rock, while the stone wall abruptly blocked a volley of telekinetic daggers launched by another student, neutralizing the attack completely.

Solomon moved like a phantom through the chaotic mob. He only relied on his physical foundation. He delivered precise palm strikes to exposed ribs, swept legs out from under charging knights, and utilized the tight quarters to force the attackers to trip over each other.

As Solomon systematically dismantled the crowd, he noticed another familiar face hidden among the attackers. He couldn’t quite recall the boy’s name, but after slapping him across the face a few times, the memory finally clicked.

It was one of the arrogant nobles who had been openly making fun of Maximus when he was earnestly demonstrating his version of the Azure Crane Blade back at the sect.

Solomon made sure to hit that boy a little harder, ensuring he caught a few extra elbows to the jaw before tossing him into a decorative planter.

Solomon actively held back the raw power of his punches. He had noticed his physical strength had strangely increased significantly since his giant transformation, and he knew that going all out, even without a weapon, could easily crush their skulls and kill them accidentally.

He didn’t want to deal with any more exhausting diplomatic or political trouble after having just resolved the corporate conspiracy in Blue York. He just wanted to get his silver owl fixed, go back to the Eastern Realms, and resume his training in peace.

Solomon continued his methodical, humiliating beatdown of the senior nobles.

A third-year student wielding a pair of glowing, lightning-infused daggers dashed forward, attempting to utilize a high-speed flanking maneuver. Solomon didn’t even bother turning around. He simply sidestepped, grabbed the boy’s wrist as he blew past, and yanked him forward, sending the lightning user crashing headfirst into a marble pillar.

"You guys really need to coordinate your attacks," Solomon critiqued, ducking under a wildly swung warhammer. He drove a swift uppercut into the hammer-wielder’s stomach, lifting the heavy student off his boots before letting him crumple to the floor.

The sheer disparity in combat experience was glaringly obvious. These nobles had relied entirely on their high-ranking innate talents and expensive gear, completely neglecting their basic physical foundations. When their flashy spells and aura constructs failed to connect, they completely fell apart in close-quarters combat.

A group of five swordsmen tried to surround him, holding their blades in a rigid, textbook formation. Solomon sighed, stepped directly into the center of their circle, and swept his leg in a wide arc.

He hooked their ankles simultaneously, sending all five nobles crashing onto their backs. He then casually stepped on the nearest boy’s chest, pinning him to the ground while he parried a stray ice lance with his bare forearm.

Realizing that Solomon was simply too overwhelmingly strong, and that their numbers meant absolutely nothing against his flawless evasion, several nobles completely broke rank and fled down the corridors in terror.

Others simply dropped their weapons, raised their hands in surrender, and backed away slowly, entirely unwilling to endure another bruised rib or fractured jaw.

Within ten minutes, the grand junction was littered with groaning, defeated students.

Solomon stepped over a twitching Vanguard student and casually walked toward the instigator of the ambush.

He stopped directly in front of the bandaged C-rank noble.

The boy cowered, stumbling backward as Solomon approached. His arrogant facade had completely evaporated. "S-Stay back!" the noble stammered, his voice cracking with sheer panic. "My father is a Duke! If you lay a single finger on me, my family will have you permanently expelled and executed!"

Solomon didn’t say a single word. He just stood there, staring down at the trembling boy with a look of profound, mocking amusement.

The C-rank noble was so utterly terrified by Solomon’s silent, predatory gaze that he completely lost control of his bladder. A dark, wet stain rapidly spread across the front of his expensive trousers, pooling onto the polished marble floor.

Solomon raised his fist, fully intending to deliver a light, disciplinary smack to the boy’s head.

Before Solomon could even swing his arm, the terrified noble panicked, scrambled backward, and immediately slipped on his own puddle of piss. His feet flew out from under him, and he crashed face-first onto the marble tiles. He slid forward, his mouth scraping across the floor, ending up face-down directly in his own urine.

Solomon slowly lowered his fist, blinking in sheer disbelief. He stared at the pathetic display, completely unsure of how to even react to that level of self-inflicted humiliation.

At that exact moment, a loud, booming laugh echoed through the grand junction.

Solomon glanced around the corridor and spotted an elderly man walking toward the scene.

The newcomer looked exactly like a stereotypical, ancient wizard. He had a long, flowing white beard that reached his belt, and he wore a multi-layered golden robe adorned with glowing arcane symbols. A ridiculously tall, pointed wizard’s hat sat slightly askew on his head.

"Ah, this academy truly never changes!" the old man laughed heartily, his eyes crinkling with amusement as he surveyed the groaning students littering the floor.

He walked past the whimpering C-rank noble, completely ignoring the puddle, and stopped a few paces away from Solomon. He leaned on a gnarled wooden staff and looked the teenager up and down.

"So," the old wizard said, a mischievous glint in his eye. "You must be the notorious silver-haired boy who has been causing my old friend Gustav so much endless trouble."

Solomon was completely confused by the strange introduction. He simply raised a brow in response. "Who are you?"

The old man thumped the base of his wooden staff against the marble floor, the impact echoing with a deep, resonant chime of pure magical energy.

"I am Cedric," the old man introduced himself, offering a grand, theatrical bow. "I am the Tower Master of the Golden Radiance Magic Tower, and I am Gustav’s oldest, dearest friend."

"Who is Gustav?" Solomon glanced at the C-Rank noble. "His name is Gustav?"

"OHOHOHO!" Cedric laughed out loud. "Of course not! You don’t even know the name of the Grandmaster of the academy?"