Chapter 43: Step Back

They were the official military delegation of the northern border lords.

"Student Lucien Everhart!" shouted the Iron Vanguard captain, striding across the sunstone floor with a predatory grin, his hand resting on the pommel of a massive bastard sword.

"The Iron Vanguard offers you immediate sanctuary! A unique soul-class requires the protection of veteran heavy armor! Sign our vanguard roster today, and our guild will cover all your medicinal expenses, grant you access to the private hot springs, and ensure no disciplinary inquisitor dares question your classification!"

"Step aside, Erga, you clanking brute!" a sleek, silver-haired girl with the embroidered robes of the Celestial Arcanum Guild snapped, gliding past him with three floating spell-scrolls hovering obediently behind her shoulders. "What would the heavy infantry know about metaphysical soul-imprints?! Young Lord Everhart, you should know that our research division will provide you with a private luxury suite in the East Spire, forty gold a month in research stipends, and exemption from all physical drills! You need only allow our senior scholars to conduct bi-weekly diagnostic resonance tests on your spiritual core!"

’Diagnostic resonance tests, my ass, you think I don’t know your motive, these bastards?!’ Lucien translated mentally, taking a half-step backward toward the nearest marble pillar smoothly.

’Translation: they want to strap me to a wooden board, stick brass needles into my spine, and siphon my soul traits into glass jars until I turn into a hollow husk. I would rather eat glass.’

"I must politely decline—" Lucien began, raising an open palm.

"Hold your tongue, both of you!" a thundering voice bellowed from the main tunnel.

Pushing through the crowd came Tundra, the captain of the Gryphon Pride Party, the uncontested #2 ranked combat squad in the Imperial Academy, second only to the Astra Party.

Tundra was twenty-one, towering, blessed with the arrogantly handsome features of the ancient lineage, and dressed in polished armor forged from enchanted white gold that caught the dim violet light like a radiant mirror.

His cape was genuine manticore fur, and his presence alone caused the lesser scouts to clear a path.

"Our House recognizes the rarity of the Soul Harvester," Tundra declared, stepping directly into Lucien’s personal space, casting a shadow over Lucien’s navy-blue coat.

He didn’t look at Lucien’s face; he looked at Lucien’s right hand, the hand that had touched the orb, with the naked, covetous hunger of a merchant appraising a stolen diamond.

"The Gryphon Pride is clearing the third-tier catacombs next week, Lord Everhart," Tundra said, his voice dripping with condescending aristocratic patronage. "An unawakened vessel cannot survive the political maneuvering of this academy alone. Join my party, and you’ll walk in the center of our defensive square, just harvest the necrotic remnants of the bosses we slay, and we will grant your house a thirty-percent dividend on all mineral findings. A fair bargain for a boy who cannot even cast a spark of basic fire. isn’t that right?"

"A thirty-percent dividend?" Lucien murmured, his dark eyes narrowing into cold, sharp slits beneath his bangs. "How remarkably generous of you, Senior Tundra. You wish to turn a Duke’s son into a glorified field-scavenger who vacuums up corpse residue while your knights take the glory? Such a good idea you have there."

Tundra’s smile stiffened slightly, a flash of irritation breaking through his golden veneer. "I am offering you a critical point of survival, Lord Everhart. Do not let your bizarre stroke of luck blind you to your reality. You are still an invalid with eighteen mana. Without a top-tier vanguard to shield you, the Inquisitors will have you quarantined in the lower dungeons before nightfall."

Tundra reached out a hand, clearly intending to grip Lucien’s shoulder to assert physical dominance and seal the conversation before the other parties could counter.

’If he touches my shoulder,’ Lucien calculated with icy detachment, ’I will be forced to engage the Spirit conversion and shatter his collarbone. Which will cause an imperial investigation, and ruin my lunch and appetite. This is extremely annoying.’

Before Tundra’s fingers could cross the final three inches, the air in the Grand Celestial Spire did not merely freeze; it detonated with a sound like a thunderclap echoing across a frozen lake.

CLANG.

The heavy scabbard of the Valemont Lineage slammed down between Tundra’s hand and Lucien’s chest, wedging itself into the stone pavers with enough force to send a spiderweb of cracks rippling through the sunstone tiles.

Tundra stumbled back two paces, his ears ringing from the sonic backdraft.

Standing between Lucien and the crowd of circling vultures was a monolith of midnight-indigo wool, dark drake-hide, and unyielding arrogance.

Cassian Valemont.

The protagonist did not draw his weapon, because he didn’t need to.

A faint corona of diamond-white starlight rolled off his shoulders like a celestial waterfall, radiating a pressure so terrifying that the three floating spell-scrolls behind the silver-haired girl instantly lost their levitation and fluttered pathetically to the dirt.

The hundreds of spectating students in the galleries gasped in synchronized ecstasy.

"It’s him!"

"The Astral Vanguard! Cassian Valemont!"

"Is he challenging Tundra right on the ceremonial floor?!"

Cassian stood with his feet planted shoulder-width apart, his broad back shielding Lucien from the crowd.

He did not look back at Lucien, but stared down at Tundra with dark blue eyes that carried the cold fury of a high-tier divine executioner.

"Step back, Tundra," Cassian said.

His voice was not loud, but it carried the terrifying, bell-like resonance of an ancient bell tolling for an execution.

Tundra gritted his teeth, his pale face flushing crimson as he adjusted his posture against the crushing starlight pressure. "Valemont! This is a public recruitment cycle! The boy awakened a non-grade utility class! I have every legal right under academy bylaws to offer him a contract!"

"Did you know him before today?" Cassian asked calmly.

Tundra blinked. "What?"

"Did you ever stand with him in the catacombs?" Cassian continued, taking a single stride forward, the runic scabbard in his grip humming with a dangerous, restrained power. "Did you visit his sickbed? Did you understand the weight of the sacrifice he carried when his soul crossed the threshold of death to protect his companions?"

Tundra looked thoroughly bewildered. "What does that have to do with party recruitment?! He’s an unawakened auxiliary! He needs a vanguard!"

"That’s too bad, then. He already has a vanguard," Cassian declared.

The entire amphitheater seemed to hold its breath.

Cassian turned his head slightly, his profile outlined against the dim light, his voice projecting across every tier of the Grand Celestial Spire with the finality of an imperial proclamation:

"Lucien Everhart belongs to no lesser house’s ledger. His soul was forged in the fire of the lower chambers. His intellect has already dismantled the corrupt roots of this institution from the shadows. If any party in this academy presumes to take him under their wing, they must first demonstrate that their steel can withstand mine."

Cassian’s hand rested on the hilt of his weapon.

A single spark of astral mana flared along the crossguard.

"Do you wish to test that steel today?"

The silence was suffocating.

Tundra stared at the glowing starlight dancing along Cassian’s fingers.

He looked at the cracked sunstone pavers beneath the Valemont heir’s boots, then looked at the cold, unblinking eyes of a man who had slaughtered an Abyssal Broodmother single-handedly three months ago.

Tundra swallowed hard. His golden eyes, which had looked so magnificent moments ago, suddenly felt very fragile, and remarkably flammable.

"This is absurd, Valemont," Tundra hissed through gritted teeth, taking a slow, humiliating step backward toward his party members. "You cannot claim every unique talent in the academy! The High Council will hear of this monopoly!"

"Go ahead and tell them," Cassian said coldly. "And also, tell them that if they have an objection, they may deliver it to the Gates of House Valemont."

"Fine, we’ll see who wins this game, Valemont!"

Tundra glared at Lucien, who was currently standing behind Cassian’s shoulder, quietly chewing a piece of mentholated lozenge with an expression of exhaustion, before turning on his heel and retreating into the staging tunnel with his tail firmly tucked between his greaves.

The other party captains and scout representatives didn’t even wait for a dismissal.

The moment Tundra folded, the rest of the recruiters scattered like cockroaches caught in the beam of a high-intensity lantern, practically trampling each other in their haste to reach the exits.