Chapter 13: RAYMOND SABER

The next morning, the heavy stone corridors of the freshman block were buzzing with raw nervous energy as the entire first-year tier prepared for the official bracket announcements. Thomas walked alongside Ryan, Lina, and Mina toward the massive arched entrance of Class 1-A. But before they could even step across the threshold, a cold, oppressive aura cut through the ambient chatter, freezing the students in their tracks.

Blocking the doorway was a lean, sharp-faced youth with slicked-back silver hair and narrow, predatory eyes. He wore the high-blood academy uniform, but his sleeves were uniquely modified to conceal leather wrist wraps, and a pair of sleek, twin stiletto daggers hung loosely at his thighs. Standing aggressively behind him were three heavily built goons.

"So, you’re the lesser-blood freak everyone is whispering about," the silver-haired youth drawled, his voice sharp and dripping with absolute malice as his gaze locked onto Thomas.

Ryan instantly stiffened, his hand dropping instinctively toward his waist, while Lina and Mina took a cautious step back. Thomas, however, kept his expression completely smooth as glass, maintaining his practiced, unreadable farm-boy mask.

"I am Raymond of House Saber," the youth sneered, stepping forward to loom directly over Thomas. "Grade A Assassin talent. And I believe Marcus was a brainless fool who relied on loud, heavy rock armor, but my blades operate in total silence. You humiliated the High-bloods during your evaluation, lesser. I came here to personally ensure you know your place before the brackets are drawn."

Raymond’s hand drifted toward the hilt of his stiletto, his blood-red combat mana beginning to snap like dangerous static electricity along his fingers. The high-bloods in the hallway immediately began to crowd around, smirking and whispering as they anticipated a swift, public execution of the low-born anomaly. Thomas subtly shifted his weight onto his newly reinforced, dense bone structure, his hands resting naturally at his sides. He was internally shaking.

But before Raymond could pull his blade free, a terrifying wave of gravitational pressure violently cracked through the air.

Vrk-t!

The heavy stone floor directly between Raymond’s boots fractured into a dozen deep, jagged lines as a localized distortion of space snapped like a thunderclap. The invisible weight slammed downward so hard that Raymond and his goons violently stumbled back, their breath catching in their throats.

"That is enough, Raymond."

The cold, elegant voice cut through the suffocating hallway. Gliding out from the interior of Class 1-A was Julian. He had his hands casually tucked into his pockets, his silver-rimmed glasses catching the harsh torchlight as his striking ebony eyes looked down at the assassin faction with supreme, absolute disgust.

Raymond’s face twisted into a mix of shock and rage, though he didn’t dare draw his steel against a Grade S national treasure. "Julian? What is the meaning of this? This lesser stained our social order. I am simply trying to clean up the trash before the lectures begin."

Julian didn’t even spare Raymond a glance. He kept his razor-sharp, unreadable gaze fixed entirely on Thomas.

"I don’t care about your pride, and I don’t care about your trash," Julian said, his casual tone carrying an unshakeable, lethal authority that silenced the entire corridor. "Thomas belongs to me. He is my intended prey for the Inter-Class Tournament. If anyone is going to bleed him dry and crush him on the arena floor, it will be me. Touch him before the brackets are drawn, Raymond, and I will hurt you."

A heavy, dead silence fell over the freshman block. Raymond clenched his teeth so hard his jaw visibly shook, his fingers white against his leather wraps. He looked at Julian’s cold stare, then flicked his eyes back to Thomas, realizing he couldn’t make a move without starting a fatal blood feud with the highest power in the freshman tier.

"We’re leaving," Raymond hissed, violently turning on his heel and storming down the corridor, his goons hurriedly scrambling after him into the shadows.

Once the assassin faction vanished, the crushing gravitational pressure in the air dissipated. Julian stood perfectly still in the doorway, his eyes locked onto Thomas for a long, grueling moment.

"Don’t misunderstand this as kindness, lesser," Julian said quietly, turning his back to walk into the lecture hall. "Bring your absolute ’A-game’ to the tournament. I want you at your absolute best when I break you in front of the entire Holy City."

Thomas stood at the threshold, watching Julian’s elegant retreat. A smile finally broke across Thomas’s face as he stepped into the classroom.