Chapter 91: The Return of the Dead

Chapter 91: Chapter 91: The Return of the Dead

Three grueling months submerged in blinding darkness, accompanied by a full month of having all bodily senses completely sealed off.

Under Griffin’s hellish training intensity that drained the very boundary between life and death, the moment the bandages covering his eyes were removed, the blinding light flooding his retinas made Jeremy narrow his eyes slightly.

When his sight and other senses officially recovered, the flow of the air, every tiny speck of dust floating in space, down to the beating pulse of everything around him crashed into his perception with a sharp and overflowing vitality.

Griffin’s cruelty, it turned out, was not meaningless torture.

Having endured the rigorous tempering of the past ninety days, the five youths now, even if blindfolded and thrown into a chaotic arena, had bodily instincts and mental roots more than capable of locking onto all enemy attack trajectories and movement directions.

Naturally, the end of the sensory training did not mean they were allowed to relax.

Just as Griffin had bluntly declared, the countdown to the final exam did not contain the concept of a "vacation".

Freshly escaping the physical exercises, Griffin immediately threw thick stacks of ancient tomes at them. The focus for the following days was cramming the script system of the wasteland, analyzing the ecological structure of that dark world, and even deciphering ancient forbidden arts lost since the previous era.

Whether an instructor openly smuggling forbidden arts to first-year students violated the academy’s security regulations was something all five were too lazy to care about. In this rogue class, if the instructor dared to teach, they dared to learn. A synchronization bordering on arrogance.

Time flowed like sand slipping through fingers. In the blink of an eye, the calendar flipped to December 15.

There were merely ten days left until the Christmas festival on December 25—the official beginning of the first winter break for freshmen. But to touch that leisurely period, the ten days ahead were a crucible named: The Final Comprehensive Exam.

The laid-out schedule was extremely rigorous: Three days of academic theory exams, six days of practical combat assessment, and the final day to announce the school-wide rankings before students were permitted to pack their bags and return to their families.

Given the knowledge foundation forged through countless classified documents, the theoretical exam posed no challenge for Jeremy and his four teammates. Having turned in their exam papers early with an air of surplus confidence, the group immediately returned to the Anima department’s dormitory area, quietly honing their magic power to await the decisive practical combat exam.

Completely different from the freshman sparring tournament at the beginning of the year, this time Griffin had coldly laid out a single, absolute command: They must seize the Championship.

A half-semester spanning five months wasn’t considered long, but it was enough to draw distinct boundaries of strength. At this current point in time, there were only seven days left until the assessment chain concluded.

During this period, Evelyn’s realm, after pioneering the breakthrough to the Intermediate Stage (Tier Two), had temporarily plateaued to focus on solidifying her foundation. Leon and Lucius had just broken through their bottlenecks, successfully stepping into the threshold of Intermediate Stage, One-Star.

Only the realms of Jeremy and Phoenix were still stuck at the boundary of Basic Stage, Nine-Star.

The higher one climbed, the sturdier the breakthrough barrier became. The fact that Jeremy had previously erupted his magic power, leaping three stars consecutively during the previous survival training in the wasteland, was inherently a miracle that consumed a massive amount of energy. His current stagnation fell entirely within his logical calculations.

"Beep."

The magic spirit device placed on the glass table vibrated abruptly, breaking the silent atmosphere.

Jeremy, who was leaning back relaxing on the sofa with his long, straight legs crossed, leisurely leaned forward and picked up the card. The virtual screen flashed, displaying two unread message streams from Lomita and Raphael.

In truth, throughout those days he was tormented with blindness in the wasteland, the two of them had still sent messages checking in on him. It wasn’t until his vision was restored that Jeremy finally read them and sent back brief replies. Understanding the harshness of the Anima department, both Lomita and Raphael were very considerate, neither complaining nor bothering him further.

The messages from the young lady of the Linnea department—Lomita—still carried her signature haughty style, the core message being a warning that he was not allowed to skip the exam, telling him to maintain his form and absolutely not lose in the department’s internal competition.

Jeremy smirked faintly, swiping his finger to open Raphael’s chat box. The brief message hit his retinas directly:

[Jeremy, Noan has returned.]

The moment the word "Noan" touched his eyes, Jeremy’s fingertip, which was tapping on the armrest, halted in mid-air. For a split second, his brain couldn’t connect this name to any face.

He frowned, rummaging through the fragmented, dust-covered memories of the original owner. Very quickly, a complete identity surfaced: Arthur Noan Valmont.

The sky-high genius older brother sharing the direct bloodline of the Valmont Duchy.

In that trashy novel, this character barely had a single line of descriptive presence. But to the original owner, this was the source of all psychological trauma.

But now someone was telling him that the source of the psychological trauma that had tormented the original owner for so many years—this older brother—had survived and returned!

The name "Noan" was originally a middle name bestowed by the Pope of the Divine Temple himself, carrying the meaning of a blessing holding onto the soul tightly.

And there was an incredibly ridiculous truth buried in the family’s shadows: The original owner’s birth name was not Jeremy. His name was Sylas Valmont.

And "Jeremy" was actually the first given name of the genius older brother—Jeremy Arthur Noan Valmont.

At the age of four, living in cold neglect and haunted by the fact that his parents only directed their sorrow toward the missing older brother, the original owner’s psychology began to twist. That pitiful child threw wild tantrums for months on end, insisting on stealing his older brother’s name "Jeremy", hoping to snatch back a bit of attention and love from his parents.

Under the pressure of the Divine Temple judging Arthur’s probability of return to be almost zero, the Duke and his wife had to grit their teeth and yield, agreeing to let their youngest son use this name.

However, the naming fate stone engraved at the Divine Temple upon birth was an absolute rule that could not be changed. Therefore, this swap only existed as a social formality; in all of the continent’s supreme legal documents, his true identity had always remained Sylas Valmont.

Now, the true owner of the name "Jeremy" had unexpectedly awakened.

A miracle of the God of Destiny?

The current Jeremy leaned back nonchalantly against the sofa, his amber eyes flat without a single ripple of emotion.

Raphael’s aunt held the position of Saintess at the Divine Temple, and the two major Duke families governing the Northwest had been on good terms for generations. With that intelligence network, it was easy to understand how Raphael obtained the information of Arthur’s return even before the Valmont Duchy did.

It was just that the return of this genius older brother would definitely entail all order being overturned; borrowed names were expected to be stripped away and returned to their rightful places.

Facing the risk of having to return the name he was using, the corners of Jeremy’s lips curled up in a bland arc. He completely didn’t care. In his previous life, his name was also Jeremy, given by the old master who had asked a knowledgeable person to name him.

Whatever name this body bore on the empire’s legal documents wasn’t important to him; knowing who he was himself was enough. If they wanted to change it, then change it; if they wanted to take it back, then take it. He had no time to act out a family reunion drama with an already fractured family.

As the virtual screen was about to dim, Jeremy touched it with his finger to light it back up. He typed a brief reply, [Understood], accompanied by a socially formal thank you.

On the other end, Raphael seemed to have also sensed the coldness through the words; he didn’t dig deeper into the topic of the older brother, hesitating for a long while before sending another line:

[This winter break... do you plan to return to the Duchy territory? Or are you choosing to stay in the capital?]

From the day he transmigrated into this body, the concept of "returning home" had never existed in Jeremy’s map of plans. He decisively typed:

[Staying in the capital. Not returning.]

After a few brief questions about his exam progress, Raphael tactfully ended the conversation proactively.

Jeremy swiped the notification aside, tapping into the class group chat to read the practical combat rules Griffin had just pinned.

The format of this final exam was vastly more brutal than the freshman tournament.

Phase one: Internal department elimination. Only the team that trampled over everyone else to claim the Top 1 spot in the Anima department would be qualified to represent the department in phase two.

Phase two: The Great Battle of the Five Departments. The five strongest teams from the five departments would plunge into a battle to the death, and there was only one final spot on the podium of glory.

With the command "seize the school-wide Championship" that Griffin had imposed, the meaning was very clear: They were only allowed to crush all opponents, absolutely not allowed to have any margin of error leading to defeat.

If they failed to meet the quota, it was expected that in the second half of the semester, that instructor masquerading as a devil would definitely invent training courses far exceeding the limits of hell to torture them.

Jeremy cracked his knuckles, a sharp, oppressive glint flashing in his eyes. Regardless of who stood in his way, he would sweep them all clean without leaving a single one behind.