Anomaly of Fate
Chapter 85: Familiar Strangers

Chapter 85: Familiar Strangers

During his first week at the Elyndra Grand Academy, Velren barely—no, he hadn’t bothered—to befriend his peers. Maybe it was because he still hadn’t found the time, or maybe it was because he didn’t see the need to. Either way, he kept to himself. Names and faces blurred together in a sea of unfamiliarity, and whatever idle chatter passed between classmates were barely registered in his mind.

But even he knew the name of the student who was now stepping into the arena.

Alistair von Rhaegis.

The red-haired noble who, as fate would have it, was also in his class. And while Velren had ignored most of the academy’s social landscape, Alistair had left an undeniable impression—not just on him, but on the entire first-year cohort.

How could he not? He had placed first during the practical evaluation exam after all.

And that alone was enough to set him apart.

Even in a school full of promising talents, Alistair had stood at the top. His presence commanded attention, not just because of his noble lineage but because of what he could do. And now, here he was, stepping into the arena under the roaring cheers of a foreign city.

And yet, as Velren watched Alistair step forward, another thought crept into his mind.

’What the hell is that guy doing here?’

Before he could dwell on it, a voice—almost as if in sync with his own thoughts—spoke aloud:

"So that guy is here all along..."

Turning to the side, Velren found himself face to face with none other than Mikhail von Edavane, wearing an expression of equal disbelief. For a moment, they simply stared at each other, processing the sheer absurdity of the encounter. Then, at the exact same time, both of them blurted out—

"What the fuck are YOU doing here?!"

Mikhail’s reaction was instant—his hand twitched toward his holster, hovering his fingers dangerously close to drawing his weapon. His posture shifted, tense and ready, as if expecting trouble.

Velren, however, was quicker in a different way. He let out a sharp breath and raised both hands in a placating gesture, keeping his stance relaxed.

"Whoa, easy there, triggerman," he said, keeping his voice even. "I’m not here to start anything."

Mikhail didn’t respond immediately. His sharp eyes lingered on Velren, scrutinizing him with a wariness that didn’t fade so easily. With a slow exhale, he shifted his weight, tapping his fingers against the side of his holster before finally easing back just a little.

Then, with a sharp tilt of his head, he broke the silence.

"Alright, then—what the hell are you doing here?"

Velren, keeping his movements measured, reached into his back pocket. Mikhail tensed slightly, but Velren made a point to move slowly, deliberately. A moment later, he pulled out a folded piece of paper and held it up for Mikhail to see.

"Just a commission."

Mikhail’s gaze flicked toward the paper, scanning it from a distance. He studied it for a few seconds, pressing his lips into a thin line, before finally exhaling through his nose. His shoulders loosened, and with a short scoff, he relaxed his hand.

Mikhail set his sights back on the arena ground, his interest in Velren seemingly already dismissed.

Velren blinked. ’What the hell?! Is that it?!’

Annoyance flared in his chest. This guy just acted like he hadn’t been ready to draw on him seconds ago, and now he was brushing him off like nothing happened? The sheer audacity of it made Velren scowl. He opened his mouth, determined to drag an answer out of him.

"Hey, now it’s your turn. What are you—"

Before he could finish, the arena erupted into deafening cheers, cutting him off mid-sentence. Instinctively, his gaze snapped back to the battlefield below, where the dust was just beginning to settle.

There, standing tall at the center, was Alistair. The red-haired noble barely even looked winded. Surrounding him were the remains of his opponents—massive, monstrous creatures, with their bodies sprawled across the arena floor. One had thick, jagged hide, its limbs twisted unnaturally where they had been severed. Another had its skull caved in, remnants of blood still glistening from the fatal blow.

"What the fuck?" he muttered. "I didn’t get to see anything!"

Didn’t the fight just started? There was no way that had even been a full minute! How fast was that guy?!

And yet, despite how absurdly quick the fight had ended, Velren’s attention was drawn to something else entirely.

It was to the massive weapon that the red-haired noble held.

A black claymore, its blade was long and imposing, and its edges were gleaming ominously under the arena’s golden lights. Unlike standard enchanted weapons, which often bore intricate engravings or glowing runes, this one seemed almost... void-like. Its surface swallowed the light rather than reflecting it, giving it an eerie, unnatural presence.

It wasn’t just big. It looked... heavy and oppressive, as if the air around it warped slightly under its weight. Yet Alistair wielded it effortlessly, resting it against his shoulder as though it was nothing more than an extension of himself.

Mikhail’s voice cut through his thoughts.

"Oi."

Velren snapped his attention back just in time to see something flying toward him. Reacting on instinct, he caught it midair, closing his fingers around a jagged, irregular chunk of metal. Or at least, it looked like metal. The weight of it was... off. It felt denser than it should be, as if the small piece contained far more mass than its size suggested. The surface was black, uneven, and faintly cold to the touch—nothing like any material he was familiar with.

His brow furrowed as he turned it over in his palm.

"What the hell is this?"

Mikhail, still watching the arena below, didn’t immediately answer. He exhaled sharply before speaking.

"A piece from the intruder back then. On the island.

Velren’s grip tightened slightly. The island—Dominion Clash. The so-called practical evaluation that had turned into a full-blown nightmare.

"The hell do you mean?" Velren asked, eyeing the piece more warily now.

"When I hit it point-blank, a chunk of it broke off. I managed to grab this before getting knocked on my ass." There was no smugness in Mikhail’s tone, only a strange pensiveness. "Didn’t have time to think about it then."

So this thing... was a piece of Cloaky. Of the Kaovus.

Mikhail finally continued, his tone more certain than before.

"And that thing you’re holding? It’s the same material as that guy’s weapon."

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