Villainous Instructor at the Academy
Chapter 102: Battle royale

Chapter 102: Battle royale

Fourth day morning.

The cold stone pressed against my back as I leaned against the cave wall, sipping on bitter tea from a cracked tin cup. The taste hadn’t improved in the past few days, but the warmth it brought to my throat was welcome. Outside, dawn broke lazily over the jagged ridges of Black Stone Mountain, casting bruised violet and rust-orange light across the valley below.

My students stirred slowly, groaning and stretching beneath mismatched blankets. Today was the fourth day. A "rest day," according to the Blue Bird’s cryptic announcement. But I knew better. Nothing about this mountain had been restful since the trial began.

"Hey, Professor," Felix’s voice pierced the peace like a thrown rock in still water, "if a dragon and a giant chicken got into a fight, who do you think would win?"

I didn’t answer right away.

He was crouched near the fire pit, poking at the embers like they held answers to life’s mysteries. His wild hair stuck up at odd angles, and he wore his sleeveless uniform top like a badge of pride, even in the chill.

"I mean," he continued, gesturing animatedly, "the dragon has fire, flight, claws—sure. But hear me out—what if the chicken was, like, really pissed off? Ancient beast-level poultry. Big enough to peck down a tree."

"Felix," I said, sipping again, "go bother Julien with your nonsense. He’s better at talking to livestock."

Julien snorted from across the cave, lying on his back with an arm flung over his face. "You’re lucky I’m too full to get up and slap you, chicken-boy."

"See?" Felix grinned. "He’s scared. He knows the giant chicken wins."

Mira let out a long sigh and sat up, rubbing sleep from her eyes. "I swear, if I have to listen to one more of your idiotic hypotheticals before breakfast, I’ll feed you to a real chicken and see what happens."

"It would peck his brain out," Wallace muttered, scribbling into a small notepad by the cave entrance. "If it can find it, that is."

"You guys wound me," Felix gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. "Truly. I am a treasure in this bleak mountain. A fountain of joy. A poet."

"You’re a fungus," Leo groaned. "You thrive in dark, damp places and never shut up."

I took another sip of tea, watching the banter unfold with a smirk tugging at the corners of my mouth. They were exhausted, sore, mentally frayed—but they still had enough spark to joke around. That meant they weren’t broken. Yet.

Cassandra sat a bit apart from the others, sharpening her blade with slow, methodical movements. She hadn’t said a word since the feast last night. I wasn’t surprised.

The Blue Bird’s announcement had rattled everyone.

<"Prepare for a grand test—a non-lethal battle royale. All teams will compete against one another until only the strongest remain standing.">

Even a feast couldn’t sweeten a message like that. Battle royale. It wasn’t just about strength. It was about positioning. Timing. Psychology. And alliances—temporary or otherwise.

Class C was used to being underestimated. That would be our edge.

"We’ll go over strategy this afternoon," I said, setting down my cup and rising to my feet. "But for now, eat, clean your gear, and rest. The next few days will be brutal."

A chorus of half-hearted groans answered me.

"Professor," Wallace said, standing and flipping to a page in his notes, "I’ve been analyzing the terrain we’ve seen so far. If they’re setting up a battle arena, there’s a high probability they’ll use that basin west of the ridge trail. Natural chokepoints, elevation shifts, minimal cover."

I nodded. "Good thinking. Keep looking for weaknesses. Anything we can use to control engagement zones."

"Yessir."

Garrick stomped back into the cave from outside, shirtless despite the cold, steam rising from his skin.

"I ran ten laps around the trail and punched a rock until it cracked," he announced, flexing his fists.

Felix gave him a sideways look. "...You okay, man?"

Garrick grunted. "Feel great."

Julien chuckled. "Remind me not to spar with you if you’ve had caffeine."

As they returned to their morning rituals—eating, stretching, half-hearted bickering—I stepped outside the cave.

The wind bit at my face. I welcomed it.

I needed to think.

Three more days. Then we’d be free of this hellish mountain. Back to the academy. To classrooms, duels, the daily grind. That place might’ve felt like a prison before, but after what we’d been through here... it would feel like home.

But before that... the battle royale.

I closed my eyes and visualized the battlefield. I knew how these events went. Too many participants, too little order. The smart teams would hide, conserve energy, pick fights strategically. The reckless ones would rush in like gladiators. Most would burn out fast.

We couldn’t afford to do either.

I turned back toward the cave and ducked inside. "Alright. Listen up."

They all froze. Even Felix shut his mouth, mid-rant about phoenix eggs.

"We’re not here to win by luck. Or by hiding in a hole and hoping the others kill each other off. We’re going to out-think them."

I stepped closer to the fire, letting the light catch the sharp angles of my face. I wanted them to see me. Feel it.

"We’re going to remind every single person here that Class C isn’t weak. We’re not nobodies. We are the goddamn backbone of this academy, and tomorrow, we show them why."

A beat of silence followed.

Then Garrick let out a low, eager chuckle.

Felix whooped. "Backbone speech! Let’s gooo!"

Mira grinned. "About time you acted like a proper war general."

Leo saluted with two fingers. "Aye aye, Professor Badass."

Cassandra just looked at me—and gave the smallest nod.

It was enough.

That afternoon, we gathered around Wallace’s drawn map, scrawled in charcoal across a flat slab of stone. He’d recreated the surrounding geography from memory—ridges, cliffs, forests, and the large western basin that would likely serve as the arena.

"We can’t fight everyone head-on," Mira said. "We don’t have the numbers or the firepower."

"But we do have speed," Julien added. "And unpredictability."

"I can scout ahead," Leo offered. "Stay low. Mark positions. Track movement."

"I want traps," I said. "Ambush points. Chokeholds. We’ll use the terrain to cut their numbers before they even reach us."

"I can handle explosives," Wallace said. "Basic alchemical bursts. Smoke, flash, concussive."

"Make enough to cover a retreat if needed," I said.

Felix raised a hand. "Permission to do something stupid?"

"Denied."

"But—"

"Denied."

They laughed.

I watched their faces as we planned—serious, focused, deadly. This was no longer just a survival trial. It was a declaration.

By nightfall, our plan was complete.

Everyone had their roles. Everyone knew the terrain.

I sat by the fire, polishing my sword in silence. The wind outside howled like some distant beast prowling the cliffs.

They were ready.

But I wasn’t sure I was.

Because when tomorrow came, I’d be throwing my students into a warzone.

And I could only pray I wouldn’t lose any of them before we reached the end.

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