Villainous Instructor at the Academy
Chapter 107: Conspiracies and cowards

Chapter 107: Conspiracies and cowards

The arena was packed.

Students filled the seats like hungry birds, squawking and squabbling for a better view. Betting slips passed hands. Professors whispered behind fans and enchanted scrolls. Even Headmaster Kaelus made a surprise appearance, sitting up high with an expression carved from apathy and disdain.

Typical.

Below, the two duelists stood on polished stone—Julien, with his cocky grin hiding pure terror, and across from him...

"Is that Seren Valker?" Mira whispered.

"Oh no," Felix whispered back. "Oh no no no no—"

"Who the hell is Seren Valker?" I asked.

Wallace blinked at me. "Only the rank one sword prodigy in the Academy. Rumor is, he got scouted by the Obsidian Guard at age fourteen."

"Huh," I said. "Well... sucks to be Julien."

The signal flare went off.

Julien launched forward with a burst of light from Wallace’s bracer. A trick of runes—speed without stamina cost. He closed the distance like a missile, blade swinging in a wide arc—

CLANG!

Blocked.

Seren hadn’t even moved from his stance. His blade shimmered, coated in a faint aura that hummed with some kind of internal resonance.

"He’s channeling echo-phase steel," Cassandra muttered. "It vibrates to disrupt enemy timing."

"I’m sorry—what steel?" Felix asked.

"The expensive kind," Wallace said, eyes wide. "You can’t even forge that without three alchemists and a high priest."

Julien darted back, his feet skidding across stone.

Seren didn’t chase.

He adjusted his stance by half an inch, elegant and relaxed, as if he was bored already.

"Oh, he’s one of those," Mira muttered.

Julien grit his teeth. "Alright. If you won’t move—then I’ll make you."

He flipped a coin from his belt—one of the enchanted tokens we’d made in class. I watched it spin.

Then explode.

Smoke filled the arena. Students gasped.

From the haze, a flash of metal. Sparks. Julien was moving again, blade flickering in and out of vision.

Seren deflected each strike like he was swatting flies.

But Julien was smiling now.

Because every blocked hit carried a little extra runic residue. Tiny pulses building in Seren’s blade. Harmless on their own. But stacking...

"Oh gods," Wallace whispered. "He’s overloading it."

Seren finally noticed. His blade hummed higher, trembling unnaturally.

Then exploded in a burst of kinetic backlash.

He flew backward—slammed into the barrier wall—hard.

Silence.

Then—cheering.

Even the headmaster’s eyes widened slightly. (Which, by his standards, was the equivalent of fainting.)

Julien limped back to the center of the arena, breathing hard, grinning like a lunatic.

"Was that a win?" he asked.

The adjudicator checked the rune screen. "Seren Valker is unable to continue. Victor: Julien, Class C."

Pandemonium.

Mira threw her hood off and screamed. Wallace jumped so high he nearly fell over the rail. Felix fainted. Leo just sat down and cried.

And me?

I turned to Instructor Harven, clapped him on the back, and said:

"Thanks for the promotion."

He looked like he’d swallowed a thunderstone.

Later that night, back in our quarters, Julien laid across the couch with ice packs on everything.

"I can’t feel my bones."

"You won," I said, tossing him a bottle of elixir. "Drink that or die. Your choice."

He groaned. "I hate you."

"Excellent. That means training tomorrow won’t be awkward."

The others gathered around, buzzing with energy. We weren’t just Class C anymore. We were the class that beat Class A.

And everyone in the Academy would remember that.

Especially the ones who really didn’t want us to win.

The ones watching from behind masks, cloaks, and ancient bloodlines.

But for tonight?

We were gods.

Exhausted, beat-up, miracle-performing gods.

And it felt good.

"So, are we famous now?" Julien mumbled through a mouthful of pain bread. He had one leg propped up, three rune patches stuck to his ribs, and a look that said he simultaneously regretted everything and would do it again in a heartbeat.

"In a way," I said. "If ’famous’ includes getting every instructor who bet against you to start planning my assassination."

Felix raised a trembling hand. "Do... do they allow instructors to assassinate other instructors?"

Mira answered for me. "No. But they do allow duels. Accidents. Field assignments where things go ’wrong.’"

"Can I go back to being a background character?" Felix whimpered.

"You were never not one," I shot back.

Wallace was fiddling with one of the rune tokens. "Still can’t believe that feedback chain worked. I thought for sure it’d detonate early."

"It did," Julien muttered. "In my face."

"Details," Wallace said.

Leo peeked in from the hallway. "Uhhh, Professor? There’s a... person. Outside. Dressed like a demon but polite. Keeps asking for a ’moment of your prestigious time.’"

I sighed. "Let me guess—red cloak, obsidian mask, holding a scroll tied with bone twine?"

Leo blinked. "Yes. Exactly. How did you—?"

"Because our win triggered something," I said, standing. "That or the Academy’s secret society finally wants to kill me."

"Wait—secret society?" Felix squeaked.

"Focus, Coward. Guard the house. If anyone knocks twice and hisses in Parseltongue, don’t let them in."

"I don’t even know what that is!"

"Good. That means you won’t betray me."

Outside, under the moonlit arches of the courtyard, the visitor stood still as a statue.

Their mask was plain, their stance military. Not a student. Not a professor. An agent of something else.

They bowed.

"Lucian Drelmont. You are cordially invited to attend the Solstice Convergence. Your recent actions have... rebalanced certain interests."

I raised a brow. "That sounds both flattering and extremely ominous. What if I politely decline?"

"You won’t," they said calmly. "Because the last person who did now lives in a pocket dimension where time moves sideways and everyone speaks in riddles."

"Fun party."

They handed me the scroll and turned to leave. No name. No farewell.

Just silence.

I stared down at the scroll.

On the seal was a symbol I hadn’t seen in years. Not even in the game. A circle of eyes—some open, some closed. Watching.

"Solstice Convergence," I muttered.

Inside the lounge, my students were arguing over who got the last sweetroll.

Outside, the world was shifting. Watching.

And I had a feeling that winning this duel wasn’t the end of something.

It was the start.

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