Chapter 206
The elderly man's words lingered in the air of the control room, poisonous and piercing.
To Ilux, every mention of torture and banishment was not an operational plan, but an insult to the image of Aldraya he had held onto all this time.
In his mind, the young teacher—cold and unyielding as she was—stood firmly upon principles of discipline and pure rationality.
To treat such a figure like a broken object fit only to be discarded felt like a violation of order itself, a cruelty even more inhuman than the explosion.
A blazing refusal surged in his chest, unwilling to surrender someone he believed must have had a grave reason, however dark the actions she had taken.
That belief, fragile and riddled with reality's barbs, remained his only buoy in an ocean of confusion.
With every remaining instinct, Ilux believed Aldraya could not have done all this without an overwhelming cause.
The legendary calm of the teacher, her intolerance for triviality, all pointed to a single conclusion in his mind.
There had to be a brutal logic behind it.
A horrifying choice forced from the depths of darkness.
This conviction made it impossible for him to simply stand by and listen as such a monstrous threat of revenge was spoken aloud.
So, with courage born of desperation and a loyalty set ablaze, Ilux opened his mouth.
His voice—once restrained and heavy with doubt—now burst forth clear and resolute.
He no longer spoke as a confused reporter or a reprimanded student, but as a defender.
His declaration was aimed at the entire room, at every remaining officer, and above all at the back of the elderly man still turned away from him.
He stated firmly that he would never consent to, never accept, any act of torture or banishment threatened against Aldraya.
Neither the threat just spoken, nor its execution should they succeed in capturing her.
It was a declaration of resistance.
A total rejection of the hatred-soaked version of "justice" offered by authority.
"Haaah…."
Tsssshh!
"Remove that boy—and every student who had direct contact with Aldraya's attack—from this area.
Secure them away from the operational route.
Do not allow a single one to remain near the ambush teams."
The tension created by Ilux's declaration hung in the room like a dense fog that refused to dissipate.
His face still radiated blazing anger and unwavering resolve, his gaze challenging anyone who dared agree with the elderly man's cruel plan.
In the silence that followed, only the faint hiss of electronic equipment and Ilux's slightly ragged breathing could be heard.
He stood like a final bastion, trying to protect the image of someone who might no longer deserve protection—
a blind loyalty, yet one that felt profoundly human amid an increasingly inhuman situation.
The elderly man did not turn around.
His hunched back faced the exit, a static silhouette of authority amid the frozen moment.
Then a long exhale sounded.
The breath was heavy, laden with the weight of complex decisions and perhaps a trace of weariness.
It seemed to drain all tension from the room—
not to soothe it, but to herald a final decision.
The pause felt long, as though time itself slowed while the man weighed every possibility within a mind shaped by countless calculations and experience.
At last, his voice broke the silence.
The instruction that followed was not an answer to Ilux's challenge, nor a justification of his earlier threats.
It was a cold, firm operational order, shifting the focus from moral conflict back to field logic.
He commanded several personnel, his tone flat yet carrying unquestionable authority, to escort Ilux and all other students who had come into direct contact with Aldraya's attack.
The purpose was clear.
To move them away.
To remove them from the front line, from the site of the imminent ambush, from the risk of becoming additional burdens—or worse, collateral victims in a battle predicted to be utterly unbalanced.
Then he moved again.
The old man advanced forward, leaving everything behind without so much as a glance back.
"Wait—I'm not finished speaking!
You can't just drag me away while she—"
Buuuk!
"Ah—! Let go!
Damn it… my arm—are you trying to break it?!"
The urge to surge forward burned through every vein in Ilux's body.
His body moved before his mind could fully form a plan, driven by a wild compulsion to stop this, to interfere, to refuse being a passive casualty of another's decision.
His steps were firm, aimed toward the door through which the elderly man and his team had vanished, explosion dust seeming to lift from his tattered uniform.
The world narrowed to that corridor alone.
To the retreating figures.
And to his blazing resolve to follow.
But his movement was cut short—suddenly and unexpectedly.
A powerful grip, like living iron, clamped around his freely swinging left arm.
It was not a mere touch or hold, but a locking pressure that crushed his momentum completely.
The force was overwhelming and precise, flowing from the point of contact and paralyzing his forward drive entirely.
Ilux jolted, his body thrown backward by the abrupt halt of his own motion.
The foot that had stepped forward froze against the floor, unable to take another step.
Reflexively, he turned—his head snapping around with a movement full of fury.
His gaze, once fixed on the retreating back of the elderly man, now collided with the source of his restraint.
And what he saw was a woman.
'If I force it, my arm could be gone before pain even has a name.'
"You are not permitted to follow that man.
Come with me.
Now."
She stood in a silence that shook the air itself, a living monument to perfect discipline.
She was no ordinary member of the Academy Security Center.
Her body represented the highest achievement of the art of Human Change—
having remained at the Mirhush level for a long time, now standing only a single step away from breaching the legendary Svenush class.
A subtle yet undeniable aura emanated from her, a fusion of tranquil spiritual depth and violence poised to erupt.
Within the bewildering hierarchy of power—from Sesth, to Rumh, then Mirhush which she embodied, ascending to Svenush and ultimately the apex, Sosh—her position placed her among the strongest within the institution.
Her movement as she blocked Ilux was a mesmerizing paradox.
She moved with the elegance of a dancer, every shift of weight and swing of her arm appearing natural and efficient.
Yet beneath that grace lay devastating military precision, an economy of motion calculated down to the millimeter.
When her palm settled on Ilux's arm, it was not merely a physical grip.
The space around his arm itself changed—growing denser, heavier, like thick honey freezing in place.
It was a manifestation of her spatial sensing: the ability to manipulate and perceive the contours of space itself, turning air into an invisible prison impervious to ordinary muscular force.
Her close-quarter combat was not about punches or kicks.
It was about mastering the battlefield at the scale of centimeters—neutralizing an opponent by binding the very space around them.
To be continued…