Betrayed by Heaven, Reborn as the Blade the Gods Tried to Erase
The God-Slayer's Requiem (GSR)
Chapter 7: The Day the Academy Chose Its Prey
The road to Viremont was paved with ambition—and bones.
Klai walked it barefoot.
Not because he had to, but because pain kept the body honest.
Dust clung to his ankles as caravans passed him by, noble banners fluttering proudly in the wind. Young heirs rode in enchanted carriages, laughing loudly, already drunk on futures promised by birthright.
Klai watched them silently.
So many of you died screaming in my first life, he thought.
Most of you never understood why.
VIREMONT ACADEMY — A GATE BUILT TO JUDGE
The academy stood atop a white stone plateau, towering walls etched with runes of suppression and surveillance. Magic shimmered in the air—not wild, but controlled.
Chains disguised as laws.
Thousands had gathered.
Commoners clutching test tokens.
Merchants bribing officials.
Nobles escorted by guards in polished armor.
Klai stood among them, wearing simple clothes, mana sealed deep within himself.
Invisible.
THE TEST THAT WAS NEVER FAIR
A crystal pillar rose at the center of the plaza.
"Place your hand on the crystal," an examiner announced. "Mana aptitude will be recorded."
Klai watched carefully.
Those with weak aptitude were dismissed immediately.
Those with high aptitude were celebrated—unless they lacked noble backing.
A beastkin boy with impressive output was rejected for "unstable lineage."
A human girl with raw talent was marked for "secondary observation."
Slavery recruitment, Klai realized coldly.
Then—
A scream.
A boy collapsed, mana burning his veins from overload.
The examiners did nothing.
Klai clenched his fist.
The academy doesn't train heroes, he remembered.
It harvests weapons.
WHEN A DAGGER MEETS A SHADOW
Klai stepped forward.
He did not touch the crystal.
Instead, he felt it.
Mapped its enchantments.
Traced the lies inside its measurements.
Then—he placed his hand on it.
The crystal flickered.
Dim. Almost disappointing.
"Mediocre," the examiner scoffed. "Barely acceptable."
Klai bowed politely.
That was when the killing intent brushed his spine.
Sharp. Precise. Female.
A blade slid toward his ribs from behind.
Klai shifted half a step.
Steel missed flesh by a hair.
The girl froze.
So did he.
LYSENNE DRAKE — THE ASSASSIN HEIR
She was noble-born—he could tell by posture alone. Dark crimson hair tied tight, eyes like sharpened glass. Her academy uniform was immaculate, hiding weapon seams too well-crafted to be accidental.
Their eyes met.
No surprise.
Only calculation.
"You dodged without mana," she said quietly.
"So did you," Klai replied.
Her lips curved—not a smile, but recognition.
"Interesting."
A bell rang, interrupting them.
But the moment lingered.
WHY SHE TRIED TO KILL HIM
That night, Klai felt her again.
Rooftop.
Moonlight.
Cold wind.
"You're not weak," Lysenne said, stepping from the shadows. "And you're not noble. That makes you a problem."
"For who?" Klai asked calmly.
"For my family."
House Drake specialized in removing variables.
Klai understood.
"So you came to kill a child?"
She hesitated.
That hesitation saved her life.
Instead of striking, Klai spoke:
"If you kill me, you'll never understand why your family dies in ten years."
Her breath caught.
"You speak as if you've seen it."
"I have."
Silence stretched.
Then she lowered her blade.
Not trust.
Curiosity.
THE FIRST THREAD OF FATE
From that night on, Lysenne watched him.
Not as prey.
As a mystery.
And Klai let her.
Because in his first life, House Drake had betrayed him.
This time—
I will rewrite you.
A GOD STIRS
High above, in Celestara, a faint ripple moved through the divine halls.
"Why does that mortal feel… absent?"
Iglesias did not answer.
But the throne creaked.
Chapter 8: Ranking Matches Are Meant to Break the Weak.