Sherach sat alone in his private chamber, the dim light from the high windows cutting through the shadows like silver blades. The air was still, heavy with an unnatural silence, as if the very atmosphere hesitated to move around him. He leaned back against the cold stone wall, arms folded and eyes half-closed, yet his mind was a storm of activity.
He replayed the fight from the training grounds over and over. Each movement, each strike, and every subtle adjustment Oliver had made—it was unlike anything Sherach had ever witnessed. There was a natural flow to the boy's attacks, a rhythm that transcended raw speed or strength.
"Such potential…," Sherach murmured, his voice a low rasp in the empty room. "A low-mana vessel... yet he surpasses every expectation. How can a tier-one utilize a Shidan technique? How can he even touch the Kaishi state? It is far beyond what a tier-one should be capable of. Is his Tier a lie?."
He rose, his boots echoing rhythmically against the stone floor as he paced. "If he can learn to control that state consciously... he might accomplish what I never could." A slow smile spread across his face. "As expected of the legendary Veyron bloodline. I am looking forward to seeing how far he can climb."
The heavy oak doors creaked open. Two figures stepped into the dim light—one familiar, one a legend.
"Hi, Shera. I brought you a long-time visitor; you should know him well," Yuri, a tier-nine elite and Sherach's peer, said with a casual wave.
"Hey, Shera. Long time no see."
Sherach stopped pacing, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Luka. So, you've finally arrived."
"For the time being," Luka Cinandra replied, his voice smooth as silk. "I'm here as the high Inspector to coordinate the entrance exams."
"How have you been? And where is Ryan?" Luka asked, glancing around the sparse room.
"Everything has been fine. Ryan is... well, he's Ryan. Likely off in his own private world; you know how he hates crowds," Sherach replied.
Luka let out a small, mocking smile, shaking his head. "Still as distant as ever, isn't he?" He turned his gaze back to Sherach.
"Yuri, would you mind giving us a moment for a private discussion?" Sherach asked politely.
"Yeah, sure. No problem," she said, walking out and pulling the door shut behind her. The temperature in the room seemed to drop the moment she left.
"So, Luka," Sherach began, staring out the window at the distant Academy spires. "How have you been? I assume you're enjoying the divine privileges of the high echelons while I'm still stuck here, being stalked by the shadows of this rank."
Luka let out a short, melodic laugh. "Hahaha! It's not quite like that, Sherach. Even demi-gods carry a heavy burden of responsibility."
Sherach turned, his expression suddenly serious. "Then tell me, Luka. When will you speak to the higher echelons on my behalf? I need to ascend. I can't stay at this tier forever."
Luka arched an eyebrow. "So you were serious? You wish to rush your ascension to the demi-god level?"
"Of course. Who would want to remain stagnant?" Sherach's voice grew dejected. "I need power to face the threats lurking in the future—threats stronger than I am now. I've refined my domain, I've trained like what feels for years until my bones ached, but I've hit a wall. It feels as if all my efforts are in vain."
Luka sighed, moving to a nearby velvet sofa. He reached for a bottle of wine, pouring a glass with practiced elegance. "Don't worry, my friend," he said, taking a slow sip. "I can help with that. I shall deliver the divine raindrop to you—a relic forged by the divine sect founders themselves. it was designed specifically to break through stagnations like yours."
Sherach's face brightened. "You're always as relaxed as the old days. I appreciate the help."
"Always happy to assist a peer," Luka replied, swirling the wine in his glass. Then, his eyes sharpened. "But tell me... you mentioned a kid earlier. One you seemed quite taken with."
"Ah, yes. A boy you will certainly recognize," Sherach said, his voice brimming with pride. "His name is Oliver Veyron."
The wine in Luka's glass went still. A flash of pure, vitriolic irritation sparked behind his eyes—an internal snarl at the mention of the brat who had dared to interact with his fiancée. He masked it instantly, his face returning to a mask of bored curiosity.
"Oliver Veyron?" Luka asked, his tone dripping with feigned disappointment. "I know of the legendary Veyrons family, of course. But the boy is a failure. Why take an interest in a tier-one peasant?"
"Because his growth is a statistical impossibility," Sherach countered. "He has the potential to reach tier-nine. I know, it sounds like nonsense—surpassing a prescribed tier is unheard of—but he replicated my techniques perfectly with out his body breaking neither did his mana failed.
"Surprising," Luka mused, rubbing his chin. Inside, his mind was already plotting. A glitch that needs to be erased.
"I'll find out for myself during the entrance exam tomorrow," Luka said, standing up with effortless grace. "I'll see you then, Sherach."
"You know I find those fights boring," Sherach said with a side-glance. "But since Oliver is competing... I might just show up."
Luka only smiled—a cold, predatory expression—and walked out the door.
----
At the highest point of the Obsidian Balcony, the Headmaster, Zevran Lyrion, sat behind a desk carved from dark stone. He was smoking a pipe, his eyes weary as he scanned through student files. A sudden chime on his desk informed him of a high-priority arrival.
"Shit," Zevran hissed, quickly stashing his pipe and clearing a stack of half-eaten snacks. "I wasn't expecting him so soon. Why wasn't I informed before hand?"
He hurriedly straightened his robes and placed a fresh pack of expensive cigarettes on the table just as the door glided open. Luka Cinandra walked in, the air itself seeming to bow to his presence.
"Good day, Lord Luka," Zevran said, his voice trembling slightly with respect. "I wasn't expecting your arrival today. Welcome to the Vanguard Academy."
Luka didn't answer. He simply reached for a cigarette from the pack, snapped his index finger to ignite a spark of golden flame, and took a long drag.
"Headmaster Lyrion," Luka said through a cloud of smoke. "I would like to see the profile of a boy named Oliver Veyron."
Cold sweat pricked at Zevran's neck. Did I do something wrong concerning that boy? he wondered frantically. "O-of course, Lord Luka."
He shuffled through the low-tier enrollment files and handed a thin folder to the demi-
god.
Name: Oliver Veyron
Tier: 1
Rank: E-
Level: 5
Affinity: Lightning
Skill: Martial Arts (Intermediate)
Luka scanned the list, looking for any hidden trump card or overpowered ability. He found nothing.
"His stats are pathetic," Luka spat, tossing the folder back onto the desk like trash. "Why has Sherach taken a liking to this useless brat? It is literally beyond him. He's not even worth the effort of a kill."
He turned on his heel. "I will see you at the arena tomorrow, Lyrion."
The headmaster waited until the sound of Luka's footsteps faded before he slumped back into his chair, breathing a heavy sigh of relief.
"I'm glad he didn't dig any deeper," Zevran muttered, reaching back for his pipe. "But why is a demi-god of his caliber so curious about that good-for-nothing trash? Not that it's my matter anyway.... I have my own problems to deal with."
He leaned back on his adored seat resuming back to his smoking of pipe, eyes narrowing as he looked at Oliver's file. " Who knows what awaits you trash."