Valerion might have been confident in his bait, but Laia could not have cared less.
A convocation gala? What possible use did she have for a gala? And the legendary apprenticeship? It did not interest her in the slightest.
Suppose I somehow win first place, she thought, dry as dust. He leans in to take a good look at my kingdom, sees a D-rank twin realm held together by hope and string, and tosses me straight out on my ear. Now that would be funny.
She knew exactly where she stood. She would take things slow, keep her head down, and waste no time chasing prizes that were never meant for someone like her—shiny on the surface, worthless in the end.
Beside her, Lyra had gone quiet and tight-jawed the moment Valerion had walked into the room. Her mood did not lift once for the rest of the morning's lecture.
Once the survey scrolls were all collected and the students had been dismissed for midday, Valerion tucked the stack into a leather satchel and made his way through the winding marble corridors of the academy's administrative wing. He stopped before an unmarked oak door at the end of a secluded hall, straightened his robes, and knocked once, formally.
"Enter."
The voice was cool, low, and sharp with authority. Valerion stepped inside at once, bowed his head, and presented the satchel with both hands.
The headmaster turned from the arched window behind his desk. Tall, silver-bearded, with eyes like polished flint, he took the satchel and gave a single curt nod.
"That will be all, Voss. You may go."
Valerion bowed again and withdrew, closing the door softly behind him. Only once the footsteps had faded down the hall did Headmaster Corvin loosen the leather ties and tip the scrolls out onto his desk.
He sorted through them slowly, one by one, a faint, sardonic smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Interesting. Only a dozen or so students in the entire first year had broken through to Third Rank so far. Most of them were exactly what he expected: noble brats whose families had poured mountains of crystals into their kingdoms to force a breakthrough. Territories barely five thousand square kilometers. Tiny, low-grade subject populations propped up with expensive life-seeds. Most of them would lose to a talented Second Rank in a real fight.
He flicked those scrolls aside with a dismissive flick of his wrist. Boring. No potential.
Then a handful caught his eye, and he leaned forward slightly, steepling his fingers.
"These five," he murmured to himself. "These will be the dark horses of the tournament."
As headmaster of the academy, he was bound by the strictest oath of confidentiality. It also meant he heard every secret worth hearing. He knew about the two great ocean-kingdom houses whose marriage had produced a child with a desert realm instead—the father's side still had no idea. He knew about the prodigy born to a union of light and shadow divine clans, whose true nature no one but he had guessed. The divine realms were many and divided: Light, Shadow, Elemental, Life and Death, and above them all, the three Supreme Realms of Sun, Moon, and Star. Two of his most interesting students hailed from the Light and Elemental courts, both hiding in plain sight.
Both were Third Rank. The desert realm heir had declined to enter the tournament, though—too cautious, too afraid of giving himself away. Pity.
The rest were just as promising.
Kael Chen, of the Chen clan. Light-aligned kingdom, exceptional potential, core attribute classified. Territory roughly ten thousand square kilometers. Twenty thousand subjects, chief among them angels, supported by a host of lesser light-attuned creatures.
Soren Shaw, of the Shaw clan. Ocean kingdom, exceptional potential, core attribute classified. Territory eight thousand square kilometers. Thirty thousand subjects, led by drowned revenants, backed by water-touched demons and deep-sea horrors.
Corvin picked up his teacup and took a slow, calm sip.
Then he reached the next scroll.
He choked. Tea sprayed across the desk.
Laia. Kingdom classification: sealed. Potential: sealed. Core attribute: sealed. Territory: twenty thousand square kilometers. Subject population: one hundred and fifty thousand.
Primary subject races: Dark Soul Kin, Ancient High Elves, Royal Wyrms, Humans, Dwarves, Ruination Demons. No secondary races listed.
Laia herself had never bothered with proper names for her ragtag clans. She called them shadow-kind, elves, dragons, and so on. This was the official classification, pulled straight from the kingdom's own rule-signature. This was what they truly were.
Corvin set his teacup down very, very carefully.
Humans and dwarves were ordinary enough. The rest? The rest were absurd.
Ruination Demons sat near the very top of all known subject races for raw offensive power. Their attribute magic tore through armor and wards like paper.
Ancient High Elves were born steeped in magic. They could barely lift a bow, but their innate arcane piercing meant their spells struck true even against higher-ranked foes. They could wound above their weight class like no other race.
Royal Wyrms were the purest of all dragon bloodlines. They might lack natural spell talent, but their physical strength alone could crush every other common subject race into dust.
Dark Soul Kin were the worst of all. Masters of assassination, wielders of soul-rending power. The deadliest scouts and shock troops any kingdom could field.
Corvin rubbed at his temples. His head was starting to hurt.
It was not just the power of the races. It was the trait they all shared.
The Soulbane trait.
Every last one of them carried it.
Soulbane strikes seared the very soul. Those killed by it could never be raised, never be resurrected, never be reforged. And every Soulbane subject was unique—irreplaceable, one of a kind.
Soul-type subjects were notoriously hard to breed and notoriously hard to kill. That was why the Abyss had never been pushed back; its creatures were steeped in soul-corrupting power, and no ordinary army could hold them for long.
He stared at the scroll, his brow furrowed.
Putting these subjects into a petty student tournament was madness. If she lost even a handful of them, it would be a criminal waste of irreplaceable potential. If she won, half the other contestants' kingdoms would be maimed for years, their best subjects permanently unrevivable. Either outcome was a disaster.
What made it stranger still was that these races should not exist at all—not all together, not in a low-rank kingdom. Soulbane traits only appeared in one out of a million subjects, a spontaneous mutation from the oldest bloodlines. They could not be bred on purpose. No life-seed in existence could create them. No oracle card could bestow the trait.
And here was a student with six entire races, all born with it, all thriving in a kingdom she had somehow kept secret.
He sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the vaulted ceiling.
No. Absolutely not. He could not let these creatures waste themselves on a schoolyard brawl. Subjects this precious had far greater uses.
He thought for a long moment, then reached for the communication rune on his desk and murmured a quick, quiet order.
When he leaned back again, he looked more than a little relieved. He laced his fingers behind his head and gazed out the window, a thoughtful glint in his eye.
Far below, completely unaware that her entire tournament future had just been unilaterally decided, Laia slung her satchel over her shoulder and turned toward the dormitory wing.
One problem at a time, she thought. First, mooch dinner off Lyra. Then, figure out how to squeeze a little more strength out of her kingdom before the tournament in three days.