Chapter 607 - When rules stop applying

Okay, maybe I underestimated the popularity of the Champion, or at least the popularity of this specific Champion. Forget the part about a mix of celebrity and god knows what else and all that about high-level prestige. At this point, I am sure Dennis was right: these people would pay fortunes just to be in the same room the Champion farted in.

I am not surprised by the excitement of the students; it is a good opportunity to take their minds off studies and such. But Assistant Professors? Some of them are acting like grandmothers willing to slit your throat in the mall just to get to the last remaining discounted Cinnabon roll.

At least professors are a bit more dignified and worth taking notes from. There are even families of some students attending. Overall, it is a huge event.

I hate it, and the fact that I am part of it.

We Assistant Professors are on the same floor as the professors, on a huge, wide balcony overlooking the amphitheater below. There are a few higher floors above us, reserved for more senior professors, and above that, powerful families and the academy leadership, mingling with senior professors and families.

(Being at this event and your continued dismissal of the fact that a thermonuclear warhead is missing is making me nervous, Nat.) Sophie, next to me, complains, being on the same floor as me, as an Assistant Professor herself.

(Look, if there is no one capable of launching an attack of that magnitude and they need that warhead, they are incompetent and pose no threat.) I reply, looking down at the thousands of students and other attendees.

This place is huge and there are so many people.

I hate it.

(Could you create an attack comparable to it?) Sophie asks.

(I have considered it and, possibly, I could. I would need materials and inscriptions to construct a similar bomb, or I could work on an array to collect and channel sufficient mana and thermal energy. But it is hard to say; I have not witnessed a thermonuclear explosion yet, so I have nothing to compare it to,) I answer.

(There is a word you used that worries me greatly.) She says.

(Is it: yet?) I ask.

(Yes.) She replies.

(I see.) I say.

(Don’t “I see” me, damn it,) She groans and leans on the railing, (and still no sign of the ruler candidate or the “fake” ruler candidate as you theorise. If we at least knew the subclass, it could help.)

(It is an Academy, meaning study – so maybe diligence?) I suggest.

(By that logic, it could be lust, because this place is full of horny teenagers.) Sophie counters with a snort.

(Well, never mind then. Have you found anyone suspicious?) I ask.

(There was that thylarin girl, Ari, in the class where the professor I assist. You mentioned her as well.) She says.

(Why her?) I ask, genuinely curious.

(She is very perceptive and intelligent. Apparently, she attends so many classes that the professors noticed, and she excels in all of them.) Sophie explains.

(She did not seem that good when I taught her.) I admit.

(Nat, you were almost declared an Absolute Candidate by one of the most powerful Absolutes to ever live. Sorry, but at this point, I do not trust your judgment,) She retorts.

(I understand, but if you suspect her as the Ruler Candidate, should she not have incredible talent?) I object.

(She does have incredible talent. Another factor to consider is that she might be hiding most of it. Another thing – your favourite “fake” Ruler Candidate theory could also explain it.) Sophie muses.

(If you think that way, it could apply to nearly every student.) I protest.

Sophie exhales. (Yes, and that is what annoys me. The problem is that it does not even have to be a student. It could be one of the professors. It could be the Champion we are waiting for – who is already late – but people would probably apologize to him instead of complaining.)

(Well, it seems like you summoned him.) I say as the crowd falls silent.

No one speaks anymore as the lights go off and a single beam shines on the podium, where the pink-skinned, pink-haired, white-freckled man appears out of nowhere.

(What is even the name of that race, by the way?) I ask Sophie.

(Selari. You should know that by now.) She answers.

Then we watch as that selari Champion smiles brightly, taking in the applause. But after a few seconds, he lifts his arm, and silence ensues.

The selari Champion pauses for a moment, not for effect, but as if measuring his thoughts before speaking. As he speaks, his voice echoes throughout the hall, as if he is standing directly in front of me.

“Let us discuss something they will not teach you here,” he says, his tone light but distant. “Not because it is forbidden or dangerous, but because no one wants to admit how little control there really is once certain lines are crossed.”

He takes a breath, then continues, speaking deliberately.

“When two Champions fight, the entire world watches. But I have always wondered: what exactly are they watching for? The techniques? The scale? Maybe. But if you look too closely, you will see that it is not a fight but a collapse. It is the moment when rules stop applying.”

He speaks as if explaining a concept he has considered too many times.

“Even the strongest formations and arrays, even the reinforced cities designed to survive near the battlefield, all of it becomes irrelevant once both sides stop holding back. The ambient mana alone starts rewriting the terrain. Not intentionally, just as a byproduct of who we are.”

He glances upward briefly, then back ahead, glancing between a few people in the dead silent crowd.

“There is this idea that a fight between Champions is a contest of wills. It is not. In my opinion, it is a contest of consequences. It is a show of how much destruction one side is willing to tolerate for the sake of victory.”

He shifts slightly, as if navigating through thoughts rather than across the stage. He takes a few steps that seem to echo in a way similar to his voice.

“I used to think the danger was the violence itself: the cities falling, the land splitting, the weather fracturing, and the permanent environmental changes, all turning entire continents uninhabitable. Now that I am older, I think the real danger is how quickly everything breaks down once one Champion stops caring about the cost. Because the other one must match that disregard just to survive.”

Those last two sentences resonate in my mind. There is something about them I know I will remember for later reflection.

The selari man’s eyes narrow slightly, his expression thoughtful, not unkind.

“You can prepare for a Champion. You can build defenses. But what do you do when two of them treat the battlefield itself as expendable? When mana stops flowing around the world and starts carving through it?”

He lets that question hang without rushing to fill the silence.

“That is what they do not teach you here. Not because it is too advanced, but because there is nothing you can do about it. There is no defense, you can only delay. There is no victory, only a lesser loss. At least, that is what I think, for whatever it is worth.”

He pauses, then finally adds, “So, if you ever hear that two Champions are fighting, do not think about watching. Do not analyze. Just ask yourself one question: how far are you from the epicenter?”

And with that, he falls silent, his expression unreadable, and very slowly, he smiles. It is a tired but somewhat gentle smile.

He then speaks further about his travels, other Champions, and similar topics, but none of it stays in my mind like that beginning.

***

Barely a few hours after the visiting Champion departs, I stand behind Professor Elian during the third lesson I assist him with.

Even as that professor instructs me to provide orbs for all thirty eight students present, my thoughts remain elsewhere. I observe Elian and wonder why he feels somewhat similar to that Champion. Is it just a mask he wears, an aura cultivated by powerful families? Is it arrogance rooted in his skill? Is he hiding something?

“Assistant Professor Gwyn, may I ask you to lower the difficulty of the orbs you created for the students so they can practice?” His voice brings me back to the class.

I examine my orbs and observe the students. Although thirty eight orbs hover in the class, and all the students give their utmost effort, not a single orb wavers under their disruption attempts.

Apologizing, I lower the difficulty as requested and refocus back on the lesson.

***

Later that day in the Community, Izzy talks about the transfer student. As she had mentioned to me before, the student is a ten-year-old human girl and, as rumored, she is strong, possibly very close to level 350, just as the rumors suggested.

All that without the help of the tutorial... I pause my thoughts. Or maybe not? What if she is from a different planet that just ended its tutorial, and she is part of the First Generation? What a fascinating thought.

I mention my theory in the Community, and some of them seem to find it as fascinating as I do. Yet still, Izzy is warned not to rush anything. As much as there are rules in the Academy, they are worth nothing if the person breaks them all and kills you before you can file a complaint.

So another person is added to the mix. Tyven, Ari, that human girl, Elian, and god knows who else.

I also notice an unusual rush as some servants move through the Academy. They try not to let anything be noticed, but something about them feels off, from their twitchy movements and erratic heartbeat.

When I mention it in the Community, Izzy confirms it as well. She doesn't probe too deeply, but something seems to have happened.

A bit later, although it might be considered against the rules or rude, multiple powerful, large-area scans sweep across the entire Academy and likely reach much farther. In addition, I notice a few flying figures, resembling search helicopters, scanning the area around the Academy.

Observing them, I head to the offices to meet the head accountant, who does not even make me wait that long. Soon, I enter a very nice office, where I am offered something to drink and snacks as I sit in a very comfortable armchair and wait for just a few seconds while a short man with a well-kept beard goes through the documents.

"Here it is! Assistant Professor Nathaniel Gwyn. As per your instructions, your salary is to be paid weekly and in person, and as you have noted, it just happens to be today."

"Seems like it," I confirm.

"Well, give me a moment then." He uses his mana and even creates a difficult, quickly changing mana pattern that unlocks a smaller safe behind him.

From inside there, he picks out a small metal disc and hands it to me. "May I ask you to channel just a tiny bit of your mana into it?"

I do as I am told, and the thing lights up.

"Great, your identity has been confirmed. Now, as an Assistant Professor under Professor Elian, you are to be paid..." He quickly reads the document. "...exactly eight obsidian drachs per week."

He turns again, going into another safe that seems to be secured even better. From it, he picks up a few obsidian black, cylinder shaped tiny pieces of metal. He counts eight of them, places them into a nice pouch, then closes it and puts it on a silver tray on the table. He moves the tray in front of me.

"May I ask if everything is in order with the paid out salary, Assistant Professor Gwyn?"

"Yes, it is," I confirm and stand up.

Still extremely nice and polite, he follows by my side, not attempting small talk, and walks with me until we exit the offices, where he wishes me a nice day.

Not caring that much about how it might look, I pick one of the tiny black cylinders and examine it a bit before throwing it back inside the pouch.

Before I even reach my rooms, I find out the reason for the erratic mood the Academy seems to have fallen into.

The selari Champion has been found dead on the grounds of the Academy.

***

Next Chapter