Martial Demons Ascension

Emmet stood at the front of the room, hands clasped behind his back, his sharp eyes scanning the class The silence after Hella's words still clung to the air like smoke after a fire He had seen plenty of bullying in his time teaching, but this cut deeper than the usual classroom cruelty.

His first thought was simple: Hella deserves a beating.

The smug tilt of her chin, the satisfaction written all over her face, it made his jaw tighten She had struck below the belt, and worse, she had done it knowing it was below the belt Even the other children, who often mocked Rhyka without hesitation, had gone quiet after her words.

But his second thought was more calculating: She's helping me.

Whether she meant to or not, Hella was pushing Rhyka closer to the edge Closer to snapping, to storming out, to finally giving Emmet the excuse to move him out of this environment entirely The truth was, Emmet didn't see a future for the boy here. Magicless, isolated, constantly at odds with his peers forcing him to remain would only breed more chaos Getting Rhyka out, pushing him toward something else maybe a craft, maybe mercenary work that would be better for everyone.

The conflict twisted in his chest He didn't like watching a child get torn down like that But if it served the bigger picture… maybe it was necessary.

And then there was Rhyka himself.

Emmet's sharp eye didn't miss the boy's face, his posture, the way his aura rippled faintly with suppressed tension.

To the other students, Rhyka looked furious. His jaw locked, his eyes narrowed, his shoulders tight with rage Every part of his body language screamed: I'm about to explode.

But Emmet had too much talent in reading people to be fooled He read the tells others missed The controlled rhythm of Rhyka's breathing The way his fingers didn't twitch, the way his shoulders didn't actually draw up for a strike His aura was too level, too measured.

This wasn't genuine fury It was performance.

Rhyka didn't care that he was an orphan. Emmet knew it He could see it in the subtle steadiness of the boy's body, the way the words hadn't shaken him at all This was acting acting so good that even Rin and Eto had bought it completely.

That, more than anything, made Emmet wary Rhyka was playing a long game, even now.

Then Rinnte shot him a glance.

It was quick, but deliberate. A look that carried weight: You see this too, don't you?

Emmet's mind settledHe knew exactly how he was going to handle this.

He clapped his hands once, sharp and loud, cutting through the tension.

"Enough."

The class snapped to attention. Even Hella sat up straighter, her smirk faltering slightly under his gaze.

"For the rest of the day," Emmet said, his tone firm and carrying authority, "we spar."

A murmur ran through the room, excitement and nervousness mixing Normally, their sparring sessions were restricted light physical enchantments only, no spells, no excessive force But Emmet's next words sent a ripple of anticipation through the students.

"This time, no limits. Full-body enchantments allowed Spells allowed Show me what you can actually do when you're not bound by unnecessary restrictions."

The room buzzed instantly. Students grinned, whispered, nudged each other The chance to cut loose in front of the entire class was a rare one, and they couldn't hide their eagerness.

But Emmet's eyes lingered on Rhyka.

This wasn't just about letting the class vent or testing their abilities It was two birds with one stone.

First, it would put Rhyka face-to-face with the reality he seemed to be ignoring that mages were on another level entirely. Dodging a stone and a fireball was one thing. Facing multiple trained opponents throwing spells at full power was another It would remind him of his place, brutally and publicly.

Second, it would serve as a warning. If Rhyka kept acting the way he was acting cocky, hostile, defiant this was the kind of response he could expect Not just words, not just insults Real violence, real power. He would get beaten down, and no performance could mask it.

That was just reality for the weak

Emmet clasped his hands behind his back again, gaze sweeping the room.

" Those who think they're ready, step forward We'll see who's been wasting their time… and who hasn't."

His eyes flicked back to Rhyka one last time, cold and measuring.

Let's see what you do now, boy.

The classroom was already breaking into a low hum of excitement, students pairing off and throwing speculative glances toward the sparring area Millis was bragging to Hella about how he'd "burn through anyone in two spells," Rin was already stretching her arms, and Eto looked conflicted caught between curiosity and worry.

But Rhyka wasn't paying attention to any of them.

While the rest of the class buzzed with anticipation, he pushed his chair back, stood, and walked straight toward the front of the room where Emmet stood with his arms crossed His stride was calm, almost casual, and the fact that he didn't hesitate at all caught a few of his classmates off guard They fell quiet, trying to hear what he was doing.

When Rhyka reached Emmet, he didn't bother with formality.

"Professor," he said flatly, "I need some money. Can you lend me some?"

The words landed like a stone dropped in a pond A few heads turned sharply, a few students stifled surprised laughs.

Rhyka continued without shame, his tone almost bored, like he was asking for a spare quill.

"You know how it is. Orphan. No parents. No family to help me out. And with how much I've been bullied lately, I figure the least someone can do is spot me a bit Just enough to get by."

The casual bluntness of it, the way he laid out his "orphan and bullied" status with zero hesitation, left several students wide-eyed. Some whispered under their breath:

"Is he serious?"

"He's actually begging the professor?"

"Unbelievable…"

Eto pressed her lips together tightly, her face burning with secondhand embarrassment, while Millis snorted in amusement, whispering something crude to Hella that made her grin.

Emmet stared down at Rhyka, silent for a long moment.

He had to give the boy credit his shamelessness was something else Rhyka didn't even blink, didn't flinch under the stares, didn't seem remotely embarrassed He had played the orphan card openly, almost weaponized it Emmet knew damn well it was an act; he had seen earlier how little the boy actually cared about that part of his life.

Still, the gall made him scoff.

"You've got some nerve," Emmet muttered, shaking his head.

He pulled a hand into his coat pocket, withdrew a small pouch of coins, weighed it once in his palm, then tossed it at Rhyka without ceremony It landed with a heavy clink in the boy's hands.

"That's more than you deserve," Emmet said "Try not to waste it."