NOVEL NEXT Chapter 35: The Pyropeia Prelude
Chapter 35: "The Pyropeia prelude"
Thrane stepped outside the castle, he immediately spotted his brothers waiting nearby. Hitel stood beside his ex, Myrel, whose glare was fixed on the Bijins. Myrel's hateful expression didn't go unnoticed, and the Bijins weren't ones to let it slide. In unison, they shot small flames toward her feet, making her stumble back in shock. Hitel clenched his fists, visibly angry, but said nothing. With Thrane there, he knew better than to retaliate.
"Let's go," Thrane said, ignoring the tension as he walked past, the Bijins following him.
Hitel watched them leave, his anger simmering beneath the surface. "I heard if he messes up again with his rebellious antics, he'll get expelled, maybe even banished. How about we make sure that happens?" he muttered to Cormac.
Cormac hesitated. "I don't know…"
Hitel scoffed, his frustration evident, and stormed off with Myrel trailing behind.
As the moved in tthe streets, Akane's voice echoed in Thrane's mind through their shared telepathic link. "So, you're heading to the academy now?"
"Yeah," Thrane replied casually.
"Without bathing? Or eating? You know food is a source of energy too. If you keep this up, you'll burn out," Hikari chimed in, her tone critical.
Thrane ignored her.
"You promised we'd train you and let us teach you new things, but you've been avoiding us," Emiri added, her mental voice tinged with annoyance.
"Alright, alright," Thrane relented. "Today, I'll be back early. We'll train then, okay?"
The Bijins exchanged satisfied glances, and Thrane took off toward the academy, still unwashed and unfed.
---
On his way, he crossed paths with Lynx, who was approaching from the poorer district of the kingdom. The two greeted each other warmly.
"What's the situation with the thugs?" Thrane asked.
"Not much trouble lately," Lynx replied with a shrug. "I usually find them before they can do anything stupid and send them to the herbalist."
Thrane chuckled as they walked side by side. "Is it true the herbalist is a master?"
Lynx smirked. "I don't know. You know how rare masters are. They aren't just walking around everywhere. It's probably just rumors. I mean, what could a herbalist possibly do, right? Heal bones instantly or something?"
Thrane frowned. "But the rumors say he is?"
Lynx nodded. "Yeah, they do."
…
At the academy, the fallout from Thrain's clash with Ralkor had reached its peak. Rumors spread that Ralkor had outright refused to teach the lower class or in the academy anymore, his pride too shattered to continue after the humiliation he faced. Lynx had been the one to inform Thrain, chuckling, "You practically ended his career." The substitute instructor had been assigned.
When Thrain entered the classroom, the atmosphere was strikingly different. The usual stares were still there, but now they carried a sense of acknowledgment, respect, and even admiration. While not everyone had warmed to him, the shift from fear and disdain to understanding and cautious regard was palpable. Thrain couldn't help but feel that progress, however small, had been made.
The instructor stepped forward, his voice cutting through the murmurs. "Today is sparring day," he announced. The room buzzed with energy as students prepared for yet another test of their skills. Sparring days were a core part of the academy's curriculum, emphasizing physical prowess and the mastery of weapons. For Thrain, it was yet another opportunity to prove himself, or to stand out even further.
The sparring arena was vast, designed like a grand hall with a chill in the air, a deliberate measure to dull the edge of fire-wielders' abilities. For Thrain, it felt oddly familiar, reminiscent of the cold night he had spent training alone. The temperature wasn't a disadvantage; it was a challenge he had already faced.
"First match. You and you, step forward," the instructor called out, pointing to Thrain and another student, a teenage boy who looked visibly uneasy. The boy's discomfort turned into outright dread when he realized who his opponent was. Without a word, he stepped back, shaking his head in refusal.
"Where's your honor?" the instructor snapped, attempting to shame him into fighting. "This is a sparring match, not a battlefield!"
The boy's resolve didn't waver. He wasn't going to face Thrain.
Thrain raised a hand, stepping forward with a calm smile. "How about this? I won't use flames to attack at all. I'll only use them to defend, and even then, I'll limit myself to just two chances. What do you say?"
The boy hesitated, glancing at Thrain and then the instructor. The terms sounded fair, or at least survivable. With a reluctant nod, he stepped into the ring, agreeing to the conditions.
…
The bell rang, signaling the start of the match. The boy immediately steadied himself, his body glowing faintly as he summoned flames to warm himself against the chill of the arena. With a burst of determination, he unleashed torrents of fire in every direction toward Thrain. It wasn't refined or calculated; the flames didn't form precise fireballs but instead poured out in chaotic streams.
Thrain smirked, effortlessly sidestepping the attacks, his movements fluid and deliberate. He was mimicking Daelan, recalling the way his uncle had gracefully dodged his own flames during their sparring session. Each step and pivot seemed almost like a dance, his precision causing murmurs to ripple through the class.
The boy grew frustrated, pouring even more energy into his attacks, trying his best to corner Thrain. But it was no use. Thrain was untouchable, weaving through the flames as though he could predict their very trajectory.
Then, without warning, Thrain closed the gap between them. The boy tried to backpedal, but it was too late. Thrain moved like a blur, appearing behind him and locking him in a firm hold, his arms immobilized, his flames snuffed out by sheer proximity and pressure.
The boy froze, panting heavily, realizing that if this had been a real fight, he'd already be dead.
"Match over," the instructor declared, raising a hand. "Winner: Prince Thrain."
The boy slumped forward as Thrain released him, not harmed but thoroughly defeated. Thrain didn't gloat; he simply offered a nod of acknowledgment before stepping back, leaving the murmurs of the class behind as he returned to his place.
"He didn't use flames, yet the way he closed the gap... It must've been mana or something. How else could he move that fast?" one of the students whispered, watching Thrain return to his spot.
The truth was, Thrain had indeed used mana to empower his legs, a technique he'd picked up from Daelan. It allowed him to close the distance with an almost inhuman speed. As he stood watching the next match unfold, he couldn't help but notice the boy he'd just defeated. There was no anger or humiliation in his expression, no bitterness. Instead, he looked contemplative, perhaps recalling Thrain's earlier speech about the futility of anger. Maybe he actually listened, Thrain thought.
The next match was called, and two students stepped forward. Both were noticeably more athletic than the others, their builds hinting at hours of physical training. They wasted no time, launching themselves at each other like wild animals, their opening screams echoing through the chilly arena. For a while, they exchanged blows, pushing each other back and forth with sheer force.
Then, something changed. Both combatants paused and began to control their breathing, just as Thrain had advised. The shift was immediate. Their flames grew brighter, fiercer, and more refined, as if their bodies were reservoirs of untapped power. They poured out magnificent torrents of fire, their movements precise and calculated. The room's temperature rose noticeably, and the onlookers were captivated, awe evident in their wide-eyed expressions.
Thrain couldn't help but feel a swell of pride. The class was changing. His words and example had sparked something in them, and their progress was undeniable. Even the substitute instructor, who had done little more than oversee, couldn't hide his approval.
"Impressive," Thrain muttered to himself.
The room buzzed with energy as the match continued, but Thrain's focus shifted as he recalled what the instructor had mentioned earlier. The class would soon face its greatest challenge: the PYROPEIA TOURNAMENT. Only five students would be chosen to represent their class in this event, where they'd face off against other classes in a battle of skill and strength.
"Seems like this class might actually stand a chance," Thrain thought, a small smirk tugging at his lips.