Chapter 100: Chapter One Hundred
"I’m in a pinch right now. I don’t know what to pick."
Jude paced the length of his room, phone pressed to his ear. The group call humd with the ambient noise from the other lines.
"Should I pick option one or option two?" Jude continued. "The option of being alone and having peace, but coming off as a coward. Or the option of going on a date with a girl I have no interest in just to spite another."
"Is he strong?" Anton’s voice ca through the speaker, flat and direct.
"He’s the top student in the ability S-class."
"Oh, a top student." Zeke’s voice curled with amusent. "What about you? Why aren’t you the top student? Does he have two heads?"
"Urgh. Be serious, Zeke." Jude rubbed his forehead.
"Would you lose, though?" Anton asked again.
"Not necessarily."
"That’s your answer." Zeke’s tone shifted, the playfulness settling into sothing more grounded. "Since you’re the stronger opponent, you can do whatever you want."
"He’s right." Anton picked up the thread. "If you were weaker, you would have options. But you’re not necessarily weaker. So if you don’t want to date her, you tell her to piss off. And if he takes that as a sign of weakness—you put him in his place."
"I’m always right, anyway." Zeke’s grin was audible. "You do you. I don’t want to be called that you lost, though. If that happens, ask Nox to call Anton. Ciao."
The line clicked as he hung up.
"For soone who surrounds himself with battle-hungry fools, you shy away from a fight?" Michael’s laugh carried through the speaker before he disconnected.
"I didn’t say that." Anton’s voice followed, warm with amusent. "But I don’t object either. So get his ass, lil bro."
The line went silent.
"So it’s the three of us," Kai said.
"You’re alone. I have a training session with a hot girl."
"Not the lewd kind." Aaron corrected himself swiftly, and hung up.
"I miss the good old days when I was not the only one without girl troubles." Kai’s voice dripped with theatrical hurt.
"The reunion is days away." Jude laughed, the sound loosening sothing in his chest. "Don’t sulk."
"Oh, Jude—it’s Elijah, right?"
"Yes."
"I did hear—aside from the class of weirdos, he is top four in the academy."
"Mm."
"Doesn’t matter, though. If he believes he can bully you because he can’t win a girl, you just have to show him he’s not the only one capable of throwing hands."
"Of course."
"Sayonara, bitch."
Kai hung up.
Phew.
Jude exhaled, the sound filling the quiet of his room. He had been playing the part of the cool, calm, collected introvert for too long. But his friends were right. He ca from a group of people who threw hands for fun.
One could not forget one’s roots just because of a pursuit of education.
You can take the man out of the inner city—but not the inner city out of the man.
---
Elijah Vane was a talented aristocrat of the Aurelia Empire. One of the five kings of the academy.
Kings: a position reserved for the three strongest persons in the academy. Optimally, a king for each field—Combat, Magic, and Ability.
This session had brought changes. An addition to the position opened up. And not even a month later, an unofficial position was spurred on.
The fifth king was an unofficial king of sorts. He had shown no other feats other than facing one of the Twin Stars of Destruction and being comnded as the strongest he had fought.
The fifth king was Jude.
To Jude, the position was more annoying than beneficial. Because of it, an elitist nad Elijah had taken it upon himself to disturb Jude’s peaceful academy year.
Jude had planned to ignore him. The title would only last a year. Once the next session began, they would be ineligible for the position.
Only first years were given the title.
Once you passed your first year, you had the option of graduation—provided you had reached twenty-three years of age or attained SS-rank.
The academy accepted C-rank to S-rank. Any lower, and you would not be accepted. Any higher, and you would be a graduate.
Any older than twenty-three, and you would be a graduate.
One cannot be a student younger than eighteen, barring outliers. Eighteen was the age when one awakened.
---
Elijah, as an aristocrat, had trained his ass off. He had gained admission to Asterea Academy with his SS-rank ability [Quake]—an ability that allowed him to cause vibrations, quakes, and distortions in whatever he touched.
He had made it to the top of the ability field. He had beco a king.
Only to draw against a nobody. A child of common birth with the talent to split his focus across different fields. Worse—a child who had an early awakening.
In line with that, Elijah could handle the child being tagged the fourth king.
But the addition of Jude annoyed him the most.
Jude had not earned his title by fighting a king. He had earned it by fighting a mber of the class of weirdos—a Star of Destruction. And he had lost. Not even a draw.
Yet he was dubbed a king?
Had he received clearance from Elijah?
He could manage one commoner. But a no-na claiming the sa position as him?
He would not allow that.
So he did all he could to provoke Jude. He wanted Jude to give up his position. He wanted Jude to challenge him—as an elite, he would not stoop to challenge a commoner. He had done that once and drawn. He would not make the sa mistake.
Not that he would draw to Jude. But one could not lay waste to one’s reputation so easily. It was unbecoming of an elite.
He laid a trap.
He got a girl to claim interest in him, and he claid interest in her. Now that it was done, if Jude continued talking to her, Elijah would have grounds to duel him and put him in his place. If Jude stopped talking to her, Elijah would spread the rumor that Jude was a coward afraid of his fellow king.
A behavior unbecoming of a king.
Hah. The perfect plan.
So it ca as a surprise when he saw Jude co to him where he congregated with his ensemble of sycophants. Elijah enjoyed their need for his connections.
"Oi." Jude pointed a finger at the door. "To the training grounds."
He walked away without waiting for Elijah’s reaction.
"..."
"How dare he." One of the surrounding figures jumped to his feet.
"As expected of a commoner. What a vulgar way to issue a challenge."
"To even have the gall to challenge Lord Elijah."
"The title of unofficial king has gone to his head."
"You have to put him in his place."
"Enough." Elijah raised his hands, and the side talk ceased. "I will be heading to the training grounds. This is unexpected—but it is a windfall." His smile was cold. "A chance to show these commoners that their talent does not overshadow the gulf of bloodline."
He walked.
---
After the call, Jude had thought about what direction he would take. He had co to a conclusion: he would not wait for Elijah to get tired. He would not wait for another sche. He would face him head-on.
He left his room and headed to where Elijah spent most of his ti. He found him with his usual slob of bastards—untalented fools who, instead of working hard, sucked up to a higher power. Worse, they had an elitist disposition. Elites who were among the lowest rung of talents in the academy, yet attacked talented commoners.
The juxtaposition was funny and pitiful.
As for Elijah—was it the unofficial title of king that irked him?
Well, Jude thought. I’ll have to make that title official.
---
When Elijah entered the training grounds, he found Jude standing with his arms at his back, staring at him.
He looked around the building. Many people were already in the training grounds. More were entering.
Rumors did fly quickly.
Not that he had not played a hand in spreading the tale of the fight.
"I wonder what made you challenge
today." Elijah walked toward him.
"I am simply giving you your most wished dream." Jude’s voice was calm. "Your overt and covert ans to initiate a fight with
has not gone unnoticed."
"Hah." Elijah’s smile was thin. "One would think you would learn and give up the position in peace. But you’ve resorted to challenging ." A pause. "It’s unexpected—but it helps
finally rid the seat of king of an unworthy bench warr."
"Is that so?"
"You were given fa and a position because you simply fought a rambunctious child. But people seem to forget—you did not fight alone." Elijah settled into a fighting stance, hands outstretched, body bent, eyes fixed on Jude. "Today, you are alone. I wonder—how will you fare?"
"Your fixation on elitism caused you to open up a space for the fourth king." Jude’s voice was quiet. "Ironically, a commoner. Now the sa fixation will bring you to crown
as king. Officially."
He paused.
"Your elitism is your downfall. After this fight, understand the purpose of this academy."
He raised his hand.
"For now—let’s dance."
---
Jude conjured arrows of fire with his ability [Fla Weaponry] and launched them at Elijah.
"Hmph. Child’s play."
Elijah planted his foot on the ground with force. The vibration that answered propelled him forward—a sudden, violent acceleration. He crossed the distance in a heartbeat, his fist already moving, backed by his ability.
Jude conjured a shield. Blocked.
The impact of Elijah’s fist against the flaming shield sent a shockwave rippling outward. Cracks spiderwebbed across the shield’s surface. The force pushed Jude backward, his boots skidding across the stone.
He did not stop moving.
Mid-twirl, he stabilized the shield and threw it.
The shield spun toward Elijah like a burning discus. Elijah answered with a punch, harder than the first. The impact scattered the shield into embers. The shockwave cracked the ground beneath his feet, carving a shallow crater.
The blast pushed Jude back a step. He used the montum.
"Sentence."
The word was quiet. Controlled. An arrow of condensed fla materialized in his hands—not conjured instantly, but built. The glow intensified. The air around it shimred.
Elijah lunged forward.
Jude released the arrow.
Whoosh.
The arrow flew with a sound like tearing cloth. It struck Elijah square in the chest and sent him flying backward. He hit the ground on his back, rolling, his shirt charred, his breath forced from his lungs.
Jude did not wait.
He rushed forward, already chanting.
"Muscle tighter, reflex clean—
move like I’m already an."
Golden light washed over him—a twenty percent boost to his physical abilities. The warmth of it spread through his limbs, sharpening his already honed reflexes.
He closed the distance.
"Fire Jet."
A flare ignited at the tip of his hand—and was gone.
The fla did not linger. It launched.
A tightly compressed jet of fire tore forward in a straight line, its form held for a heartbeat as it cut through the air like a burning spear. The edges trailed just enough to mark its path, but the core remained dense, focused—unstable only at the fringes.
Elijah had only just pushed himself upright when it reached him.
No explosion followed.
Just a violent, concentrated impact—heat and force delivered in a single instant as the jet struck and dispersed, its shape collapsing into a burst of scattered fla beyond him.
BOOM.
The smoke cleared. Elijah erged, his clothes charred, a scorch mark blooming across his chest. Blood leaked from the corner of his lips.
"Raah!"
He roared. The shockwave that followed was not directed—it was omnidirectional, a quake that radiated from his position and carved craters into the training ground’s floor. Stone cracked. Dust rose.
Jude leaped.
"Fla Burst."
The wave of fire that answered was not subtle. It rolled toward Elijah like a tide, wide and hungry, consuming the air in its path.
Elijah threw a punch. The shockwave that t the fla was not a counter—it was a collision. The fire detonated on impact, the explosion blooming outward in a sphere of heat and pressure.
The brunt of it reached Elijah.
In that instant, Jude materialized spears of fla—a dozen of them, their tips glowing white-hot. He launched them in a barrage.
The first spear struck Elijah’s shoulder. The second hit his side. The third, his chest. Each impact drove him back a step, each impact left behind a scorched wound, each impact cracked the stone beneath his feet.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
The barrage ended.
Elijah stood at the center of the destruction, his shirt gone, his body riddled with scorch marks, his face a weathered mask of exhaustion and fury.
Jude raised his hand.
"Sentence."
The arrow charged. The glow built. The air shimred.
He released it.
The arrow flew.
A figure appeared before Elijah.
A sword swept up. The blade t the arrow and deflected it—not effortlessly, but cleanly. The force of the impact pushed the figure back a step. The arrow fizzled out.
Two figures now stood in front of Jude.
The first held the hilt of his blade against Jude’s abdon.
"That’s enough." His voice was calm, final. "He’s out of the fight."
The second figure, a girl with cheerful blue hair, smiled at Jude.
The three newcors were kings of Asterea Academy.
"Move your sword, kid." Jude’s voice was flat.
The white-haired boy smiled and removed the blade. "Ahh. My bad."
"Welco," the blue-haired girl said, her voice bright, "officially, fifth king."
"Fifth?" the white haired boy’s brow furrowed. "He beat Elijah. Elijah was fourth. He should be fourth."
"Have you moved yourself up, Khan?" The sword-wielder turned to the white-haired boy.
"It’s only natural." Khan shrugged. "I’m a lot stronger than when I faced him."
"Eden, let him be."
Eden snorted but did not argue.
"You." Eden called out as Jude began walking away.
"What?" Jude turned. "Do you have a gift for ’kings’?"
"There’s no need to be hostile." Kya waved. "We’re simply introducing ourselves. I’m Kya."
"I’m Khan. Nice to et you."
"Eden."
"My na is Jude." His voice was flat. "I don’t particularly have any feelings about eting you. If you’ll excuse , I have sowhere to be."
"What—you don’t have a speech after winning?" Khan called out.
"Why should I?" Jude did not turn. "I gave my speech before the fight started. I had already won then."
He walked away.
"He’s kind of cool," Khan said.
"You’re a child, Khan. Everybody is cool."
"I’m seventeen. I’m a teenager. You’re not that old yourself, Eden."
"Hehe." Kya chuckled, watching them argue.
---
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