Chapter 27 Threads of Fire and Starlight

Zane The mana card hovered mid-air—golden, pristine, humming with a soft, insidious glow. It radiated the undeniable weight of noble entitle

Zane

The mana card hovered mid-air—golden, pristine, humming with a soft, insidious glow. It radiated the undeniable weight of noble entitlement. I stared at it, feeling the silent implication behind that light—status, access, the kind of legacy-building power that could rewrite someone’s future before lunch.

All I had to do was say yes.

“Well, Handsome,” Serephina said again, her voice a liquid syrup, impossibly smooth. “What do you say? Join me for dinner and a conversation?”

I didn’t answer. The words felt trapped in my throat, my mind reeling.

Because before I could formulate a response, Aurelia moved closer and narrowed her eyes until she was right in front of me, her presence a silent challenge. She didn’t look at Serephina—she stared at me. Her gaze, cool and unwavering, was fixed on me.

You would have thought that I stabbed her dog.

“Withdraw your offer, Serephina,” she commanded, her voice quiet, but it carried a weight that cracked the atmosphere open, demanding immediate obedience.

Serephina blinked at her, then offered a saccharine smile—the kind worn by a girl who still believed she was winning. “Oh? I wasn’t aware that you spoke for him.”

Aurelia didn’t blink. Her composure remained absolute.

Instead, she reached into her satchel and pulled out a ring. It was platinum-lined, gleaming subtly, etched with the distinct crest of House Taranis. A family ring. Aurelia was holding a family ring.

She held it out.

To me.

“I offer formal engagement,” she said, her voice clear and level, echoing across the stunned silence of the room. “As heir to House Taranis, I extend a full claim through marriage alliance.”

The silence in the room turned surgical, sharp enough to cut. Every student, every lingering faculty member, held their breath, utterly transfixed.

“As my betrothed,” she continued, her gaze unwavering, “you would receive name protection under the Taranis banner, noble rank recognition, artifact registry, and legal immunity under our House shield. No negotiations or conditions—just House protection and alliance.”

Then, her voice softened, dropping to a murmur intended only for my ears, though the entire room strained to hear.

“And a relationship with—me.”

I stared at the gleaming platinum ring, then back at her, my mind utterly blank.

She looked composed. Serene, even. But her fingers were clenched almost too tight around the small band. Her voice had been steady, perfectly controlled, but her eyes… her eyes were braced for impact, anticipating a reaction I had no idea how to give.

The air was thick with tension. With implication. No, it was more than that—it was palpable expectation. The entire room was watching, holding its collective breath, waiting for my response.

I didn’t move.

I couldn’t move.

Serephina’s laugh broke the silence like a wineglass hitting marble.

“Engagement?” she repeated, her voice now a mix of silk and venom. “Darling, I’m sure your fiancé might have something to say about you bringing in another man without his say. I never knew that House Taranis was so progressive.”

Aurelia finally turned her gaze to Serephina, her expression hardening, stripping away any pretense of politeness.

“I don’t remember inviting you to comment, Serephina,” she said flatly, her words a cold, undeniable truth. “And remove your offer. It cannot come close to mine.”

Serephina’s practiced smile twitched, faltering for the first time.

The mana in the room rippled again, agitated by the clash of wills. The golden mana card still hovered to my left. The platinum ring still glinted in Aurelia’s extended hand. Two distinct offers. Two entirely different futures. Both outrageous in their own way.

Serephina took a step closer, her composure slowly returning, replacing venom with a cunning precision.

“Let’s not pretend this is about politics,” she said, her voice low. “He’s not a pawn in your family’s game. He’s not your heirloom for you to collect. And last I checked, alliances don’t happen with whispered promises when ladies and heirs are already spoken for, Lady Taranis.”

Aurelia didn’t flinch. Her gaze remained as cold and unyielding as winter ice.

Serephina kept going, her performance too polished not to finish. “You’re making this public. That means if he says no… you bleed.” She leaned in just a fraction, her voice softer now, but with a sharp edge beneath the satin. “Does he even know what it means to be obligated under the Crest of Starlight? To bind his mana to a bloodline clause he doesn’t control? To live under the strictures of House Taranis?”

I blinked. That one hit differently, cutting through my shock. The implications of House Taranis’ traditions were far more complex than simple protection—everyone knew that. House Taranis wasn’t just any noble house. It was a branch of the current royal family, just as influential and probably just as important.

Their starlight-aspected mana was legendary.

Serephina leaned back, flipping her hair over her shoulder like a battle flag of triumph.

“I’m offering a conversation,” she said, her voice now smooth and alluring. “No contracts. No commitments. Just dinner. A future with doors, not cages.”

Then she looked directly at me, her smile inviting.

“And the freedom to choose.”

I opened my mouth—maybe to say something, maybe just to stall for time—

But the universe beat me to it.

The amphitheater doors slammed open with a resonant thud.

“Enough.”

Professor Aulden Myrr walked in like a thunderhead in a wool coat. His boots hit the floor like punctuation, each step resonating through the silent room. Even his mana felt alert, tightly coiled like a whip, radiating a palpable authority.

The room froze. Every head snapped to him.

“Take your seats,” he commanded. His voice was calm, but imbued with an absolute certainty that left no room for argument.

No one argued.

Serephina flicked her fingers, and the golden mana card vanished as if it had never been there.

Aurelia retracted the platinum ring, slipping it back into her satchel as if it hadn’t just changed the temperature of the world.

I sat down, still reeling from the impossible choice. The weight of the moment didn’t leave; it just got caged behind the professor’s imposing order.

Serephina settled into into a seat, her posture perfect, her mask of composure firmly back in place.

Which was strange, because she wasn’t actually in this class.

Professor Myrr raised an eyebrow as he looked at her.

She simply smiled. I could see the resignation on his face.

For a heartbeat, everything held.

Then, of course, Vane Trellian stood.

“Professor,” he said, his voice oozing with self-satisfaction, “can we talk about the obvious? Zane Myles shows up, drops a Rift, and now he’s collecting noble proposals like it’s the Midwinter Gala? Are we really pretending he’s just another first-year?”

A few muffled snickers rippled through the room.

Serephina smiled again, a thin, irritated curve of her lips.

Aurelia didn’t even blink, her expression a mask of elegant indifference.

I stayed silent, my shoulders stiff, bracing for the inevitable.

Myrr turned toward Vane, and a slow smile spread across his face.

It wasn’t friendly.

He stepped to the lectern, keyed the projection rune, and summoned a high-resolution holo above the dais.

The image flickered to life—it was me, mid-fight in the plaza, the ruins of the market stalls behind me, the Rift bloom still hovering in the background.

He pressed a second rune.

The footage rolled.

No sound. Just the brutal facts of the battle.

The skeletons’ charge. My footwork. The greatsword forming. The towering Death Knight. The final, impossible strike.

Every eye in the amphitheater was riveted to the screen.

Myrr paused it mid-swing, just as Veyr’s Echo’s Pure Edge connected with the Death Knight.

“What you’re seeing,” he said calmly, his voice echoing with quiet authority, “isn’t a bloodline secret. It’s not divine inheritance. It’s not just luck.”

He turned back to face the class, his gaze sweeping over the stunned faces.

“It’s technique.”

He looked directly at me, his eyes piercing.

“Zane Myles isn’t an S-Tier. Not by strength. Not by mana pool. He’s barely a strong D by raw stats, by the System’s assessment. I have personally reviewed every one of your stats as updated by the Arcane Emporium.”

I breathed a sigh of relief, so glad I lied about that. I shifted in my chair, a faint, weary smirk touching my lips. “That’s generous.”

He nodded, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Agreed.”

[Eva: Those fake stats are all me. Which is why I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you. And if one more pink-haired discount princess tries to flirt with you, I’m hexing her transcript. Also—you snore. I’ve already adapted your breathing cycle.]

I thumbed the comm crystal on my wrist, a silent command. “Eva. Mute.”

[Rude.]

Myrr continued, unfazed by my private battle with Eva. “What he lacks in raw power,” he said, his voice gaining a subtle intensity, “he makes up for it in something far rarer.”

He zoomed in on the moment the blade connected, highlighting the precise point of impact.

“Control.”

He highlighted the specific motion. The angle. The absolute stillness of it, the seamless integration of body and blade.

“I am not saying what Zane did wasn’t impressive. It was so stupid it was impressive. Death Knights are S-Class for a reason. Who can tell me the ratio of Adventurer/User to Threat when it comes to class treatment?”

A young man with glasses and a feverish look shot up his hand. “Two to one, depending on how many levels are divided.”

“Explain.”

The boy stood and started talking like he was reading from a textbook.

“Rank classification from F–SSS isn’t a hard-and-fast threshold. It takes a combination of factors—including stats, rare abilities, skills and techniques, equipment, and overall battle effectiveness—to actually gauge an individual's combat strength. Being a certain rank doesn’t automatically mean someone couldn’t defeat an opponent of a lower or higher rank. It all depends on the day and circumstances, though this possibility becomes less likely the greater the gap between ranks. Monster, Rift beasts, and dungeon minions are all different in general. When one of these entities receives a ranking, it’s based on many encounters with that type of being. And although there is some fluctuation in the overall level of, say, a Death Knight, their ranking is generally based on their overall potential difficulty to kill and how much damage they can inflict on people and property. So an S-Rank threat of a monster shouldn’t be engaged without at least two S-Rank individuals.”

Myrr smiled. “I couldn’t have said it better myself. So, what you saw Zane do wasn’t just someone unbelievably skilled; it was someone unbelievably lucky. He did not kill the Death Knight with Sword Intent, divine power, or holy mana. He did it with pure, unadulterated precision.”

People started whispering. “True Edge. Who knew that True Edge was so powerful?”

Myrr tapped again, the image flickering.

“Actually, what Zane did wasn’t True Edge.”

He stepped back from the dais, his voice lower now, carrying an almost reverent tone.

“This is Pure Edge.”

Silence followed. Something between stunned confusion and disbelief.

A girl in the front raised her hand. “Professor, I’m sorry to ask a dumb question. But what is Pure Edge? I’ve never heard of it.”

“Pure Edge is a now-proven form of True Edge. It’s beyond will. It’s what happens when Soulforce and the Worldveil move in perfect, utter synchronization.”

He looked back at the screen, the image of my blade splitting the Death Knight.

“Do you notice how the energy sits perfectly still in the blade?”

And then his gaze returned to me, holding mine.

“That is how Pure Edge works.”

Another voice from the back. “How come I’ve never heard of it?”

“Because there are only about a dozen instances of it in the Archives. I’ve seen it in war fragments, Tower vaults, archived duel tapes from ancient, forgotten conflicts. Never like this. Never in a living master.”

He shut the projection off. The auditorium plunged back into mundane light, the silence heavy with the weight of his words.

“I’m not trying to embarrass or praise Zane. What he did was very brave and very stupid. Instigated a protocol that could cost him his soul and potentially created a Death Lord. I’m showing you all this and explaining because if any of you think this is something you could do because ‘you’re not any different than Zane Myles’”—he let the silence bite, letting the full gravity of his warning sink in—“then you’ll die trying. Horribly.”

The stillness that followed wasn’t just reverent. It was calculating. The academy had just been given a new, impossible standard to measure itself against.

“Let me make it very clear. Zane didn’t survive the Rift because he was stronger,” Myrr said, his voice firm, leaving no room for misinterpretation. “He survived because he executed fundamental swordsmanship under impossible pressure, while body-strengthened beyond normal limits and calling a power that has only been used a handful of times throughout history.”

He paused, letting his words land.

“He didn’t overpower the Rift. He outperformed it.”

Then he looked at me again, his eyes piercing through my exhaustion.

“Myles. You. Stay after class.”

I nodded once, still processing the monumental implications of his lecture.

[Eva: He noticed. Took him long enough.]