Chapter 91: Assembly (1)

Braydon woke up to the sound of muttering, a frown etched onto his face as the haze in his mind fogged up his memories. He opened his eyes only to see two pale faces standing over him.

“What are you doing?” he asked, sitting up from the cold hard floor with some effort. For a moment, he looked confused, his eyes roaming around the hall—as if wondering why he was on the ground in the first place.

Then he saw it, a hole in the rug right between his legs. His brows knitted even further until the memory took hold. Michael, the ice lance—and the fear he felt—the memories came rushing back, causing his face to turn an extreme shade of red.

Embarrassment, rage.

All sorts of emotions bubbled to the surface.

He shot a glare towards his two followers, the ones that had fled and left him to die. Both Craig and Randolph lowered their heads, their guilty expression an admission of wrongdoing, but it was too late.

Braydon had suffered a humiliation that he could not bear—in front of Melody of all people, the woman he was intending on securing. His pride was wounded, on the verge of collapse as he remembered the primal fear he’d experienced.

He had been so sure of himself, so sure that the commoner would not raise a hand against him. But he never could have expected such a powerful attack.

If it had hit him…

Braydon surged to his feet, his fear replaced by a fierce rage.

“That filthy commoner…” he spat, his words dripping with loathing.

Without acknowledging his lackeys, Braydon turned over his palm—summoning a small green gem from his storage ring. A stream of mana entered it, causing it to light up briefly.

A clear display shot up from the gem, a projection of sorts. On the other end was a large and serious looking man with large shoulders wearing an impassive expression.

“Young master, what is wrong?” he asked, though his tone didn’t sound concerned.

“Bring the carriage, I need to meet with father.” He ordered, his barely contained rage obvious to anyone who heard him.

“Roger,” the man replied succinctly before the projection dissipated.

“Braydon… First-years can’t leave the academy,” Randolph protested softly, receiving a glare from the pissed off noble as a result.

“I don’t give a shit,” he said maliciously, “my family is one of the top donors of the school, they can’t stop me.”

He then walked forward, leaving both Randolph and Craig rooted on the spot. The two shared a look, both filled with shame and embarrassment.

“There was something different about him…” Randolph said, his words drifting off. “I knew we shouldn’t have provoked that guy today, I knew it.”

Craig nodded grimly, “I thought I was going to die.”

Meanwhile, Braydon had already begun to descend the stairs from the first level, his expression still filled with barely concealed rage. Those who saw him purposefully moved out of the way—clearly not wanting to be the subject of his anger.

As he made his way towards the large entrance doors where they’d gathered just a week before, he saw two figures standing sentinel—watching over the opening.

Here is the continuation: Braydon straightened up and walked toward the exit, only briefly meeting their gazes.

“Hold on, no one is allowed to leave.” One of the men on guard said, holding his hand out to stop him.

“Move aside, I am returning to my Marbury family for an urgent matter.” He ordered, his noble authority sounding pompous, yet unquestionable.

But unfortunately for him, his words bore no fruit.

“I don’t care,” the guard stated blandly, “we have orders not to allow anyone to leave the castle at this time.”

“Do you know who I am?” Braydon asked, his eye twitching with irritation. “I am the young master of the Marbury family—one of the top donors of Arcadia Academy. With one word I can have you stripped of your position.”

“Now let me through! Before I end your careers!”

The two guards expressions widened in surprise before taking a step back and standing to attention, like soldiers who were greeting their commander. The sight was abrupt, but Braydon took it as them relinquishing to his position.

“It is a good thing you have some wit about you…” he stated, composing himself.

Not sparing the guards another glance, he walked forward, intending to go through the open doors and enter the courtyard where his butler would be waiting shortly.

Yet as he went to walk through the threshold, he felt an invisible force preventing him.

The air turned thick in the next moment, an oppressive weight settling over Braydon’s head. An unexplainable feeling of dread overcame him, making it difficult to move.

It took a monumental amount of effort to turn, but when he did, he saw a short figure with a crimson robe and a long red bushy beard staring at him with an impassive expression.

“H-headmaster!?” Braydon squeaked in surprise, almost succumbing to the pressure.

“Young Mr. Marbury, my instructions were clear. No students are allowed to leave the castle at this time,” the man stated simply, his voice soft yet carrying an undeniable authority.

All of the rage Braydon had built up was extinguished in front of this powerful man—unable to even let out a word of rebuttal. This was the true gravitas of an Arcanist mage, one that stood at the apex of civilization.

“Go to the great hall, there is an announcement that will begin shortly.” Bartholomew stated, his tone allowing no refusal. Then, with a simple flourish of his crimson robe—he vanished into the folds of space, leaving Braydon and the two guards where they stood.

“You heard the headmaster,” the guard who had stopped him earlier spoke up, ushering him in the other direction, “head to the great hall.”

*DING*

The sound of a chime rang out, startling the young teen. When he checked his notifications, his expression changed slightly, turning serious. Then without another word he stormed off towards the great hall.

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