Chapter 68: Blood and Mud

Vane kept his face neutral. He looked at the golden shears in Evangeline’s hand.

“She is not a broken tool,” Vane said. “She is the only instructor who actually teaches me how to kill things stronger than myself.”

Evangeline snipped a dead branch from the bonsai tree. It fell to the obsidian desk with a soft click.

“Senna Valerius was a Rank 6 Expert,” Evangeline said. Her voice was devoid of mockery. “She was the youngest General on the Western Front. She held a corridor against a Void-Hydra for six hours after her squad sealed the doors on her. She is not a broken tool, Vane. She is a broken weapon. There is a difference.”

She looked up at him over the rim of her glasses.

“And the Silver Fang. It is a terrifying Authority. It does not just cut flesh. It severs the space the flesh occupies. Do you know why Senna ended up in that chair?”

“She overextended,” Vane answered.

“She tried to cut a hole in a reality that refused to be cut,” Evangeline corrected. “And the world snapped back.”

She opened a drawer in her desk and pulled out a translucent sheet of medical film. She slid it across the smooth stone surface.

Vane looked down. It was an X-ray of his right arm taken after the exam.

“Do you see those hairline fractures along the radius?” Evangeline asked. “Do you see the scorching in the mana channels? That is not a defect of the Authority. The Authority is perfect. It is doing exactly what it is designed to do.”

She tapped the image.

“The defect is you.”

Vane stared at the image. The bone looked like cracked porcelain.

“Your Authority is a razor, Vane. But your body is made of glass. When you strike something dense like Isaac’s ice or Valerica’s gravity, there is recoil. You are trying to force a conceptual severance with a body that cannot withstand the friction of the act.”

“It worked,” Vane said. “I cut the dome.”

“You shattered your arm to do it,” Evangeline countered. “You are pushing that power to its absolute limit every time you swing. If you keep forcing it against opponents who are physically superior to you, your bones will turn to dust long before their shields break.”

She sat back.

“I will approve the mentorship. Not because I trust Senna’s judgment, as she is bitter and reckless, but because she is the only one who can teach you how to mitigate that recoil. You need to learn how to cut without breaking your own wrist, Vane. Otherwise, you will end up in a chair right next to her.”

“Understood,” Vane said. He took the film. “I will be careful.”

“You won’t,” Evangeline said with a sigh. “But try to keep the bone fragments inside the skin. It makes the paperwork easier.”

She waved her hand. The dismissal was clear.

“Go. I have a budget meeting with the Red Tower, and they always shout.”

Vane bowed. He turned and walked toward the elevator. The conversation had gone better than expected. He had kept his rank. He had kept his teacher. And he had confirmed that the Headmistress was blind to the true nature of the monsters. She thought the Silver Fang was hurting him because his body was weak. She didn’t realize he was using a stolen, degraded version of it that he had to forcefully stabilize with his own mana.

He reached for the call button.

“Vane.”

The voice stopped him. It wasn’t the authoritative tone of the Headmistress. It was quieter. It was curious.

Vane turned around.

Evangeline was not looking at her plants. She was leaning back in her chair. She watched him with an intensity that made the hair on his arms stand up. She was studying his face. She looked at the line of his jaw and the shape of his eyes.

“You fight like a gutter rat,” Evangeline observed. “You scrap and you claw and you cheat. It is very effective.”

Vane waited. He didn’t know where this was going.

“But when you stand still,” Evangeline continued softly, “you have his arrogance.”

Vane frowned. “Whose?”

“Your father’s,” Evangeline said. “The shadow you don’t talk about.”

The air in the greenhouse seemed to freeze.

Vane stared at her. For a second, he thought she was joking. Then he laughed. It was a short, dry sound that lacked any humor.

“With all due respect, Headmistress,” Vane said. “You are mistaken.”

“Am I?”

“My mother was a woman named Helena,” Vane said. His voice was flat. He recited the facts cold. “She was an invalid who lived in a wheelchair in the worst district of Oakhaven. She died three months ago because a Knight of the Empire couldn’t be bothered to walk around our house, so he cut through it.”

He stepped away from the elevator.

“She died screaming in the rubble because she was ’in the way.’ If my father was anyone important… if he had even an ounce of the power you seem to think I inherited… she wouldn’t have been buried in a muddy hole by her son.”

Vane’s perspective was absolute. He rejected the fairy tale. If his father was a powerful figure, then his mother’s suffering was a cosmic joke he refused to find funny. The reality of his childhood was too brutal to allow for secret lineages.

“I am not a secret prince, Headmistress,” Vane said. “I am just a survivor from the slums who got lucky with his mutation.”

Evangeline didn’t flinch at the venom in his voice. She didn’t apologize. She just watched him with that same cryptic, knowing expression.

“Blood is thick, Vane,” she murmured.

“Mud is thicker,” Vane countered. “And it is harder to wash off.”

Evangeline smiled. It was a small, sad smile.

“We shall see,” she said. “The elevator is waiting.”

Vane turned and hit the button. The doors slid open. He stepped inside without looking back.

As the glass capsule descended through the clouds, Vane let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He rubbed his face with his hands.

Her comment annoyed him. It felt like she was trying to attribute his survival to some phantom bloodline. It felt like she was discounting the years of starvation and crime that had actually forged him.

His arrogance.

Vane scoffed. He wasn’t arrogant. He was desperate. There was a difference.

The elevator reached the ground floor. Vane walked out of the Administration Building and into the cool night air.

He walked down the winding path to the Villa District. He passed the golden glow of Villa 2. He ignored it. He walked down to Villa 3.

His new home was silent. The staff had gone to bed.

Vane walked into the massive bathroom attached to the master suite. It was a room of white marble and gold fixtures. It was larger than the entire safehouse he had shared with Helena.

He turned on the faucet. Cold water splashed into the basin.

Vane leaned over the sink. He splashed water on his face to scrub away the sweat and the fatigue. He grabbed a towel and dried himself roughly.

He looked in the mirror.

He saw dark circles under his eyes. He saw a bruise fading on his cheekbone. He saw the sharp, hungry look of a scavenger who had just stolen a piece of meat from a lion’s den.

He looked for the arrogance Evangeline had mentioned. He looked for the nobility. He looked for the shadow of a powerful father.

He saw nothing.

He just saw Vane. The Frog who had climbed out of the well.

“Crazy old witch,” Vane muttered.

He turned off the light. The room plunged into darkness.

He didn’t care about the past. He didn’t care about fathers or bloodlines. He cared about the fact that tomorrow, the rest of the Academy would try to take his spot. He needed to be ready to break their fingers.

Vane walked to the bedroom and collapsed onto the silk sheets. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

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