Chapter 252: Those who Keep It!

The aftermath of Caelum Rivenhart’s defeat did not fade quietly, instead lingering around Albedo, much to his annoyance. All the time he walked through the corridors, he could hear people whispering about him and glancing at him.

There was also the challenge notifications that pulsed against Academy-issued watches like impatient heartbeats.

The ladder had been struck for sure, and it didn’t stop trembling. By the time Albedo returned to his residence hall, three more challenges had already arrived.

All public, and scheduled.

Elara sat cross-legged on the couch, her notebook open, Battle Map faintly glowing as it constantly recalculated threat hierarchies.

“…They’re lining up,” she muttered. “Transfers, mostly. Two Ancient Lines, one Hidden Family.”

Morgana leaned against the window, arms folded, watching dusk settle over the Academy spires. Shadows pooled naturally around her feet, reacting faintly to her mood.

“Of course they are,” she said. “Caelum proved one thing very clearly.”

Elara glanced up. “Which is?”

Morgana’s lips curved faintly. “That challenging Rank One doesn’t get you killed.”

Albedo shrugged as he loosened his gloves. “Yet.”

That night, the Academy’s internal forums exploded.

Recordings of the match were replayed from dozens of angles. Analysts, students and professors alike, paused frames, zoomed in on mana flow, slowed Albedo’s movements to fractions of a second.

And most of them failed. They could not explain how he had dispersed a Gravity Dominion Art barehanded. Only the true exceptional Professors or Students like Luna, Kayle, & Miranda could figure it out, mostly due to having interacted with Albedo multiple times.

As for the other students, especially alot of the ones just arriving from Ancient Lines & Hidden Families, they could not understand how a “commoner” had dismantled a blood-awakened Ancient Line heir without visible strain.

Only one conclusion spread after all of this investigation, Albedo’s title as Rank 1 wasn’t inflated at all.

The second day began with blood in the arena. Not literal, wards prevented that, but the pressure was no less real.

Albedo’s first challenger that morning was an upper-tier Ancient Line descendant who specialized in lightning and spatial flicker techniques. The duel lasted fourteen seconds.

The second challenger relied on summoned constructs—ancestral guardians manifested through engraved relics.

They lasted thirty-two seconds. The third attempted to overwhelm Albedo with layered illusions and mental interference.

He never even fired a shot. By midday, the stands were overflowing again.

Students skipped lectures openly and professors pretended not to notice, as these kinds of events were exactly the kind that would motivate students to train harder, for the betterment of society as a whole.

“This isn’t sustainable,” Elara murmured as she updated her notes, eyes darting constantly. “He’s forcing the ladder to compress.”

Morgana nodded slowly. “The weak fall faster when pressure increases.”

By evening, the consequences began to show.

Two students from Albedo’s class, ranked near the bottom, lost public challenges back-to-back. One was defeated by a Hidden Family assassin-type transfer. The other lost to a methodical Ancient Line support-caster who exploited every mistake with surgical precision.

The results were immediate.

Demoted.

Their names vanished from the class roster by nightfall. Their seats were empty the next morning.

By the third day, the mood of the Academy had shifted entirely. Excitement had given way to anxiety. Every ranked student walked a little stiffer. Every duel was watched with sharpened intensity. Even victories felt fragile and temporary, because no rank was safe.

Albedo crushed three challengers before noon.

One attempted to bait him into overusing Havoc & Ruin. Another tried to exploit “cooldown windows” that didn’t exist. The third surrendered mid-fight after realizing,too late—t, hat Albedo had been testing him, not the other way around.

By afternoon, the ripple reached someone familiar.

Dorian Lewis.

Elara froze when she saw the notification appear.

“…Dorian’s in a match.”

Morgana looked over sharply. “Against who?”

“Hidden Family,” Elara replied, fingers flying across her Battle Map. “Specializes in toxin-thread mana and delayed curse detonations.”

Albedo paused.

Just briefly.

“Let’s watch.”

Dorian entered the arena with his usual lazy grin, hands tucked into his coat pockets, blond hair tied back loosely.

But his eyes were sharp.

Focused.

He wasn’t taking this lightly.

The duel was ugly.

No overwhelming displays or flashy explosions. Just constant, creeping pressure.

The Hidden Family challenger layered curses into the arena itself, threads woven into air, ground, even light. Dorian countered with precise mana bursts, dismantling patterns mid-formation, using experience and clever positioning to survive where others would have panicked.

For ten full minutes, they traded ground inch by inch.

Then Dorian made a mistake. A half-step too far and a curse detonated beneath his feet. He was thrown backward, skidding hard, mana spiraling out of control.

He tried to rise, but the challenger quickly hit him with 2 more spells, putting Dorian down, and the referee’s voice rang out.

“Victory: Challenger Edwuardo Revum!”

Dorian lay there for several seconds before laughing weakly.

“…Damn. Guess I got sloppy.”

Medics rushed in.

In the stands, Elara exhaled shakily. “Is he—?”

“He’s fine,” Morgana said. “Look.”

True enough, by evening, Dorian was back on his feet, bruised, annoyed, but very much present. He had lost one battle. But he won two others later that day, and thanks to that, his rank was high enough for him to remain in their class, just barely.

That night, he dropped heavily into a chair beside Albedo.

“…I hate to say it,” Dorian muttered, rubbing his ribs, “but you breaking the ladder gave people ideas.”

Albedo smirked. “Good.”

Dorian eyed him. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Am I?” Albedo replied lightly.

“Yes.”

Albedo didn’t deny it.

The fourth day marked the first official roster update as all the results were combed through and combined together. Names shifted, some vanishing while others appeared.

Three new students were assigned to Albedo’s class. All transfers from Ancient or Hidden Clans.

One bore the unmistakable sigil of a shadow-weaving lineage. Another carried an aura that reeked of sealed beasts and blood contracts. The third was quiet and gave off a false sense of security to those around her.

They introduced themselves formally, but none of them challenged Albedo, knowing he was too strong for them.

But their presence changed the room. The class felt denser now, less forgiving as they watched multiple of their classmates they had just experienced a lengthy exchange with lose their spots.

Elara leaned close to Morgana during lecture.

“They’re all predators.”

Morgana’s eyes flicked briefly toward the newcomers. “Yes.”

“And?” Elara prompted.

Morgana smiled faintly. “They’re nervous.”

At the front of the room, Albedo rested his chin against his hand, half-listening to the professor. His watch pulsed again.

Another challenge, and then another. He dismissed them without looking, ready to take down anyone standing in his way.

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