The grand hall of Zeverius Academy did not feel grand anymore. Clark's frown deepened, though he tried to disguise it beneath
aristocratic composure. He had known the rumors before this gathering. He had chosen not to announce them. Information was leverage, leverage was power and power when revealed too early, lost its edge. Now, Baston had cornered him. Clark could not retreat without losing face.
"If you truly don't know…" Clark said evenly, projecting his voice so the entire hall could hear, "Then allow me to clarify the situation
for everyone present."
The murmurs quieted. Nobles straightened instinctively. They held their breath toward the incoming news.
"Certain noble students…" Clark continued, "Were manipulated into aiding the perpetrators behind the explosion incident. They did not know the full extent of what they were assisting. They were deceived."
His gaze sharpened toward Baston, "If you suggest that I suspect you, then that would imply you possess the ability to command nobles. To bend them to your will."
A few students shifted uncomfortably. Clark allowed the implication to linger.
"Please," he added smoothly, "Do not make irresponsible statements. Nobles carry pride and duty. We would never endanger this kingdom."
"Bullshit…"
Baston did not say it aloud. He did not need to. He had spent enough nights in underground dormitories and enough mornings to eat the free sandwich scraped from cafeteria to understand the difference between rhetoric and reality.
Power protected itself. Resources did not flow downward out of kindness. They were hoarded. If talent truly bloomed equally across classes, then why were most advanced knights and wizards born from noble houses? Because cultivation required resources, because guidance required lineage, and because opportunity required blood. Clark continued, weaving righteousness into his tone.
"Nobles are human, yes. Some may be tempted but only a small minority. I trust everyone here possesses sufficient intelligence not to be fooled."
Polite nods followed while Baston tilted his head slightly.
"Since everyone here is intelligent…" he replied calmly, "Then surely I do not possess the capacity to manipulate nobles for hidden purposes."
A few suppressed chuckles and Clark's smile sharpened.
"Student Baston, you remain suspicious. A poor student like you does not suddenly become a high-tier wizard without cause. Even I, with family resources, private tutors, and elite training, cannot reach such heights
in such a short time."
Agreement rippled through the noble rows. Clark soon pressed further.
"I do not mind rare awakenings. They exist but your strength exceeds coincidence. Advancement requires enormous resources and without them, there is no progress."
The unspoken word hovered around poor status. Baston's expression did not change.
"Perhaps," he said lightly, "I am talented. Hidden potential sometimes awakens under the right conditions."
"Yes," Clark replied, almost amused. "It's extremely rare and almost never happens outside noble bloodlines."
The words were finally said. Sometimes, they didn't need proof. Such common belief sometimes could convince better. In this case, everything went back into bloodline.
"I see," Baston said softly. "It is because I am not a noble."
Clark did not hesitate, "Exactly!"
The word struck harder than any accusation.
"Had you noble blood," Clark continued, "Your rise would be believable."
Many people nodded and even Alicia and Anderson could only remain silent. Not because they agreed with Clark's hostility but because logic favored him. Magic required foundation, foundation required resources, and resources required status. Clark believed the matter had settled. Baston exhaled slowly before he placed a single piece of information to everyone.
"Student Clark," he said mildly, "Do you know who my father is?"
The hall stilled. Clark blinked once. Surely, he didn't know that. Truthfully, he didn't care.
"I do not. A commoner, perhaps."
Baston's voice did not rise, making a smirk on his face, "He is a noble."
The silence that followed was not loud yet the atmosphere was heavy. Just by revealing the status of his father, he already confirmed the source of his strength.
"My mother…" Baston continued, "Was a commoner."
Someone swallowed audibly. Everyone could already predict the rest.
"I am his bastard son..."
The word bastard echoed louder than any shouted insult. Students exchanged glances. This was not unusual. It was merely inconvenient truth. Many noble men indulged beyond marriage and bastards existed because of lust. They simply remained unseen in society even though they should have the same status. Whispers soon began spreading.
"That explains his magic…"
"Noble blood…"
"A fallen noble…"
It was astonishing how quickly perception shifted. Moments ago, he was an anomaly. Now, he was misplaced nobility. Clark's jaw tightened.
"May we know his name?"
Baston looked at him calmly, "Did you not investigate me?"
"It was just preliminary."
"Then you are incompetent."
Gasps erupted, thinking of how Baston dared to rebuke a noble. However, even though he was a poor at the moment, his status as fallen noble signified his hidden pride. Clark's composure cracked.
"YOU!"
Baston lowered his gaze, "Is it not a taboo to speak such names? I would rather not. I do not acknowledge him. He abandoned my mother and me."
The hall softened. That pain was acceptable. The long resentment was understandable.
A random student interjected quickly, "Personal matters should remain private."
"Yes, this is an academic meeting."
"No need to expose family scandals…"
Fear had slipped into the room because if Baston named his father, what if the name matched someone here? What if their own fathers had shadows? It was safer not to know. Clark sensed his momentum was slipping. Baston raised his voice slightly, enough to tremble with restrained emotion.
"If suspicion remains…" he said, "I will speak his name. After all, with noble blood and hatred toward him, perhaps I orchestrated
everything to shame him. To prove nobility is meaningless before strength."
A dangerous narrative. One that implied ambition. A teacher from Zeverius Academy abruptly intervened.
"That will not be necessary."
All heads turned.
"As far as our intelligence suggests," the teacher continued, "The organization behind the explosions despises nobles. They do not
collaborate with them. They eliminate them."
Agreement soon followed.
"Yes, it makes no sense…"
"You were near the explosion site…"
"Too risky…"
Gradually, the support shifted. Not because they trusted Baston but because logic favored self-preservation. If he were guilty,
implicating him would reopen noble vulnerabilities. It was better to believe
coincidence.
Clark fell silent and the meeting continued as usual. However, the attention no longer focused on the explosion. It focused on
Baston. Speculation spread invisibly and names circulated internally but never aloud. If his father knew the bastard he discarded had become the strongest junior wizard present, regret would taste bitter. No noble wanted that narrative attached to their house.
*****
When the session ended, the atmosphere had changed permanently. No one approached Baston with recruitment offers anymore. Earlier, some had considered inviting him into their faction as a talented tool. Now, he was unpredictable. A bastard noble who carried resentment and this resentment was likely volatile. Baston walked away calmly. Not only he was happy to win against Clark, he also obtained the perfect result from the old book.
The page turned inside the book and light quickly flickered. Another puppet materialized within the book's inner space. He stared at it, thinking the puppet was identical to the first. There was no variation and no evolution toward his reward. Disappointment soon pricked him.
He had hoped for something new. Perhaps, a new element of magic to utilize. Perhaps, a rare artifact to protect him. Instead, he obtained a second puppet. Then, realization dawned upon him. Two puppets meant
simultaneous presence. He would have two identities and two layers of misdirection at the same time. While the reward was not flashy, it was strategic. And this strategy fit him better than brute force. He closed the old book then resumed his activity.
*****
When the meeting was officially dismissed, the dispersal did not feel natural. Students stood, chairs scraped, and robes shifted. But no one truly left because they formed clusters instead. It was tight circles of
whispers.
Baston walked toward the outer corridor at a steady pace. He did not rush since rushing would suggest discomfort and being calm would suggest confidence. Still, the air behind him carried weight. He could feel it.
The atmosphere was full of attention. Fragments of conversation drifted faintly
through the hall's enchanted acoustics.
"Which house could it be?"
"If his father abandoned him, perhaps it was someone from the deserted territories…"
"No noble house would admit that now…"
"His magic power was above nine hundred, wasn't it?"
"It was a thousand…"
The numbers had already transformed into legend. Near one of the pillars, two senior students from a different academy stopped talking the moment he passed. Their expressions were neutral, too neutral. They were observers and not gossipers. That distinction mattered.
As Baston reached the marble staircase leading toward the courtyard, he slowed subtly. The crystal pillars used for magical measurement still stood near the center of the hall, dimmed now but not fully dormant. One of Zeverius Academy's staff members remained beside them, adjusting something
along the base.
Was it really adjusting or extracting the data? Baston's gaze lingered for less than a heartbeat before moving away. If they archived resonance signatures then his magical frequency had already been recorded. Once it was recorded and compared across academies, incidents, and future events, the result would be very interesting.
Outside, the evening sky had begun shifting toward amber. Carriages bearing different academy crests waited in neat lines but the
atmosphere in the courtyard did not resemble departure. It resembled
assessment.
Alicia stood with Anderson near the Prius Academy's carriage. Their conversation ceased when Baston approached. Not abruptly but deliberately. Alicia's eyes studied him carefully. Not with hostility and suspicion but with calculation.
"You handled that well," she said quietly.
"Handled what?" Baston replied.
"The narrative of your so-called background."
Baston only smiled, thinking it was just a nonsense from his side. After all, the story of his parent was a fake that he created.
"I merely told the truth," he answered smoothly.
"Partial truths are often more dangerous," Anderson added with folded arms.
Baston smiled faintly, "Dangerous to whom?"
Neither answered. Until now, no one knew whether his words were the truth or the lies. After all, only he had known his own story. As
students began boarding their respective carriages, Baston took one final glance at the towering silhouette of Zeverius Academy.
High above one of the central towers, he noticed a faint flicker. Not from torches and not from windows. It was a lens which was a
magical observation array. It was active, watching departures with its own routine.
Clark exited the building moments later, flanked by two other nobles. His posture remained straight but his steps were quicker than before. He did not look toward Baston. Avoidance was admission but Clark was
not the real concern. It was the teachers.
Near the entrance archway, two faculty members stood in quiet discussion. Their eyes tracked specific students, not randomly, but selectively. Baston counted silently. Three times their gaze returned to him. It felt that he was being marked.
The meeting had ended but investigation had never finished. His performance had earned him influence. It had also earned him scrutiny. And the most dangerous thing in this world was not hatred but curiosity from powerful people.
Outside, as the carriage doors closed, the courtyard lights brightened one by one. Above the academy tower, the observation array flickered once more before dimming as if satisfied or as if something had just begun. Before he could depart for Prius Academy, a staff member intercepted him.
"Student Baston. The principal requests your presence."
Of course, he had already expected such occasion. Talented anomalies attracted attention and trouble also followed attention. He did not hesitate but he did not go personally. Inside a quiet corridor corner, hidden from sight, Baston executed the switch. The real body folded inward and the
puppet stepped outward. It was seamless operation.
The old book rested beneath layered robes near the puppet's chest. There was no distortion and no mana fluctuation detectable. If someone examined him closely, they would see nothing. Once again, with confidence given by the puppet, he walked forward the principal's office.
*****
The office of Zeverius Academy's principal radiated restrained authority. Runic arrays etched faintly across the floor. Bookshelves
climbed toward the ceiling. Seated at the center was an elderly man with calm eyes and measured posture.
"Welcome," he said warmly, "I am Zener, the principal of Zeverius Academy."
Baston bowed, "Thank you for summoning me, Principal Zener."
Several teachers observed silently from the sides. Their gazes were not admiring. They were analytical. Principal Zener only smiled toward his reaction.
"Student Baston, your performance today was intriguing."
Intriguing and not impressive. The word was kind of different. It gave a careful response toward the atmosphere.
"You possess remarkable magical resonance and political instinct."
Zener folded his hands, "Tell me honestly. Do you intend to remain at Prius Academy?"
A simple question yet weighted a lot. Transferring between academies was not trivial. It altered faction alignment, influence, and future patronage. And this time, Principal Zener gave that choice toward him.