When Nerion and Elisha reached the Dragon General’s quarters, the silence between them was heavy. Elisha paced the floor of his study, his leonine hair still crackling with the remnants of his suppressed Qi.

  “Did you fail?” Elisha asked abruptly, turning to face his brother.

  Nerion looked at him and smiled faintly. “What do you think?”

  Elisha stared at him for a heartbeat, then burst into laughter, clapping Nerion on the back before heading toward his study.

  “Don’t let the Military School bother you,” he said after a moment. “Perhaps this is for the best. But Nerion…” His expression darkened. “You should have let me break her. By standing down, you’ve given the gossips of Ansem a weapon. They’ll say Selene was right—that I was just a General trying to push a useless relative into a position he didn't earn.”

  Nerion walked toward the window, looking out over the spires of the city. “Let them talk, brother. If they think I’m your breaking point, they’ll aim for me. And when they do… they’ll find I’m not as soft as they imagine. Underestimation is the greatest gift an enemy can give you.”

  Elisha nodded slowly, impressed by the boy’s cold logic, and retreated into his inner study.

  Left alone, Nerion headed to his bedroom.

  His composure fractured. His hand clenched into a white-knuckled fist. He felt the heat of the slap still burning on his cheek—a physical reminder of the gap between his current power and the authority of the Great Houses.

  He felt despondent, not for the loss of the title, but for the sheer, naked unfairness of it.

  Still, what was done could not be undone. Regret served no purpose. He understood that remaining in such an environment—under open bias—would only hinder his growth. Knowing this did not immediately dull the sting, but it steadied him.

  As he entered his room, a voice spoke softly.

  “What do you think?”

  Nerion froze, then lowered his head. “Ego Sum… I’m sorry. I didn’t become the Seed of the Super Soldier.”

  “How did you fail?” the voice replied calmly. “Did I tell you to become the Seed?”

  Nerion hesitated. Then remembered.

  Ego Sum had told him to . Not to succeed.

  “So… you expected this?” Nerion asked.

  “I expected possibilities,” Ego Sum replied. “I promised to forge you into a supreme expert even in a wasteland. Along your path, some will hinder you. Others will help you. In the end, the road is yours. You gave your best—went beyond what was asked. Tell me: what did you discover about yourself?”

  Nerion fell silent.

  Only then did he realise it.

  He had learned his limits. His maximum output. His endurance. His reactions. His defences. He had pushed himself further than ever before—and survived it.

  What truly irritated him was not losing the Seed.

  It was losing the fourth test.

  He had wanted to fight. To measure himself against true Praetorians. To see where he stood. Elisha and Rafael were not genuine benchmarks, and Sombra had been an assassin, not a frontal combatant.

  And beyond that, he had refined his understanding of Qi and Mana. He had evolved his movement technique.

  Without prompting, Nerion sat down and began to meditate.

  Hours passed.

  By the time he rose, his energy had recovered, his mind was clear, and his heart was steady. The bitterness faded—not erased, but mastered.

  He would speak with Elisha soon about the future.

  What Nerion did not yet realise was that the consequences of that day had only begun to unfold.

  Elisha knew his brother had not failed.

  But in the gold-trimmed halls of Ansem, truth was a secondary currency.

  Within hours, a curated rumour flooded the aristocratic tea rooms and military barracks: The Third Dragon General had sent his younger brother to the Royal Military School—to be examined, to become a Core Disciple, even a chosen Seed of the Super Soldier.

  That much was common knowledge.

  What followed was not.

  Few knew what had truly transpired within the testing chamber. What most heard was simpler, and far more convenient: Nerion Nil Radomia had been rejected. Afterwards, Elisha had gone berserk—assaulting Vice-Dean Selene De Mora and nearly killing her in a fit of rage.

  The story spread quickly. And with it came judgment.

  Among nobles and military officers alike, disdain took root. Whispers of nepotism grew louder. The new Dragon General was accused of abusing his authority, of forcing an unqualified brother into a position he did not deserve. Nerion, in turn, was painted as inferior, an upstart who did not know his place.

  In the eyes of many, this was a victory for Selene De Mora and her brother, Hansel.

  But not everyone was content to rely on rumours.

  For instance, Rafael Son Boromin, the Titan, who had also recommended Nerion. Though his name was absent from the public narrative, his interest was not. A man of principle, Rafael found it difficult to believe that a boy he had personally vouched for could fail something as rudimentary as the preliminary tests for the Super Soldier program.

  That same day, he exercised his prerogative as a Dragon General and requested the official results of Nerion’s examinations.

  They were delivered without delay.

  Rafael read them once.

  Then scoffed.

  Without comment, he sent copies to his attendant, with instructions. One was dispatched to Elisha. Another was forwarded to the Intelligence Department directly under His Majesty’s authority.

  After all, the Royal Military School’s Grand Dean was the King himself.

  The Super Soldier program was no trivial undertaking. Though still a project, it was the crown of the School’s initiatives, lavish in resources, ambitious in scope, and intended to secure the Kingdom’s future strength. Its Seeds were, by definition, a matter of royal interest.

  When His Majesty read the report, an ugly smile crept across his face.

  “Nepotism, indeed,” he muttered. “Hmph.”

  He straightened and issued his orders calmly.

  “Send this to Balthasar and Cecil. They need only understand that I am displeased. Ask Elisha what he intends to do next—and make sure Lord Rafael is appeased.”

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  He paused briefly.

  “As for the guests from Mainal, extend my regards. Invite Young Lord Karel to meet some of our Kingdom’s talents. Old Man Corina may assist. His daughter could prove useful.”

  The shadow beside him inclined its head. “Understood.”

  Then, after a moment’s hesitation, it added, “One more matter. Lord Rafael’s assistant reports that on the night Nerion arrived, the boy sparred with both Lord Elisha and Lord Rafael.”

  The King looked up, interest finally piercing his composure.

  “Oh? And the outcome?”

  “They limited themselves to Grandmaster and then Praetorian—Scholar levels,” the shadow replied evenly. “The boy won.”

  Silence followed.

  “…Interesting,” His Majesty said at last. “A most interesting young man.”

  He waved a hand dismissively. “Go. Do what you must.”

  The shadow vanished.

  And unseen by most, the currents beneath the capital began to shift.

  In the core area of the Royal Military Academy, there was a luxurious, yet austere-looking villa belonging to the core disciples of the institution.

  Its lawn was mown to perfection, the flowerbeds arranged with mathematical elegance, and marble columns rose beneath graceful arches that spoke not merely of refinement, but of an honour few could ever claim. For the military, this place was a living emblem: only the finest might walk its halls.

  Karel St. Ajora was seated in a room inside the compound. He was floating in the air, the Natural Energy of Heaven and Earth breathing alongside him in a perfect flow.

  Inhale. Exhale.

  Tobe stood inside the room, taking guard. No matter how many times he saw it, he was still sincerely impressed by his Young Lord, a talent in Mana close to no other. Even he, as a Magic Emperor, freely admitted that he had never possessed such gifts at the boy's age.

  This truth remained unchanged despite the strict order Karel had received to temper his cultivation. Had he been allowed to advance unchecked, he would already stand as a Magus, perhaps even an Arch-Magus. Yet his Master had commanded restraint, ever mindful of the boundless future that awaited the youth.

  The rest of the attendants entered the training room. Alexis, Ivanka and another young woman named Celia.

  Karel stopped his meditation and opened his eyes while looking at his retinue.

  Ivanka smiled and started, “You should hear the rumours. It’s all over the school, and from what I've heard, all over the nobility of Ansem. That boy has truly caused a storm, and his elder brother is being mocked over and over.”

  Her tone showed not malice, but a love for sharing something she considered amusing. She dared tease her Young Lord, a true , what more a Dragon General of Ansara.

  “He got what he deserved,” said Alexis. “I’ll concede that the General named Elisha is formidable. We all witnessed his prowess. He’s quite young as well, one of the youngest Dragon Generals ever. But his brother is a fool trying to bite more than he can chew.”

  His disdain for Nerion was clear to all. “Whatmore, this is appalling. They’re infighting among the top of the Military Hierarchy. I fail to see what makes Ansara so powerful with the spectacle they just gave us.”

  Once more, it was Karel who looked at Alexis and stopped his speech. Tobe was silent and simply looked at his Young Lord.

  Karel smiled. “For the first time, I’m sincerely happy to have come to Ansara. I managed to see something sincerely… interesting.”

  “Interesting?” asked Alexis in doubt.

  “Yes,” answered Karel. “Let me assure you, Alexis, this is far from over. And not from the Dragon General. I’ll admit that young man Elisha is a true genius. One not even seen easily in Mainal, or the rest of the Territories, for that matter. His aura as an Emperor alone is higher than all Inquisitors of his rank. But it’s not him…”

  Karel then looked towards Tobe, his closest aide, who smiled back at him, encouraging. He always insisted Karel use his Wisdom and think, speculate and talk about his reasoning. This exercise allowed him to look at the world in a way that allowed him to uncover its secrets, even from the smallest of things.

  “It's the boy…” Karel’s eyes started gleaming. “Such a talented young man. The Natural Energy loves him and fears him as well. It’s interesting. Qi and Mana at the same time in a manner I had never seen nor read before.”

  “That’s an affront against Balance! Against the First Law,” argued Celia, her brow furrowing.

  “Does it?” asked Karel.

  He raised one hand, and a myriad of energy motes danced upon his palm like living butterflies: merging and parting, forming blossoms of air, serpents of water, and lizards of earth.

  “Perhaps,” he continued, his voice soft and thoughtful. “Would that not make for an interesting theological debate?”

  His words lingered in the air as he kept playing with the elements, the group pensive in contemplative silence.

  The threads of destiny had begun to weave themselves more tightly, and none of them could yet foresee where they would lead.

  Selene sat alone in her private chambers, applying healing salves and rare resources from the academy's stores to the side of her face. Though the swelling and discolouration had vanished completely, leaving her skin flawless once more, the phantom ache of Elisha's slap lingered beneath the surface, sharp and persistent. More than the pain, however, it was the cold terror she had felt in that instant—the moment she realised he truly might have ended her life—that refused to fade.

  “Just you wait, Elisha…” she whispered to the empty room, her voice low and venomous.

  Despite everything, a quiet satisfaction still burned within her. The rumours had taken root swiftly and spread far. The narrative had turned against Nerion and his brother, painting them as arrogant nepotists who had overreached. She believed the matter was effectively closed, that she could put it behind her and move forward.

  Then the summons arrived.

  A curt message from the Headmaster's office. No explanation. Only the command to present herself immediately.

  Selene felt a flicker of unease but dismissed it quickly. Elisha had likely lodged a formal complaint, nothing more.

  She had prepared for this possibility. The rumours already circulating would undermine any accusation he might make; the Council of Generals and much of the military would see his outburst as a petty overreaction. In fact, she had half-expected he would not even dare complain, knowing how easily it could be turned against him. With these thoughts steadying her, she made her way to Balthasar's office.

  When she entered, she found the Headmaster seated behind his broad desk, his countenance stern and unyielding. He was reading a report and an accompanying note over and over, his expression growing darker with each pass. Selene opened her mouth to speak, certain she could deflect whatever complaint Elisha had sent.

  Balthasar looked up before she could utter a word.

  “Do you acknowledge your mistakes?”

  The question struck like a bucket of ice water. Her thoughts froze. The matter was clearly more complicated than she had assumed.

  “Lord Balthasar,” she began carefully, “if Elisha has sent a complaint, then let me assure you that he will be vilified for his pettiness and—”

  She got no further.

  Balthasar's hand slammed the documents across the desk toward her. His face held no patience, only cold authority.

  Selene caught the pages. It was the full report of Nerion's three completed tests.

  She scanned the first page quickly. The same absurd distribution of energy levels she had dismissed before. This time, she turned to the next page.

  As she read, her hands began to tremble. Her pupils constricted sharply.

  “This… this cannot be true,” she stammered. “It's all a lie, Lord Balthasar. The examiners must have been afraid of Elisha's wrath and falsified the documents.”

  Balthasar rose slowly, his full might unfurling like a gathering storm.

  “SHUT UP!” he thundered. “Not only do you refuse to acknowledge your errors, but you now dare slander the examiners I personally selected? Are you implying that I, too, am a poor judge of character?”

  Selene felt sweat break across her brow. She had miscalculated gravely.

  “This is still uncertain,” she tried. “We might be able to—”

  “The Titan has already seen this report,” Balthasar cut in. “Do you intend to silence him as well?”

  Selene felt the invisible noose tightening around her throat. She could scarcely draw breath.

  She refused to accept the numbers staring back at her. How could that orphan waste, the brother of an upstart, possess such absurd results?

  Regular attack power at the Praetorian level. Maximum output brushing against a lesser Legate. Reaction speed rivalling the finest Praetorians. Movement that surpassed any lower-rank warrior. Defense nearly unbreakable. And he had entered a true moment of enlightenment during the trial, which explained his utter exhaustion afterwards.

  Worse still: Balthasar already knew she had deliberately increased the difficulty of the tests.

  “Lord Balthasar,” she said, voice unsteady, “I apologise. It appears I judged the boy rashly. Even so, these results do not necessarily make him a superior candidate to Hansel for the Super Soldier seed, much less to Young Lord Karel.”

  “Perhaps,” Balthasar replied coldly. “But that judgment was not yours to make. You were not merely rash. You made it conspicuously clear that you intended to expel the boy before he could complete his tests. You sought to humiliate both him and Elisha. You stripped this hallowed institution of its decorum.”

  “We do not need that…” Selene began.

  She stopped herself before Balthasar could lash out again.

  Only then did she fully grasp the danger of her own words. By openly disparaging Elisha over and over, she had placed herself—and her family—in direct opposition to one of the kingdom's highest-ranking officers.

  She might speak such things in private, but to voice them openly was suicidal.

  “Even if we had no need for Elisha, given his limited experience,” Balthasar continued, his voice like iron, “what of the Titan? Would you dare speak the same of him? If the full truth becomes known throughout the kingdom, what do you imagine will happen to you and your associates? What will they say about the neutrality and impartiality of this school? You think I have not heard the rumours spreading among the noble families, the military, and the populace?”

  A pause.

  His eyes grew cold. “You have soiled the name of a Dragon General and his kin. But you know what’s the worst part? as an officer responsible for intelligence and planning, you failed utterly to uncover the truth before acting. In a true battlefield, such recklessness would cost you and your entire unit their lives.”

  Selene stood with her head bowed, unable to meet his gaze. She could only wait for the punishment she knew must come, hoping desperately that the damage might be contained.

  Her hopes were shattered with Balthasar's next words.

  “His Majesty has also read this report. He sent only a few words to your father and to me. He said that he is deeply disappointed.”

  Selene's knees buckled. She sank to the floor, vision darkening at the edges.

  The King's disappointment was not a small thing. It was a blade held over her head—and over her family's future.

  The consequences of her actions had only just begun to unfold.