Thousands of miles away from Vesemir School for Affinities was a modernistic and high-tech pyramid-like facility. The multilayered compound, which extended several tens of kilometers in all directions, including below the planet’s surface, was known as Finwan Academy.
Far below the planet’s crust, approximately four kilometers down, in a sizeable office-style conference room, Lithlen Jetlensr sat atop a plus and overly decorated throne, sipping a glass of expensive wine while staring at over a hundred hologram monitors. On each screen was a promising young person, showing the full extent of their abilities during the most recent quarter-term combat exams.
Looking away from the monitors and towards the 20 men and women sitting at a large oak table in full business suits, Lithlen placed his glass of wine down and made eye contact with the man sitting closest to him.
“Have our spies been able to find out anything about my son’s traitorous bastard children?” Lithlen said unhappily. It had been three months since the Academy Selections, and in that time, he had been hemorrhaging funds to try and gather as much data on the growth rate of Cynrik and Brance Jetlensr, his two disowned grandchildren.
“No, Headmaster, we haven’t even been able to verify if they ever arrived at VSFA. Neither Cynrik nor Brance Jetlensr, or their aliases Ivar and Björn Ragnarsson, are on record, according to our insiders. It appears that Headmaster Rivia has either buried their files so deep that our security level is insufficient, or they are using a secondary nickname we do not currently know.” Standing up and opening a file, the man began explaining what little he could.
“Tsk, that Geralt Rivia sheltering them is the only explanation. How about the other children in their group?” Not hiding the disdain and anger welling in his heart from the members of his Academy Board, Lithlen waved the man off before looking to another one of the 20 people; this time, a woman with long flowing black hair stood up. Each time the light hit her head, the pigments on her hair changed color from black to a deep red.
“We have been able to locate student files on both of the Sanford children, as well as my…” the woman paused and bit her bottom lip, allowing her to taste the metallic flavor of blood before continuing.
“As well as my daughter, Selene. The three of them have already successfully undergone their Tier-2 Evolutions. However, aside from knowing this bit of data, it seems the three of them have kept a relatively low profile. We had several groups tailing them for a couple of weeks during the second month, but unfortunately, the correspondence with them slowly went silent as the days went by. The last contact with the final group was in the form of screaming for backup and constantly yelling about monsters.” The woman, named Hespa Nilsson, provocatively walked forward and neatly placed three documents on the table in front of Lithlen, who picked the one on Selene up and fingered through it.
“It seems I may have underestimated how quickly they grow. It makes sense that the people sent to monitor that group covertly lost contact; odds are, they are all dead. From what I see here, the strongest you sent was only Tier-2, and if we know Gabriella, Benjamin, and Selene have already reached Tier-2, it is safe to assume both of my grandchildren have as well.” Placing down one file and choosing another, Lithlen quickly scanned through it before moving on to the final one, which listed out all the failed intelligence gathering missions.
“It is disappointing but expected. That Geralt Rivia has been a thorn in my side and nearly every other Headmaster’s. Sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong, poaching Academy Applicants, the list goes on.” Then, looking at Hespa in annoyance, he handed back the files and waved for her to sit back down.
“Instructor Jaxtus, how are our teams coming along for this year’s Academy Competitions?” Then, abruptly changing the subject, Lithlen looked across the table to the other end, where a muscular man barely fitting into his suit was nodding off as if he no longer cared about the discussion and the meeting had nothing to do with him.
“ZZZzZzZzzzz.” To no one’s surprise, the man named Instructor Jaxtus didn’t reply. Even though his eyes were wide open, the rhythmic breathing and faint snoring he was exhibiting was a clear enough sign that the man was out cold.
“JAXTUS!” Flaring up his Aura along with Killing Intent, Lithlen shouted loud enough to shake the Board Room and made nearly all those present break out in a cold sweat.
“SIR, SORRY SIR, I wasn’t sleeping, only resting my eyes, sir.” Nearly falling out of his chair, Jaxtus bolted to his feet and stood at attention. His posture and speech pattern were a trademark sign of someone formerly enlisted in the military at some point in his life.
“Sorry for showing such an ugly side of myself to everyone. The training camps for our four teams have been going late into the night. COUGH, if I heard correctly, you wanted an update on their progress Headmaster Jetlensr?” Jaxtus straightened his jacket and brushed off his pants before standing at parade rest, focusing solely on Lithlen, who was clearly used to the man’s antics.
Rolling his eyes and waving his hand several times, Lithlen allowed Jaxtus to speak freely.
“Sir, as per competition rules, we have already established each team based on Tiers, except your Grandson Leelan, who has reached the Peak of Tier-2 and is ready at any time to proceed with his next Evolution. However, he is acting a bit strange. Unlike the other students I’ve taught in the past, he is adamant about reaching the end of his Prestige cap before taking that final step to break through into Tier-3.” Fighting the urge to scratch the back of his head, Jaxtus was at a loss for how to handle the easily angered child, so he reported it without hesitation to his grandfather.
“This…it’s fine; allow the boy to do as he wishes. He is already far more capable than any other child I have seen at his age, including those from other countries. If he wishes to hold off before breaking through, I will allow it, but give him a time limit. He has until the end of the second Regional Tournament to reach Tier-3.”
—
As the Board meeting was commencing, in a training room several floors above, Leelan Jetlensr sat crosslegged and alone in a dark room constructed from a non-conductive material. From time to time, thin wisps of electricity would spark up, creating bright flashes as they danced around his body. Is shoulder-length aqua hair would raise due to the high content of electricity flickering around his body before falling back down and resting in place.
‘Cynrik, Brance, I hope you two don’t disappoint me.’ The next time the lightning flashed, lighting up the room, a confident and cocky smile could be seen on the young man’s lips.
—
On the opposite side of the country, a similar meeting was taking place in Supremacy University, where Headmaster Viktor Opurn was grilling each of his Board Members, who had the exact same results as Lithlen when attempting to gather data on the elusive Jetlensr Brothers. Viktor angrily unleashed his overbearing Aura and Killing Intent, slamming his fists on his throne’s armrests.
“YOU WILL GET ME THE INFORMATION I WANT, OR EACH OF YOUR FAMILIES WILL BECOME MY FAMILY’S SLAVES FOR THE DURATION OF THEIR LIVES; NOW, GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY SIGHT BEFORE I START REAPING YOU OF NOT ONLY YOUR WEALTH BUT YOUR LIVES TOO!
With fire in his eyes, Viktor snarled as the 20 or so members of his Board fled in fear.
“Complacent fools, how dare they come before me with absolutely ZERO useful information.” Taking a few deep breaths to calm down, Viktor cursed loudly before having his Academy AI bring up a holo monitor showing his son training.
“Everything will fall on your shoulders, Jason,” Viktor Opurn said softly as he watched his beloved son bathed in icy-blue flames flashing around the training room as he fought against 6 Tier-3 Combat-Training Droids.
“I wish you would tell me why you are so dead set on reaching the Prestige Cap before Evolving; time isn’t on your side, my son.”
—
Similar situations occurred across the continent as everyone prepared for the start of the first Regional Competitions of the year. Some Headmasters took an active role in training their teams, while other well-off Academies had dedicated training staff.
Things were no different at VSFA, where Headmaster Rivia was calmly speaking with all his Board Members while solemnly watching a specific group of First Years completing their Quarterly Exams. When the video concluded, the room fell silent until an elderly man, Professor Constantine, cleared his throat and spoke up.
“As you have all seen, the five of them are exceptionally talented; however, a glaring issue has presented itself. After reaching Tier-2 in their first couple of weeks at the Academy, the members of the S-Rank Faction MyrkLys seem to have retreated into a reclusive lifestyle and plateaued. From what I have observed of their leader Ivar Ragnarsson he appears to have a plan in place and is actively forbidding his group from diving into the Egresses or Obelisks. Aside from Selene Nilsson, who did for a week during the beginning of their enrollment, not a single of the other members has been allowed to gain experience or take on Merit Point Quests.” With a wave of his hand, Professor Constantine brought up the stat profiles for each of the five students taken after they reported for Advancement retesting.
“As it stands, I would LIKE to recommend them to be our Tier-3 Team, but if they don’t hit the ground running and start farming Essence soon, I fear they will fall behind the competition. We would have more data if that Ivar hadn’t located each of the hidden cameras in both his dorm and the girl’s dorm, but he is clearly too crafty and wants to be left alone.” Sighing heavily, Instructor Constantine closed his half-open eyes and turned his head to Headmaster Rivia.
“It may be best to solidify our Tier-1 and Tier-2 teams ahead of time. If my hunch is correct, Ivar may be holding off until he is satisfied with how solid his group’s foundation with their Affinities is before getting back to farming XP. For now, leave them be, our first regional competition paring isn’t for another six weeks, and although it may be a stretch that they can reach Tier-3 before then, I can’t help but feel the boy has something up his sleeve. He is already aware that his Faction has been chosen to compete, so there is no way he isn’t plotting something. I only worry that he will run his Faction into oblivion in the process.” Leaning back on his throne with a tired expression, Headmaster Rivia made his statement before concluding the meeting and sending everyone back to work.
Across the campus, in the training room of the boy’s dorm, Cynrik stood in the center of the room, in a horse stance with both hands in the shape of claws and a baseball-sized deep red flame roaring angrily between his hands.
[[500 degrees (930 Fahrenheit), begin your test now.]] Brance, who was in the living room at a command console, acted as overwatch while Cynrik experimented with increasing the temperature of his fire.
Taking a deep breath and activating [Mana Sight], Cynrik concentrated on causing a reaction with the Fire Mana Particles. By adding a slight rotation to the particle and compressing it enough times, as he had learned in class, he could cause a temperature reaction. Finally, after a couple of months of theory crafting and learning, he put that knowledge to the test.
[[Temp is rising, currently, at 705 degrees (1301 Fahrenheit), the color shift is occurring, from a deep red to a more blood color, increase the Temp steadily until it becomes a dull cherry color.]] Brance’s eyes flicked from the thermometer to the zoomed-in video showing the raging ball of fire Cynrik was channeling.
A few minutes later, Cynrik had raised the core temperature of his fire to 900 degrees (1652 Fahrenheit), causing the flames to take on a bright cherry red color. With sweat flowing down his temples and soaking his hair, Cynrik smirked. So far, every time he tried increasing his fire’s temperature, this was the stopping point. But now, he was prepared and ready to push through, hoping to reach his goal, blue fire.
“Hobey Ho, let’s GO!”
FWOOOOOOOOSHHHHHHHHH
Kicking up a gust of wind to surround the flames and feed them much-needed oxygen, Cynrik began pushing, conducting what he considered the actual experiment.
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