Chapter 134: Chapter 134

Elian excused himself, voice cracking as he muttered, "I think I need to leave. I’m sorry, I can’t right now." His hands fidgeted at his sides before he forced them still, and then he was gone, his boots thudding a little too loud on the floor as though he wanted the sound to carry him away faster. The echoes followed him down the hall, each step fading until the door closed with a muted thud. The silence left behind wasn’t just empty; it was heavier, like his absence had pulled the air down, leaving gravity sharper and thicker in the room.

Julian stayed where he was. He didn’t move to fill the silence, didn’t even glance toward the others who were looking at him. He just stood there, calm as stone, eyes fixed on Vaeliyan. He studied Vaeliyan the way a cartographer might study a battlefield map, hunting for weaknesses, tracing invisible lines that might lead to the heart of something hidden. His patience was unsettling. He let the silence grow until it had weight, until the sound of breathing itself felt like intrusion.

Finally, Julian spoke. "So, Warren, " he said, voice smooth, casual on the surface but sharpened with purpose beneath. The edge in it was quiet but undeniable, the kind of deliberate testing tone meant to scrape at the truth. "What’s the plan?"

Vaeliyan didn’t answer immediately. He leaned back slightly, and the faintest crease tugged between his brows. He looked like a man deciding whether to let a ghost pass by or call it by name. For a heartbeat it was unclear which way he would go. At last, he spoke. "My delivery should be here soon, " he said, tone even, dismissive almost. "I’m going to relax for a bit before I go see Imujin."

Julian tilted his head, a smile crossing his lips, and pressed forward. "Is that all you plan to do, Warren?" This time he spoke slower, stretching the name, dragging it out so no one could pretend it hadn’t been said. The weight of it hung in the room, daring anyone to ignore it.

The second time, it hit. Vaeliyan’s gaze cut toward Julian, sharp and immediate, the calm stripped away in a blink. His attention locked with the kind of clarity that could slice bone. His shoulders straightened, every line of him hardening, and the casual mask faltered. For one breath it slipped entirely, baring the truth that there was a mask at all, before he forced it back into place. But the damage was done. Julian had seen it.

Julian’s faint smile deepened into something satisfied. He had waited for this exact moment, the crack in the armor, the seam that proved there was more to the man than the surface allowed. He simply held the look, steady and calm, knowing that he had shifted the balance. He had been noticed now, truly noticed, and he did not look away.

And in that gaze, Julian felt something else, an awareness colder and sharper than steel, like death itself had turned its head toward him. It pressed against him with raw warning, a pressure that prickled across his skin. But it stopped short of actual violence. The restraint only made it more dangerous. Julian’s chest tightened, but instead of fear, something darker stirred. His grin edged wider, sharp and hungry. He was right. Vaeliyan was not who he said he was. There was something vast and lethal beneath the surface, and Julian had dragged it into the open. And instead of recoiling, he leaned into it. He wanted to stand in the heart of that storm and see what happened next.

House, call Imujin and Isol, " Vaeliyan said out loud so that Julian was aware what he had done was probably more than he was ready to handle. The words hung in the air like a blade, deliberate and calculated, meant to make the boy understand just how thin the line was between acceptance and execution.

The wall to the left of Vaeliyan and Jurpat flickered, the surface shimmering as though a veil had been pulled back. Isol’s face appeared, sharp and controlled, and then a second later it was Imujin, calm but unreadable. Both men regarded the scene with the weight of people used to deciding whether others lived or died.

“What’s the issue?” Isol asked, his tone clipped.

“Julian is here, ” Vaeliyan said evenly, “and well, I think you both need to be here so that if I need to kill him, at least it would be acceptable.” His voice did not waver, and he made sure Julian saw no trace of hesitation in his eyes.

“Who is Julian?” Imujin asked, his gaze narrowing like a knife point.

“I’m Julian, ” Julian replied quickly, forcing steadiness into his voice even as sweat beaded at his temple. “There is no need to kill me, I promise. I’m on your side. I just want in on whatever it is you are a part of. No offence, but after seeing you fight, If you told me you were the last Prince of the Princedoms, I’d leave the Green today. No hesitation. I’d follow you, because I’ve never seen anyone fight like you. Not in the holos. Not in history logs. No one. Sorry, Headmaster imujin and Instructor Isoldian, but that is just how it is.”

“Hold on, we are on our way, ” Isol said, already turning from the screen. In the background he was calling for Josaphine, his voice echoing off unseen walls as he ordered her to come down. Within moments he declared they needed to head over to the boys’ house immediately. The screen winked out.

Jurpat crossed his arms and looked at Vaeliyan. “Honestly, Warren, I think we can trust him. The question is how much we can tell him.”

Vaeliyan nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. “I think that is the case as well, but I just want to be sure. We barely know him.” Trust was a currency that could bankrupt you if spent too carelessly.

Julian leaned forward, desperate but composed. “Sure, that might be how it is right now, but one day we will be on the front lines together. And as a future commander, if I don’t die here, I think helping you is the best thing I can do. I’m top of my class, and what we are learning is how to manage your assets. And you, Warren… you’re the future of war. Honestly, if you are this strong now, I can’t imagine what you will be like when you’re a High Imperator. And honestly, you are clearly going to be one.”

“Why do you say that?” Vaeliyan asked, his voice neither dismissive nor encouraging, simply testing.

“Because you fight like you don’t have limits, ” Julian said, his words rushing out now with the intensity of someone speaking truth he had no choice but to acknowledge. “You literally picked up a woman who was trying to kill you and used her to kill not only herself but to beat to death another of your attackers. That isn’t training. That’s instinct. That’s war.”

“I got that from Alorna, ” Vaeliyan interjected, almost casually.

Jurpat blinked. “Warren, Alorna Peace is probably like level eighty plus, and you’re… what, level twenty-seven? Maybe thirty after that royal?”

“No, ” Vaeliyan corrected, “I was level twenty-one.” He finally glanced at the blinking notification he had been ignoring since the end of the fight. “After the royal… twenty-five.”

Jurpat swore. “Fuck me, man. I need to get some levels. Isol says he’s going to help me with my class today, but that might be scuffed now.” He rubbed the back of his neck, frustration and envy plain on his face. Latest content publıshed on novel·fire.net

Julian stared in disbelief, floored. “You’re only level twenty-five? Dear gods, you really are a monster.” His voice cracked, caught somewhere between awe and horror.

Just then, they all heard House greeting Isol and Josaphine as the two entered, their presence filling the space with the weight of authority. Outside, Roundy screeched through the air, diving straight at the bushes. He pulled up at the last second, sensors glaring, shrieking in mechanical fury. Those bushes were his, his pride, his little domain of order, and Josaphine had already fouled them beyond forgiveness by puking her guts into the roots. Violation gnawed at his circuits like rot. Now he hovered above the damage, spinning circles in a static-laced tantrum, screaming his outrage as if demanding the world understand: his bushes had been desecrated, and no one cared but him.

Julian’s gaze flicked to the furious drone, then back to Vaeliyan. The message was clear: chaos followed him, and to follow him meant stepping into that chaos willingly.

Isol and Josaphine walked into the house, the air of tension already heavy around them. Barely a second later, the pad shimmered and Imujin stepped off, his presence filling Vaeliyan’s home as though he owned the place. His stride was calm, deliberate, and for all the casualness in his eyes, there was no mistaking the weight he carried into the room.

House’s voice broke the silence, smooth and formal: “Headmaster Imujin, welcome to Master Vaeliyan’s home.”

“It is nice to be here, ” Imujin replied without missing a beat. His tone was flat, unbothered, but there was an edge in it that made everyone tighten. “I hope I don’t have to kill anyone.”

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Isol immediately cut in, his patience already running thin. “What is the issue exactly, Vaeliyan? Enough with half-answers.”

Vaeliyan’s voice came quiet, but it landed like a stone in still water. “He knows my name is Warren.”

Josaphine swore under her breath, dragging a hand down her face. “Well, fuck. That’s not nothing. So what if you changed your name... Wait. No. That won’t work. Even claiming to be a bastard from a great House would be a death sentence in itself.”

“Lucky for me, ” Vaeliyan said with a thin smile that wasn’t a smile at all, “I’m not claiming anything. Vaeliyan is actually a bastard from House Verdance.”

The silence broke into sharp words. “Okay, you are an idiot, ” Isol snapped. “Now he either dies or he joins. There’s no third option. And I know you don’t really understand what you just said, because again, you’re you. But that was sticking your foot so far up your ass we can see it out your mouth. How did he even figure out your name?”

“Well, ” Vaeliyan admitted, eyes narrowing just slightly, “we went down to the Ninth Layer. And we wore body mods.”

Josaphine’s groan could have rattled the rafters. “You gods-damn moron. You couldn’t resist being you, could you? Just had to shine. Just had to remind everyone the world bends around you.” Her voice was thick with exasperation, her hands clenched at her sides.

Vaeliyan smiled again, but this time it carried no warmth, only the strain of someone caught in his own contradictions. “Yeah, that’s right. You have no idea how hard it is to be someone else every day. To wear a mask that doesn’t fit, to swallow yourself so others don’t choke on who you are. And getting even a chance to be me, the real me... that was something I couldn’t let slip by.”

Julian, caught off guard, blurted without thinking, “Wait, that’s actually what you look like?” His eyes darted between Vaeliyan and the others, realizing too late he had spoken aloud.

“Everyone stop, ” Imujin’s voice cut through the room, sharp and final. It carried the weight of command that brooked no argument, no hesitation.

He looked at the instructors first, then slowly, deliberately, at the cadets. His gaze pinned Julian in place. “Julian, isn’t it? Yes. Well, Julian, you’ve just found your way into a problem. And that problem is that Vaeliyan here is more important to the Legion, and to the world itself, than even he knows. If you speak a single word of this to anyone, you might as well have never existed. Understand?”

Julian swallowed hard, nodding without words. His skin had gone pale, and even his hands trembled as he tried to still them at his sides.

Imujin turned his attention to Vaeliyan then, and the weight of his gaze was crushing. “So, we’re going to see how you react when you learn the whole truth. And yes, ” he paused, voice hardening, tone like iron striking iron, “you fucked up. This cadet might die because of you. That blood will be on your hands as much as anyone’s.”

The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut skin. Then Imujin broke it, turning his command outward. “Jurpat, isn’t it? All of us, and yes, that includes the cat and the ferret, are going to my sanctum now. Isol is going to hand Julian his notes. And when all is said and done, we’ll see if Julian just never made it back.”

The words left no room for protest. The path forward was set, dangerous and uncompromising, and everyone in the room knew the cost of even a single mistake had just grown heavier

They all stepped off the pad into Imujin’s meadow, the air carrying the faint scent of wet earth, blooming flowers, and wild grass that seemed to ripple like waves beneath the touch of the wind. The meadow stretched wide and endless, rolling green hills that bent gently toward a distant line of dark trees clawing against the horizon. Birds startled from the sudden arrival, darting across the sky in frantic arcs, and the soft breeze brushed against their faces as if the land itself had drawn a long, patient breath and was now exhaling in welcome, or warning.

“Vaeliyan, show him, ” Imujin commanded, his voice firm, even, but carrying the weight of expectation. It wasn’t a suggestion. It was an order wrapped in ritual.

Jurpat reached into his pack with deliberate slowness, the air around him charged with anticipation, and produced an umbrella. The action felt out of place, absurd even, yet he handled it with almost ceremonial reverence. He opened it in one smooth, practiced motion and handed it to Julian, the gesture deliberate and unbroken, as though this moment had been rehearsed a thousand times before.

“Oh, that’s a great idea, ” Imujin said, smiling faintly, his lips curving just enough to betray a flash of amusement. His eyes, sharp and watchful, glinted with something far heavier than humor, like he was waiting for a test to unfold, one he already knew the ending of.

“What is this for?” Julian asked, holding the umbrella awkwardly, his grip uncertain as he glanced at the others. His voice wavered with confusion. “Why would I need this?” The silence in response pressed in on him harder than the breeze, an absence so thick it was almost mocking.

Jurpat didn’t answer. He only looked forward, letting silence serve as his reply. His posture made it clear: the explanations would not come from him.

Rain Dancer answered for him.

The world detonated into violence. One heartbeat they stood in calm stillness, and the next they were ripped into the jaws of a storm so feral it felt like the sky itself had shattered in fury. Lightning cracked open the heavens with blinding arcs, thunder bellowed like a thousand beasts loosed at once, and rain fell in sheets so dense Julian thought the ground itself might buckle. The umbrella rattled violently in his grip, nearly torn from his hands as he fought to keep it upright, his knuckles whitening with strain. Every drop stung like gravel flung at speed, every gust slammed against his chest until his ribs ached.

And in the eye of that storm stood Warren. Or what Julian thought was Warren. His body was unbending against the gale, standing straight, refusing to bow, but something was horribly off. He seemed smaller. Wrongly small. His height was simply gone, shaved away, leaving him compact but not diminished. There was no distortion, no trick of vision, no hunch in his stance. He was just shorter. Upright, firm, and proud, yet cut down to a stature that didn’t belong to the man he had seen.

“What’s wrong with him? Why does he look smaller?” Julian screamed over the roar of the tempest, his voice nearly lost to the storm’s howl. Then his eyes widened with fresh confusion. “Wait… are you short now?”

Warren lifted his hand, slow but sure, and caught the storm like a man closing his fist on a wild animal. The air shuddered in obedience. The winds stilled. The lightning broke off mid-arc. The endless torrent softened into a steady drizzle, each drop falling with the delicate rhythm of a heartbeat instead of the fury of war. Warren walked forward.

“This is the real me, ” Warren said, his voice level, carrying the sound of someone who no longer needed to hide anything.

“Isol, can you please give him the notes?” Imujin asked, his tone turning brisk, almost casual, though his gaze never left Warren. His eyes studied him with surgical precision, as if measuring a truth that went deeper than flesh or storm.

“Gods, no, ” Isol shot back instantly, throwing his hands up. “Not even in this drizzle. Do you have any idea how much damage that would do to the paper? The ink would smear, the pages would warp. No chance. I am not letting centuries of work drown just so he can read it now.”

“Why does he need to be Warren right now anyway?” Josaphine asked, her arms folding across her chest as she surveyed the sodden meadow, her irritation as sharp as the rain still dripping down her shoulders.

Imujin chuckled, a sound deep and low, cutting neatly through the quiet. “Honestly? Because I thought it was funny.”

Warren shifted, the veil sliding back into place, and in the blink of an eye he stood as Vaeliyan again. The transition was seamless, without the slightest distortion, as natural as breathing, so effortless that it seemed the world itself didn’t even notice the exchange. One heartbeat he was Warren, the next he was Vaeliyan.

Julian staggered back several steps, clutching at his head as though he could steady his thoughts by force. His voice cracked, half shout, half plea, his words tumbling out with no control. “What the hells did I just see? I know you were Warren, I swear I know it, but I also know you’ve always been Vaeliyan. Both things are true at once, and they shouldn’t be. It doesn’t make sense. My head’s splitting trying to sort it out.” He dragged his fingers down his face, pressing so hard his skin reddened, mind darting wildly between the two shapes he thought he had witnessed. Sweat pricked along his brow and he swayed like he might collapse under the sheer strain of trying to reconcile the impossible.

Vaeliyan tilted his head, utterly calm, his composure cutting sharp against Julian’s unraveling. His tone was cool as though he were correcting a minor mistake rather than explaining a fracture of reality. “It’s only disorienting if you think about it. Stop trying to solve it and it settles.” He spoke as though the truth were obvious.

“Wait, ” Jurpat said suddenly, his voice sharper than steel snapping under tension. His gaze flicked sideways, already catching what the others hadn’t yet noticed.

They all turned to find Josaphine hunched forward, her body buckling as she threw up into the grass with violent force. The retching was loud and raw, echoing in the meadow like the aftermath of battle. Her shoulders shook uncontrollably, her hair plastering to her damp face as she clutched at a tree trunk with one trembling hand. The sight of Warren slipping the veil on and off, becoming and unbecoming in front of her eyes, had shattered her already fragile stomach. She had endured it once before, but this second time left her with no defense. Her gut seized traitorously, spasming until bile splattered across the roots, each heave more vicious than the last. She gasped for breath between lurches, but her body betrayed her again, folding her down to her knees.

Jurpat winced at the sound and smell, his face tightening. He stepped forward, arms half raised in hesitant offering, shifting between pity and discomfort. “I’ll go help her... At least she didn’t pass out with the cube in her hand this time. ” he muttered, already moving, though his eyes flicked nervously to the mess soaking into the earth. He crouched at her side, uncertain if he should steady her or simply wait for her body to relent.

Imujin’s voice cut clean through the chaos, steady and unshaken, his authority undiminished by the storm of reactions. “Isol, can he get the notes now?” His gaze never left Julian, his tone cool and final. “If he proves untrustworthy with the secrets in that book, then we may need to kill him. But I suspect it won’t come to that. At this point, increasing his monitoring should be enough. He doesn’t have a choice anymore. Not really.” His words hung in the air like the slow closing of a trap, a promise that the decision had already been made for Julian long before he could grasp what side of himself he even stood on.