Valerion stood at the lectern, his gaze drifting slowly over the rows of students. Most were half-distracted, staring out the windows or slouched in their seats, barely feigning attention. For the scions of great noble houses, these broad, basic principles of kingdom stewardship were old news—lessons they had been taught by private tutors before they could even walk.
Only one student was leaning forward, pen moving steadily across her notebook, her eyes fixed on the projection runes above the desk: Laia.
Valerion's lips twitched faintly. She played the part of the earnest, unknowing scholarship student very well. If he had not seen her rank with his own eyes, if he had not felt that strange, unreadable bubble of a kingdom wrapped around her, he might almost have believed it.
Down in her seat, Laia paid no mind to the room's restlessness. She drank in every word, every diagram, every rule-structure Valerion laid out.
General kingdom frameworks? Useful. She copied those down at once. The long sections on faith cultivation, on nurturing reverence and ritual devotion? She skimmed them with a dry twist of her mouth, then wrote them down anyway. Her own stubborn heathens would never care for such things… but it never hurt to have options.
Valerion spoke, and Laia wrote. Everything. No detail too small, no principle too basic. By the time the dismissal bell rang, her notebook was half full of tight, neat script. The practical templates she had memorized straight away; the delicate rule-formulas she had copied onto a separate sheet of treated vellum, reserved for oracle crafting.
Lyra leaned over her shoulder at once, curious, and tapped the cover of the notebook.
"Can I look?"
Laia nodded, already half-distracted, scribbling quick calculations on a scrap of parchment.
Lyra flipped the notebook open, and her eyes went wide.
Page after page was packed wall to wall: rule derivations, race trait breakdowns, resource efficiency formulas. Not a single wasted word. Not a single blank line. Everything was precise, ordered, almost brutally concise. She stared, awestruck.
So this is the gap between me and someone who actually works hard, she thought dazedly. A whole notebook filled from edge to edge in one lecture. Laia was incredible.
Laia did not notice her awe. Her mind was already spinning with the new rule combinations she had learned. She could write new oracle scripts now.
Properly made oracle cards required at least a Seventh Rank deity to craft, everyone knew that. But necessity had made her a cheat. She had been writing her own since the day she awakened her kingdom, low-rank and messy, every cast a roll of the dice. She could guarantee they would work. She could never guarantee exactly how they would work.
She held a hand under the desk, hidden from view, and golden divine script bloomed across her fingertips. She wove three quick, rough oracles and flicked them down into the depths of her kingdom, then held her breath to watch the results.
Floodwaters surged through the lowland valleys. Hailstones the size of fists crashed down onto the rocky ridges. Lightning split the sky in jagged, roaring bolts.
And on the ground, not a single soul looked up. The humans herded their livestock to higher ground and set out buckets to catch the meltwater. The dwarves battened down their mine entrances and went back to forging. The dragons curled up in their caves and napped through the storm.
Laia nodded, satisfied. A trivial little storm. Nothing her people couldn't handle. The flood would recharge the groundwater. The hail would melt into fresh water. Perfect.
Down in the kingdom, the clans watched the storm with quiet, pragmatic hope.
Hope it lasts a few more days, they thought. Fill the cisterns good and full. When your god was too poor to afford proper weather-shaping cards, you learned to be grateful for hail and floodwaters. Gentle rain was a luxury you did not dare dream of.
The only casualty was the already ramshackle central altar. Half its stone base washed out in the flood. Next time Laia descended, she would probably step straight into ankle-deep mud.
Laia pushed the altar problem out of her head. She had bigger worries.
She needed crystals. Badly. She had to earn some in the next few days, or she would run dry long before the next sacrifice. Borrow? She ran through her short list of acquaintances. Only Lyra came to mind, and she hated the thought of asking.
Just as the weight of it was starting to settle heavy in her chest, the classroom door swung open again. Valerion walked back in, wearing a faint, pleasant smile. The room fell quiet at once.
"Before you all depart, I have an announcement." His voice carried clearly, warm and measured. "The academy's annual Convocation Gala is approaching. To select participants, we will be holding a mock kingdom tournament three days from now."
He paused, letting the words sink in.
"This will be a projection-only contest. No loss of divine resonance. No loss of territory. The top five finishers will receive substantial prizes. The top twenty will earn an invitation to the gala itself. I encourage all of you to sign up."
He waved a hand, and a glowing list of rewards bloomed across the front wall. A murmur of excitement rippled through the room. Even the haughtiest noble heirs leaned forward, eyes sharp.
1st Place: One 3rd-rank, 10-star civilization acceleration card; one full support deck (5x 3rd-rank 1-star cards, 20x 2nd-rank 5-star cards); one lesser divine artifact.
2nd Place: 10,000 divinity crystals; 10 random 2nd–3rd rank cards.
3rd Place: 5,000 divinity crystals.
4th Place: One lesser divine artifact.
5th Place: 5 random 3rd-rank cards.
6th–30th Place: 1,000 divinity crystals each.
Laia stared at the list, her mouth slightly parted. Ten thousand crystals. Even thirtieth place would give her a thousand—enough to last a hundred days. Enough to breathe easy.
She swallowed, forcing her excitement down.
She was not good at this. She knew that. But she was Third Rank. She could aim for thirtieth. That was not too much to ask, was it? She just had to scrape together every last trick she had and shore up her defenses over the next three days.
Up on the podium, Valerion caught the flicker of determination in her eyes, and his smile deepened, just barely.
Hooked.
He had worried plain crystal prizes would not be enough to draw out a hidden clan heir. The gala, it seemed, had done the work. One match, and he would get his first real look at her kingdom's combat data. If he wanted the full picture, though, he would need to raise the stakes higher.
He cleared his throat, and his tone turned solemn.
"One last detail, which I have only just received confirmation of." He looked out over the room, slow and deliberate. "The overall winner of this tournament will be granted an audience with Master Thorne, of the Heavenly Archive. Should he find you worthy, he will take you on as his personal student."
The room erupted.
Master Thorne. The Warden of the Border.
A God King. A living legend who had stood guard on the Abyssal Front for decades, and walked back out alive. Everyone knew he carried the deepest secrets of the Abyss. He had sworn he would pass those secrets only to his chosen heir.
Valerion stood silent, letting the chatter wash over him.
No one could resist the secrets of the Abyss. Not the great houses. Not the hidden clans. No one.
His gaze settled once more on Laia, sharp and curious beneath his calm smile.
Let us see, he thought.
Let us see what you are really hiding.