Chapter 849 - 848 - Leo recognized Viktor finally
The room went silent. The term, "dimensional anchor," was not in any textbook. It was not in any curriculum. It was a concept that existed only in theoretical papers, in restricted archives, in the minds of researchers who had spent decades studying dimensional magic.
"What?" Maren said. The word, which came out as a whisper, was the word of a woman whose foundation had just been shaken. "That is not possible. The reverse combination is a cancellation rune. It negates the flow. It does not anchor anything."
"According to the textbook," I said. "But the textbook, like all textbooks, was written by someone who did not finish their research. The reverse combination does not cancel the flow. It redirects it. Into a dimensional pocket. Creating an anchor."
I drew the reverse. The lines, mirror images of the original, appeared on the board. The class, staring, tried to reconcile the new information with the old.
"Professor," Maren said. Her voice, which had been confident, was now uncertain. "This is not possible. The reverse combination has been tested. It cancels. It does not anchor."
"Tested by whom?" I said.
"By... by the researchers at the Valdris Institute," Maren said. "By the leading experts in rune theory."
"The same leading experts," I said, "who wrote the textbook that does not contain the tertiary meaning of the most basic rune in the language?"
Maren’s mouth closed. The argument, which she could not counter, sat in the air. The class, watching, saw the smartest girl in the room be dismantled by a man who had been teaching for five minutes.
"Sit down," I said. My voice, gentle but firm, was not a dismissal. It was a redirection. "I will tell you."
I taught. The board, filling with runes and diagrams and notations, became a map of a world that the students had never seen. The runes, which they had memorized as symbols with fixed meanings, were revealed to be a language with grammar and syntax and context. The meanings, which they had learned as static, were shown to be dynamic. The applications, which they had studied as theoretical, were demonstrated as practical.
The theory, which started basic, went deep. The foundational runes, which every student knew, were recontextualized. The flow rune, which they had learned as "transfer," was shown to be "communication." The connection rune, which they had learned as "link," was shown to be "relationship." The recognition rune, which they had never learned, was shown to be the key to dimensional magic.
The teaching, which was clear and methodical, was also devastating. Every concept that the students had learned was expanded. Every assumption was challenged. Every certainty was replaced with a deeper, more complex understanding.
The geniuses, who had been confident and bored, were confused and engaged. The nobles, who had been dismissive and arrogant, were silent and attentive. The commoners, who had been quiet and diligent, were overwhelmed and inspired.
The class, which had been a lecture, became a revelation.
I stopped. The board, covered in runes and diagrams, was full. The chalk, worn to a stub, was set down. I turned. Faced the class.
"I am very disappointed in this class," I said. My voice, calm and even, was not angry. It was the voice of a man who had expected more and found less. "I thought you all would be good enough. But it seems there is just arrogance filling this room. You do not even understand a simple basic thing, and yet you argue with your own achievements as if they mean something."
The words, which were not shouted but delivered with the weight of fact, landed. The students, who had been engaged and excited, were now deflated. The criticism, which was not personal but collective, was worse than a personal attack. It was a judgment.
The room was silent. The students, who had been challenged and inspired, were now confronted with their own limitations. The geniuses, who had been confident, were now uncertain. The nobles, who had been proud, were now humbled.
I turned to leave.
"Wait, professor," a voice said. The voice, firm and indignant, was the voice of a woman who had been provoked. "You cannot just say that. You are trying to bully our house."
Cordelia. Her fan, closed, was in her hand. Her face, which had been beautiful and composed, was flushed with anger. Her body, voluptuous and soft, was rigid.
"You are targeting noble families," she continued. Her voice, rising, was the voice of a woman who was falling back on the only defense she knew. "By questioning our prestige. By dismissing our achievements. By implying that we are arrogant because we are proud of our heritage."
I halted. The pause, deliberate and brief, was the pause of a man who had been expecting this. I turned.
"Which house do you belong to?" I said. The question, quiet and even, was a request.
Cordelia straightened. Her posture, which had been rigid, became proud. Her chin, lifted, was the chin of a woman who was about to invoke her name.
"I am Cordelia Vale," she said. Her voice, clear and dignified, was the voice of a woman who believed in the power of her name. "Of the Vale family. The marquis whose political influence has shaped this kingdom for three generations."
I looked at her. At the face. At the fan. At the body. At the pride.
"Aren’t they the crab sellers of the empire?" I said.
The silence that followed was catastrophic.
Cordelia’s face, which had been flushed with pride, went white. The color, draining from her cheeks, was the color of a woman whose family name had just been reduced to a punchline.
The other students, who had been watching, reacted. The gasps, sharp and involuntary, came from multiple throats. The sound, collective and shocked, was the sound of a room that had just witnessed a social assassination.
"The... the crab sellers?" Cedric said. The word, which came out as a whisper, was the word of a man who was processing.
"The Vale family started as crab merchants," I said. My voice, casual and informative, was the voice of a man delivering a history lesson. "Three generations ago. Before the marquis title was purchased. Not earned. Purchased. With crab money."
Cordelia’s mouth opened. Closed. No words came. The foundation, the prestige, the three generations of nobility, had been demolished in two sentences.
I looked at the class. At the twelve faces. At the shock and the horror and the indignation.
"Let me tell you my name," I said. My voice, which had been casual, went quiet. The quietness, which was not soft but heavy, was the quietness of a man who was about to say something that could not be unsaid. "My name is Viktor Ktorian."
The name landed. The surname, which was not noble, was not royal, was not merchant. It was something else. Something that the students, who had been raised on stories of powerful families and ancient bloodlines, did not recognize.
"And the next time I hear any of you bringing your family’s name in my classroom," I continued, "I am going to bury those families."
The threat, which was not a threat but a promise, was delivered with the calm of a man who had the means to back it up. The students, who had been raised to believe that family names were shields, felt the shield crack.
Leo moved.
The prince, who had been silent throughout the exchange, stirred. His mouth, which had been a flat line, twitched. The motion, small and involuntary, was the motion of a man who had just recognized something.
’I knew something was missed,’ he thought. The thought, which had been nagging at him since the name was spoken, clicked. ’So it was you.’