Chapter 850 - 849- Henchmen got their own Use...
He smirked. The expression, which was not a smile but a baring of teeth, was the expression of a predator who had found his prey.
"Do you mean it?" he said. His voice, which was calm and royal, was the voice of a man who was not asking a question but issuing a challenge. "The way you said that. About burying families."
I turned. My eyes, violet and steady, found his. The blue, cold and royal, met the violet, calm and dangerous.
"What?" I said.
"Do you mean it?" Leo repeated. The words, which were the same, carried a different weight. "Even for the royal family?"
The room erupted.
"Your majesty!" Garrett said. The word, which came out as a gasp, was the word of a man who had just heard his prince challenge a professor to threaten the royal family.
"Your majesty, he cannot..." Cedric started.
"Silence," Leo said. The word, which was not loud but carried the weight of royalty, silenced the room. His eyes, which had been on me, did not move. "I asked a question, professor. Do you mean it? Even for the royal family?"
I looked at him. At the blonde hair. At the blue eyes. At the face, which was young and handsome and carried the arrogance of a boy who had been born with a crown.
"You were not even able to achieve the sixth rank of swordsmanship at your age," I said. My voice, which was calm and even, was not insulting. It was factual. "Getting the title of crown prince just because of your mother. Do you really think you are capable enough to use the name of the royal family?"
The room died.
The silence, which followed, was not the silence of shock. It was the silence of a room that had just witnessed a murder. A social murder. The murder of a prince’s pride in front of his subjects.
The students, who had been sitting, went rigid. The nobles, who had been leaning on their titles, felt the ground shift. The commoners, who had been watching, held their breath.
Leo’s face, which had been composed and royal, went red. The flush, which started at his neck and spread to his hairline, was the flush of a man who had been publicly humiliated. His hands, which had been relaxed on the desk, clenched. His jaw, which had been set, tightened.
I snapped my fingers.
The room went black.
The darkness, total and absolute, swallowed everything. The students, who had been sitting in a well-lit classroom, were suddenly in a void. The lanterns, the windows, the walls. All gone. Replaced by a darkness that was not the absence of light but the presence of something else.
"This is a unique dimension," I said. My voice, which came from everywhere and nowhere, was the voice of a man who was in control. "A space between spaces. A pocket of reality that exists outside the normal flow of time."
I sliced my finger. The motion, simple and casual, was accompanied by a sound. A rip. The air, which had been dark, split. The rift, glowing and angular, appeared. The light, blue and white, poured from the opening. The edges, sharp and clean, hummed with energy.
"This is called sword intent," I said. "Not the one you learn through the royal teachings. Not the technique that is passed down through your tutors and your training. This is the intention itself. The will to cut. The desire to sever. The manifestation of purpose through mana."
The rift, which I had opened with a finger, was a demonstration. A display. A statement.
"Learn it, Leo," I said. The words, which were not a suggestion but a command, were delivered with the weight of a man who had just proven his superiority. "First. And then come back."
I turned. Walked. Through the darkness. Toward the door that was no longer visible but was still there. The dimension, which I had created, dissolved behind me. The light, returning to the room, was gradual. The students, blinking, found themselves back in the classroom.
I left.
The room, which had been a classroom, was a crime scene. The scene of a prince’s humiliation. The scene of a professor’s dominance. The scene of a shift in power that would ripple through the academy for months.
Leo stood. His body, which had been seated, was rigid. His eyes, which had been blue and cold, were red. The redness, which was not from tears but from fury, was the redness of a man who had been disgraced.
His jaw clenched. The muscles, working beneath the skin, were visible. His hands, at his sides, were fists. The knuckles, white and sharp, were the knuckles of a man who wanted to hit something.
Everyone was shocked. The students, who had been watching, were frozen. The nobles, who had been proud, were silent. The commoners, who had been quiet, were stunned.
One or two of the women, however, were looking at the door. At the door through which I had left. Their eyes, which had been wide with shock, were now wide with something else.
Maren, her book closed, was staring at the door. Her green eyes, which had been sharp and analytical, were bright. The brightness, which was not from tears but from awe, was the brightness of a woman who had just seen something extraordinary.
Daphne, her braid tight, was looking at the board. At the runes, which were still there. At the diagrams, which were still visible. At the evidence of a lesson that had changed everything she thought she knew.
They looked at each other. The exchange, silent and brief, was an understanding. The professor, who had not bootlicked the prince, who had not bowed to the nobles, who had not cared about the hierarchy, was something new. Something different. Something that none of them had encountered before.
’He is the one,’ Maren thought. ’The one who became a professor. The one who does not care about titles. The one who...’
She looked at the board again. At the runes. At the knowledge that she had not known existed. Her pen, which had been poised, was now moving. She wrote. The notes, which were not from the textbook but from the lesson, were a record of a revelation.
Leo’s dormitory was a monument to royalty.
The room, larger than most houses, was furnished with the best of everything. The bed, four-poster and canopied, was draped in silk. The desk, mahogany and carved, was imported from the eastern continent. The fireplace, stone and ornate, was large enough to roast an ox. The windows, tall and stained, depicted the history of the royal family in colored glass.
Leo entered. The door, slammed behind him, shook in its frame. His body, which had been rigid with controlled fury in the classroom, was now shaking with uncontrolled rage.
Behind him, two figures followed. A young man and a young woman. Both from his class. Both from minor noble families. Both loyal, not out of respect but out of ambition.
The young man, whose name was Aldric, was the brother of the young woman. His face, thin and pale, was the face of a man who was terrified of the prince but more terrified of being excluded from his circle.
The young woman, whose name was Lyssa, was pretty in the way that minor nobility often were. Her hair, light brown and straight, was pinned. Her uniform, still on, was neat. Her face, which had been composed in the classroom, was now worried.