Chapter 95: The Royal Warrant
Holden woke up feeling like he was made of clouds.
He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling of his new bedroom. The mattress under him was absurdly soft. For a moment, he forgot where he was.
Then he flexed his fingers.
He could feel a new kind of strength vibrating through him.
He sat up and swung his legs off the bed. His body felt impossibly light. When he stood, the floorboards didn’t creak. He had subconsciously adjusted his weight distribution to avoid making noise. His 10,000x multiplier was already optimizing things he didn’t even know needed optimizing.
Holden stretched, pulled on a clean shirt, and headed downstairs.
The villa’s kitchen was huge. It had marble counters, a stone oven, copper pots hanging from the ceiling. Renna had already left a note on the fridge claiming the top shelf as her personal snack zone.
Holden ignored it and started cooking.
He made eggs, toast, and sliced some fruit. Simple and fast. He served a portion and set it on the kitchen table just as Maeve walked in, still wearing her pajamas and squinting through her glasses.
"Morning," she said, her voice husky with sleep.
"Eat," Holden said, sliding the plate over. "You stayed up too late monitoring those wards."
"Someone had to make sure Henry didn’t trip over Renna’s tripwires."
"That was his own fault for not watching where he walks."
Maeve sat down and started eating. She glanced at him over her glasses. "You look different."
"Different how?"
"Rested. More than rested." She tilted her head. "You look like you slept for a week."
"It’s probably the good mattress."
She didn’t look convinced, but she let it go. Maeve knew when to push and when to wait. She was smart like that.
A sharp knock at the front door interrupted them.
Henry appeared in the kitchen doorway a moment later, looking pale. "Miss Thorne is here. She says it’s urgent."
Lyra walked in before Henry could finish.
She was not in her usual calm state.
"Holden," she said. "We have a problem."
He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. "Only one?"
"Lord Oscar’s family is furious. They’ve spent the last two weeks lobbying the Crown. This morning, they got a Royal Warrant." She swallowed hard. "They’re marching on the academy right now. An execution squad, Holden. Fully armored Royal Enforcers. They’re demanding your head."
Maeve dropped her fork.
"Execution squad?" Henry repeated, his hand instinctively moving to his sword. "They cannot be serious. This is academy grounds!"
"They’re royal enforcers," Lyra said, her voice tight. "They don’t care about academy rules. They care about royal pride."
Holden picked up his cup of tea and took a slow sip.
"Okay," he said calmly.
"Okay?" Lyra stared at him. "Did you hear what I said? They want to kill you."
"I heard you. Drink some tea. You look stressed."
Lyra opened her mouth, closed it, and took a breath. "You are impossible."
"Thank you."
Ten minutes later, Holden walked into the main academy courtyard with Lyra at his side. The morning sun was bright, the sky was clear, and the courtyard was packed with students who had gathered to watch the drama unfold.
At the center of the courtyard stood a squad of twelve Royal Enforcers.
They were covered head to toe in polished silver armor, each one carrying a halberd etched with the royal crest.
Leading them was a man in gold-trimmed plate armor. He had a perfectly groomed mustache, a chin lifted so high he could barely see the people in front of him, and a voice that sounded like it had been trained specifically to be loud and annoying.
He unrolled a golden scroll with a dramatic flourish.
"Holden Voss!" the Knight boomed. "By decree of the Royal Crown and the House of Thorne, you are hereby placed under arrest for the grievous assault and permanent crippling of Lord Oscar, a direct blood heir to the throne! You will surrender yourself into royal custody immediately, or force will be authorized!"
Holden looked at the golden scroll, then at the Knight’s mustache, then back at the scroll.
"Do you guys practice reading those scrolls in the mirror," he said, "or does the snootiness just come naturally?"
A few students in the crowd choked back laughs.
The Knight’s mustache twitched. "This is not a joke, boy. You are accused of a capital crime against the Crown."
"And you’re interrupting my breakfast with bad theater."
"You dare—"
"Knight."
A new voice cut through the courtyard.
Instructor Vespera stepped out from the archway.
The temperature in the courtyard dropped by ten degrees.
Vespera didn’t shout. When she released her Rank 4 aura, the air itself grew heavy. It pressed down on the Royal Enforcers like a giant hand pushing them into the ground.
Sweat broke out on the Knight’s forehead. His perfectly groomed mustache drooped slightly.
"Instructor Vespera," he managed. "This is a matter of—"
"Holden Voss is my personal disciple," Vespera said. "Under Academy Charter, Section Fourteen, Article Nine, no external authority may arrest, detain, or interrogate a registered disciple on academy grounds without the explicit permission of the disciplining instructor."
She paused.
"You do not have my permission."
The Knight’s jaw tightened. The Enforcers behind him were visibly struggling to stay upright under Vespera’s aura. One of them tried to steady himself, and his halberd scraped against the floor.
Vespera didn’t blink.
The Knight swallowed. His eyes darted left and right, calculating. He couldn’t fight a Rank 4. He knew that. His squad couldn’t either. But he hadn’t come here empty-handed. He had a backup plan.
"Arrest is off the table," the Knight said through gritted teeth. "Fine. But there is another matter."
He pulled a second scroll from his belt. This one was sealed with black wax.
"Under Academy Charter, Section Twenty-Two, Article Three, any party with a grievance against a student may issue a formal Blood Duel." The Knight’s lips curled into a nasty smile. "The accused must face the challenger’s champion in combat. If the accused refuses, they forfeit all academy protection and may be taken into custody immediately."
He pointed at Holden.
"My lord’s family has designated their champion. Sir Dorian Thorne, third-year elite prodigy of the Royal Academy. The duel is now. Right here."
The crowd erupted in whispers.
Lyra grabbed Holden’s arm. "Don’t. This is a trap. Dorian Thorne is a ranked elite. He’s been trained by royal combat masters since he was six."
Holden looked down at her hand on his arm. Then he looked at the Knight.
"Sounds fun," he said.
He unbuttoned his jacket and handed it to Lyra. She took it automatically, her face a mixture of fear and frustration.
"Holden—"
"Point me to the ring," he said to the Knight.
The Knight’s smile widened. He gestured to the center of the courtyard, where the crowd was already scrambling backward to make space.
Holden walked forward, rolling his shoulders with a smile on his face.