Chapter 54: Your Name
I sat on the edge of my bed, the training sword across my lap, still dusty from earlier. The room was quiet, just the soft creak of wood and the fading light slipping through the window. My arms were sore, and my legs still felt heavy from all the footwork drills. But even tired, I couldn’t stop thinking about this morning—about how easily Cassie moved during our duel. She wasn’t flashy or loud about it, just... good. Really good. Way better than I expected. And way better than me.
I wanted to catch up. Not because I felt embarrassed—okay, maybe a little, but because I didn’t want to be the guy she had to go easy on. I wanted to give her a real match next time. Something she’d take seriously. She had trusted me enough to show me that side of her, and the least I could do was be someone who deserved to see it again.
I was contemplating all of it, standing in the middle of my room, when a voice, low and clear, cut through the quiet.
"Hey."
My head snapped towards the window. I immediately recognized the voice. Herald. A familiar surge of dread and apprehension filled me. He was here.
He sat on the window frame, his back resting casually against the sill, as if he were merely perched on a park bench. His black cloak, pulled tight around him, covered most of his facial appearance, but I could still discern his visible facial features, even though it was partially obscured by the shadows of his hood. The outdoor breeze, gentle in the manor, seemed to billow his cloak inwards. He was clearly aura farming, as discreetly described in the novel
His head tilted slightly, his voice calm, yet laced with an undeniable edge of expectation. "Have you made your decision?"
I knew exactly what he was talking about. His demand that I become his disciple, his hand in the war against the cult. My mind raced, trying to formulate a response, a way to decline without provoking his him. My initial plan was to tell him no, to explain that the risks outweighed the rewards, that I sought peace, not war. I wanted to throw him off guard, to buy myself time.
"Decision about what?" I asked, framing ignorance, my voice as casual as I could make it.
Herald’s head snapped up, "Don’t play smart with me, boy. I’m running out of patience." He spoke slowly and deliberately.
Then, with a fluid, almost casual movement, he unsheathed his sword. It was a broad blade, surprisingly wide and long, far too large for any normal person to wield with such ease. Its metal seemed to absorb the light, its edge impossibly sharp. Seeing it upfront, knowing its potential, a single strike from that weapon would mean the end of me.
"Answer yes," Herald continued, his voice calm, yet utterly devoid of mercy, "and become my disciple and my hand in the Academy. Or answer no, and I have to strike you here and now, even if it means killing someone with an ability that may help me finally beat the cult."