Chapter 115: Behind the curtain
Three days,
Three days until I sat in front of a panel of pompous robed relics who probably hadn’t taught a class in decades. Three days to turn every scrap of credibility, every ounce of earned trust, and every underhanded trick I had into a case solid enough to keep my position.
Piece of cake, right?
I spent the first hour pacing like a deranged cat across my quarters. Notes were scattered across the desk, enchanted chalk etchings glowed faintly on the walls, and my tea had gone cold. Again. The Ring of Cernex pulsed subtly on my finger—an ever-present reminder that my "victory" at Black Stone Mountain had come with a higher cost: scrutiny.
I flicked open the system window again, eyes narrowing at the requirements of Courtroom Gambit. Maintain Class C’s trust. Present a strong case. Navigate political agendas.
The first was manageable. My students might complain, whine, or even attempt mutiny—but they trusted me. Mostly. Felix probably still had trauma from our "dodge the flaming boulders" lesson, but even he had stopped flinching whenever I moved suddenly.
The second requirement? Tricky. "Present a strong case" to the Council meant constructing an argument that didn’t rely on sarcasm and intimidation. I’d need evidence. Testimonials. Maybe even a student demonstration.
The third was the real minefield.
Political agendas.
Noctis Ardentis wasn’t just an academy—it was a polished, obsidian-glass battlefield. Every instructor was part scholar, part warrior, part aspiring noble. There were factions, rumors, alliances built on shallow smiles and sharper daggers. The High Tower Council? They were the ones who governed the academy’s future, held sway over instructor appointments, funding, curriculum... and more importantly, secrets.
One wrong step, and I wouldn’t just be out of a job—I’d be out of the academy, hunted, and possibly exiled. Or worse: I’d have to become a substitute instructor for first-years.