NOVGO.NET Chapter 1029: You sound betrayed....
Chapter 1029: You sound betrayed….
“Yes. He has been performing exceptionally well in his exams.”
A beat of silence.
Kaleran blinked, then frowned faintly when she did not respond. “…Has been performing exceptionally well?”
Selenne’s expression didn’t shift, but something cool flickered in her eyes. “I was not aware.”
For the first time in the entire conversation, Kaleran looked genuinely startled. “…Truly?”
“Yes,” she said calmly. “Should I have been?”
He stared at her for a heartbeat too long—caught between bafflement and disbelief—before he let out a short, helpless laugh and waved a hand as if physically dismissing the implications swirling around his thoughts.
Kaleran rubbed his temple. “I assumed you’d been overseeing his Combat Awareness Trial. The report said a supervising Magister was present, so I… well. I thought it was you.”
“It was not,” she replied.
“…I see.”
A faint ripple of realization passed through her.
’If he thought I was there… then whoever oversaw it did not report to him.’
A miscommunication, yes—but in the Academy, such miscommunications rarely happened by accident.
Her eyes narrowed a fraction. “What did you mean by ’performing exceptionally well’? I watched him leave the Combat Awareness chamber. He was injured. Blood on his sleeve. Burn marks on his coat.”
A pause.
“I assumed his score reflected that.”
Kaleran’s lips twitched.
Then twitched again.
And then—he started laughing.
Not loudly. Not mockingly. It was the disbelieving, half-exhausted laughter of a man who had read something outrageous twice and still couldn’t quite accept it.
Selenne raised an eyebrow. “What is funny?”
“That kid,” Kaleran said, wiping the corner of his eye as the last chuckle faded, “is really good.”
She stared at him in steady silence.
“To think,” he continued, shaking his head, “that he would play them like this…”
“Kaleran.” Her tone sharpened by a degree. “Explain.”
He leaned forward, lacing his fingers. “The Combat Awareness Trial runs on layered illusions. The monsters appear real—look real, move real—but they aren’t. What matters is the embedded grading matrix inside the spellwork. It tracks exactly two things: monster hits and monster eliminations. Injuries from teammates, mishaps, friendly fire—none of that counts.”
Selenne’s gaze stilled. “…Go on.”
“That boy,” Kaleran said, sounding far too entertained, “was hit exactly zero times by a monster.”
Her eyes narrowed.
’Zero.’
’But his coat—’
“And,” Kaleran added, lifting a finger, “he eliminated more monsters than his entire team combined.”
Selenne blinked once. Slowly.
Kaleran grinned. “So even though he walked out looking like a casualty of friendly fire, the system doesn’t care about that. It only cares that he played the illusion like a fiddle.”
Understanding settled over her in a cold, steady line.
’He let them hit him.’
’He let his teammates’ spells land… so the system would attribute all damage to them.’
’And kept every monster from touching him.’
’Not recklessness. Not incompetence.’
’Strategy.’
Kaleran nodded as if reading her silence. “Exactly. He tanked his teammates’ attacks on purpose, Selenne. He took every misfire they threw. Let them bury him in debris, scorch marks, smoke—while he silently made sure not a single monster illusion touched him. He gamed the system perfectly.”
A faint exhale left her. Not disbelief—recognition.
“And since he handled most of the monsters himself,” Kaleran continued, “the matrix marked him as the primary contributor. The highest score of the group.”
She sat back slightly, cloak shifting. “…They must be furious.”
“Oh, furious doesn’t begin to cover it,” Kaleran laughed. “But they can’t argue with the system. The illusion matrix is old Tower work—untamperable without detection.”
Selenne’s gaze lowered, thoughtful.
’So he let them hurt him.’
’To hide the fact that he was outperforming them.’
’To keep the exam from being turned against him.’
“And that’s not all,” Kaleran added, leaning back with a sigh of admiration. “For his Weaponship Evaluation—he managed to beat the instructor he was matched with.”
Selenne looked up sharply. “Beat him?”
“Mm. Instructor Arcten. A competent swordsman. An instructor that is certainly above average for first-year evaluations.” Kaleran’s smile widened. “Lucavion wiped the floor with him.”
A quiet stillness fell between them.
Selenne’s thoughts turned, slow and precise.
’So that is why the Tower is reacting.’
’So that is why the Council wants this interview.’
’He keeps passing every trap they set… so they will keep escalating.’
Kaleran folded his arms. “They didn’t expect him to excel. And they definitely didn’t expect him to adapt so cunningly. Whoever is orchestrating this? They’re losing patience.”
Kaleran let out a slow breath, hands folding atop his desk again. “Of course, that isn’t even the whole of it.”
Selenne lifted an eyebrow. “…There is more?”
“Oh, quite a bit more,” he said, leaning back with a look that was equal parts disbelief and exasperated amusement. “Do you remember the week of preparatory lessons I arranged for the commoner admits? Before the term officially began?”
“I remember the policy,” she replied. “Bridging the gap between noble education and commoner exposure. It was a sensible initiative.”
“Yes, well.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Lucavion’s participation in those lessons was… horrendous.”
She stared. “How horrendous?”
“He either ditched the lessons entirely,” Kaleran muttered, “or attended them only to sleep.”
Silence.
“…Sleep,” Selenne repeated flatly.
“Yes,” he said, gesturing with a helpless wave. “I would open the door, and there he would be—slumped in the back row like a cat in a sunbeam. I swore the boy had a personal vendetta against education. He didn’t even bother hiding it. Once—once—I asked him if the material was unclear, and he told me—and I quote—’I learn best through osmosis.’”
Selenne blinked once. Slowly.
’Of course he did.’
“Because of that,” Kaleran continued, sighing, “I assumed he would butcher Written Evaluation I today. I expected a disaster. Not even a noble-style disaster—an actual, flaming, quill-snapping catastrophe.”
“And?” Selenne asked.
“And—” he threw his hands up slightly, “—he didn’t.”
“Define ’didn’t.’”
Kaleran leaned forward, lowering his voice. “He did… fine.”
“…Fine.”
“Yes. Not exceptional. He didn’t get a perfect score—not even close. But he did significantly better than I expected. Better than someone who slept through his pre-term lessons has any right to.”
Her eyes narrowed. “How well did he do, exactly?”
Kaleran opened a drawer, pulled out a crystalline slate, and tapped it once. The array flickered before showing a summarized Academic Progress Extract—Lucavion’s writing score highlighted cleanly.
“Tactical Reasoning—above average,” Kaleran recited. “He wrote some… unusual things, but the logic held. His Spellform Theory score was strangely sharp—shockingly so, considering he isn’t formally trained. And Ethical Applications…” Kaleran smirked. “A little blunt. But correct.”
Selenne stared at the numbers.
’So he compensated.’
’Used whatever experience he had.’
’Turned theory into something resembling field logic.’
Kaleran set the slate down.
“He had moments of brilliance in there, Selenne. Not consistent brilliance, mind you—some answers were unhinged or oddly phrased—but the strong ones were very strong.”
He paused.
“And the tactical section? He gave an unorthodox answer… but not wrong. Actually, rather clever.”
He smirked faintly. “If a little bleak.”
Selenne’s lips thinned.
“He wrote,” Kaleran quoted dryly, “’You don’t win battles like this with theory. You survive them.’”
“…I see.”
Kaleran laughed softly. “He sounds like someone who’s fought before.”
Her gaze became unreadable. “He has.”
Kaleran didn’t ask. His eyes simply softened.
“Anyway,” he continued with a dismissive wave, “the written exam went far better than it should have for someone who either slept or skipped every preparatory lesson I painstakingly arranged. Honestly, it’s almost insulting.”
Selenne lifted an eyebrow. “You are offended that he did well?”
“I am offended that he made me look like a liar,” Kaleran groaned. “Do you know how many times I defended that bridge curriculum to the Council? ’It will help them! It will prepare them!’ And then my brightest commoner student decides to treat it like nap hour—only to turn around and perform decently anyway.”
A pause.
Then another.
Finally—
Selenne’s expression shifted, just slightly. “Kaleran.”
“Yes?”
“You sound personally betrayed.”
It was a nail hit on the head…