Ace didn't flinch at her words. He slowly stood, unbuckled the sword from his hip, and placed it gently on the bench beside him.
Without speaking, he walked to the weapon rack, selected a wooden training sword, and turned to her.
"Come at me, Instructor."
Her eyes widened. "You want to spar… with me?"
He raised the wooden blade, not smiling, not mocking—just waiting.
She hesitated only a moment before drawing her own training sword. "Fine. Let's see if I was right."
The clash began swiftly.
Sarina was fast. A first-rate warrior, a graduate of the Imperial Academy and a seasoned warrior, her form was flawless—sweeping arcs, powerful thrusts, and footwork honed through countless battles.
But Ace—he moved like smoke and lightning.
He didn't just react. He predicted.
Every move she made, he adjusted a breath before it landed. For minutes, it was a storm of wooden clashes and sharp grunts. Dust rose beneath their feet. Sweat beaded on brows.
Then—
She feinted low, twisted, and struck his exposed side. A clean hit. Ace staggered half a step.
"Point," she said between breaths.
Ace stood still, staring at the wooden sword in her hand, then lowered his.
He didn't look angry.
Only thoughtful.
Then he turned his back to her and walked toward the bench, reclaiming his demonic sword.
As he slung it onto his hip again, he began walking toward the exit.
Before he reached the door, he paused.
"That'll be the only time you defeat me."
Sarina didn't reply. She was still catching her breath—not just from the spar, but from everything she had just seen.
That wasn't the fight of a man relying on cursed power.
That was someone who—despite his age—already danced on the edge of mastery, his every move honed by relentless discipline and will.
She watched his back as he exited the training hall.
"The result might've been different..." she murmured to herself, eyes wide with realization, "If we were fighting for real."
Ace stepped out into the sunlight, white hair catching the breeze, his snowy uniform now marked with light scuffs and slashes—telltale signs of an intense spar.
Every head turned.
A hush fell over the waiting students.
"…Those marks weren't there before," one student whispered.
"They fought… didn't they?" another added.
"Did Instructor Sarina actually spar with a Thornevale?"
"And win?"
"Gods, what would happen to her if Ace took it personally…"
The crowd's imagination spun wildly—rumors already igniting like wildfire.
And then, of course—Pete stepped forward.
His cape fluttered slightly, jaw clenched, righteous resolve glowing in his eyes as he walked through the parting sea of students, his golden sword shimmering faintly on his back.
He had heard everything. He always did.
And he thought, 'I won't allow anyone to harm innocent. '
Without hesitation, he grabbed Ace by the collar.
Gasps rang out.
The air grew still.
The hallway, once buzzing with whispers, fell into utter silence—as if the entire Academy itself was holding its breath.
Even the birds outside seemed to pause.
Ace didn't move.
He just looked down at the hand gripping his collar.
And in that moment—Pete felt it.
An aura heavier than steel, colder than death, darker than midnight thunder. It oozed from Ace like an invisible avalanche, crashing down on everyone nearby.
Even the mana from Ace's sheathed sword stirred—an audible hum in the air, pulsing with wrath.Crimson tendrils of pressure coiled faintly from the hilt, whispering violence.
Pete's pupils trembled.His mouth dried.His hand shook.
What the hell was he touching?This wasn't just a student.
This was a monster.
Still—he forced himself to speak, voice cracking slightly as he drew on every ounce of courage.
"I… I will not allow harm to come to our teacher. Even if it means standing against you, Ace Thornevale!"
The words echoed down the corridor, noble in tone—but hollow in power.
Ace's hand began to rise.
The crowd backed away instinctively.A few closed their eyes.
Then—whoosh!
A blur of silver and deep blue robes dropped from the Academy rooftop.
Principal Adalf Valmor landed between them like a crashing comet, his presence alone warping the mana in the air. His hand rested on his curved staff, spell runes flickering to life around him.
"That's enough."
His voice was calm. Firm. Absolute.
He turned to Ace, eyes unblinking.
"If you wish to strike the Hero, Ace Thornevale… you'll have to go through me first."
He drew in a breath and finished, slowly:
"I would rather die… than let anyone harm our only hope against the demon king"
For a moment, nothing moved.
Ace's eyes narrowed.
The crowd didn't breathe.
Even Pete stepped back slightly—only now realizing how close to annihilation he had been.
Then, without a word, Ace brushed the hero's hand off his collar.
He stepped past the principal—shoulder barely grazing him—and continued walking down the corridor, his steps calm, measured, untouched by the chaos behind him.
The gathered students parted like the Red Sea.
No one dared speak.
No one dared move.
And as Ace turned a corner and vanished from sight, the silence was broken.
Whispers returned—shaky, fearful, awed.
Pete stood still, trying to calm his racing heart.
The principal, meanwhile, silently watched Ace's disappearing figure, his own heart weighed with an unspoken truth.
'If that boy ever truly turned against the Empire… He might become a threat closer to demon king. '
Ace walked in silence, his white hair trailing gently behind him, every step echoing quiet confidence. His coat still bore faint marks from the sparring match, but his composure was untouched.
As he reached the door to his room—
"Wait."
The soft yet commanding voice halted him in place.
He turned his head slightly. Emilia Vel'Faera stood a few steps away, arms crossed, golden-green hair glinting like woven sunlight. Her spirits floated nervously around her shoulders—tiny, glowing figures only few could see.
Ace raised an eyebrow, clearly annoyed, though not hostile.
"What is it now?" he asked, voice sharp and cool—enough to sting, but not enough to wound.
Emilia's brows twitched slightly. She was a princess of the Elven Empire—respected, revered, never once spoken to with such tone. Yet here was this white-haired human who didn't even flinch at her lineage.
Still, she inhaled deeply and stood tall.
"I… I wish to speak with you. I have questions."
Ace tilted his head, unimpressed.
"Ask."
"Not here." Emilia replied quickly, trying to keep her composure. "Over tea. Privately."
There was a moment's silence.
Ace stared at her for a moment, bored.
"No."
Just one word. Flat. Final.
And then he turned toward his door.
Emilia's pride flared, but she held it in.
"I can offer you resources. Things the Elven Empire itself treasures," she offered hastily, her voice stronger now. "No human has seen them before."
He paused at the door handle.
Then, without turning:
"If I wanted elven treasures, who could stop me?"
The words were quiet—but heavy.
Before she could respond, the door creaked open and shut behind him.
Emilia stood there, hands clenched, spirits buzzing nervously at her shoulder.
For the first time in her life, her pride had been ignored.
Not challenged. Not insulted.
Simply… discarded.
And for reasons she didn't fully understand, that frustrated her more than anything else.
Just then, Lucy approached the hallway. She paused for a moment as she noticed the elven princess standing stiffly near the door.
As Lucy walked up, Emilia's cold gaze snapped toward her.
"Stop," Emilia said sharply, her voice laced with command.
Lucy blinked, confused but polite. "Yes, Princess Emilia?"
"I want to speak with your brother," Emilia said curtly. "Tell him to meet me in the garden. I don't have time for this nonsense."
Lucy hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. "Um… I could ask him if he's willing to, but—"
Emilia cut her off, a glint of arrogance flashing in her emerald eyes. "Ask him? Do you understand who I am? Even the Emperor thinks twice before refusing a request from the Elven Crown Princess. You should know your place."
Lucy flinched but tried to maintain her composure. "I do respect who you are, Your Highness. But he's not someone who listens to others easily. I just—"
"So the servant dares to talk back now?" Emilia scoffed, taking a step closer. "Is this how the Thornevale household treats its guests? Letting maids yap at royalty?"
Something in Lucy snapped. She clenched her fists, her jaw trembling.
"I am not a maid," Lucy said through gritted teeth, her voice rising. "I am Lucy Thornevale, daughter of the Thornevale house. You will not speak to me like that again!"
The corridor fell silent, the tension thick. Emilia narrowed her eyes, clearly not expecting the outburst.
Then she smirked.
"Fine," she said with mock sweetness. "If you can bring your brother to meet me in the garden… I might consider offering an apology. Might."
Lucy's pride surged for a second, and she blurted, "Fine!"
But the moment Emilia turned around and walked away with a satisfied smile, Lucy's heart sank. She stared at the closed door to Ace's room and realized what she had done.
No one could make Ace do something he didn't want to do.
She let out a nervous sigh, raised her hand, and knocked on the door.
The door creaked open with a low groan, and Ace's sharp eyes immediately caught Lucy's hesitant expression as she stepped inside.
"You're nervous," he said flatly, walking over to the window and folding his arms. "What happened?"
Lucy closed the door behind her and fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve. "Emilia Vel'Faera stopped me in the hallway...", She then told he everything that happened between her and Emilia.
Ace didn't respond at first. His white eyes narrowed slightly as he processed her words, his jaw tightening.
"And you agreed?" he asked, turning to look at her.
"I-I didn't mean to fall for it," Lucy said quickly, "It just happened—she was being so arrogant and… I don't know. I just—"
Ace let out a long, sharp breath and ran a hand through his white hair.
"How can you fall for a petty trick like this?" he muttered, more disappointed than angry. "You're a Thornevale. You don't take baits like that. And you definitely don't make promises you're not sure you can keep."
Lucy lowered her gaze. "I'm sorry…"
There was a long silence before Ace spoke again, his voice now calm and composed.
"Tell the guards," he said, "From now on, first-rate warriors are to be posted outside my dorm room."
Lucy nodded immediately. "Yes."
"Also," he added, walking toward his desk and picking up his sword, now tied to his hip, "Summon the two master ranked warriors that came with us. They'll be escorting me for the rest of the day."
Lucy's eyes widened. "Both of them?"
"Yes," Ace said, adjusting his coat. "If Emilia wants to play politics, I'll show her what power really looks like."
Without another word, Lucy turned on her heels and hurried out the door, sprinting down the corridor to deliver his orders.