"Milord, are you all right?"
The guards assigned to the Akademiya's faction clustered around Idris, eyes blazing—not with the petty envy of ordinary men upon seeing a Vision, but with fervor. When they glanced at the gleaming green gem at his hip, their faces held nothing but respect.
"I'm fine. Take me back—let's get this wound dressed."
He pressed a hand to his shoulder, as if the pain scarcely mattered, and made his way—step by steady step—back up the walkways that spiraled around the great sacred tree to the Akademiya.
"Th-this Grand Sage… really is different."
The blood on the stones had already faded beneath the soft radiance that the Dendro Vision cast over him. Those left in the yard felt only a deep, honest shock—one that lingered until Idris vanished into the streets above.
Only then did the pressure lift. Breath returned to the Corps of Thirty.
The captain's dark face flushed red as he rounded on his officers. "You heard him, didn't you? Cowards. A bunch of cowards not even fit to be mocked by the Akademiya's bookworms!"
"Got yourselves chewed out by a 'scholar' and stood there like grandchildren! Where's that big mouth from earlier? Where's all your 'we can't stand the Grand Sage' talk now? Cat got your tongues?"
The officers looked at one another, at a loss.
"What are you still gawking at? Back to your posts—now! We draw our pay from the Akademiya and our trust from Sumeru's people. At the very least," he snarled, "don't betray that trust."
The camp snapped into motion. Whatever else they felt about Idris's tirade, it had landed.
A short distance away, Cyno met the Matra's eyes, said nothing, and quietly pulled a folded slip from his sleeve—the resignation he'd prepared. He tore it to shreds and let the pieces scatter on the ground.
If he walked away from the Akademiya and Sumeru now, that would be true cowardice.
He would not be a coward.
Cyno turned on his heel.
"General Mahamatra," one of the Matra called, "where are you going?"
"On patrol. Or to make arrests," he said, picking up his spear. "Some criminals have systems behind them. Catching them will cause trouble. So be it."
"Even if I shoulder more trouble," Cyno added, voice flat, "it'll still be less than the Grand Sage carries."
He narrowed his eyes. "I'll admit it: I look down on the Akademiya as it stands. But I refuse to be the man he called a coward—and have no rebuttal."
He walked out, every inch the lawkeeper who could not abide evil.
The Matra followed his lead. So did the Corps of Thirty. Whatever dissatisfaction they held toward the Akademiya—or the Grand Sage himself—none of them would vent it by neglecting their duties again. If anyone ran now, that one would be the real coward.
Watching the city's two foremost forces stiffen their spines, Dehya and Nilou—who had lingered with the crowd—couldn't help but clap softly.
"Didn't see that coming," Dehya murmured. "This Grand Sage might not be anything like the last few. None of them ever bowed their heads with that kind of… iron."
Nilou puffed her cheeks, still pouting. "Fine, I'll admit it. But he still won't free Lesser Lord Kusanali. So he's still a bad person."
Dehya only nodded, letting her friend save face. People were complicated; to stamp "good" or "bad" on a man just because he wouldn't release the Little Grass God… that wasn't quite right, was it?
—
High above, in the Akademiya—within the Grand Sage's private quarters.
Idris sat in a chair, shoulder newly bandaged, while reports flowed into his ear through the Akasha Terminal.
The results were immediate. After the tongue-lashing he'd given the Corps and the Matra, patrol density in Sumeru City had doubled. Petty thieves were being collared on the spot; unregistered entrants were intercepted and screened. The city's order already felt cleaner, calmer—like dust shaken from a carpet.
"Looks like they listened."
He glanced at the Vision again. "And with this… I can wield Dendro now. Not a bad reward."
He closed his eyes and tried to feel the element—how it gathered, where it wanted to flow. The sensation was new, yet intimate, like roots drinking deep.
He'd barely begun when a voice—soft as a leaf brushing a window—touched his ear.
"Grand Sage… Mr. Idris. Perhaps you truly aren't like the sages before you."
He opened his eyes.
"Lesser Lord Kusanali… Nahida?"