Rise Of The Lesser-Blood

The grand lift ascended in absolute silence, cutting straight through the inner core of the academy tower.

Thomas stood with his back pressed against the cold iron grating, his jaw clamped shut against the steady, rhythmic throbbing radiating from his fractured ribs. Beside him, Cecilia leaned casually against the control lever, her heavy runic helm still securely latched to the utility loop at her hip. The freezing high altitude air gradually gave way to a dense, heavily concentrated current of ambient mana as the elevator finally ground to a halt at the absolute summit.

The iron doors slid open with a heavy metallic groan, revealing the inner sanctum of the elite cohort.

Thomas stepped out behind the vice captain, his eyes methodically scanning his new surroundings. The private fortress looked less like an academy dormitory and more like an ancient warlord citadel carved directly out of the mountain bedrock. High vaulted ceilings stretched into the darkness above, supported by massive stone pillars etched with complex gravity runes that vibrated with a low, continuous hum. Advanced training vaults and high level weapon racks lined the perimeter walls, but the center of the hall was occupied by a grand, circular lounge area filled with plush leather seating and heavy oak tables.

Sitting around the central hearth were three legendary figures of the Horsemen of Calamity. Edward the Drunken Fist was stretched out across a long bench, his prayer beads clicking softly as he tossed a small leather flask into the air. Beside him sat Bron the Scarred Knight, his massive, battered chestplate resting against the floor as he sharpened a ceremonial dagger with slow, rhythmic strokes.

The moment Thomas’s boots crunched against the stone threshold, the relaxed atmosphere in the room took a sharp, sudden turn. There was no malice or disdain in their eyes, nor was there the typical, venomous hatred that the High bloods downstairs possessed for a lesser. Instead, a collective look of sheer, mischievous amusement flashed across their faces.

Before Thomas could even process their expressions, a blur of golden light and fluttering starlight dust streaked across the lounge floor.

Whoosh.

Sabrina of House Caldun, the infamous Blood Fairy, vanished from her seat and reappeared directly in front of him. With an incredibly swift, agile leap, she threw her small arms completely around Thomas’s neck, dangling her legs off the ground as her glass like wings fluttered playfully inches from his nose.

”Oh, look what the cat dragged in!” Sabrina cheered, her frighteningly beautiful crimson eyes sparkling with intense mischief as she looked up at his battered face. ”Cecilia actually brought back the little survivor. I think I just found myself a handsome one!”

Thomas’s farm boy mask completely cracked for the first time in his life. A deep, violent blush rushed straight up his neck and flooded his cheeks, his entire body freezing up in absolute, unrefined panic as the small, attractive senior clung to his uniform jacket. He clumsily raised his hands into the air, completely unsure of where to place his arms without aggravating his broken ribs or disrespecting a national treasure.

Cecilia didn’t laugh. She stopped walking, crossed her arms over her dark steel breastplate, and shot the tiny girl a sharp, dangerous look that could have cut through solid granite.

”Sabrina,” Cecilia murmured playfully, though her quiet voice carried an unshakeable weight that brook no argument. ”Hands off.”

Sabrina immediately let go of Thomas, dropping lightly back onto the stone floor with a dramatic, exaggerated pout. She took two steps back, her messy blond hair swaying as she crossed her arms and stuck out her lower lip. ”Tch. Cecilia is absolutely no fun at all. You’re always hoarding the interesting ones for yourself.”

Edward let out a booming, gravelly laugh from his bench, catching his leather flask with a sharp snap of his wrist. ”Give the kid a break, Sabrina. He just survived an execution and you’re already trying to drain whatever he has left of his sanity.”

Bron, the massive knight, merely shook his head with a hard smirk, his ebony eyes tracking Thomas with a quiet nod of approval. Thomas allowed his muscle fibers to relax slightly, his heart rate stabilizing as the translucent blue status lines of the system interface quietly dimmed beneath his eyes. These people were entirely different from the vipers downstairs. They didn’t just se a lesser-blood; they just saw a new teammate who had earned his seat through raw, unyielding grit.

The warmth in the room evaporated in a single heartbeat.

The heavy oak doors of the citadel entrance swung open with a resounding, icy boom. Walking into the lounge with his head held high was Julian. His white academy uniform was completely immaculate, his striking ebony eyes entirely bare as he stepped into the light of the central hearth. The moment his gaze landed on Thomas standing beside his sister, a flash of pure, venomous glare distorted his handsome features, the air pressure in the room instantly plummeting.

Julian didn’t address the other Horsemen. He marched straight toward the vice captain, stopping exactly three paces away.

”Father requests your presence back home,” Julian said coldly, his elegant voice carrying a sharp, jagged edge that completely shattered the comfortable quiet of the citadel. ”The family council has been convened following the tournament results. You are expected to return by the evening carriage.”

Cecilia didn’t blink. She didn’t even shift her posture from her lazy, unbothered lean against the stone pillar. She slowly reached down, unlatching her heavy runic helm from her hip and placing it carelessly onto the nearest oak table.

”No,” Cecilia replied flatly, her beautiful voice dropping into that quiet, slightly raspy drawl that Thomas knew all too well. ”Tell him I am busy. It is way too far.”

Julian’s jaw visibly tightened, his fist clenching at his side. ”This is not an invitation, Cecilia. Father expects—”

”I don’t give a sh*t what he expects, little brother,” Cecilia interrupted smoothly, a lazy, amused smirk playing on her pale lips as she looked down at him. ”I belong to the Horsemen now. My loyalty is to my cohort, not the house. If he wants to talk to me, tell him to ride out here himself.”

Thomas stood perfectly still in the shadows of the pillar, his sharp focus entirely locked on the brief, intense exchange. Beneath his tattered jacket, his mind was rapidly mapping out the massive, hidden details hidden within their words. The Carters were not based in the Holy City.

Every single piece of public doctrine he had known even before arriving at Blackspear Academy implied that the highest noble lineages resided strictly within the golden inner rings of the capital, ruling the kingdom from the absolute center of power. Yet, Cecilia’s blatant complaint about a it being far meant their ancestral estate was located somewhere far off in the distant, outer regions of the kingdom.

Julian let out a low, frustrated hiss through his teeth, realizing he could not force her compliance. He violently turned on his heel, his white cloak snapping in the wind as he cast one final, murderous look at Thomas. ”See you later, lesser,” Julian whispered, his ebony eyes flashing with an absolute, existential promise of destruction before he stormed out of the citadel, the heavy doors slamming shut behind him.

Thomas let out a slow, controlled breath, his ribs aching as the heavy pressure finally lifted from the room.