CHAPTER 42: DIRE’S ANNOUNCEMENT

After Ragna finished his calm introduction, stepping back to stand beside the Dire, the hall remained perfectly still.

The Dire’s voice carried again through the hall, deep and resonant.

"And as you all know," he said, his hands clasped behind his back, "the MIARCH DAY draws near once again... the day when the great schools of the realm and every hierarchy under them gather. A day of proving."

A faint murmur rippled through the hall before quiet returned, every pair of eyes locked forward.

"This is not just another ceremonial gathering," the Dire went on, tone sharpening. "This is the day when every great school, every hierarchy, and every noble house will send forth their chosen. It is where strength is proven, not only for glory but for the standing of your Nexus, for the pride of the house you represent and for the grade each one holds ’VENUX."

Eran’s arms folded across his chest as the words sank in. Miarch Day.

Of all times for a new rival to be brought here...

The Dire’s gaze swept the chamber. "This year, the duels will decide more than mere victories. They will decide rank adjustments. Titles. And for some of you... perhaps, a permanent place in the hierarchy notice."

A subtle shift moved through the Grade C nobles, many of them straightening with renewed interest.

Ragna... no, Daiven, as he let them all call him, stood calmly at the Dire’s side, not a flicker of reaction crossing his face.

But Eran could still feel the hum of that hidden core, the pulse of power that only his system revealed to him.

The Dire’s voice rolled deeper, carrying across the grand hall.

"In this chamber of Grade C VENUX," he said, his words deliberate, "you hold the Nexus Union’s association. Its pride rests on you, to carry this hierarchy forward, to keep the name of this house worthy before the great councils."

The hall remained still, nobles holding their breath as the weight of those words pressed over them.

Then the Dire gestured with a gloved hand, and a girl behind, stepped forward, presenting a quill of blackened feather and a fresh parchment — the same one Selene and Nyssa had delivered earlier.

"Daiven."

The red-haired boy moved with perfect composure, head lowered in respectful acknowledgment as he approached the center dais. The faint scratch of the quill filled the silence as he signed his name with elegant precision.

Eran’s gaze didn’t waver. Too far, too careful, he thought. Everything about this boy was perfectly measured, polished, but something inside him burned, hidden just deep enough that no one else could see.

Only Eran knew.

"Ragna," the true name only Eran’s system had whispered into his mind before.

The boy didn’t flinch. He simply finished his signature, handed the quill back, and stepped aside with the same calm grace as before. The Dire nodded once, satisfied, and rolled the parchment closed with a soft snap.

Eran’s jaw flexed, a faint pressure behind his calm expression. His arms folded across his chest, unreadable to anyone who might have been watching.

The Dire’s hand swept over the parchment, sealing the last signature with a subtle flare of mana before turning his attention back to the assembly.

"This concludes the signing," he announced, his tone resonant, demanding silence. "But before you all return to your halls, one final order remains."

The chamber’s air thickened. Nobles shifted, some leaning forward with interest.

"Daiven," the Dire called, voice sharp enough to cut through the murmurs.

Daiven stepped forward again, his movements measured, the perfect picture of composure. But Eran caught the smallest fracture in that mask... not hesitation, but the faint thrill that hid just beneath his calm exterior.

"You have signed your place within this chamber," the Dire intoned. "Now prove it. The first crest is the measure of your entry no noble passes without it."

A servant brought forth the ceremonial object, a crystal sphere mounted on a black pedestal, it’s surface was lifeless at first, like a dead moon.

Daiven didn’t falter. He extended his hand, palm open, letting it rest upon the cold surface.

The reaction was instant, a quiet hum that built into a pulsing glow. The crystal flared, bleeding crimson light into gold until it flooded the chamber, bathing every noble in its radiance. Runes lit across the marble floor in a slow, spiraling dance before vanishing.

Gasps broke the silence.

And Eran’s system kept streaming data across his vision, scrolling too quickly to process all at once. His arms remained folded, expression unreadable... but he could feel the weight of it. The system was whispering a truth no one else could hear.

Eran could tell, if Daiven wanted to, he could shatter this entire test in an instant. Let the crystal’s core blaze to the ceiling and reveal what he truly was. But instead, he stayed hidden, masking it all behind a calm, unreadable façade

But outwardly, Eran didn’t move. He leaned back in his seat, watching quietly, letting his expression stay as unreadable as the Dire’s.

The crystal’s glow eventually steadied, then dimmed.

"Accepted," the Dire pronounced, stepping back with a nod. "The Nexus recognizes you."

A quiet wave of murmurs moved through the other nobles, more curiosity than suspicion as if the moment had been entirely ordinary.

As Daiven withdrew his hand and turned back to face the hall, his composure didn’t falter. For the briefest instant, however, his eyes locked with Eran’s across the room.

That moment stretched.

Only Eran could feel it, the quiet heat behind that look, the weight of a rival’s presence cloaked in false civility. And just as quickly, Daiven turned away, as if nothing had passed between them.

And then...

The Dire dismissed the gathering, allowing the nobles to file out in neat rows, their chatter already turning to speculation.

But Eran remained a moment longer, watching as Daiven turned away, red hair catching the light like burning thread. The hall felt charged, as though some invisible thread had just been pulled tight between them.