CHAPTER 57: CHAPTER 57: THE ANATOMY OF HUMILIATION

In a private study chamber within the Pemberton family’s academy residence, the atmosphere was thick with tension and wounded pride. Master Gareth Stoneheart, the family’s premier combat instructor, stood before Aldric Pemberton with the uncomfortable bearing of someone delivering news that would not be well received.

The chamber itself spoke of centuries of martial tradition, weapons from legendary battles lined the walls, while training manuals bound in leather bore the wear of generations of study. But today, that tradition felt fragile, challenged by forces that none of their accumulated wisdom could explain.

"Explain it again," Aldric demanded, his voice carrying the dangerous quiet of barely controlled fury. "Explain to me how a slave, a piece of property that someone taught to mimic human behaviour, could surpass everything our family has built."

Master Stoneheart shifted uncomfortably, his weathered features reflecting the difficulty of describing something that challenged his understanding of combat itself. "Young Lord," he began carefully, "I witnessed the assessment personally. What occurred defied every principle of martial arts I’ve studied in forty years of instruction."

Aldric’s eyes blazed with the kind of intensity that had made him the most feared duelist among his peer group. "I’ve trained since I could hold a sword! My family’s honor, our martial legacy, generations of the finest instruction the kingdom can provide, and you’re telling me some Dra’kesh animal exceeded all of it?"

"The training dummy didn’t break," Stoneheart said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of someone reporting something impossible. "It didn’t crack, splinter, or show damage. It simply... ceased to exist. One moment it was there, solid and intact. The next, it was gone."

The description hung in the air like smoke from a funeral pyre, carrying implications that neither man wanted to acknowledge.

"There was no aura," Stoneheart continued, his professional pride warring with the evidence of his own senses. "No technique I recognized from any school of martial arts. No visible channeling of power. Just absolute, incomprehensible destruction."

Aldric slammed his fist against the chamber’s stone wall with enough force to crack the mortar, his knuckles coming away bloody. "There has to be an explanation! Some trick, some deception, something that explains how inferior blood could produce superior results!"

Master Stoneheart studied his student with the concern of someone who had watched pride consume promising warriors before. "My Lord," he said carefully, "perhaps... caution would be wise. What I witnessed wasn’t just superior technique. It was something that exists outside our understanding of what’s possible."

"Caution?" Aldric’s voice rose to a near-shout, his composure finally cracking under the weight of humiliation. "You want me to show caution to a slave? To accept that my bloodline, my training, my very identity means nothing in the face of some parlor trick?"

The young duke’s face flushed with the kind of rage that had historically led nobles to make catastrophically poor decisions. "I’ll challenge him. Publicly. I’ll crush this pretender and restore proper order to our academy."

"Young Lord..." Stoneheart began, but Aldric cut him off with a gesture that brooked no argument.

"Arrange it," he commanded, his voice carrying the authority of someone accustomed to having his orders obeyed without question. "I don’t care what connections he might have, what political protection that guild recommendation provides. When he’s broken and humiliated, the natural order will be restored."

Master Stoneheart bowed slightly, recognizing the futility of further argument, but his expression carried the grim certainty of someone who had just watched his student commit himself to a course of action that would end in disaster.

****

The confrontation began in the academy’s central courtyard, where ornamental gardens provided a scenic backdrop for what would become one of the most significant social upheavals in the institution’s history. Students had gathered in loose clusters, their conversations creating a buzz of anticipation that spoke of the gossip networks that connected every corner of academy life.

Yomi walked through the space with his characteristic calm, Kira at his side while Lirien and Aeloria flanked them protectively. The normal chatter of student interactions seemed to quiet as they passed, replaced by the kind of intense observation usually reserved for dangerous predators.

It was then that Lord Cassius Ravencroft emerged from the crowd with the swagger of someone who had never encountered meaningful opposition. A second-year student from one of the kingdom’s older noble houses, Cassius embodied everything that traditional academy culture represented, inherited privilege backed by just enough competence to maintain family reputation.

"Well, well, well," Cassius announced, his voice carrying across the courtyard with the kind of projection that suggested he expected to be heard and obeyed. "The famous Dra’kesh who thinks assessment tricks make him our equal."

Students stopped their conversations to watch as Cassius approached with aggressive intent, his companions, other second-year nobles, forming a loose semicircle that suggested this confrontation had been planned rather than spontaneous.

"Tell me, slave," Cassius continued, his voice dripping with the kind of casual cruelty that marked him as someone who had never faced consequences for his actions, "how exactly did you cheat your way past the assessment protocols? What kind of deception allows animals to mimic human achievement?"

Yomi’s response was to continue walking, his pace unchanged, his expression giving no indication that he had even heard the provocation. The lack of reaction seemed to enrage Cassius further, as though Yomi’s calm dismissal was somehow more insulting than any verbal response could have been.

"I’m talking to you, beast!" Cassius snarled, stepping directly into Yomi’s path with the kind of aggressive posturing that had always been sufficient to intimidate his targets. "Your kind doesn’t ignore their betters!"

Without warning, Cassius’s hand shot out, his fingers clamping around Yomi’s throat with the casual violence of someone asserting dominance over what he considered property. But instead of simple physical intimidation, magical energy began to coalesce around his free hand, a concentrated orb of refined mana that pulsed with malevolent intent.

"Swallow this, beast," Cassius hissed, his voice filled with sadistic pleasure as he prepared to force the energy into Yomi’s mouth. "It’ll burn out your magic circuits and get you expelled from our academy where you never belonged."

The attack wasn’t meant to kill, it was designed to cripple, to permanently damage Yomi’s ability to channel magical energy while providing enough plausible deniability to avoid serious consequences. It was the kind of calculated cruelty that spoke of someone who had spent considerable time planning the most effective way to destroy an opponent’s future.

The courtyard had fallen into complete silence as students recognized they were witnessing something far more serious than typical noble posturing. This wasn’t casual harassment, it was an attempt at permanent maiming disguised as academy rivalry.

Yomi’s response was delivered in a voice so quiet that only Cassius could hear it, though its effect rippled outward like stones dropped into still water.

"Kneel."

The word carried no visible power, no dramatic magical displays, no aura of enhancement that might have explained what followed. But the effect was instantaneous and absolute.

Mōfū no Shihai — Dominion of Blind Terror.