CHAPTER 54: CHAPTER 54: THE DEFIANT BARONESS PART 1.

Sweat, mud, blood and other foul odors permeate the vestibule of the building.

Dark circles, dry tears, downcasted attitude and plenty of wounds are evident on the students. Many of their classmates died in the Fake Zones, and the Coordinator Lycaonia is simply observing them with a contemptuous annoyed grimace.

"Thirty Nine of Fifty Four". *Tch Tch*. Clicks her tongue Lycaonia. "What a pathetic display of ability...".

"It wasn’t our fault!". Interrupts Otzzana with rage, her female friend died, and the third member of her Trinity, temporarily lose his legs, if it wasn’t for Niveilia, the young man might have been crippled for life. "You said it was a Testing Field!".

"«You?». Student Otzzana". Rise an eyebrow Lycaonia, refraining herself from teaching the young lady a lesson of good manners, but through an intensive physical course. "Don’t talk to me like we were equals. Or are we?".

"Of course not. I am the daughter of a Grand Marquis. My Baroness Title is achieved through merits. But «You». You are a conceited old hag abusing her authority!".

"That’s a severe accusation. Explain to me, Baroness Ozeyra. What did i do wrong?".

"Practical exercises must be reported in advance, so that we can prepare for...".

"Incorrect. «Student Otzzana». It is at the Coordinator’s discretion, whether provide, or not, sensitive information. Furthermore, the Zones are unforgiving, they don’t warn about anything, and it’s unknown what could be inside them. Even crossing the vortexes is an unpredictable risk. If all of you were not ready, it’s your own fault... , Think on this, as the kind words of an old hag, who is a Herzog".

Otzzana is astonished by the Title wielded by the Coordinator Lycaonia. Herzogs are akin to Dukes in some places, or just below them, still, they have more renown, connections and power that any Grand Marquis.

"Class dismissed. Now go, and take a nice bath in the showers, or go to your luxurious residence «Baroness Ozeyra». *Sniff*. "You desperately need it, the stench is hideous and pungent, good thing that can be scrub out, unlike your attitude".

Turning around, Lycaonia goes down, back to the reception’s chamber, her inquisitive intent is palpable. Needing to find out, why and how, there were Rättens in one of the Fake Zones.

*Argh!*. "SHE IS A BITCH!". Otzzana loudly exclaims with frustration.

She was dressed to attract everyone’s attention in the Classroom to opaque her long lasted rival, Mayrzzya Ma’ájesh.

A golden dress of the finest silk. Not yellow synthetic fabric like her poor traitorous ex friend. Premium suede ankle boots crafted exclusively for her by the original fashion designer. Not the mass produced version other have access to. And even her perfume was unique, given to her as friendship token from a Crown Princess.

However. All her efforts and plans, were in vain, utterly meaningless. And what tears her apart the most, is that she knows that Coordinator Lycaonia is right. Zones sprout everywhere, even in the areas that are supposedly protected and secure.

Passionate, grudgeful, decided, and eager to see Lycaonia eat her own words for making fun of the Title and behavior. Otzzana closes her fists and proceeds to do what she abhors and is the worse at. Focus. Listen. And Overcome her obstacles rather than swaying them around with Coins or Status.

With a quick look at the other Triskelions, a single constant is clear. Dyll’Phá’s, Niveilia’s and Mayrzzya’s Trinities, were the only ones that came out completely unscathed.

The reason is simple, those in charge of the defense of each individual Trinity, did an outstanding good job working together to protect the entire Triskelion.

Also, the incredible offensive shockwave of Å’Vría, followed by the assault orchestrated by N’Ïrk and Ryavd’Yian. Neutralize the threats with aggressive efficiency, serving as a keystone for the entire group to not have the need to endure the struggle of living in the wilderness for two days.

Prim and proud, Otzzana stands firm in front of her Rival’s Triskelion.

Few of the group wait. and others don’t care, such is the case with Ryavd’Yian, yawning leisurely as she walks away with the company of Gagk’Xannia, Friggia and Bräzzeya.

"May i have a word with you N’Ïrk?".

"You already said more than one word. So?. What could possibly need the all mighty Baroness Otzzana from a smartass like me?".

Mayrzzya almost burst into laughter at N’Ïrk’s eloquent and rude insult. Her gestures hardly concealing the mockery in her cute illusory expression.

Titles are pronounced along the Family’s Name, not the Person’s Name. Even the Coordinator Lycaonia didn’t dare to such affront.

Spite the rising exasperation, and her desire to say more. Otzzana somehow limits her response, without backing off. "Clearly you’re not «Smart» enough to know what i want, but you’re still an Ass-hole, N’Ïrk".

{What a great idea. I’ll gladly take her asshole. Perhaps all of her. She is good giving me ideas}

Niveilia gets a little upset, and for the first time in her life, she feels the need to step up and give a good slap to the conceited spoiled lady who is insulting her Hubby.

*Hahaha*. N’Ïrk shrugs off the comment, with a short laugh. "That can be seen by anyone, if you don’t believe me, ask Å’Vría or Mayrzzya".

"Not needed".

"Then get rid off your slowness, speak up and don’t waste my time. That’s something i don’t tolerate from anyone".

Otzzana grunts, grit her teeth and frowns, but ultimately, she complies. "I want you to train me. Teach me how to have that cold and calculating mentality, so what happened today, the day before yesterday, or whatever, doesn’t happen to me again".

The time discrepancy is small, but it still causes discomfort, especially to the sleep cycle of those unaccustomed to time dissonance.

Which is arguably, an advantage that N’Ïrk has due to his sleeping problems.

"Boring. That is not worth my time".

He moves to the side, but Otzzana mirrors the step, standing in the way. "I’ll make it worth for you. 1 Silver Coin Per Hour. The entire bimester in advance, regardless of how much time you actually spend with me".

For a moment, there is complete silence in the vestibule, interrupted by someone’s desire to laugh.

It’s not Mayrzzya, or N’Ïrk himself, much less the docile Niveilia or the arrogant Å’Vría. But a damsel more neutral and distant towards the young man. Dyll’Phá. Who is unable to hold her stern seriousness, bursting in a loud laughter that is happily joined by the rest of the group...