CHAPTER 271: CHAPTER 271: RAID ON THE BETTING DEN

The cobblestone street leading to the target was quiet, save for the synchronized march of boots. At the front walked Nicolas, flanked by Professor Daemar and Instructor Rauk. The Director of Velmora and one of its senior professors followed close behind, their expressions tight with anger. Seraphina observant, there to carry every detail back to King Alveron IV.

Arrayed behind them was their makeshift army: top students from Velmora Academy, Luceria Grand Academy, and the Imperial Academy of Valor. Weapons were ready, uniforms crisp, but the air around them was thick with anticipation.

They halted just short of the building—a high-end restaurant with polished wood signage, warm window light, and faint music. To the casual passerby, it was harmless. To them, it was the front for Torwan’s betting empire and whatever lay hidden beneath.

Nicolas turned to face the students, his gaze sweeping over each row.

"You," he began, voice carrying over the night air, "are the future of your kingdoms. The choices you make in moments like this will shape not only your own lives, but the world you live in. Rank, status, and titles mean nothing if you cannot stand when it matters."

He let the words hang, scanning their faces—some resolved, others tight with nerves.

"When evil appears, you will not get to choose the time or place. It will come to you when it wishes, and you will have to face it head-on. That is what we do tonight. We end something that should never have existed in the first place."

No one spoke, but grips tightened on sword hilts, wands and staffs. There was no need for applause; the readiness in their eyes was enough.

Nicolas gave a sharp nod toward the door. "Stay close, follow orders, and no one acts alone."

Then he turned back toward the entrance, boots crunching over the cobblestone. The muffled laughter and clink of glasses from inside seemed out of place, like a final reminder of the arrogance that had kept this place running for so long.

The group approached the front steps in a solid, unbroken line. Even from inside, the sound of their boots on the stone drew attention—conversations paused, music faltered.

A man in a tailored black vest hurried to block the entrance, his face polite but pale. His eyes darted over the crowd: professors, directors, Seraphina... and dozens of academy students in full uniform.

The Valor students stood out the most. The Luceria and Velmora uniforms were just as recognizable, especially now, with the tournament matches still fresh in the public’s mind. The worker’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. This was no random gathering; this was a spectacle. And judging by the tension in the air, something serious was about to happen.

He tried to hold his composure. "Names, please. This is a private establishment."

Nicolas stepped forward without slowing. "Nicolas von Aldros."

The worker’s polite mask cracked, panic flashing in his eyes. "You’re... not on the list."

"Tell Torwan I’m here," Nicolas said, his voice calm but cutting.

The name hit like a hammer. The man froze, realizing he wasn’t just standing in front of a powerful figure—he was standing in front of someone his boss knew by name. And with the sight of so many elite students and staff behind Nicolas, he could already imagine the consequences of refusing them.

With a jerky nod, he stepped aside. "Right this way, sir."

As the door opened, the dining hall’s hum quieted. Patrons turned in their seats, eyes narrowing in curiosity or widening in alarm. Dozens of masked nobles paused mid-drink, some whispering hurriedly to one another.

At the front, Tyria moved with purpose, guiding the group between the crowded tables toward a discreet door at the back of the room. Her steps didn’t falter; she knew exactly where they needed to go.

Tyria pushed the discreet door open without hesitation, revealing a narrow stone staircase spiraling downward. The air grew cooler with each step, carrying the faint sting of alchemical fumes from deep below.

The group descended in formation—Nicolas at the front, Daemar and Rauk just behind, the Director of Velmora and the other instructors keeping the students in a tight column. The murmur of the restaurant faded into an ominous silence.

Halfway down, the passage widened into a large landing—and there they were. Nearly fifty guards in dark leather armor, eyes glinting unnaturally under the torchlight. Nicolas recognized it instantly: Torwan’s enhancers pumping through their systems, lending them unnatural speed and strength.

One stepped forward, voice low and hostile. "Restricted area. Turn back."

Nicolas didn’t slow. His gaze swept over them once, measuring distance and spacing. "You made a mistake standing here."

The man snarled and raised his weapon. "Last warn—"

"Stormpiercer," Nicolas said.

Mana exploded around him, the air crackling as a blinding spear of lightning shot from his hand. It tore through the front line in a deafening instant, splitting into branching arcs that leapt from one guard to the next, engulfing the entire formation. The walls shook with the thunderclap, and in less than a heartbeat, most of them were on the ground—stunned, smoking, and utterly incapacitated.

It was Stormpiercer, but magnified—twice the raw force Noel had ever mustered, every arc of lightning sharper, heavier, and lethal in precision.

The remaining few, shielded by sheer positioning or luck, barely had time to recover before Daemar and Rauk surged past Nicolas, engaging in close quarters. The instructors from the other academies joined in, while students fanned out in coordinated groups, overwhelming the stragglers.

Within moments, the landing was silent except for the faint crackle of dissipating electricity. The scent of ozone hung heavy in the air.

Nicolas lowered his hand, his eyes cold. "Move them aside. We’re going through."

The group stepped over the unconscious bodies and advanced toward the heavy door at the far end.

The heavy door groaned as Nicolas pushed it open, the metal hinges shrieking in protest.

A blast of heat and the smell of sweat hit them instantly. They stepped out onto a wide balcony of blackened steel, overlooking an immense underground factory lit by harsh, flickering mana lamps.

Below, hundreds of dwarves, humans, and half-beasts worked in relentless rhythm at long rows of tables and machines. The sound of pounding metal, hissing steam, and the clink of glass vials filled the cavernous space.

Every worker had the same black slave mark burned into their neck.

Tyria froze. Her eyes scanned the sea of bodies, desperate, until she suddenly gasped. "Mother! Father!"

Two dwarves at a table jerked their heads up. The woman’s hands stilled mid-motion, eyes widening, while the man’s mouth fell open in shock.

"It’s her..." the dwarf woman whispered. "It’s our girl..."

From beside Tyria, the Director of Velmora leaned forward, voice tight with anger. "This is what Torwan has been hiding. Forced labor under his control."

Instructor Rauk clenched his fists. "Every one of them has the mark."

Nicolas’ tone was ice. "Not for long. First, we secure the building. Then we break the marks." He turned to the professors and students. "Lock every exit, and place containment wards. No one in or out unless I say."

Professor Daemar nodded sharply. "Understood."

Tyria’s voice shook as she gripped the railing. "They can’t stay here another minute."

"We won’t leave them," Nicolas assured her, his eyes scanning the vast space below. "But Torwan is still somewhere in this building. And until we find him, every second we stand here is a second he could be slipping away also, Charlotte, when Redna arrives, you’ll have to give a blessing to help people. I know it won’t be easy."

The students would be surprised to hear this. Of course, only the Saint or someone high in the church could give blessings, which means it wouldn’t be a secret anymore. Charlotte nodded, ready to fulfill her role.

The Director of Velmora stepped forward. "We’ll hold this position. Go."

Nicolas’ gaze locked on the far end of the factory, where a series of closed doors lined the wall. "He’s here. I can feel it."

He started toward the stairs without looking back. "Keep the workers safe. I’ll deal with Torwan."