CHAPTER 291: CHAPTER 291: RACING AGAINST TIME

Ahead, the streets were overflowing with people—thousands of dwarves, humans, elves, and demons pouring out of the arena after the grand final. It was chaos.

The system’s cold glow pulsed again before his eyes:

[Time limit: 12 minutes, 15 seconds.]

The seconds gnawed at his mind.

"Noel Thorne!" someone shouted from the crowd. Others picked it up, chanting his name, reaching out as if to touch the champion who had just fought in the final. Their cheers were deafening, but to Noel they were only obstacles.

He shoved his way forward, shoulder slamming through gaps in the packed bodies. "Move!" His voice was swallowed by the roar of the masses.

Selene advanced silently at his side. With a flick of her wrist, subtle gravitational waves pressed outward, shifting the flow of the crowd just enough to clear a path without drawing suspicion. People stumbled aside, cursing, but none realized what had pushed them.

Still, progress was slow. For every step forward, three figures blocked their way. Sweat ran down Noel’s temple, the system’s timer burning brighter in his vision.

[Time limit: 11 minutes, 57 seconds.]

A wave of spectators surged past them, celebrating, waving flags, still drunk on the spectacle of the final. Some tried to grab Noel, laughing, shouting for him to raise his hand. He ignored them, teeth gritted, pushing harder.

The arena’s colossal stone arches loomed closer, glowing with runes, the flood of people spilling outward like water from a broken dam.

Noel’s heart hammered in sync with the countdown.

Every second lost here could be Nicolas’s last.

The flood of bodies finally thinned as they pushed through the gates and into the interior of the arena. The roar of the crowd outside dulled into a distant hum, replaced by the hollow echo of boots striking stone. The once-bustling corridors were now nearly empty—no more cheering students, no more staff moving freely. The tournament was over, and access to these halls was already restricted.

Noel’s eyes darted left and right. He knew exactly where Nicolas’s office was; he’d visited it several times throughout the tournament. There was no guesswork, no hesitation—only the relentless ticking in his vision.

[Time limit: 11 minutes, 21 seconds.]

A pair of dwarven guards turned the corner ahead, halberds crossing to block the way. "Restricted. No entry."

"We don’t have time for this," Noel hissed, already stepping forward.

Selene raised her wand with a flick. Gravity thickened in an instant, pressing the two guards to the floor. They grunted, struggling, but no harm was done. By the time they realized what had happened, Noel and Selene were already past them, sprinting down the corridor.

The echo of their steps filled the silence. The grandeur of the runed walls, the banners of every academy still hanging, all blurred in Noel’s vision. The only thing that mattered was the glowing timer.

[Time limit: 11 minutes, 03 seconds.]

Selene ran beside him, calm as ever, though her eyes flicked to Noel’s face once, as if gauging the weight of his urgency. He didn’t slow.

The hall opened into the deeper passageways reserved for directors. Nicolas’s office wasn’t far now. Every step forward felt like clawing back precious seconds from the jaws of inevitability.

The corridor curved sharply, lit by mana-crystals that flickered with a pale glow. Noel’s boots hammered against the stone, Selene silent at his side. They rounded the bend—

—and nearly crashed into someone stepping out of a side door.

"Whoa!" Roberto staggered back, still drying his hands with a cloth. His short black hair was damp, his uniform loose, as if he had just come from the baths. His brows rose at the sight of Noel charging straight at him. "Easy, easy. You planning to run me down too, champ?"

Noel didn’t slow. He seized Roberto’s shoulder, his grip iron. "Call everyone. Now. Nicolas. Office."

Roberto blinked, caught off guard by the clipped words. "Eh? What’s going on? You look like you’re about to—"

"Just do it." Noel’s tone was sharp, eyes blazing with a mix of fear and resolve.

Roberto’s mouth opened, ready with another quip, but he froze. He had seen Noel serious before, but not like this. Still, old habits died hard. "Alright, alright. But you owe me an explanation later. Preferably with food involved."

He pulled free, grinning faintly despite the tension. "Man, you’re always dragging me into messes. Fine. I’ll get them."

Without another word, Roberto broke into a sprint in the opposite direction, his voice already echoing through the halls as he shouted for the others.

Noel exhaled once, forcing himself forward again. Selene glanced at him briefly, her expression unreadable, before matching his pace.

The system’s cold glow pulsed again:

[Time limit: 10 minutes, 31 seconds.]

The office was close. Too close for delays.

The corridor narrowed, the rune-lit walls closing in around them. Noel’s heart pounded against his ribs as the timer pulsed again.

[Time limit: 10 minutes, 02 seconds.]

He reached the final door, breath ragged, Revenant Fang already half drawn. Selene raised her wand beside him, her cyan eyes cold and steady. Noel pushed the door open hard, bracing himself for the worst.

The sight that met them was the exact opposite.

Inside, the office was quiet, warm light spilling from crystal lamps fixed to the corners. The scent of roasted beans lingered in the air. At the center of the room stood a polished wooden table, four chairs arranged neatly around it.

Nicolas von Aldros sat in one of them, perfectly at ease, a sheet of parchment in his hand. He scanned the page with calm precision, lips moving faintly as if reviewing the lines. On the table beside him rested a porcelain cup of coffee, steam still curling gently from its rim.

Noel froze in the doorway, Selene at his side. Both had run themselves breathless, sweat streaking their faces, urgency radiating from every motion. And yet the man they had come to save sat as if the world outside did not exist.

Nicolas looked up at last, his red eyes cool and unreadable. He folded the paper with care and set it aside.

"Noel. Selene." His voice carried no surprise, no hint of urgency—only the calm weight of recognition.

The timer glowed harsher in Noel’s vision, indifferent to the serenity of the scene.

[Time limit: 9 minutes, 47 seconds.]