CHAPTER 257: JIN’S ABSENCE.

Jin’s body lay still, half-buried in dust and blood.

For a long time, nothing moved.

Only his shallow breathing broke the silence.

Then, slowly—painfully—his fingers twitched.

His right hand clenched around the broken hilt of his sword.

The movement sent agony shooting through his arm, but it was enough.

His eyes fluttered open, blurry and dazed, gazing up at the moonlight spilling across the cracked ground.

His lips trembled as he exhaled a weak breath. "Still... not over," he murmured.

Every inch of him screamed to stay down.

His ribs burned, his legs throbbed, his vision spun, but Jin refused to fade into darkness.

He planted one trembling hand against the ground and tried to push himself up.

His arm buckled. He fell again, groaning in pain.

Minutes passed. He tried again.

And again.

By the third attempt, he managed to rise onto one knee.

His breathing was ragged, shallow.

Blood dripped from his chin, mixing with the dirt beneath him.

He used his sword as a crutch, dragging himself inch by inch until he was standing — though barely.

His body swayed like a leaf in the wind.

"Can’t... stay here..." he muttered to himself. His voice was hoarse and dry. "If they... see me like this..."

He wiped his mouth with the back of his trembling hand, smearing blood across his cheek.

The road before him seemed endless.

The lights of his home faintly glowed in the distance, a warm reminder of where he belonged — but it felt like a mountain away.

Still, he walked.

Each step was a battle.

The pain in his leg was unbearable, his body was half-numb, and every breath threatened to make him collapse again.

But he kept going.

Sometimes, he stumbled. Sometimes, he had to crawl for a few steps, using his hands to drag himself forward.

The cold air bit into his skin, and sweat mixed with blood on his face.

Yet, through it all, that same stubborn fire burned behind his eyes.

Hours passed before he finally reached the quiet street where his home stood.

His family’s house wasn’t far from the academy — a modest two-story building with wooden windows and a small courtyard.

The lantern by the door was still lit, casting a faint glow over the porch.

Jin stopped at the edge of the yard, breathing heavily.

He couldn’t enter through the front. If his parents saw him like this — bruised, bleeding, barely able to stand — they’d panic.

He couldn’t let that happen.

He forced himself around the side of the house, every step leaving faint drops of blood on the ground.

The small window to his room was half-open. He stared at it, gathering what little strength he had left.

Then, gritting his teeth, he reached up and began to climb.

The wooden frame dug into his palms.

His wounded leg almost gave out midway, and for a terrifying moment, he nearly slipped.

But he pressed on, dragging himself upward until he finally pulled his upper body through the window.

He tumbled onto the wooden floor of his room with a dull thud.

The impact made him hiss in pain. He lay there for a moment, catching his breath.

His heart pounded against his ribs like a drum.

The room was dark and quiet. The faint scent of herbs and dust filled the air.

Moonlight slipped through the window, lighting the corner of his desk and bed.

He dragged himself toward the small cabinet near the wall and fumbled for a bottle — his father’s old rice wine.

He pulled out the cork with shaking fingers and drank straight from the bottle.

The liquid burned his throat, sharp and bitter, but the heat gave him strength.

He drank again, coughing hard as the alcohol hit his wounds from within.

His reflection in the window glass looked like a ghost — swollen face, blood-streaked neck, eyes dim but alive.

"Damn... you..." he muttered under his breath, thinking of Ethan’s group.

He sat back, tearing off the blood-soaked remains of his shirt.

The sight beneath made him grimace — bruises everywhere, gashes along his ribs, and a deep cut across his shoulder.

He reached for the small jar of salt on his shelf — the one his mother kept for cooking.

It was all he had. He knew what was coming, but he had no choice. Infection was worse than pain.

He poured a handful of salt into his palm, took a deep breath, and pressed it against the open wounds.

The burn was instant and vicious.

His body convulsed. Every muscle locked up as fire tore through his skin.

His teeth clenched so hard his jaw trembled. He wanted to scream — to let it out — but he couldn’t.

If his family heard him, they’d rush in.

So he bit down on his sleeve and endured. Tears rolled silently down his face.

Seconds felt like hours. When the pain finally dulled into a deep ache, Jin slumped back against the wall, drenched in sweat.

He reached again for the bottle of alcohol and took another gulp, letting the burn wash through him.

Then he began wrapping the worst wounds with torn strips from his shirt, his movements slow and clumsy.

By the time he finished, the night was deep.

He changed into clean clothes.

His hands trembled as he removed the last of his bloodstained garments, folding them quietly before tossing them into a corner.

He sat on the edge of his bed, staring blankly at the floor.

His mind was quiet — too quiet.

The fight is replayed in fragments: Ethan’s burning spells, his own counterattacks, the taste of blood, the laughter of Ethan’s group. His fists tightened.

"I’ll remember," he whispered. "Every one of them."

Then, finally, exhaustion claimed him.

He lay down on the bed, still half-dressed, and closed his eyes. The faint moonlight fell across his bruised face as he drifted into a restless sleep.

The Next Morning

The academy’s bells rang at dawn, echoing across the sprawling campus.

Students poured into the courtyards and training grounds, chatting, laughing, stretching.

But Jin wasn’t there.

In the dormitory’s east wing, Ethan lay on a healer’s bed.

His body was wrapped in bandages that pulsed with healing light.

His face was pale.

Two healers worked beside him, murmuring soft spells as the magical aura flickered over his wounds.

Ethan’s group stands nearby.

"He’ll be fine," one of the healers said softly. "He lost too much mana. He needs rest."

They nodded once. "Understood."

But his jaw tightened slightly. He hadn’t expected Jin to push Ethan that far.

The memory of Jin’s defiant eyes still lingered in his mind like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

Meanwhile, at Ground One, the first-year students were gathering for morning drills.

Professor Sylvia stood at the front.

"Attendance," she called out crisply.

Students lined up, responding one by one. The usual chatter filled the air, but soon whispers began to spread.

"Where’s Jin?"

"I haven’t seen him since yesterday."

"And Cecelia too. She’s always here early."

"Even Kael’s not around..."

"Maybe something happened?"

The murmurs grew louder until Edwin turned toward Elysia, who stood beside him.

"You think Jin’s skipping training?" Edwin asked, wiping sweat from his brow.

Elysia frowned slightly. "He doesn’t seem like the type. He’s reckless, not lazy."

"Maybe he’s sick."

"Or at home," she said quietly.

Edwin glanced at her. "sick? From what?"

Elysia shook her head. "Just a feeling."

Her gaze drifted toward the academy gates — the same road that led out of the campus.

For a brief moment, she thought she saw something there, a faint trace of blood on the cobblestone path near the corner.

But when she blinked, it was gone.

Professor Sylvia clapped her hands. "Enough talking! Warm-ups begin now!"

Groans erupted across the crowd, but no one dared argue.

As the students began running, the day fell into its rhythm — laps, drills, chamber rotations, and endurance tests.

The heat chamber came first — the blazing red room where students trained under intense temperature.

Sweat poured down faces, and some nearly fainted before making it out.

Then came the cold chamber — its icy air biting through clothes, testing mental and physical resilience.

Breath turned to mist, and the ground glittered with frost.

By afternoon, everyone was exhausted, but the schedule didn’t end there.

Professor Sylvia ordered evening laps — another twenty rounds under the fading sun.

The first-years groaned again, running on sore legs and determination.

By the time dusk arrived, most collapsed onto the grass, panting heavily.

Elysia sat quietly at the edge of the field, wiping sweat from her neck. Edwin flopped down beside her, laughing weakly.

"That was brutal," he said between breaths. "I don’t think I can move tomorrow."

She didn’t respond. Her mind wasn’t here — it was elsewhere.

She thought of Jin again.

Something about his absence bothered her more than it should.

"He was reckless, yes, but not the type to miss training. And Cecelia too — she was never absent."

She sighed softly. "Tomorrow, I’ll check," she murmured.

"What was that?" Edwin asked.

"Nothing," she replied quickly. "Just talking to myself."

Back at Jin’s Home

He stirred slightly in his sleep, a low groan escaping his lips.

His body ached from head to toe. The bandages he’d made from torn cloth were soaked through, and the scent of blood and salt still lingered faintly in the air.

He opened his eyes slowly, staring at the wooden ceiling.

His body felt heavy.

His hand drifted toward the bottle of wine on the table. He picked it up, empty now, and sighed weakly.

The events of last night returned in flashes.

He clenched his hand into a fist.

"They’ll pay," he whispered. "Soon enough."

He lay back again, closing his eyes as exhaustion claimed him once more.