Chapter 80: The Battle
The weight of their gazes clung to me long after the nobles dispersed. Their polished shoes clicked against the stone as they vanished into the crowd, but I could still feel their eyes, like needles pressing into the back of my neck.
Alaric let out a strangled sigh. "You just turned down the most powerful study circle in the academy."
"Yes."
"Yes? That’s all you have to say? Loki, they’ll—"
"—try again," I interrupted. "Or they’ll get angry. Either way, they’ll reveal something useful."
Nyx hopped down from my shoulder, padding ahead with the arrogance of a shadow that owned the sunlight. "Useful," he drawled. "Yes, because what you need most in life is more furious noble brats hurling daggers at your back. Truly a flawless strategy."
"Thank you," I said.
"That wasn’t—"
"—a compliment, I know."
I kept walking.
The academy courtyard buzzed with motion: students chattering in their circles, professors sweeping past in their embroidered robes, attendants trailing behind with lowered heads. A hundred conversations, a thousand ambitions, all jostling under the cold beauty of marble towers.
And under it all, I felt the shift. A tension. Whispers flowed not just around me now, but toward me. My name had become a pebble dropped in a pond, sending out ripples that collided with other ripples, turning the water restless.
Which meant the predators were circling.
Good.
I didn’t have to wait long.
We had barely reached the edge of the lecture halls when the air sharpened. Students parted like waves, silence spreading through the crowd in uneasy ripples.
A figure stepped forward. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Golden hair catching the sun like a crown of fire.
Dorian.
Of course.
He wore his smile like a blade, elegant and deadly. His two shadows—those ever-present followers—flanked him like pillars. Around them, nobles whispered eagerly, hungry for bloodsport.
"Rat," Dorian said, his voice carrying across the courtyard. "I warned you."
I met his eyes. Calm. Steady. A thousand students watching, waiting.
"Careful," I said softly. "People might think you’re obsessed."
A ripple of gasps. Alaric made a choking noise beside me. Nyx sat down, tail curling like a noose.
Dorian’s smile thinned. He raised his hand. "Enough talk. Duel me. Here. Now."
The crowd roared with approval. Duels were entertainment. Nobles thrived on spectacle, on dominance displayed like banners.
Alaric tugged at my sleeve in panic. "Loki—you can’t—"
"I can," I murmured.
And then, louder: "Very well."
The courtyard erupted. Students surged forward, forming a wide circle. Professors stood at the edges, some frowning, some watching with avid curiosity. The academy’s rules permitted duels, so long as neither combatant died. A generous rule, considering how often "accidents" occurred.
I stepped into the circle. The stones beneath my boots felt colder, heavier, as though recognizing the weight of what was about to unfold.
Dorian removed his cape, handing it to one of his attendants. His golden eyes gleamed, sharp with hunger. "You embarrassed me before a crowd. Today, I’ll return the favor."
I smiled thinly. "I’d hate to disappoint you."
Nyx’s voice brushed my mind, low and urgent. Careful. He’s not playing for points this time.
Neither am I, I thought back.
The duel began.
Dorian moved first, summoning his grimoire in a blaze of golden light. The air thickened, shimmering with raw mana. Pages turned themselves, glowing with sigils that clawed at the sky. His weapon manifested—a spear of radiant steel, long as a banner pole, its edge burning with enchantments.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Of course. A spear—perfect for a lion. Regal, deadly, impossible to ignore.
He twirled it easily, the sunlight catching on its tip. "Kneel now, and I may let you crawl away with dignity."
I sighed. "So much for originality."
And then I raised my hand.
Cold silver light unfurled around me, coiling like smoke, wrapping like whispers. The chains.
They manifested with a low, metallic groan—the sound of iron dragged from a forgotten grave. Links glimmered in the air, black at the edges, silver at the heart, their weight both real and unreal. They circled me in a slow orbit, alive, breathing, watching.
The crowd fell silent.
Dorian’s smirk faltered for just a heartbeat.
Good.
The chains pulsed, eager. Hungry. I let them dance along my arms, trailing from my wrists like serpents waiting to strike.
"Your move," I murmured.
Dorian roared and lunged. His spear blurred, a streak of light aiming for my chest.
The first chain snapped forward.
Metal screamed as link met steel. Sparks flew, the impact rattling through the courtyard. The crowd cried out. Dorian staggered back, surprise flashing in his golden eyes.
I flicked my wrist. The chain uncoiled, darting low, snaking toward his ankle. He leapt, spear flashing downward to sever it. Too slow. The chain lashed around his leg, tightening with a hiss.
His balance faltered. I pulled. He crashed to the ground, stone cracking beneath him.
Gasps. Cheers. Disbelief.
I didn’t let up. Another chain shot forward, striking his spear, wrapping tight. He snarled, mana flaring, trying to burn it away. But the chains weren’t ordinary metal. They shimmered, resisting, feeding on the struggle.
Dorian’s roar split the air. He wrenched free with brute force, golden mana exploding outward in a shockwave that sent my hair whipping across my face. Students staggered back, shielding their eyes.
I skidded a step, chains shuddering around me. But they didn’t break. They only grew colder.
Dorian rose, fury blazing in his gaze. "What are those?"
I smiled. "Unfair."
He charged again, spear spinning, thrusts and sweeps blurring into a storm of golden arcs. I moved, weaving between strikes, chains snapping out to deflect, bind, disrupt. Each clash rang like thunder. Each movement pulled more whispers from the watching crowd.
And then—an opening.
One chain whipped around his arm. Another snared his waist. A third coiled around the spear itself.
He froze, trapped.
The courtyard held its breath.
I stepped forward, chains tightening, forcing him down. His knee struck the stone with a crack.
A lion, kneeling.
The crowd erupted. Some shouted in disbelief, others in delight. Alaric’s eyes were wide, his face pale, but behind it—pride.
Dorian snarled, thrashing, golden mana flaring brighter, threatening to tear the air apart. The chains groaned under the strain, trembling, hungry. I leaned close, my voice low enough only he could hear.
"Remember this feeling," I whispered. "Chains biting. Knees breaking. Pride burning."
His breath came ragged, eyes blazing hatred.
I tightened the chains once more—then released.
He collapsed forward, catching himself on trembling arms. The spear clattered against the stone.
The silence that followed was deafening.
I straightened, chains curling back around me like loyal wolves. My gaze swept the crowd. Every noble, every attendant, every professor—watching. Calculating. Remembering.
Then I smiled.
"Check," I said.
The circle broke into chaos. Students shouted, argued, gossiped. Professors moved to restore order, though some looked far too amused. Dorian’s attendants rushed to his side, helping him to his feet. His glare burned into me, molten and murderous.
"This isn’t over," he hissed.
"It never is," I replied.
He turned and stormed away, cape ragged, pride bleeding. His followers scrambled after him.
The crowd parted, buzzing like a hive. Whispers flew faster than sparks in dry grass.
Chains.
He bound him like a dog.
What kind of grimoire is that?
Not noble. Not proper.
But gods, did you see—
Alaric stumbled to my side, still pale. "Loki, that was—you—he—"
"Yes."
"You chained him like a—like a criminal!"
"Accurate."
Nyx leapt back onto my shoulder, golden eyes gleaming. "Well. Subtlety is dead. Congratulations. Now the whole academy knows you’re dangerous."
"Good," I said, brushing dust from my sleeve. "Dangerous pieces don’t get ignored."
Alaric groaned. "They also don’t live long."
I glanced at him, smiling faintly. "That’s the beauty of chains, Alaric. They don’t just bind. They endure."
We walked from the courtyard, whispers chasing us like shadows.
The board had shifted. Pieces had moved.
And for the first time, the nobles had seen not just a rat, but the chains that rattled in the dark.
We hadn’t even cleared the courtyard before the ripples began to harden into waves.
Students scurried past us, whispering louder than they thought. Some looked at me with awe, some with fear, but none with indifference. That was worse than victory—it was attention. The dangerous kind.
A professor in dark robes intercepted us, her eyes sharp as needles. "Loki, was it? Report to the Head Council chambers after lessons." She didn’t wait for an answer before striding off, robes whispering like threats.
Alaric’s face drained of color. "The Council? That’s—that’s bad, Loki. Very, very bad."
"Or very, very good," I murmured.
Nyx yawned from my shoulder. "Good? You’ve just waved your shiny chains in front of every predator in this school. They’ll either want to cut them—or wear them."
"Exactly."
Alaric groaned. "You’re insane."
I didn’t answer. My gaze drifted back to the courtyard, where Dorian still stood, shoulders heaving as his attendants tried to usher him away. He turned once, eyes burning into me, a silent promise carved in fire.
Hatred. Rage. Wounded pride.
All useful.
I smiled faintly, letting the thought coil around me like another chain.
The board was set. The lions had bared their teeth.
Now the real game could begin.