As Magus Selharen exited the classroom, his footsteps fading into the distance, a familiar arrogance made its way toward Corvin's seat.
Nareth Vaelion stood beside him again, eyes gleaming with misplaced confidence and barely restrained disdain. His smirk was theatrical, his voice dripping with mock civility.
"Mercenary," he began, "you know what that word means? A tool. A blade for hire. A thing that can be bought."
Corvin remained reclined, eyes closed.
"What's your price mercenary, how much gold should I throw at your feet to see you walk out of the Arcanum?"
There were a few hushed chuckles nearby. Several students turned to watch, hoping for the situation to escalate.
Corvin didn't move, but his voice was sharp. "Tell me, duckling, what is the highest rank in your little family? Or shall I say barn, if you're their finest, it's insulting to even call it a house."
Nareth's jaw clenched. The flush in his cheeks darkened.
"We have five Magus ranked members in our family," he shouted, louder than necessary. "My father is one of them! You'll regret ever stepping foot into Umbraxis, mercenary!"
He tried to turn, preparing to storm off, but his body refused to move.
A few nearby students gasped, they saw the telekinetic weaves. Others quickly lowered their gazes. One or two had already darted from the room, no doubt eager to report the incident to Magus Selharen.
Corvin stood slowly, towering over Nareth by nearly a head and a half. The class fell into a heavy silence.
With no preamble, Corvin harshly gripped Nareth's chin and tilted his face upward with careless strength, looking into his eyes, he smiled after seeing the fear there. His hand was firm, but his expression held no rage, only methodical interest.
Then, ruthlessly, he began to mindwalk.
Nareth's mind was unguarded. Weak. Within moments, Corvin sifted through the folds of memory and structure. The short life of the moron. The location of House Vaelion. Names of family members. The interior layout of their estates. Vault placement. Magical defenses. Weak points.
Everything.
Nareth's body began to tremble. Foam bubbled from the corners of his mouth, his ears and nose bleeding, eyes bulging and red with burst vessels.
Corvin confirmed Nareth's claims: only Magus ranked members. No Archmagus or Planarchs. No threats.
Nothing worth being cautious.
He released the boy'from his telekinetic hold, only to grasp him by the throat and lift him clean off the ground. Nareth kicked and writhed, arms flailing, but Corvin's grip didn't budge.
The class remained silent. Not a soul dared intervene. Even the few noble born students who might have once postured now sat rigid, pale, and quiet.
Then came the door slamming open.
Magus Selharen stepped in, his face taut with contained urgency.
"Raven," he said evenly, though his voice carried weight. "Let the idiot go. He's not worth your time."
Corvin's head tilted slightly at the request. He hurled Nareth across the room like discarded cloth. The boy crashed in a heap at Selharen's feet.
"Tell him," Corvin said without raising his voice, "his kin's days are numbered."
Then, with a shimmer of shadow and the subtle trick of Dark Elven cloaking, Corvin vanished from the room.
The silence that followed was absolute.
None of the students would forget the lesson that day.
--
Nareth awoke groaning. His throat was raw, aching with every breath. A heavy pounding bloomed behind his temples, and the coppery taste of dried blood clung to his tongue. As he shifted upright in the infirmary cot, his fingers curled, ready to snap at someone, anyone to bring him water.
But a voice cut through the haze. Cold. Venom laced.
"Thank you, son."
Nareth turned, expecting concern.
Instead, he met the stony glare of his father. Magus Varyel Vaelion. The lines around the older elf's eyes were deeper than usual, and his arms were crossed, as if restraining himself from violence.
"Nareth," Varyel began, his tone glacial, "did your mentor not warn you not to trifle with Raven? Did Magus Selharen not explicitly instruct you not to provoke him?"
Nareth blinked, mind still foggy. "I... I don't understand. That animal attacked me. He dared lay hands on your son, Father."
He raised his voice, indignation blooming. "A mercenary mind raped me in class! He has all of House Vaelion's secrets now. He must be captured. Executed! He attacked a son of House Vaelion!"
Varyel's silence was terrifying.
Then he closed his eyes for two long seconds, opened them again, and muttered, "Why, Dark Mother... what sin have I committed to be punished with such a punishment?"
Nareth flinched.
Another voice entered, Magus Selharen, arms behind his back, gaze cool. "You've got bigger problems than hurt pride, Nareth. Raven didn't just humiliate you. He declared war on your House."
The weight of those words landed with a crushing stillness.
Selharen continued, "Your father is here to speak with Rector Arathen Vaellis. The faculty is on edge. The issue? We can't find Corvin. No one knows where he is, and we have no way to track or reach him."
For the first time, Nareth felt something slide beneath his skin.
Fear.
Not of pain or punishment. Something deeper. Colder.
Varyel stepped forward, his voice low but thunderous. "The mercenary you mocked, the one you 'offer' to throw gold to leave the academy? He has dispatched Archmagus level targets without ever being seen. He moves like a phantom. He kills without remorse."
He leaned in closer, eyes gleaming with fury. "And thanks to your arrogant little tantrum, our House is now on his list."
Nareth tried to speak, but no words came. His throat worked uselessly.
Varyel straightened. "You will fix this. You will beg him. Crawl, prostrate, sob. I don't care how. But you will do whatever it takes to make him remove our name from his list. Or I will finish the job he started myself."
With that, Varyel turned on his heel and strode out.
Nareth sat frozen, throat burning, tears welling in his eyes.
He turned to Magus Selharen, desperate. "Sir..."
Selharen met his gaze, unblinking. "It was good to know you, boy. May the Dark Mother judge your soul with mercy."
Then he, too, left.
--
Contrary to what the faculty believed, Corvin was not hunting. He was deep within one of Umbraveyn's dense forests, far from the Arcanum's prying eyes. The shadows cloaked his presence as he stood among towering blackwoods, hands calmly extended as he practiced the art of teleportation.
He started small. Five meters. Ten. Fifteen.
With each shift, he focused on the core principles etched into his mind by Selharen's memories: the spatial imprint, the anchor point, and most importantly, the gap between intention and result. Space magic was not about simply vanishing and reappearing. It was about controlling the boundary between here and there.
He progressed steadily. Twenty meters. Then fifty. Each time, he imagined the terrain, adjusted his positioning, and executed the shift.
He learned quickly that a perfect image of the destination mattered. On one attempt, his foot materialized partially into a knotted tree root, resulting in a limp and several minutes of swearing. After that, he always aimed to reappear at least five centimeters above ground level.
With repetition, the process became smoother. Cleaner. He stopped bracing for every jump and started flowing between destinations.
By midnight, he was blinking through the forest in one hundred meter intervals. Then two hundred. Three. He marked the trees with faint runes to track his progress. By the time the horizon bled silver with dawn, he had crossed over four kilometers on each jump, using nothing but successive teleports hw able to move larger distances within moments.
It wasn't much at least not when compared to the feats hidden in Selharen's memories. But it was his start.
His goal remained unchanged: fifty kilometers per jump, effortless and instinctive. He wanted the act of spatial travel to become second nature. He didn't want to think. He wanted to breathe it.
Corvin took a breath and vanished again.
Soon, he would return to the Arcanum.
He will challenge another five names from the Lightning leaderboard. And another space magic lesson was waiting for him.
But for now, the forest was his proving ground.
--
Corvin returned to the Arcanum before noon the next day, his pace unhurried, his expression unreadable. As he approached the dormitory assigned to him, he noticed someone waiting outside. An elven woman dressed in the uniform of the academy.
"Mr. Blackmoor," she called politely. "The faculty has summoned you at your earliest convenience. I am tasked to escort you to the meeting, Kindly follow me."
Corvin raised a hand, halting her. "Give me a moment to change."
He entered his room and returned several minutes later, dressed in a darker, more formal variation of the Arcanum's colors. Without a word, he followed her through several corridors and up a sloping ramp into the higher tiers of the Aetherreach Spire.
The chamber he entered was grand, with floating spheres of mana light orbiting a central crystal suspended in midair. Four individuals awaited him. He recognized Magus Selharen immediately. The second, after a heartbeat's reflection, he identified from Nareth's memories, Magus Varyel Vaelion, the boy's father.
The other two were unknown to him.
As Corvin stepped in, Magus Selharen stood. "Blackmoor. Thank you for coming on short notice. Please, sit."
Corvin gave no bow. He walked forward and seated himself, arms resting on his knees, posture composed. His eyes went to Selharen. "May I know the reason for this abrupt summons?"
His voice was calm, but cold.
Before Selharen could speak, Varyel stepped forward. "I am Magus Varyel Vaelion. I apologize for my son's behavior. His words and actions were unworthy of our house."
Corvin's gaze didn't shift.
Varyel gestured to the others. "These two Magi are here as mediators. I have requested their presence to help find a peaceful resolution to this... incident."
The room fell quiet for a breath.
As long as this young master trope will end it doesn not matter to him if the issue is solved by a 'meeting' here, or let Valions meeting their ancestors.
Corvin locked his gaze with the leder Vaelion, "I am listening Magus Varyel" he said with a faint smile that didn't reach his eyes.