Tessa stood before the giant board displaying the year's final rankings, where the best students were placed.
A little farther away, Scarlett watched the same list.
The last written test had been graded by the headmaster himself, while the referees handled the combat placements. Even the teachers were only now learning the results.
Most of Class B clustered around the middle section—fitting for the middle class. Only a handful of students broke free from that range, with one exception standing above all:
Rank 1: Alexander | Writing Test: 100 | Combat Ranking: 2nd
'He actually got a hundred, and if the last match hadn't been rigged, he would've taken first in combat too,' Scarlett thought. She wasn't the only one thinking that — most students were, especially those who were in the arena until the anticlimactic end.
Tessa, on the other hand, stared at his name absentmindedly. The chatter around where mostly praise, others jealousy, and reluctant noble respect—yet they barely registered. She could only think of their last conversation, the one that kept repeating in her mind.
'Was there really no way for us to work?'
This was not the first time she reached this conclusion, but every time that she thought or saw something that reminded her of him, the question returned.
'No. There wasn't anything I could have done. I don't even know if he'll survive his revenge… but I hope he does.'
Alex was gone. She still had a life to live, and she couldn't throw it away chasing him.
Scarlett took one last look before leaving. Today was her final day at the academy; from now on, she was a free agent. She still remembered Alex's words before the test—she had even written them down and stored the note in her spatial artifact.
'With how smart he is, he'll become a formidable ally one day,' she thought.
The rankings had barely settled, yet the gears of rumor and curiosity were already turning. People wanted to know everything about Alex—who he was, where he came from, what he looked like.
A race had begun: would the news reach the capital before Alex completed his mission?
Meanwhile, Alex enjoyed a quiet breakfast in the inn cafeteria. After eating, he went out to learn more of the city's layout. The better he understood the streets, the easier his escape would be. He mapped patrol patterns, escape paths, and the best places to disappear.
This time, he didn't cross paths with Eva, so he could get to know a big part of the section they were in.
Later, instead of waiting inside the inn for Bren, he lingered outside, hiding in the darkness, mixed with other people. The clouds above were black and heavy—promising a storm that would plunge the alleys into darkness.
His focus for the next few days was to understand Bren's guards. Bren himself was simple—predictable to the point of boredom. The guards, however, were another matter.
'They don't care about him, but they still follow every order. They're probably his parents' subordinates,' Alex thought. That was both good and bad.
Good because that meant that they would get far and be late to his callings.
Bad, because they would remain loyal even after Bren's death.
As night fell, he once again tailed the guards. This time, they went to a bar instead of a brothel, still choosing places far from Bren.
' They seem to want to get away from him no matter what, yet not away enough to where they wouldn't be able to reach him quickly in case of an emergency. That means I need to kill him quickly and move.'
Once Alex finished, he returned to his room and started brewing potions. He was making some that would turn into gas when they were thrown — this was done for the escape part of the mission.
Two days passed. Yet Bren remained painfully predictable. Alex walked a few meters behind him when he felt a light tap on his shoulder.
Then another.Then several more.
The taps became a drizzle, then a full storm.
Alex stared up in disbelief. 'I can feel mana in the water.'
A flood of ideas hit him, but they all required one thing: he had to strike now. The storm allowed him to freely cast water spells without preparing a water source first.
So once Bren reached the inn he was about to stay, Alex, for the last time, followed the guards to check how much time he would have to strike before they would be there.
Once he saw that, like always, they went far enough, Alex rushed towards the first inn he booked when he first came.
His bag was still there, filled with useful tools. After grabbing what he needed and changing into darker clothing, he hid the bag in a predetermined location and headed back.
Rain hammered the roofs as he moved from window to window. Soon, he heard the unmistakable noises of wild sex.
'Of course it's him,' Alex thought bitterly.
Of course, Bren had to be a douchebag even in that aspect, finding enjoyment only for himself, and not caring about the lady.
Bren's laughter and the woman's restrained discomfort made Alex's anger rise. He prepared a Spiked Water Arrow, coated the spell with neurotoxin, and silently opened the window.
The poison was a neurotoxin that should be lethal on its own, and he was using 20 times the dose needed to kill ten adults, so he was sure that Bren would die.
Alex aimed and then mercilessly shot the arrow without second thought at the exposed back of Bren, whose sole attention was on doing the girl.
Bren sensed danger too late. The spell struck his side, tearing flesh. The toxin entered immediately.
He stared at the silhouette framed by rain and lightning, eyes wide with horror. He tried to scream, but nothing came out.
"An eye for an eye. A life for a life," the figure said, his voice muffled by the storm.
Bren collapsed sideways, spasms twisting his limbs, foam bubbling from his mouth. Pain like a thousand burning knives tore through him.
The man watched him, head tilted slightly, like he was amused by his reaction.
The last thing Bren heard before his heart stopped was a quiet murmur:
"For Marc."
Then darkness swallowed him whole.
Bren Alderfell died—not in the way Alex had long imagined, but dead all the same.