Chapter Eight: The Honoured One
Midnight at Empiral Honour School was supposed to be silent.
Peaceful.
Sacred.
Instead—
The night was split open by a scream of fire.
---
Inside the principal's private chamber, velvet curtains swayed lazily from the open balcony doors. Candlelight flickered against polished marble walls, casting warm shadows over two intertwined figures.
The principal—one of the strongest flame users of her generation—was breathless.
Her husband's fingers traced down her spine as she arched beneath him, lips parted in quiet indulgence. For once, she was not the head of the academy.
She was simply a woman.
And then—
BOOM.
The building shook violently.
Glass shattered.
Mana surged like a tidal wave across the campus.
Her eyes snapped open instantly.
That wasn't an accident.
That wasn't training.
That was invasion.
She shoved her husband aside—not gently.
"Female dorms."
The air shifted.
No hesitation.
No panic.
Just instinct.
She grabbed the nearest night gown, flames already igniting across her skin as she stepped onto the balcony.
Then she vanished in a pillar of fire.
---
The female dormitory was engulfed.
Stone cracked.
Windows burst outward.
Screams echoed from inside the smoke.
Hovering above the destruction—
Eight figures.
Black cloaks.
Crimson sigils glowing across their chests.
S-Class.
Ninth Circle.
The air trembled under their mana pressure.
The Cult of Diablo.
Fanatics who worshipped the sealed Demon Lord. Who believed chaos would "purify" the world. Who sought relics, bloodlines, sacrifices—anything to break the seal.
And standing in front of them—
A Great Hell Knight.
Armor blackened like cooled lava. Mana so dense the very air warped around him.
When the principal landed, the ground beneath her feet cracked.
She assessed instantly.
Eight Ninth-Circle mages.
Manageable.
The knight?
She felt it.
If she fought him directly—
She would die.
But there was no choice.
Students were inside.
She raised her hand—
And flames erupted into the sky.
"I will burn you from existence," she declared.
The mages began chanting.
Mana circles stacked over one another, layers upon layers of spellwork forming.
The knight did not move.
He simply watched her.
Then—
A second explosion tore through the dormitory.
But this one—
Was controlled.
From within the flames—
He walked out.
Arthur Grayhound.
Carrying Amanda in his arms.
Unconscious, but unharmed.
The fire bent away from him.
Like it knew better.
He stepped calmly through the collapsing entrance and set Amanda down gently near the principal.
His gaze flickered over her briefly.
Alive.
Good.
Then he turned.
"I'll deal with the knight," Arthur said casually, as if discussing sparring practice. "You can handle those puny mages, right?"
The principal's eyes narrowed.
She could feel it.
Arthur's mana wasn't flaring.
It wasn't roaring.
It was—
Contained.
She nodded.
"Hold him off until I finish."
Arthur rolled his shoulders lightly.
"Take your time."
She launched upward, flames spiraling violently as she intercepted the eight mages.
Explosions lit the sky.
Chants broke into screams.
Fire devoured spell circles.
The campus became a battlefield.
---
The Hell Knight stepped forward slowly.
"You must be the protégé," he said, voice deep and distorted behind his helm. "Arthur Grayhound."
Arthur tilted his head slightly.
"You talk too much."
The knight chuckled.
"If you were a few years older, I would be forced to kill you seriously."
He rested his blade on his shoulder.
"But as you are now?"
He lifted the sword.
"You are not a threat."
Arthur yawned.
Actually yawned.
In the middle of burning dormitories.
In the presence of a Hell Knight.
"Midnight fights are rude," Arthur muttered.
Students watching from distant towers stared in disbelief.
Was he insane?
Arthur drew his blade slowly.
Smooth steel.
No flourish.
"Tell me," Arthur said calmly, "what's your name?"
The knight straightened proudly.
"Sir Olitim. The Disgraced One."
Arthur paused.
Then smiled faintly.
"Ah."
Something shifted.
Subtle.
But deadly.
"And do you know what they call me?"
Sir Olitim's voice deepened.
"The Honoured One."
The air split.
They lunged.
The first clash shattered nearby windows.
Shockwaves blasted outward in rings of compressed mana.
Steel screamed against steel.
Each impact cratered the ground beneath them.
Students and even the principal—locked in battle—couldn't help but glance toward them.
This wasn't sparring.
This was war.
Arthur moved with surgical precision.
Olitim countered with brutal force.
Blade met blade dozens of times within seconds.
The knight's strength was monstrous.
Each swing heavy enough to cleave buildings.
Arthur blocked. Redirected. Slid past strikes by inches.
Then—
Olitim feinted.
Arthur's guard shifted—
Too late.
In one devastating motion—
The knight severed both of Arthur's hands.
Gasps erupted across campus.
Before Arthur could react—
The blade thrust forward.
Straight through his chest.
Out the back.
Silence.
The knight withdrew the blade.
Arthur collapsed.
Students stared in horror.
Amanda, half-conscious, felt her chest tighten painfully.
The principal froze mid-spell.
She wanted to move.
But the mages were still attacking.
Olitim exhaled slowly.
"A pity."
He turned to sheath his blade—
And laughter echoed.
Soft at first.
Then louder.
Arthur stood.
Blood dripping.
Hands gone.
Hole through his heart.
Laughing.
Students stepped back in fear.
The knight turned slowly.
Arthur's wounds—
Were closing.
Flesh reconnecting.
Bone reforming.
Hands regenerating like time reversed itself.
The knight staggered back.
"How—"
Arthur stretched his newly formed fingers experimentally.
"It's simple mathematics," he said casually.
Everyone stared.
"Ki energy," Arthur continued, "is negative energy from the body. Multiply that negative by itself, it becomes positive. Multiply that positive against itself, add back the negative constant—"
He tapped his chest lightly.
"You get regeneration."
He laughed again.
"Elegant, isn't it?"
No one understood.
Arthur smiled wider.
"Blue Ki is attraction."
A faint blue shimmer flickered around him.
"Red Ki is repulsion."
Crimson aura surged outward violently.
"But what happens when you fuse them?"
He tilted his head.
"I've asked myself that every day."
His aura shifted.
Red and blue spiraled together.
Compressing.
Condensing.
Until—
Purple.
Not bright.
Not loud.
Just—
Wrong.
Reality seemed to thin around it.
"Eraser," Arthur whispered.
He flicked a small orb forward.
It traveled lazily.
Almost unimpressive.
Until it touched Olitim.
For half a second—
Nothing.
Then—
A silent implosion.
Followed by an explosion that tore the sky open.
When the smoke cleared—
Olitim stood frozen.
A massive portion of his torso—
Gone.
Cleanly erased.
Like existence rejected him.
He looked down at the hollow space where his body should have been.
Then he laughed weakly.
"To die… by the Honoured One…"
He fell.
And did not rise again.
---
Across the battlefield—
The last mage fell screaming beneath the principal's flames.
Silence returned.
Smoke drifted through the air.
Students stared at Arthur like he was something beyond human.
The principal descended slowly.
Her eyes met his.
"You held back," she said quietly.
Arthur wiped nonexistent dust from his sleeve.
"I didn't."
His gaze shifted.
To Amanda.
Still breathing.
Still safe.
That was all that mattered.
He walked toward her calmly, as if nothing extraordinary had just occurred.
Behind him—
The legend of the Honoured One solidified into something far more terrifying.
And somewhere—
Deep beneath the earth—
Something ancient stirred.
The Cult of Diablo had not come randomly.
They had come for something.
Or someone.
And tonight—
They had confirmed it.
---
The end....