Iren's robe was slashed open from shoulder to waist, revealing his snow-white, toned chest and the smooth, firm lines of his abdomen. A small glimpse of his right pectoral and the faint outline of his collarbone drew every eye in the plaza. At that moment, the pretty light-mage boy was so embarrassed and panicked he couldn't hold back a sharp, humiliated cry. That pale, flawless expanse of skin instantly attracted the heated stares of the male students from the light major.
Iren had always been an exceptionally beautiful youth—slender yet athletic, with an inviolable holy aura that made him seem almost untouchable. Right now, with his robe torn and his smooth skin exposed under the morning sun, that sacred image shattered into something far more tempting. Several of the older male light-mage students, at the age when curiosity about other boys burned hottest, forgot to cast any spells at all. Their gazes lingered shamelessly on Iren's bared torso, breaths quickening.
By the time the rest of the crowd realized the Little Skull was moving again, it was already too late. The inky-black skeleton darted forward with unnatural speed, bone dagger gleaming. No one dared loose magic for fear of hitting Iren instead.
Iren's sky-blue eyes filled with despair as he stared into the empty sockets of the Little Skull. He froze, too frightened to move, certain he was about to be killed by the weakest of dark creatures—a mere skeletal warrior. The humiliation burned hotter than any wound.
"Rip…"
A chill swept across Iren's right hip. He thought he had been stabbed—until he looked down. The robe from waist to thigh had been sliced clean open, exposing the firm curve of his waist, the long, smooth line of his leg, and the edge of his light-green undergarments now torn along one side. Gasps and the sound of several boys swallowing hard filled the air; a few female students whispered frantically.
"Ah—!"
To be killed would have been terrifying enough, but to be stripped half-naked in front of the entire plaza was worse than death. An ear-piercing shriek tore from Iren's throat. He clutched one arm across his chest and the other over his exposed thigh, stumbling backward in utter disarray, cheeks burning crimson.
"What the hell is wrong with this Little Skull? Why is it cutting Iren's clothes off?!"
"Stop staring—kill it already!"
Amid the chaos, the light-major students finally snapped out of their daze and began raising their hands to chant.
The Little Skull stood motionless for a second, as if waiting for another order. Han Shuo's heart clenched; he didn't know how to call it back without revealing himself.
Lian looked like he wanted to speak, but when he saw Iren's torn robe and the way the boy's slender, half-exposed body trembled, Lian's lips pressed into a thin line and he stayed silent.
"Damned dark creature! How dare you lay a hand on the beautiful Master Iren! Accept the punishment of Claude, journeyman knight of the Gryphon Legion!" A powerful voice rang out as a tall, silver-haired youth sprinted into the plaza at blinding speed.
Claude's refined features were striking—sharp jaw, bright eyes, and a body honed by rigorous training that filled out his white knight's robe with obvious muscle. The moment he appeared, several light-major girls flushed and whispered excitedly, while the boys shot him envious or resentful glances.
Claude closed the distance in an instant. His right fist glowed pale green as he punched forward. The fighting aura slammed into the dazed Little Skull, sending it flying through the air to crash onto the stone pavement.
"Master Iren, forgive my late arrival. I hope I haven't frightened you too badly," Claude said, bowing elegantly, voice warm and courteous.
Iren, still clutching his torn robe, breathed a visible sigh of relief at the sight of the handsome knight. He was about to reply when he noticed the Little Skull shakily rising behind Claude. Panic flashed across his holy, beautiful face again. "Claude—behind you! Destroy that filthy thing and… and I'll eat with you tonight."
Claude's expression shifted instantly from courteous to fierce. He spun, aura flaring, and punched again. The pale-green fighting aura shot straight at the Little Skull.
At that exact moment, a thin, frail figure dashed out from the side and planted himself directly in front of the skeleton.
Bang!
The fighting aura struck Han Shuo square in the chest. He staggered back several steps, then toppled over backward.
"Eh? Who's that errand boy? Why would he throw himself in front of Claude's strike?!"
"Damn it, Bryan, have you really gone mad?!" Jack cried out in horror, legs trembling as he ran forward.
Lian stared, stunned, at the skinny figure who had just shielded the Little Skull.
What happened next shocked everyone even more. Han Shuo did not cough blood or die. Instead, he pushed himself up shakily, wearing the same silly, vacant smile as always.
Meanwhile, the Little Skull suddenly jerked as if electrified, spun on its heel, and bolted toward the necromancy district with impossible speed, vanishing between the buildings before anyone could react.
Claude, who had just thrown the punch, staggered oddly and nearly fell. He caught himself, breathing hard, and stared at Han Shuo with open astonishment.
Inside his body, Han Shuo felt the fighting aura slam into his chest like a hammer—then the demonic yuan surged, wrapping around the foreign energy and swallowing it whole. The pain faded to a dull tightness. No real damage. His mental strength, sharpened by the shock, had also let him issue one last clear command to the Little Skull: flee and hide in the garbage dump.
"Master Fin, what are you doing here?" Lian finally recovered and called out, voice tight.
Han Shuo kept the same blank, foolish grin, pretending he hadn't heard a thing. To everyone else, the half-crazy errand boy had simply acted on instinct.
"Oh, it's just that mad errand slave from the necromancy major. No wonder he's reckless!"
"Yeah, only an idiot would jump in front of a knight's punch!"
Jack's legs were shaking, but he still grabbed Han Shuo's arm and tried to drag him away. "Bryan, let's go back. There's nothing fun here…"
"Hold on." Claude's voice cut through the air. His sharp gaze locked onto Han Shuo. He ignored the fleeing skeleton for now, puzzled by the strange drain he had felt in his fighting aura the moment it touched the boy. *Impossible… he's just a slave. I must be imagining things.*
"Noble knight Claude, you wouldn't lower yourself to quarrel with a mad errand boy, would you?" Lian spoke up unexpectedly, tone cool. "It hardly suits your status."
Claude bowed politely toward Lian, then gave Han Shuo one last deep look before nodding. "You may leave."
"The two errand slaves can go," Iren said coldly, now wrapped in a loose white outer robe someone had thrown over him. His voice still trembled with humiliation. "But you, Lian—you owe me an explanation for summoning that filthy skeleton and tearing my clothes like this!"
"What does it have to do with me?" Lian snorted. "I didn't summon that weird black Little Skull. If I had, how could I have lost control of it? It broke into my room last night and kicked me twice—I'm a victim too!"
"How is that possible? If it wasn't you, then who? It must have been someone from your necromancy major. Whoever it is, I'll make them pay!" Iren's beautiful face twisted with fury, teeth grinding.
"Heh heh… Bach… when I was throwing out the trash… I saw it… run out of Bach's room…" Han Shuo stammered with a foolish grin, words slow and slurred, but perfectly clear to everyone.
Lian's expression darkened at once. "So it was him. He must be trying to get revenge for me beating him last time."
Iren's face turned ashen with rage, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened.
Just as both boys looked ready to hunt Bach down, the academy bell rang loudly across the campus. Everyone froze. Light-major students hurried toward their classrooms; necromancy students sprinted the other way.
Only Han Shuo and Jack remained standing in the plaza. Han Shuo let out another dumb laugh and muttered to Jack, "Bach's finished."
Jack nodded vigorously, eyes shining with glee. "Yeah… he's really done for this time!"
Han Shuo's gaze drifted back to Iren's retreating figure—the torn robe still fluttering, revealing teasing glimpses of smooth skin—and then to Claude's tall, powerful back. A dark, possessive smile curved his lips.
*Pretty boys with holy auras and arrogant knights… both of you will kneel before me one day. Through rivalry, through strength, through the slow burn of desire… I'll claim every inch of that devotion.