Journey to Become the Zenith

A Calm Blade in a Storm

Out near the academy gates, things turned sharp while inside the air grew thick. Nobles who once stood calm now tapped their feet too hard. Voices climbed over one another instead of waiting their turn. Faces tightened like fists pulled shut. That quiet mask they wore? It split along an old line.

A figure planted in place, Max faced the group. Stillness held his frame, a quiet strength in his stance.

A whisper of breeze touched his gray strands, fabric swaying low across weathered shoulders - still he stood, unmoved, rooted deep like stone that knows no hurry when clouds roll near.

Fidgeting grew among the nobles, their patience thinning each time the Principal said no. Silence would follow, then murmurs, as his refusal stood firm once again.

Out of nowhere, a voice cut through - ”You’re crossing a line now, Principal Max” - sharp, lacking any courtesy it once had.

Another stepped forward, his jaw tight. ”Do you truly intend to protect a thief against the will of so many noble families?”

A third scoffed openly. ”You may have been someone in the past... but times change.”

Yet despite their words—

None of them stepped forward.

None of them dared to act.

Because even now—

They remembered.

Even though he was old, Max was once a legend of the battlefield. A man whose name had been whispered with both respect and fear. And more importantly—

He wasn’t alone.

The old man had countless knights who would stand behind him without hesitation. Many of them were his former students, now powerful figures scattered across the kingdom. Touching him wasn’t just a risk—

It was inviting consequences.

Messing with Max wasn’t something the noblemen gathered could afford to do.

And they knew it.

That was why they barked—

But did not bite.

Just as the tension threatened to spill over—

A presence arrived.

The sound of hooves.

Steady.

Measured.

It cut through the noise.

One by one—

The nobles turned.

And when they saw him—

Their voices died.

Shawn Saulon.

The atmosphere shifted instantly.

What had been noisy moments ago fell into an uneasy silence.

Some nobles straightened subconsciously.

Others looked away.

A few exchanged quick glances, their earlier confidence wavering.

This was not just another noble.

This was one of the most famous figures of the younger generation.

A knight commander.

A genius.

A man who didn’t need to raise his voice to command attention.

And more importantly—

Someone they could not control.

If he chose to claim the weapon—

Everything would change.

Max noticed him immediately.

A faint smile appeared on the old knight’s face.

Not mocking.

Not wary.

Just... acknowledging.

”If it isn’t the knight commander Shawn Saulon,” Max said calmly. ”How can I help you today?”

Shawn felt the room shift toward him. Every gaze landed on his face at once.

Waiting.

Watching.

A sudden stillness followed when Shawn stepped off his steed, the soft clink of steel brushing earth beneath him. Quiet settled on his face - no shift, no tell.

He stepped forward -

After that came a stiff bow, hand on heart.

Perfect.

Disciplined.

”It’s a simple matter, Sir Max,” he said. ”I just wanted to inform you that my younger brother Albion will be leaving the academy, and will be returning home.”

He spoke without wavering.

Respectful.

”I wish to thank you for the two years my younger brother received your care.”

Following close, each of his team matched his move without delay, offering Max a sharp salute in perfect sync.

The contrast was striking.

While the nobles stood in tension and greed—

Shawn stood with clarity.

Purpose.

Control.

Max’s smile deepened slightly.

”Oh, that’s too bad,” he said, a faint sigh escaping him. ”He was a very impressive student. Aside from his character... his skill was one of the best in the entire academy.”

Shawn didn’t react emotionally.

But something in his gaze hardened just a fraction.

”It doesn’t matter how much skill he has with the sword,” Shawn replied calmly, ”if his character is rotten.”

A brief pause.

”My father will make sure to straighten out his rotten character.”

There was no anger in his voice.

Just judgment.

”Once again, thank you for all the years you tried to teach such a useless younger brother.”

The words were spoken cleanly.

Without hesitation.

But they landed heavily.

Some of the nobles shifted uncomfortably.

Even they could feel it—

That cold, merciless honesty.

After speaking, Shawn gave another slight nod, then turned, preparing to mount his horse again.

”I hope you allow me to stay at the side,” he added calmly, ”while I wait for my younger brother.”

Max waved his hand lightly.

”There is no need for you to ask permission. The academy does not own the road.”

A faint pause.

Then—

His eyes sharpened just slightly.

”Sir Shawn... are you not interested in the magic weapon that the others gathered here are trying to gain?”

That question—

Cut straight through the silence.

Every noble present froze.

All attention snapped toward Shawn.

This—

Was what mattered.

Even those who had been whispering earlier now held their breath.

Because his answer—

Would decide everything.

Shawn didn’t react immediately.

He simply stood there for a moment, as if considering something trivial.

Then—

He answered.

”I have no interest in the possessions of other people.”

Simple.

Clear.

A few nobles visibly relaxed.

Others frowned.

But Shawn wasn’t finished.

”Also...” he added, his gaze shifting slightly, ”it doesn’t seem like the girl is as helpless as everyone believes her to be.”

That line—

Changed the mood again.

Confusion.

Suspicion.

Unease.

Several nobles followed his gaze instinctively.

Toward a distant rooftop.

There—

A figure stood.

Lane.

Her long black hair moved gently with the wind, her eyes calm, focused, watching everything without panic or haste. Around the academy’s perimeter, several figures were positioned carefully—hidden, but not invisible to someone who knew where to look.

They weren’t random.

They were placed.

Prepared.

Shawn’s eyes lingered there for a brief moment.

Then shifted away.

As if he had already understood everything he needed to.

Because far from this scene—

A certain man had already anticipated it.

Victor.

He had already guessed that it was possible that some random noble would discover Amura. He knew Videl well enough—knew her nature, her instinct to act, to help, to reveal strength without thinking about the consequences.

She wasn’t someone who hid power.

And because of that—

Victor had prepared.

He had told Lane to be ready.

Not for a fight.

But for what comes before it.

And now—

That preparation stood silently above them all.

Watching.

Waiting.

Just like the storm—

That hadn’t yet begun.