Rise Of The Lesser-Blood

The official administrative bells of the academy spire rang out in a slow, rhythmic cadence that echoed straight down to the base of the tower.

The final match of the freshman tournament had officially concluded, but the formal decree could not wait for a lesser to rest. High above the battlefield, the four figures in flowing robes rose from their ornate stone chairs. These were the true rulers of the institution’s inner circle, the Academy Council. The Headmaster remained entirely absent, leaving the academy’s supreme authority to these four individuals, all of whom carried themselves with a sharp, heavy presence that made them look more like wise sages than mere instructors.

Despite their vast, crushing mana signatures, a closer look revealed that none of them were ancient. They were all in their early to mid thirties, an incredibly young age for individuals wielding such absolute power in the kingdom. Thomas had woken up not so long ago, he found himself still on the sand and because he was new to the school, he remained standing on the black sand, staring up at them with an unshakeable, quiet focus. His body was slow to heal from the grueling attrition, his chest still throbbing behind his fresh linen wraps as he stood swaying unsteadily on his feet, but he forced himself to stay conscious as the figures stepped forward to introduce themselves properly.

Stepping to the gilded marble railing, the first figure spoke, his voice crisp and clear. ”I am President Cedric of House Wisa,” he announced, his pale features and sharp, platinum tinted hair contrasting sharply with his dark crimson robes.

Next to him, the second man stepped forward, his broad shoulders wrapped in a plain grey tunic that failed to hide the dense, compact muscle fibers beneath. ”I am Vice President Declan,” he said, his voice deep and gravelly. Declan was one of the very few lesser bloods, much like Peter, who had awakened a very, very strong talent, and that was exactly why he had managed to claw his way into such a powerful administrative position, his eyes locking onto Thomas with a subtle look of respect.

To their left, the third figure inclined her head, her golden eyes carrying a piercing, judicial weight that seemed to measure the worth of every soul in the stands. ”I am Director Seraphina of House Pint,” she stated calmly.

And finally, leaning forward with a faint, dangerous smirk, the last woman spoke, her flowing sapphire robes catching the high altitude wind. ”And I am Dean Talia of House Erengale.”Dean Talia raised her hand, her soft, melodic voice instantly amplified across the massive stadium as she delivered a shallow yet inspiring speech to the crowd.

”The tournament has concluded,” Talia announced, her words quietening the murmurs of the High bloods. ”The path to dominance in this world is never written in ink; it is carved through the absolute limits of the soul. Today, you have witnessed the standard of Blackspear. Let the weak remember their place, and let the strong realize that their ascension has only just begun. The kingdom does not require sheep, it demands weapons.”

The crowd let out a collective breath as Talia lowered her hand, her gaze dropping directly toward the center of the sand where Thomas was being forcefully propped up by the academy support mages. In this world, all awakened individuals possessed a form of accelerated healing, a passive biological trait woven directly into their mana circuits from the moment of their awakening.

However, this recovery differed heavily per rank, and it only ever dealt with minor damages, knitting superficial cuts, soothing minor skin burns, and cooling bruised tissue over several hours. For the deep, structural devastation Thomas had suffered, the passive trait barely brushed the surface, leaving him to rely entirely on his own raw endurance to stay awake.

”Congratulations to lord Julian of Class 1-A, and Thomas of Class 1-A,” Talia continued, her sharp eyes glinting. ”You have scaled the final bracket. You will be inducted into the academy’s ultimate elite squad, The Horsemen of Calamity.”

Julian stood perfectly pristine a few paces away, his immaculate white uniform completely untouched by the sand. Hearing the announcement, he didn’t offer a single cheer. Instead, he subtly side eyed Thomas, looking at the lesser’s bloody, tattered form with a cold, unyielding disgust before slowly shaking his head. To him, sharing a stage with a lesser blood was a stain that even a such a glorius promotion could barely rinse away.

Whoosh.

Before the thousands of spectators could even begin to roar their approval, the five figures sitting in the isolated tier of the stands descended simultaneously. There was no loud crash; they simply blurred out of existence and landed softly on the black sand directly in front of the two freshmen, their combined passive mana creating an invisible, heavy weight that stabilized the shifting grains.

Standing right at the front was the Midnight Valkyrie, her presence carrying a terrifying, unshakeable majesty as the silver runes along her ebony armor slowly pulsed.

”Congratulations,” Cecilia said, her beautiful voice carrying an unyielding authority through the steel of her visor. She tilted her head slightly, her polished visor reflecting Thomas’s bruised features. ”I am Cecilia of House Carter, vice captain of this cohort. This is Edward, Bron, Sabrina, and Peter. We are the Horsemen of Calamity. Apologies, our leader is not around today so he could not make it, but he sends his greetings. Welcome to the team.”

Even though both boys already knew exactly who they were from the public doctrines and the awakening ceremony, the formal introduction carried an immense, heavy finality.

Julian didn’t even wait for her to finish. His face twisted into a cold, irritated scowl as he adjusted his posture, his ebony eyes completely bare as he looked at the older girl. Cecilia was his older sister by a single year, but his absolute disregard for her rank was loud. ”Cut it out, Sis,” Julian spat jaggedly, his voice dripping with venom. Without a single word of respect, he turned on his heel and walked straight past the legendary cohort, his boots crunching arrogantly against the sand as he stormed off toward the exit tunnels.

Thomas was left standing in a complete daze, his mind struggling to process the sudden, revelation that the two high bloods were siblings. Shaking himself out of the stupor, he quickly forced his lips to move, bracing his aching ribs as he bowed slightly toward the remaining armored figures to introduce himself properly.

”I am Thomas,” he said quietly, his voice level. ”Lesser blood of Class 1-A. It is an honor.”

Cecilia stood perfectly still for a fraction of a second. Then, a soft, incredibly clear giggle echoed out from beneath the dark steel of her visor, a sound so surprisingly light that it completely shattered the terrifying weight of her ebony plate.

”I know exactly who you are, freshman,” Cecilia murmured playfully.

Thomas’s eyes widened into circles of absolute, unadulterated realization as her words hit his chest. That voice. It wasn’t the distant tone of a noble goddess, it was the exact same soft, lazy, and slightly raspy drawl that had broken into his thoughts in the infirmary.

Before he could even speak, Cecilia raised both hands to the base of her collar. With a sharp, metallic click, she slowly took off her helm.