Chapter 60: Racing Toward the Academy

Although Kilian spotted some faint similarities in the two's characters, never could he expect that Urag actually was Jezebel's father. In retrospect, Lena's heart teemed with envy. With a direct relative already settled in Kilian's mind, Jezebel now boasted an unquestionable advantage. In the race for the master's heart, how could she outpace her?

But as the information swirled in his mind, Kilian's eyebrows rose in confusion.

"Not right. He is not strong enough," Kilian reasoned. Although Urag crowned himself Lord, Kilian believed that if a Fehl Lord he truly was, among them, he'd undoubtedly rank at the bottom. Otherwise, even with Ashera's support, his soul wouldn't be able to endure him.

How could he possibly sire one as powerful as Jezebel? With her powers and that dreadful blood potency, at the very least, she'd rank high among Fehl Lords. Perhaps her true strength already stood at the Fehl Prince altitude. With the way Fehl reproduction worked, for a 200 years old Fehl to have such strength and potential wouldn't be possible without two flawless parents.

Expecting Kilian's reaction, Jezebel flashed a smile and replied.

"My birth process is different from other fehls. In a form of genetic engineering, my mother removed all the lesser characteristics I should have inherited from my father, and replaced them with her traits. Moreover, although Urag ranks at the bottom of the Fehl Lord hierarchy, his seed is unique and multiplies the potential of the children sired by him.

For that alone, he has always been quite popular among fehl daemonesses. Or so I heard. By the time I was born, he already was my mother's captive. Apparently, he offended too many people and couldn't survive without her protection," Jezebel seriously replied. There was only one way to permanently kill a fehl daemon—devouring.

Because Fehls' bodies were made of corrupted dra and magic, they still possessed that one weakness other races could exploit to end the immortal behemoths. However, typically only fehls could endure the consequences of devouring another fehl. For non-fehls, death, madness, or extreme corruption awaited.

"No wonders. I suppose the apple doesn't fall far from the tree," Kilian nodded and lowered his eyes on the black-gold, semi-bangle watch adorning his left hand. Rotating a button on the side, Kilian activated a sky-blue screen within which a catalog of stored devices stood. Storage watches were typical commodities of Arcadia's nobility, with the quality and space available depending on the watch's cost.

Kilian's could store 15 cubic meters. There, among other miscellaneous things, a map of the Arcadian continent stood. Selecting it, Kilian summoned the map and unfolded it on the ground. Thanks to Jezebel's blood, Kilian had not only recovered 100% of his dra and strength but also saw his reserves increase by 35%. His physical abilities rose tremendously.

And with 20,520 dra at Kilian's disposal, resolving the present predicament didn't require too much effort.

Kilian's third, vertical eye opened with the dark-grey hue of Revelation. For one minute, Kilian analyzed the map with scrutiny, establishing both their current location and distance from the Imperial Academy. His eyes then rose from the map, alternating between Jezebel and Lena.

"This is how we're going to proceed. Because I can't take more than one person with me, the two of you will first hide in the Hellforge. I will open a rift to port Erlom, and from then we'll board a ship for the Imperial Academy," Kilian explained. Even if he could draw a line all the way there, directly rifting to the Imperial Academy would trigger their space distortion radars and ring unwanted alerts. Therefore, they could only pay the exorbitant price of Erlom's ships.

The ladies nodded in approval. And after donning a new set of clothes from his storage watch, Kilian turned east. A massive quantity of dra burned in a sky-blue column as he pushed both his Eye of Revelation and Arcane Sight to the limit to draw an accurate path toward Erlom.

Without the clear line of sight, having never visited it beforehand, Kilian couldn't rift over there. After consuming 10,000 dra, he mapped the line, and the dark-grey eye turned crimson.

"Dimension Rift," Kilian uttered, tearing open a three meters long space gash aimed at one of Erlom's shadowy corners. In tandem, Jezebel and Lena stood up, Kilian pressed his hand on their foreheads, pulling them both into the Hellforge.

He then dove into the space gash. It closed behind him and reopened in the selected alley of Erlom. Tapping his forehead, Kilian retrieved the ladies, wrapped his hands around their waists, and raced toward the port. Moving at maximum speed, Kilian turned into a wind squall that sent any potential bystander spiraling in the air.

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There was no time to appreciate Erlom's scenery, and in one breath, Kilian arrived at the port, making his way through the last desperados to buy the remaining tickets. For various reasons, there would always be a few noble scions heading into the Imperial Academy on ship rather than flying vessels.

Typically, those were the children of counts, houses without the means to own aircraft, and too late to rent one. The ship was their last hope to reach the academy in time. Alas, none was prepared for the announcement that thundered from the massive boat.

"Due to cabin shortages, ticket prices rise to 2,000 qraftas." The words slammed the cluttered noble scions hard, and for a second, they stood there dazed, not knowing how to process the situation.

2,000 qraftas. If they had that much available, why would they be here?! In what world could they pay twice the tuition fees just to get to the academy?!

"Rubbish, rubbish, utter rubbish! From morning to evening, you took less than 30 people! With such a massive ship, how are the cabins full? Although I've been waiting here since 6 a.m. you forced me to wait hours upon hours, as you welcomed late entrants! Clearly, you're looking down on us, and absurdly raising the prices to brush us off!" One young noble snarled in indignation.

From infancy to maturity, he went through grueling training to ensure he could pass the Imperial Academy's examination. For his count-level house, 1,000 qraftas was no modest sum. Still, his family paid the fees to ensure his participation.

Now, before he could even reach the island, a ship blocked his path! How could he tolerate this slight? Alas, the words had barely left his lips, that a lightning ray shot from the ship, and tore through his forehead.

With a charred brain and burning body, the youth tumbled on the ground, never to rise again.

Instantly, terror struck all the nobility scions on the scene.

Murder!

Before the eyes of more than 100, the ship's owners dared murder nobility!

"Preposterous! Who do you think you are? Children of foreign counts, low nobility, and you have the gal to protest before an Imperial Ship? Is this a rebellion? Pass my order, verify the creature's background, and investigate his house on the charge of treason!" A youthful, overbearing voice thundered from the ship, and instantly, all nobility scions scattered from the docks.

Indeed, Erlom was the capital of the eponymous principality. The Princes of Erlom all were imperial scions, and while typically, princely titles shifted from one branch house to another, for centuries Erlom's Princes had maintained a firm grasp on their land.

The ruling von Skoll, their Erlom branch, and the Imperial Academy jointly managing the ship, trivial foreign count-level scions indeed didn't have the right to voice their discontent.

But as the noble scions dispersed, Kilian appeared alongside the now cloaked Lena and Jezebel, walked straight toward the ticket counter, tossed large bundles of banknotes on the table, picked up his tickets, and crossed the stairs. Beside the counter, the floating arcane mirror displaying the banknotes' count flashed a mesmerizing 6,000.

The breeze of silence blew on the scene, and nobles and ship guards alike stared slack-jawed at the new entrant, with their stretched, blinking eyes speaking tales of their disbelief.

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