"Frightening indeed," the Ambassador agreed, his expression unreadable as he reached into the space between realities. He produced a scroll bound in beast-sinew and tossed it toward Markus.
[System Alert: Ancient Eastern Cultivation Technique Acquired]
"Consider that a token of my curiosity," Lee said, ignoring the Emperor's sharp, questioning glance.
"Within those layers lies a comprehensive roadmap for internal alchemy: a high-density breathing technique to stabilize your mana, a body-refinement method to keep your skin from shattering, and a soul-forging manual to ensure your mind remains anchored when the 'Rotation' begins. It is a gift... and a test."
The Emperor's golden eyes narrowed, his aura flaring in a brief, jealous arc.
To give a Blackwell an Eastern manual was to hand a wildfire a gallon of oil.
"The Qin Empire turned its back on the world the moment the mana arrived," Lee said, a faint, bitter smile touching his lips.
"They locked their libraries and executed any master who dared to speak of 'Qi' to an outsider.
Our techniques became the Empire's private hoard—a forbidden art meant to ensure that while the West built cities of glass and steel, the East built a dynasty of immortals.
By giving you this, I am breaking a decree that has stood since the first Tier 1 awakened on Asian soil."
"Do not thank me, young Blackwell," Ambassador Lee said, his voice dropping into a low, resonant vibration that seemed to harmonize with the air itself. "Consider it a seed planted in fertile soil.
"In you, I foresee a light that does not flicker. Take this as an investment from an Elder who seeks to witness the true blossoming of the human race—a dawn that transcends both East and West."
Markus rose, his movements fluid and anchored by the "Golden Rule" of perfect balance. He cupped his hands—left over right—and offered a deep, respectful bow that mirrored the ancient protocols of the Qin courts.
"Excellency, a gift of this magnitude cannot be met with mere words," Markus said, his voice carrying a sudden, mature resonance.
"I would be honored to return this favor. Please, consider this an open invitation to the Blackwell Estate. My family would be privileged to host a meal in your honor—one served in a setting far more... intimate than this."
As he straightened, Markus's Fate's Eyes flickered with a sharp, intentional glint. It wasn't a glance; it was a silent, tactical signal—a request for a perimeter of privacy that even the Emperor's golden aura couldn't penetrate.
"Done," the Ambassador said, his eyes crinkling with a silent, shared understanding of Markus's hint.
"Once the dust of the arena settles and the trophies are handed out, I shall visit your estate. It will be my final act on this continent before I return to the Qin. I look forward to a meal where we can speak freely, scholar to scholar, without the weight of the crown pressing down on our tea."
"Tsk"
The sound was small, but in the sudden, vacuum-like silence of the room, it sounded like a whip cracking.
The Emperor didn't shout; he didn't need to. The sheer weight of his silent "tsk" told Markus that he had successfully crossed a line into the realm of adult politics.
There was a frightening stillness to Markus—the kind of quiet found only in the eye of a hurricane or the mind of a high-ranking diplomat.
The silence was absolute until Markus broke it with a blink.
He leaned back, his posture a mirror of the Emperor's own regal ease, and dropped a sharp, knowing wink toward the head of the table.
It was an act of social heresy that made Headmistress Elena's heart skip a beat.
In that single, fleeting gesture, Markus signaled his transition from a mere subject to a player who could look the Emperor in the eye and find the humor in the heat.
With the wink still lingering like a spark in the air, Markus gestured toward the girl beside him with the practiced grace of a grand vizier.
"How about I introduce you to the academy, Princess Rosalind?" Markus asked.
Rosalind nodded with a sharp, eager energy, already mentally mapping the Tiered training grounds she would call home in two years.
"I've read every blueprint of the Valerian Academy," she whispered, her hands clasped in front of her.
"Take a Swiss guard with you," Valerian commanded.
One of the Swiss Guards, who had been standing so still he seemed a part of the architecture, suddenly surged into motion.
He didn't just walk; he glided into Rosalind's shadow, his presence a heavy, physical reminder that for a Princess, 'exploration' was always a supervised affair.
Markus knew that the guard was not for Rosalind's protection, but to protect others from her Void element.
"Come. You should see the people I've chosen to fight beside," Markus said, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. "They're a chaotic bunch, but I'm certain you'll find them more interesting than your royal duties."
He steered her toward the central elevator, the heavy thud of the Swiss Guard's boots providing a grim metronome to their departure.
His first destination was the one place that felt more like home than the Blackwell Estate: the Academy Library. It was a labyrinth of ink and intent, housing centuries of Tiered theory and forgotten scrolls.
Markus stepped onto the hushed carpet, his Fate's Eyes involuntarily softening as they scanned the spines of ten thousand volumes.
In the arena, he was a powerhouse; here, in the silence of the stacks, he was a seeker—and the silence was the only thing that could truly keep pace with his mind.
"Afternoon, Elder Isaac. Back at it, I see," Markus greeted the librarian, his voice a low hum in the cathedral-like silence. Isaac remained a statue behind the desk, a permanent fixture of the Academy's history.
"It has been many moons, Rosalind," Isaac murmured, his voice like the rustle of dry autumn leaves.
"The last time I saw you, you were barely tall enough to reach the low shelves of the Royal archives."
"It's good to see you again, Senior Isaac. I hope you are in good health," Rosalind bowed respectfully towards the elder.
Isaac replied whilst reading from his digital tablet, "I have been well, see you in two years within the walls of this academy."
Leaving the hushed sanctuary of the library behind, Markus led Rosalind into the Great Mission Hall.
"This is the heartbeat of the Academy," Markus explained, "From Tier 1 pest control in the outer agricultural zones to Tier 5 Hunting missions in the Forbidden Forest. Everything has a price here: credits, or mana-stones. It's where a student stops being a pupil and starts becoming a resource of the State."
"The Academy breaks you in stages," Markus noted, his voice low enough to avoid the ears of a passing group of bruised seniors.
"First, they let you fight each other behind these walls. Then, once you've tasted your own blood, they send you out to taste the world's. Second and third years are spent in the field, navigating the Forbidden Forest and the political minefields of the Valerian and Solarian borders. Graduation isn't a ceremony here—it's a survival rate. By the time we leave, the 'stimuli' of the outside world have either forged us into steel or ground us into dust."
"Then there is a gap in your logic," Rosalind countered, her eyes flicking to the task panel on the digital screen and back to Markus. "By your own definition, you should be restricted to academic tasks within the walls of this institution. How are you able to leave the academy for tasks beyond the scope of a first-year student?"
"Hahaha, I have an understanding with Headmistress Elena, besides my combat abilities rival some of our best second and third year seniors." Markus proudly proclaimed, his nose rising towards the ceiling.