CHAPTER 22 QUIET BEFORE THE HUNT
Johan woke up feeling oddly calm.
It was as if the bloodlust and desperation from the previous day had never happened. His mind was clear, his body light. The warmth of Claire still lingered beside him, her soft breathing steady as she remained fast asleep under the covers.
He glanced at her.
There were a thousand things he wanted to say, yet none of them came out.
Instead, he got dressed quietly and slipped out.
By the time Johan returned to the school, class had already started. He had made a quick detour to retrieve his shoes and bag, and that brief delay had cost him punctuality.
Still, his expression was unreadable, his pace steady.
This was his first time attending class in the Tiger Section, one of the elite divisions in Lancelot High. The academy's strength classification wasn't just based on cultivation realms, but also on physical stats like speed, power, and spiritual control—recorded and updated through the students' wrist devices.
According to public records, Johan was still in the mid-stage of Aura Condensation.
But in truth, his demonic physique, coupled with his evolving bloodline, had placed his combat capabilities nearly on par with the Aura Fusion Realm—a full realm higher. Few would believe it unless they witnessed him in action.
Inside the Tiger Section, competition was fierce.
Students were promoted or demoted monthly, depending on their performance. The Power Law System ranked each student with a number tag displayed on their watch. To rise in the ranks, one had to challenge a peer with a lower number and defeat them publicly.
The student with tag #1 in the Phoenix Section was widely regarded as the top of the first years—a goal all ambitious students aspired to.
Johan stepped into the classroom.
Hundreds of students sat in rows, their attention snapping toward the new arrival. A hush fell across the room as eyes locked on him. His name had circulated before—rumors, tension, mystery—but this was their first time seeing him.
He ignored the stares.
Without glancing left or right, he walked to the back and sat down, his face as calm as water, his eyes staring blankly into space.
It's quieter here, he thought. No need for unnecessary noise.
He waited for the instructor.
And that's when he felt it.
A stare. Sharp. Cold. Laced with killing intent.
Johan's eyes narrowed slightly, though his expression didn't change. His senses had grown sharper over time, especially after training with Uncle Den. Still, this kind of direct killing intent was strange.
'I haven't offended anyone in this section… have I?'
Other than Dave… but he's already dead.
Yet the intent was clear and deliberate.
"Lucy," Johan called inwardly, "can your divine sense scan the class? I can sense the killing intent, but not the source."
"Of course it can," Lucy replied quickly.
In an instant, her divine sense spread out from within Johan, quietly combing through the classroom without being detected. Johan focused on the killing intent, anchoring its general direction to help her trace it.
"Found him," Lucy said. "Far right, about six rows ahead. Looks around sixteen, muscular build. Same year group as you."
Johan shifted his gaze discreetly, confirming the figure Lucy described. The boy wasn't hiding his hostility either. His eyes burned with silent rage.
"He's targeting me?" Johan wondered.
"Seems like it. But don't let it bother you," Lucy added. "Among first years, no one can touch you now. Not even those at the peak of Aura Condensation. And unless he's hiding something big, even the Dragon Section's best would find it hard to suppress you."
Johan said nothing in return.
He simply leaned back in his seat, closed his eyes, and let the air around him still.
'Let him try, he thought as killing intent appeared in his gaze.'
"Students," a deep voice echoed through the classroom.
The door swung open, and the teacher stepped inside. He was tall, muscular, and his sharp features carried a harsh edge. His mere presence silenced the room—his aura alone enough to instill discipline. The kind of man who didn't need to raise his voice to command obedience.
"Change into your training outfits. We're heading to the combat center."
Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked out. The students, already familiar with his no-nonsense style, obeyed without a word.
Inside their local locker rooms, the students began changing. Their outfits varied greatly in style and quality. Some students wore lightweight mechanical suits forged from advanced science—complete with interface chips and adaptive mesh. Others wore sleek, tailored armor embedded with low-tier runes or spiritual cloth.
But a few—those from influential backgrounds—donned beast armor crafted from monsters they or their families had slain within fortresses. These armors carried not just physical protection but also traces of magical attributes—fire resistance, enhanced regeneration, or kinetic reinforcement, depending on the beast's origin and level.
Johan stood silently as he pulled out his gear—an unassuming black set passed to him by Uncle Den. It had no runes, no beast parts, and no fancy layers. But the cloth was heavy, reinforced with hidden threading that stabilized his energy and let him move freely, like a shadow among wolves.
Outside, the students gathered at the edge of the training center—an open field bordered by runic pillars and lined with energy-conductive tiles.
The teacher stood before them, arms crossed behind his back.
"Today," he said firmly, "we begin your foundation in martial arts."
A few students murmured, others clenched their fists. For many, this was what they'd been waiting for.
"We start with movement techniques. Nothing fancy. Nothing you can flaunt at dinner parties. Just real, grounded techniques that can keep you alive."
Some of the richer students exchanged glances and scoffed. A few even moved off to one side, disinterested. They had already purchased refined techniques from their families or private instructors.
But most of the class—orphans, commoners, scholarship students—stood eager. For them, this was gold. Rarely did they get to learn anything not hoarded by powerful clans or locked behind paywalls and secrecy. Some techniques had even become signature to certain noble families—bought, trademarked, and erased from all public records just to preserve exclusivity.
The teacher stepped forward and demonstrated slowly.
He channeled energy into his legs, shifting his posture and letting his aura subtly adjust. His stance lowered, his center of gravity anchored, and in a flash, his body blurred—disappearing and reappearing a few meters away.
"You see," he said calmly, "even a basic step, when powered correctly, becomes deadly. Focus on the rhythm. Flow energy through your legs, your back, and your breathing. Control matters more than brute strength."
He returned to his original position.
"Now, your turn."
The class dispersed slightly as everyone began to try.
Some stumbled.
Some fell.
But Johan stood still for a moment, eyes narrowed. He replayed the movement in his mind—frame by frame—before crouching slightly and adjusting his breathing. Quietly, his body flickered forward in a clean motion, not flashy, but efficient.
The teacher, still watching, gave the faintest nod.
"Good."
He didn't say more.
He didn't need to.