Professor Kharzun turns fully toward the defaced seal. He smiles as if the sight genuinely pleases him.

  “King Baalrek. The Mad King,” he says. “He is the most useless ruler Infernals have ever had. His idiocy killed hundreds of my people.”

  His tone is contemptuous and amused at the same time.

  The students chuckle.

  Some of them look at the graffiti with renewed pride.

  Vyrrak stands a half step behind Jacob. He watches Professor Kharzun irritated since he was denied access to the Room of Sacred Fire. Then he glances at Jacob.

  Jacob’s eyes narrow. The muscles in his jaw visibly tighten. His shoulders lose their easy slouch and his spine straightens.

  The whole air around him feels… charged.

  “I am King Baalrek’s disciple,” Jacob suddenly says.

  The words come through a moment of silence where one could have heard a pin drop. The entire classroom, including the Professor, hears him loud and clear.

  Several students twist in their seats to stare. A few blink in disbelief. One Infernal in the back barks out a laugh.

  Professor Kharzun laughs.

  He does not seem amused.

  When Jacob does not smile and does not flinch, the professor’s laughter dries up. His brows draw together. The lines around his eyes deepen.

  “You should not say things like that,” Professor Kharzun says. “It is offensive to our heritage. Baalrek the Mad was a murderer. He was not fit to lead Infernals. He disgraced the throne he sat on.”

  He looks at Jacob as if the boy just smeared mud on his own face in front of the class.

  “King Baalrek,” Jacob says. He puts weight on the title. “He fought the Cults and he helped in the battles against Evil Gods more than you can ever hope to. And I am not joking. I would never joke about something like this.”

  He takes a step forward. His gaze never leaves Professor Kharzun’s face.

  “I claimed all of King Baalrek’s inheritance,” Jacob says. “I am his disciple. I am here to clear his name. What you know about him is not only incomplete. It is insulting. Take that seal down now.”

  “Who do you think you are to order a Professor around,” Professor Kharzun says.

  The calm tone cracks. His aura flares and presses on the room.

  “If you truly are that monster’s disciple, you should be expelled on the spot,” he says. “No. Executed. You should be executed for following in such a demon’s footsteps.”

  He steps away from the desk. The chalk on the board rattles from the pressure of his aura.

  “I heard that you made a mockery of my people,” Professor Kharzun says. “I did not imagine you would be so brazen that you claim the Mad King as your master. He is the most reviled person in our history.”

  All students nod along.

  “Jacob, what are you saying—have you lost your mind?!” Vyrrak whispers.

  He leans in closer and keeps his voice low.

  “We are never getting through him if you talk like that,” Vyrrak says. “We came here for a favor.”

  Jacob does not answer.

  Jacob looks at the seal again. He memorizes every line of graffiti.

  One man stands out. A tall Infernal rises from his seat near the front. His shoulders are as broad as two Jacobs.

  “Professor,” the Infernal says. “Allow me. I will personally kick both of them out of your class for this insubordination.”

  “Vorgath,” Vyrrak hisses.

  He shifts his stance slightly, feeling an impending sense of doom.

  “Jacob, that is a fifth-year Champion,” Vyrrak says under his breath. “He outranks both of us. Let us leave before this gets worse.”

  What Vyrrak just felt is Adamantite Rank aura. That guy is above True Diamond already.

  “King Baalrek,” Jacob says. He clears his voice. He does not step back when Vorgath approaches.

  “He fell to the Mad God’s tricks,” Jacob says. “Before that, he killed the Mad God several times. Do your history books recount such stories, Professor Kharzun.”

  The students look back and forth between Jacob and Kharzun.

  Professor Kharzun opens his mouth and nothing comes out. He closes it again. His eyes narrow.

  It is clear that he has never heard such a claim. The certainty in his eyes falter.

  Some students notice. Their expressions shift from pure disgust to something more uncertain.

  “What? Have you ever heard of that?” a student asks another Infernal.

  “Never. But… the Mad King was known to be very strong—I wouldn’t be sure it’s a lie.”

  “To kill a God several times? That’s preposterous.”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “My master passed away,” Jacob says, cutting through the whispers. “He was never interested in defending his own reputation. He did not care what people like you said about him.”

  Then, Jacob’s voice grows harder.

  “It will be over my dead body that I hear someone smear his name again,” Jacob says. “He was a Vice Principal of the Academy. He stood second only to the Headmaster. Before his family died to Asmodeus’s plots, he served the Academy with everything he had. He never betrayed the Academy. He never betrayed his people.”

  He looks straight at Kharzun as he says it. He does not blink.

  “Baalrek is a foul character,” Vorgath says.

  He walks closer to Jacob and Vyrrak. His aura sweeps over them. It is heavy and sharp.

  The weaker students in the back seats feel their legs shake.

  “You should not wield an Infernal Class in the first place,” Vorgath says. “You are human. You are not one of us. It does not surprise me that you inherited the will of the most rotten among us. You fit him.”

  His lip curls. He stands close enough now that Jacob has to tilt his head back to meet his gaze.

  Jacob looks at Vorgath and reaches for the Grimoire.

  Adamantite? Jacob raises an eyebrow. Among the students, this is the strongest he’s ever witnessed.

  Vorgath could crush them both to a paste if he wanted to.

  “I do not expect to clear his name in a fortnight,” Jacob says.

  He suddenly shifts his tone.

  “I understand that many people misunderstood him,” Jacob says. “I see it clearly now. When I look at how full of senseless pride you two are, it is not surprising that so many Infernals died to his trials.”

  “My uncle died when he tried to conquer one of the Mad King’s inheritances,” Vorgath says. “Are you disrespecting the dead, puny human? You insult my blood.”

  “I misspoke in anger,” Jacob says.

  He does not look away from Vorgath. “I do not intend to insult the dead,” he says.

  He exhales.

  “I suppose the only way to show what it means to be my master’s disciple is to prove it,” Jacob says. “You will be forced to believe your own eyes, I suppose.”

  The whole class leans forward.

  Vorgath cracks his neck. The sound is loud in the quiet room.

  “Oh,” he says. “You want to take on an upperclassman. Do you have a deathwish?”

  “Of course not,” Jacob says. He smiles. It is not a pleasant smile. “Not in battle, at least,” he says. “Since this is Traps and Cracks 501, you can come up with a trap for me instead. I will enter it with some help at my own Rank—Champions from the Generations of Legendsn like Vyrrak. If I manage to crack it, you will scrub that seal clean and you will apologize. Both of you.”

  He turns to look at Professor Kharzun when he says “both.”

  The students murmur again.

  “He’s clearly lost his mind.”

  “To challenge Vorgath?! Does he even understand what position he’s putting himself in?!”

  “You really want to take me on,” Vorgath says.

  He howls with laughter.

  A voice from the seats speaks up. “He is the best in the class,” a student says. “You picked the wrong target, kid.”

  Professor Kharzun looks furious.

  “Fine,” he says. “If you insist on humiliating yourself, we will not stop you.”

  He narrows his eyes at Jacob. “Why do you need help,” Kharzun asks. “You proposed this. You claim to be the Mad King’s disciple. Do you already fear to walk into a trap alone.”

  “I am the weakest of the Champions,” Jacob says.

  He does not say it with shame. He states it like a fact.

  “I want to make sure that someone can break the trap when I find what is wrong with it,” he says. “That is all.”

  He glances toward Vyrrak when he says “break.”

  “And you expect to find flaws in a trap made by a student who will graduate this year,” Professor Kharzun says. “He is the best in my class.”

  His anger thickens his voice.

  “You might actually be the Mad King’s disciple,” Kharzun says. “Look at your arrogance. Only someone who learned from that man could be this reckless.”

  “If you lose, what will you give up,” Vorgath asks.

  His eyes gleam.

  “His class,” Professor Kharzun says before Jacob can answer. “And all his Infernal Skills. They will be ripped from you. I will do it personally.”

  The class sucks in a collective breath. Everyone here understands that losing a Class is worse than losing one’s life.

  Vyrrak’s temper finally snaps.

  “That would cripple him!” Vyrrak shouts. “That is worse than being expelled!”

  Jacob lifts a hand slightly in his direction.

  Jacob looks at both Kharzun and Vorgath. His gaze is steady.

  “You would make me a cripple because of this,” Jacob asks. “Very well.”

  He nods once.

  “Then I accept,” Jacob says. “Just one condition. I need Vyrrak to train in the Room of Sacred Fire first.”

  He raises his voice a little so every student hears him.

  “In three days I will come back,” Jacob says. “I will bring someone else to watch and to ratify this whole deal. I will enter whatever trap Vorgath builds. I will only be able to ask for help from Champions in my year. If I lose, you can strip me of any Skills and Classes that offend you.”

  Vyrrak stares at him as if Jacob, uncomprehending.

  “Jacob, that is insane,” Vyrrak says. “Do you even understand what you are saying. Do you understand what losing your Infernal Class means.”

  “I am not done, Vyrrak,” Jacob says.

  He settles his gaze on the Professor and Vorgath.

  “I am not trading my Class for nothing,” Jacob says. “If I lose, they get what they want. If they lose, they do something for me.”

  He cracks his knuckles one at the time.

  “If you lose,” Jacob says, “you will kowtow in front of that seal. You will apologize. You will swear an oath that you will never insult my master’s memory ever again.”

  “That is all,” Professor Kharzun says. He grits his teeth. “You think that is enough to match your Class. I cannot wait to—”

  He cuts himself off because Jacob lifts a hand again.

  “I am not done,” Jacob says.

  He looks directly at Professor Kharzun.

  “I will also need a few private lessons from you,” Jacob says.

  He turns his head and meets Vorgath’s eyes.

  “You must be good,” Jacob says. “They call you the best in the class. I will require your assistance as well. You will help me learn a few things and set them up.”

  The room almost vibrates with shock.

  “Is he asking… for tutoring?” A student asks, confused.

  “Maybe he’s just stupid. Why would he even do that now?”

  “I think this is going to turn terribly for him and he still has to realize it.”

  “Done,” Vorgath says.

  He smiles. The expression is sharp and hungry.

  “Professor,” Vorgath says, “I will personally compensate you for the Room of Sacred Fire. If that is the price to strip this human of his Class, then I am glad to pay it. He makes a mockery of our people with every breath he takes.”

  “All is agreed then,” Professor Kharzun says.

  He sweeps his gaze over the classroom. “We have plenty of witnesses,” he adds. “Every word spoken here binds you, Jacob Cloud.”

  He focuses on Jacob again.

  “Do not run if in three days your legs start shaking,” Kharzun says. “I will rip the Skills out of you. I will use your blood to draw something new on that seal.”

  His smile is cold.

  Very cold.

  “Sure,” Jacob says. “See you in three days.”

  Jacob turns toward the door and starts walking.

  Vyrrak follows Jacob out of the classroom. His thoughts spin.

  He lost his mind, Vyrrak thinks.

  He opens his mouth to tell Jacob exactly what he thinks about this plan.

  Then he feels it.

  Something ancient risis out of Jacob’s aura.

  What the hell is that?