Chapter 45: The Crimson Prince
Dune and Atlas found themselves in a grand half-circle shaped classroom, the architecture reminiscent of an ancient amphitheater.
The ceiling soared high above, adorned with intricate frescoes depicting legendary battles and celestial bodies.
Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting a warm, golden glow over the polished marble floors and the luxurious, velvet-cushioned seats arranged in ascending tiers.
At the center of the room, a large platform and an ornate wooden table stood ready for the professor.
The platform was decorated with elaborate carvings of mythical creatures and elegant floral patterns, highlighting the craftsmanship of the builders.
Behind the table, a massive blackboard spanned the width of the platform, flanked by tall bookshelves filled with ancient tomes and scrolls.
The walls were lined with tapestries and paintings, adding a touch of history and opulence to the room.
The 120 students sat in hushed anticipation, their eyes glued to the door at the front of the classroom.
The air was thick with excitement and curiosity as they waited for the professor to arrive. Suddenly, the door creaked open, and a collective gasp swept through the room.
In walked a tall, handsome young man with an air of authority and elegance. His long black hair cascaded down his back, tied with a simple yet elegant ribbon.
He wore stylish glasses that framed his piercing red eyes, which seemed to glimmer with both intelligence and a hint of danger. His attire was rich and regal, a dark red and black outfit that clung to his lean, elegant frame.
A cape, lined with crimson silk, flowed behind him as he moved with a graceful, almost predatory elegance.
A pair of long, red cross earrings dangled from his ears, catching the light and adding to his enigmatic allure.
On his chest, he bore the rose symbol of his house, intricately embroidered in silver thread.
Every girl in the room had their eyes fixed on him, their admiration and intrigue evident in their expressions.
Most of the students already knew who he was. This was Prince Damion Murderthrone, a figure of both reverence and fear within the academy and beyond.
His reputation preceded him, a mix of legendary intellect and ruthless ambition.
Dune and Atlas exchanged surprised
glances, the gravity of the moment sinking in.
Damion stepped onto the platform and surveyed the room, his gaze sharp and discerning. He exuded confidence, every movement calculated and purposeful.
When he spoke, his voice was deep and commanding, effortlessly capturing the attention of everyone present.
"Welcome to the Bloodrose Academy," he began, his tone smooth and authoritative. "I am Prince Damion Murderthrone, and I will be your guide and instructor in the arts of Neba.
Here, you will learn not only to master and control your abilities but also to understand the deeper principles that govern our world."
He paused, letting his words sink in.
"You have all passed the initial test, proving that you have the potential to excel. However, this is merely the beginning.
The path ahead is fraught with challenges, and only those with the greatest resolve and intellect will succeed."
Damion's red eyes scanned the room, meeting the gaze of each student with an intensity that made them sit up straighter.
"You will be separated into three different classes based on your performance and potential. Currently, there are 120 of you, but only the best will remain.
This is not just a test of strength, but of your mind and spirit."
He gestured to the rose symbol on his chest.
"The rose represents both beauty and danger, much like the path you have chosen. Embrace this journey, and you may one day stand among the greatest."
With that, he turned his attention to the large blackboard behind him, where he began to write with swift, precise strokes.
The students watched in awe, captivated by his presence and the promise of what lay ahead.
Dune and Atlas, still reeling from the surprise, exchanged determined nods. They knew that the real test had just begun, and they were ready to face whatever challenges awaited them in the Bloodrose Academy under the watchful eye of Prince Damion Murderthrone.
Damion continued his lecture with an air of nonchalance that contrasted sharply with the students' eager anticipation.
"Like most of the professors here, I would typically start by getting to know my students better. But, to be honest, I don't care much about who you are," he said, a wide, almost mischievous smile spreading across his face.
"What I care about is teaching you how to become good and strong citizens of Rendely."
His words elicited a range of emotions from the class. Disappointment and sadness were visible on some faces, while others remained enthralled by his charisma.
Damion's presence was captivating, and even those who were let down by his disregard couldn't help but admire him.
"Let's start with theory," Damion said, his tone shifting to a more serious note. "As we all know, there are seven types of Neba known to us.
Green, which is the weakest and most common;
Yellow, essentially a slightly stronger Green;
Orange, a powerful aura often associated with fire users;
Red, a strong and rare Neba; Blue, one of the rarest Nebas, with the last known wielder being Cadogan, Lord of Fein, who perished when the city was attacked;
and lastly, Purple."
As he mentioned Purple, Damion glanced at Atlas with a knowing smile. Atlas's eyes widened, but he kept his composure.
"Purple Neba is the rarest, and only one wielder in all of Sanatria is known—Cassius, right hand of King Aramir Murderthrone.
Now, can anyone tell me what the seventh Neba is?"
The classroom fell silent until a girl with red hair and black eyes raised her hand.
She wore the Bloodrose Academy uniform and a necklace adorned with a black rose. Without standing, she confidently answered,
"Seventh Neba is Black."
"Right! Black Neba," Damion confirmed.
"Black Neba is used by devils and demons. It's as strong, if not stronger, than Purple. The last time we saw a demon was ten years ago, and it was slain by Cassius himself.
Since then, no more demons have been sighted."
He paused, looking at his students thoughtfully. "But do you know that there is an eighth Neba? In reality, there may be hundreds, each unique in its own way.
We know of eight main Nebas, and the eighth is White. We don't know anything about White Neba, who used it, how strong it is, nothing except that it exists."
The class was visibly shocked, with whispers spreading among the students. Even Dune and Atlas exchanged surprised glances. White? Dune's mind raced.
I have a white cross on my chest. What does that mean? It's good they can't see it. But why is no one talking about my Zeten mark?
Its color is different. Why is everyone acting like it's normal? Even the gods didn't say anything. I'm confused, he thought.
As Dune pondered these mysteries, Damion continued, "The existence of the White Neba is shrouded in mystery.
Its potential and power are unknown, making it a subject of great interest and speculation.
In your journey here at Bloodrose Academy, you may discover truths about Nebas that were previously hidden."
Dune's thoughts were a whirlwind of questions and doubts. The revelation about the White Neba only added to his confusion.
He had to understand more about his own abilities and the significance of his unique Zeten mark. For now, he resolved to keep his thoughts to himself and focus on the challenges ahead.