While Vincy was sweeping spirit-beast dung and accidentally rewriting his soul's blueprints, the upper tiers of the Myriad School were vibrating with a different kind of energy. The school wasn't just a place of learning; it was a hive of competing factions, each more eager than the last to stick a pin in the "Sparrow Anomaly."
At the Myriad School, your robe color wasn't just fashion; it was a survival rating.
The Blue-Robe Outer Sect: These were the "Commoners with Ambition." Led by Cyrus, Baron's older brother, they focused on brute strength and physical cultivation. They viewed Vincy as a "bug in the system" that needed to be squashed before he ruined the hierarchy.
The Violet-Robe Inner Court: The true elites. They didn't care about "incidents" or "pepper dust." They only cared about potential. Among them was Lady Seraphina, a prodigy who spent her days meditating on a literal cloud. She had heard of the "Seven-Star Compaction" disaster and was currently debating whether to recruit Vincy or study him like a rare specimen of moss.
The Elder's Council: A group of ancient men and women who primarily existed to disagree with one another. Elder Karl led the "Wait and See" faction, while Master Hemlock had joined the "Expel Him Before We All Turn Blue" faction.
Vincy walked into the dining hall, flanked by Dax (who was wearing two sets of goggles for "added protection") and Grog (who was carrying a bucket of stable-wash). The room fell silent.
"Look at him," a student whispered. "He smells like Star-Core Clover and horse sweat. Truly, the scent of a hidden master."
Vincy ignored them, heading straight for the "Free Porridge" line. He was halfway through his second bowl when a shadow loomed over the table.
Cyrus arrived. He didn't look like Baron. He was lean, scarred, and radiated a heat that made the porridge on Vincy's spoon start to simmer.
"Sparrow," Cyrus said, his voice like grinding stones. "My brother says you're a 'Needle-Point' specialist. My friends say you're an Immortal in disguise. I say you're just a lucky rat who found a hole in the Sect's testing stone."
"Oh, goody," Piet's voice drawled in Vincy's head. "Another one. Vincy, tell him his eyebrows are asymmetrical. It will devastate his confidence."
"I don't want any trouble," Vincy said, clutching his bowl. "I'm just here for the porridge."
"Too late for that," Cyrus sneered. He reached out, his hand glowing with the Crimson Forge Palm, intending to melt the table in front of Vincy as a 'minor' warning.
Before Cyrus could strike, Dax—inspired by Vincy's 'miracle' in the lecture—decided to show his support. "Leave him alone! I've been working on a new defensive array!"
Dax pulled out a small, metallic cube and slammed it onto the table.
"Vincy, get down," Piet warned, his tone suddenly sharp. "That boy didn't build a defensive array. He built a spiritual vacuum cleaner with a grudge."
The cube didn't create a shield. It began to spin, sucking in the air, the porridge, and most importantly, the Crimson Forge Qi right off Cyrus's hands.
"My technique!" Cyrus yelled, his hand suddenly looking very cold and very un-flaming. "What is this?"
The cube, now glowing a dangerous, vibrating purple from absorbing Cyrus's high-level energy, began to whistle.
"It's... it's supposed to do that?" Dax asked, his voice an octave higher.
"No," Vincy said, grabbing Dax and Grog by their collars. "Piet says we should run."
KABOOM.
The explosion was contained, but the result was a three-foot-deep crater in the middle of the cafeteria. Cyrus was left standing on the edge of the pit, his hair scorched and his dignity entirely absent. Vincy, Dax, and Grog were already halfway back to the stables, sprinting as if the God of Porridge was chasing them.
High above, watching from a balcony, Lady Seraphina adjusted her violet robes. A small smile played on her lips.
"He didn't even move his hands," she mused to her attendant. "The 'Inventor' triggered the device, but the Sparrow... he knew the exact moment to retreat. And did you see the way the Qi flowed? It wasn't sucked in; it was invited."
She stood up, her cloud-seat following her. "Tell the Inner Court. We will hold a 'Friendly Sparring Session' next week. Invite the Sparrow. I want to see if he's a genius, or just the luckiest disaster in history."
"A sparring session," Piet chuckled in the soul-space. "How delightful. I've always wanted to see how the modern 'prodigies' handle a little royal pressure."
"I just wanted porridge," Vincy sobbed as they reached the safety of the stables. "Is that too much to ask?"