Chapter 8: The Mythical Rank Artifact: Non-Stick Cast Iron
The Grand Tournament Grounds.
Sector: The Open Arena.
The Quarterly Exchange was a tradition at Starfall Academy. It was theoretically designed to foster "friendly competition" between the different classes. In reality, it was a public execution where the Elite Class (nobles) beat up the Commoner Class to assert dominance.
But this year, there was a twist.
"Class S is participating?" The whisper ran through the crowd like a virus.
"The Dungeon Block? I thought they were all locked up!"
"They are. But Principal Thorne authorized it. He wants to see if the 'Monsters' can handle the 'Geniuses'."
In the waiting area, Class S looked... terrifying.
Drax (Dragon-boy) was eating a raw leg of mutton.
Medusa (Snake-girl) was hissing at a referee who got too close.
Gorg (Rock-Giant) was sleeping, looking like a pile of boulders.
And Valdorian was trying to buy a snack from a terrified vendor cart near the entrance.
"One spicy skewer, please," Valdorian said, holding out a copper coin.
"W-we are closed for the tournament!" the vendor squeaked, eyeing the "S" badge on Valdorian's chest.
"Valdorian!"
Liya marched over. She was dressed in her Elite combat gear, looking like a valkyrie carved from ice. She grabbed Valdorian by the ear.
"Ouch. Violence," Valdorian complained.
"Where is your weapon?" Liya hissed, checking his waist. It was empty. "Where is the black sword?"
"Napping," Valdorian said, rubbing his ear. "It was cranky this morning. Kept vibrating the floorboards. I left it under the bed with a strict bedtime."
"You... you left your weapon?" Liya looked like she wanted to strangle him. "Val! The rules state you must have a weapon to enter the ring! If you enter unarmed, you are disqualified instantly!"
Valdorian blinked. "That's a rule? I thought this was a brawl."
"It's a Martial Arts Tournament!" Liya shouted. "You need a weapon! Now!"
The announcer's voice boomed.
"Next Match! Representing the Elite Class, Rank 4: Jerrick the Lightning Spear! Versus... Representing Class S: Valdorian Null!"
"You're up," Liya panicked. "Take my sword!"
"Too light," Valdorian shook his head. "It feels like holding a toothpick. I'll break it."
He looked around frantically. The vendor cart next to him was packing up. Valdorian's eyes landed on a piece of equipment hanging on the side of the cart.
"How much for that?" Valdorian pointed.
The vendor blinked. "The... the cooking utensil?"
"I'll take it." Valdorian threw a silver coin (stolen from the Nightwalkers) onto the cart, grabbed the item, and walked toward the arena.
Liya stared at his back. Her mouth fell open.
"Val..." she whispered. "Tell me you are not going to fight the Lightning Spear with a frying pan."
The Arena.
Jerrick stood in the center of the ring. He was the epitome of a noble warrior—tall, blonde, holding a magnificent silver spear that crackled with blue lightning mana. He was a Core Formation (Mid-Stage) genius, famous for his speed.
The crowd cheered for him.
Then Valdorian walked in.
He was holding a black, greasy, cast-iron skillet.
The crowd went silent.
"Is... is he going to cook lunch?" someone whispered.
Jerrick stared at the pan. His face turned red. "You insult me? You come to a duel with kitchenware?"
"It's high-quality iron," Valdorian said, swinging the pan. It made a satisfying woosh sound. "Good weight distribution. Solid handle. Don't be a gear snob, Jerrick."
"I will skewer you like a pig!" Jerrick roared.
"BEGIN!"
Jerrick didn't waste time. [Lightning Step].
He vanished. A trail of blue electricity marked his path. He appeared instantly behind Valdorian, his spear thrusting toward Valdorian's heart.
"Die!"
CLANG.
A loud, ringing metallic sound echoed through the stadium.
Jerrick froze.
Valdorian hadn't turned around. He had simply placed the frying pan behind his back. The tip of the Lightning Spear—a weapon capable of piercing stone—had struck the bottom of the pan.
The pan didn't dent.
"Good seasoning," Valdorian nodded, looking at the pan. "Provides a non-stick layer against mana."
"Luck!" Jerrick screamed. He pulled back and launched a flurry of stabs. Thrust. Thrust. Slash. Stab.
CLANG. PING. BONG. CLANG.
Valdorian moved with lazy grace. He used the frying pan like a shield, a bat, and a fan.
He swatted the spear tip away. He blocked a slash with the handle. He deflected a lightning bolt with the flat surface.
To the audience, it looked ridiculous. A master spearman was engaging in a life-or-death battle with a chef, and the chef was winning.
"Stand still!" Jerrick howled, his mana flaring. [Ultimate Art: Thunder Dragon Drill!]
He jumped into the air. His spear spun rapidly, gathering a vortex of lightning. He looked like a blue meteor crashing down. This attack could shatter a boulder.
"Liya! He's going to die!" Fatty Wang screamed from the stands.
Valdorian looked up.
'Spinning attack,' the Sovereign's Instinct analyzed boredly. 'Lots of noise. Zero accuracy.'
Valdorian tightened his grip on the frying pan handle.
[Seal Leak: 0.01%]
[Concept: "The Immovable Object."]
For a split second, the grease on the pan seemed to darken into the void.
Valdorian didn't block. He swung.
Like a batter aiming for a home run, Valdorian swung the frying pan upward to meet the falling spear.
WHAM.
The sound was different this time. It wasn't a metallic clang. It was a heavy, dull thud, like a hammer hitting wet clay.
The frying pan hit the side of the spinning spear tip.
The force was catastrophic.
The spear... bent. The Grade-2 Spirit Weapon folded at a 90-degree angle.
The impact shockwave traveled up the spear shaft, into Jerrick's arms.
"Gah!" Jerrick's eyes rolled back. The momentum reversed instantly. He was launched sideways, flying out of the ring like a ragdoll. He sailed over the VIP section and crashed into the popcorn stand in the spectator seats.
Crash.
Popcorn rained down on the unconscious Spear Prince.
Valdorian stood in the center of the ring, holding the smoking frying pan.
He looked at the pan. There was a dent in it.
"Tch," Valdorian clicked his tongue. "Cheap craftsmanship. It dented after one hit."
Silence.
The Referee stared at the bent spear in the distance. He stared at the pan.
"Winner... Class S, Valdorian!"
The Class S corner erupted. Drax was cheering (mostly because he was glad he wasn't the one getting hit). Medusa was clapping.
Liya sat in the stands, her face buried in her hands. "I can't take him anywhere. I really can't."
The Infirmary.
After the match, Valdorian was dragged to the infirmary by Liya to check for "internal lightning damage."
"I'm fine, Liya," Valdorian insisted, eating an apple he found on a nurse's desk. "The pan absorbed the shock."
"You bent a Spirit Spear with a skillet, Val," Liya whispered, checking his pulse. "Do you realize what the nobles are saying? They say you have a Strength-Type Divine Gift. The Principal is forming a file on you."
"Let them write," Valdorian shrugged. "Writers need jobs too."
Suddenly, the door opened.
A man walked in. He was tall, dressed in golden robes adorned with the crest of the Imperial Family. He had long blonde hair and eyes that looked like liquid gold.
Prince Kaelen. The Third Prince of the Empire. The Student Council President. Rank 1 in the Academy.
The room temperature seemed to rise. Liya immediately stood up and bowed. "Your Highness."
Valdorian stayed seated on the bed, munching his apple.
"You must be Valdorian," Prince Kaelen said. His voice was smooth, charismatic, but underneath lay the arrogance of someone born to rule.
"That's me," Valdorian said. "Nice robes. A bit shiny, though."
Liya kicked Valdorian's shin.
Kaelen chuckled, but his eyes didn't smile. "You have caused quite a stir. Defeating the Flame-Hearts, surviving the Catacombs, and now humiliating Jerrick. You are... entertaining."
"I aim to please," Valdorian said.
"However," Kaelen's expression hardened. "Order is important. The Academy has a hierarchy for a reason. When trash rises too fast, it destabilizes the foundation."
He took a step closer. A crushing aura—Core Formation (Peak Stage)—pressed down on the room. Liya struggled to breathe.
"Join my faction," Kaelen commanded. "Become my subordinate. I will protect you from the families you offended. In exchange, you will be my sword in the shadows."
Valdorian stopped eating. He looked at the Prince.
Subordinate?
The Sovereign of the Boundless Realm... a subordinate to a mortal prince?
Valdorian laughed. It was a genuine, amused laugh.
"What's funny?" Kaelen frowned.
"You," Valdorian wiped a tear from his eye. "You remind me of a frog I once saw. It sat on a lily pad and thought it owned the ocean."
Kaelen's face went cold. The golden aura flared violently. "Insolence! Do you wish for death?"
"I wish for you to move," Valdorian lay back down on the pillow. "You're blocking the sun."
Kaelen raised his hand. Golden mana gathered. He was about to strike.
CREAAAAK.
A horrific sound came from under the infirmary bed.
The floorboards cracked.
A darkness, thick and suffocating, began to leak out from Valdorian's discarded backpack on the floor.
Nihility had woken up. And it smelled a threat.
Prince Kaelen froze. His instincts—the instincts of a Royal Genius—screamed in terror. He looked at the backpack. He felt like a dragon was staring at him from inside the canvas bag.
'What is that?' Kaelen thought, sweat breaking out on his forehead. 'A Guardian Beast? An Artifact?'
He lowered his hand. He wasn't stupid. He wouldn't fight an unknown monster in an infirmary.
"You will regret this choice," Kaelen spat. "The Academy Tournament Finals are next month. I will crush you publicly. Then, you will beg to serve me."
He turned and stormed out, his golden robes fluttering.
Liya exhaled, collapsing into a chair. "You just rejected the Prince. And called him a frog. We are doomed. We are officially doomed."
Valdorian reached down and patted his backpack. The dark aura receded.
"Don't worry, Liya," Valdorian closed his eyes. "Frogs make a lot of noise, but they taste like chicken."
That Night.
The Principal's Office.
Principal Thorne sat at his desk, looking at a crystal ball replay of Valdorian's frying pan swing.
"Strength... Reflexes... Weapon Mastery..." Thorne muttered.
"Sir," Instructor Silas stepped out of the shadows. "The analysis of the 'Green Fire' incident is complete. The Nightwalkers were obliterated. And..."
"And?"
"We found traces of Void Energy," Silas whispered. "Ancient magic. Extinct magic."
Thorne leaned back.
"The Elven Council has been contacting me," Thorne said. "They are demanding we expel Valdorian. They say he is a 'Calamity Seed'."
"What will you do?"
Thorne smiled.
"Expel him? No. I'm going to promote him."
Thorne picked up a document.
"The Hidden Realm of Aethelgard opens in three weeks. It's a dimension filled with ancient inheritance. Usually, only the Top 10 Elites go."
"You want to send Valdorian?" Silas gasped. "The other academies will be there! The Elves, the Beastkin... they will kill him!"
"Or," Thorne's eyes gleamed. "He will kill them. Prepare the paperwork, Silas. Let's see if our little monster can eat the world."