Chapter 259 — Aftermath
5 min read ·
Students began moving.
Slowly at first, their legs shaking from exhaustion, their minds still processing the impossible salvation they’d just witnessed.
A boy – maybe eighteen, Noble family based on his torn uniform – stumbled toward Damian with tears streaming down his face.
"Thank you! Thank you so much! I was about to die and your bullet–"
A girl joined him, her voice breaking with emotion.
"You saved me! Every time those things got close, you–"
The dam broke.
More students surged forward, their exhaustion forgotten in the rush of relief and the overwhelming need to acknowledge the person who’d pulled them back from the edge of death.
"That shot was incredible!"
"How did you even–"
"My friend is alive because of you! Thank you! Thank you!"
"I thought we were all going to die and then you–"
Their voices overlapped, creating a chorus of gratitude and tears and desperate thanks, hands reaching toward Damian like he was some kind of savior, eyes showing worship mixed with disbelief.
But Damian wasn’t listening.
He walked past them without acknowledgment, his crimson eyes focused on a clear patch of mud slightly away from the defensive circle, his entire demeanor suggesting the battle was already forgotten, already filed away as completed business.
He sat down heavily in the mud, cross-legged, his axe laid across his lap, his breathing immediately shifting into the controlled rhythm of Aura recovery exercises.
His eyes closed.
His face showed concentration rather than the calm satisfaction everyone expected from someone who’d just performed a miracle.
The students fell silent, watching him, uncertain whether to continue their thanks or give him space.
’I’m tired.’
The thought emerged in Damian’s mind with absolute clarity, his internal voice carrying none of the calm confidence his external demeanor projected.
’So fucking tired.’
Even though it had looked like he’d effortlessly slaughtered thousands of creatures, even though his descent had been casual and his landing smooth, even though he’d patted Edrin’s shoulder like this was just another training exercise...
The truth was that his entire Aura reserves were completely empty.
Not low or depleted to dangerous levels.
But completely... Empty.
Every drop of dark crimson Aura that had fueled his techniques, every ounce of power that had compressed space itself and guided those Channel Shots to their targets, every bit of control that had kept him levitating and manipulating his axe with telekinesis...
Gone.
His core felt like a dried well, cracked earth at the bottom where water should flow, the sensation of emptiness almost physically painful.
’The Channel Shot... it’s truly powerful.’
His mind analyzed even while his breathing exercises began the slow process of recovery, pulling ambient Aura from the portal’s dense atmosphere and cycling it through his empty pathways.
’Professor Salazar demonstrated it before. Showed me what Level Three could accomplish. He had absolute control over the art – just casually erased the top part of a mountain like he was trimming a hedge.’
Damian remembered watching that demonstration, seeing Salazar fire a single Channel Shot.
’At that time, I didn’t think much of it. Professor Salazar is S rank. Of course he could do something that ridiculous. But when I used this shot myself, when I pushed it without holding anything back...’
The realization settled into his consciousness with weight.
’I finally understood that the principles used in this weapon art are at the absolute top tier of range attacks.
The spatial compression and the Aura harvesting... this isn’t just a random powerful S ranked weapon art.’
His breathing continued, mechanical and precise, drawing in Aura particle by particle.
’Being able to use the Aura present in the atmosphere itself to fuel the attack... that’s what makes it so devastating.
I’m not limited to just my own reserves. The bullets become stronger the further they travel, feeding on environmental Aura like parasites consuming a host.’
Damian’s thoughts shifted to his father.
’Taking Dad’s advice about spatial understanding was the key. Without grasping how space folds and compresses, without understanding the geometry of dimensional warping, I never could have executed those shots successfully.’
A sharp pain lanced through his skull, making his breathing hitch for a fraction of a second before he forced it back to rhythm.
’The headache is killing me.’
Using telekinesis to levitate himself and control his axe simultaneously while maintaining awareness of four separate Channel Shots had pushed his mental capabilities beyond their normal limits.
It felt like someone was driving nails through his temples, each pulse of his heartbeat sending fresh waves of agony through his brain, the kind of splitting headache that made thinking difficult and consciousness feel fragile.
’But I can’t let the Imperials know I’m tired. I can’t show any weakness. Not now. Not when I’ve just demonstrated power that terrified them.’
His external breathing remained perfectly controlled, his face showing none of the exhaustion screaming through his body.
’It’s good if they all assume I did this effortlessly. Let them think I have reserves left. Let them wonder what else I’m capable of. Let them fear what might happen if they try anything.’
His crimson eyes remained closed, but his senses tracked the Imperial heirs through Aura perception.
’I don’t trust any Noble... Not the Imperials despite their current cooperation, not the lesser families, not anyone who’s grown up in a system that teaches them commoners are inferior.
When push comes to shove, when survival requires sacrificing others... they’ll choose themselves. They always do.’,
He continued his breathing exercises, pulling Aura from the atmosphere, cycling it through empty pathways, beginning the slow process of recovery that would take hours to complete fully.
****
While Damian sat in apparent meditation, while the other students processed their survival and gave thanks to a person who wasn’t listening, tensions that had been building during the battle finally erupted.
On the opposite side of the defensive circle, William Greene stood with his fists clenched, his entire body trembling with rage that had nothing to do with exhaustion.
Around him, other commoner students showed similar expressions – fury mixed with betrayal mixed with the delayed reaction to trauma they’d experienced.
They’d all seen it.