"Gang Leader, the young Master sent a ssage," Mourne, the acting boss of WireRats, said. He stood patiently beside a desk and stretched out his hand for a piece of paper.
Zhara raised her brows. "He wants sothing again? Last ti he bought those poisonous and healing potions."
The WireRats had beco the sole monopolistic gang. In just a few months, they had grown from a small-ti gang to the true ruler of the Academy black market.
Weapons? Poisons? Illegal goods? Their hands were crawling over it.
All thanks to the young Master, Ace.
They felt indebted to him, so anyti he needed sothing, they usually sold at a discounted price.
But also, they feared him. They’d tracked his background, and it always ended at the orphanage and the street. There should be no way for him to have the information that he had, but he did.
He had even provided so information to them in the previous month—information that let them begin planting their seeds on the outside.
Zhara had co up with only one explanation. Ace was being backed by a power much more powerful than they could imagine.
And they must have chosen the WireRats for so reason.
Zhara had a love-hate relationship with the situation.
Her business was booming, but then it was like making deals with the devil.
She took the papers and muttered, "I’ve told him not to send money for little things like this. He wants sulphuric acid...?"
"Isn’t that sothing used in ordinary alchemy?" Mourne asked.
"In science, yes. But what does he want with it? He’s an Etherion user, right? And we should buy water bomb equipnt and pay our workers to fill it with the acid before sending it over." Zhara read the instructions again and then exchanged glances with her subordinate.
"What do you think he might be planning?"
Zhara shrugged. "Who knows. But it doesn’t matter. Just get him what he needs. He’s more like our sponsor now than anything. Pay the workers with the coins. Choose only elite ones; we don’t want any trouble with his orders."
Mourne nodded quickly and set off.
Zhara sat alone and frowned. "His progress in these few months is nothing but a surprise. It’s as if there’s a plan already set on the ground and he’s only following it."
"There’s one thing I could pin on him, though. It’s very suspicious. I think he’s a mber of that Scar terrorist group."
☆☆☆ ☆☆☆
"This... I’m facing him?" Serena Ashford scowled.
She still hadn’t given up the notion that Ace was a fraud, because how could such a weak student be in her class? Worse still, people were whispering that he’s part of the strongest.
"He must be paying people to spread those rumors. How else? But this ti, I finally have the opportunity to crush him! I don’t know what he did to Ethan to make him surrender, but now I won’t let the opportunity pass."
"I’m going to show him what it ans to fight the strong."
What annoyed Serena even more was that Ace’s two mbers were so shalessly going around the class saying they were going to win and so the class should support them.
Although no one supported them against the strongest person in the class, it was still thought-provoking that he would do sothing like that.
"My position," she gritted her teeth. "I’m going to protect my position. Nobody is going to take it from ."
☆☆☆ ☆☆☆
They were given the next few days off to focus on the mock battle, but Ace didn’t pay it any attention.
He was busy with his training; he didn’t slack off with it.
Normally, those who were chosen as team leaders would be going around the class, gathering mbers, and then training with them. But to Ace, there was no use.
What’s there to convince people about? If they thought he could win, they would join him. And since they saw no chances with him, then there was no use in dragging it.
’...I can’t bla them, though... I wouldn’t join too if I were looking from the outside...’
"Do you want to continue with the training?"
Ace was sweating. He’d rented a room in the training center himself, and the room’s system was asking if he would like to continue.
"Yes."
The room humd, runes flickered to life, and then a tall man made of blue energy projection materialized in front of him, carrying a sword.
He was training his reaction speed.
The good thing about the training center was that you could set the power of your opponent to whatever speed you wanted. In fact, you could customize the stats however you wanted.
The bad thing was that the training center was very expensive.
And Ace was currently paying for his whole team. Even Julius had requested one. "I need to train my brain against physical things."
"I’ll need to secure money as fast as possible!" Ace muttered.
"Three, two, one. Start."
The blue projection moved so fast the only thing Ace’s eyes were able to keep track of was a streak of light rushing toward him.
Normally, he shouldn’t have been able to read its movent, but with his now high-perspective mind, he could feel all the individual actions—the presence of all the limbs.
It was almost as if his brain was faster in detecting dangers, slowing things down a bit. Just a bit.
The problem was that his own body couldn’t move as fast as he needed it to in order to counterattack.
But he had a little trick.
With his sword crossed in front, he moved it a little and then activated his Stigma.
Acceleration.
His sword blurred forward, faster than Ace himself. His shoulder shouted out in pain, and there was a popping sound as his shoulder dislocated as he clashed with the projection’s sword.
But the speed had given his sword strength, and he was able to match it in strength, driving it back a bit.
But now that the projection was that close to him, he couldn’t react in ti.
Its sword pierced his chest, and he felt coldness and a rush of darkness in his eyes, his senses shutting down briefly to mimic death.
But before Ace lost all sensation, his sword, which was already in an upward arc, ca down in a blur of Acceleration and hit the projection in the shoulder, cutting through with ease.
Forty fight. Forty deaths. One draw.
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