Jacob and Vyrrak walk side by side through the upper corridors of the Academy.

  This part of the building feels older.

  It is, actually, older.

  It’s one of the building where mostly last year courses are held. Where the fifth-years are refining their last Skills before adventuring out in the world.

  Some Knights decide to graduate early since their talent can’t keep up with how the courses escalate in difficulty. In fact, that’s pretty much the majority of people in the Academy. Most get out by the third year, around Diamond Rank or True Diamond. The fourth and fifth year students are sort of elite among students—only the best of the best keep climbing the hierarchies of the Academy.

  Vyrrak’s tail flicks with every step.

  “To follow through with this insane plan,” Vyrrak says, “we need one room. The Room of Sacred Fire. It enhances regeneration and resistance against fire. Without it, we end this in a healer’s ward or a crematorium.”

  Jacob adjusts the strap of his bag on his shoulder. “So… you want to, kinda fry yourself? And then, the room keeps you alive.”

  “I’ve tried for barely a moment what you concocted, Jacob. I almost died. I don’t have the power to pull this off. Without access to the Room of Sacred Fire, I’m not going to be able to master this technique.”

  Vyrrak sighs. “The room was created by a Trapmaster a long time ago,” he says. “Some trap grandmaster of sorts decided to fold a healing array and a fire torture chamber into one. It was meant to push one to the limit—and it’s still under the jurisdiction of the highest ranking Professor of Traps and Cracks courses.”

  Jacob grimaces. “All the best places in this Academy sound like the shadiest places,” he thinks. “The black market feels like nothing compared to this, doesn’t it?”

  “Well, we’re not even sure we’ll get access to it,” Vyrrak frowns. “It’s a very sought-after room. But I know the Professor of Traps and Cracks 501. Hopefully, I’ll be able to ask for this huge favor. Without it…”

  Jacob nods.

  He is in the Traps and Cracks 301 course. Without the Grimoire, honestly, he would have struggled way too much. The words “501” make him picture hallways full of instant death.

  “I do not even want to know what Traps and Cracks 501 is like,” Jacob says.

  Vyrrak catches the curiosity in his tone and snorts.

  “The course is brutal,” Vyrrak says. “Only the best of the best enter it.” The Dragonkin lifts his chin. “Traps and Cracks 501 is the second highest course at the Academy. Six hundred and one belongs to graduates and people who survived five hundred without losing limbs.”

  They reach the heavy door that has “Traps and Cracks 501” carved above it. Vyrrak pushes it open.

  The classroom is still in full swing. Diagrams of layered arrays cover every wall. A giant whiteboard stands at the front with half a dozen complicated trap schematics scribbled on it.

  There is an Infernal professor at the front.

  He turns when the door opens.

  He doesn’t look exactly like other Infernal, though, Jacob realizes.

  He’s been around enough to know by now. There’s something uncanny about this Professor. But he’s not going to say.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Jacob frowns.

  But where did this guy come from, he thinks. He was pretty sure Professor Veythra was the only Infernal who taught at the Academy. Someone had mentioned that.

  “Who disturbs my lessons,” the Infernal asks.

  His voice booms and makes the two Champions of the Generation of Legends shudder.

  “I am sorry, Professor Kharzun, for disturbing,” Vyrrak says.

  He steps forward and bows his head. His tone is formal enough to make Jacob blink. “It is a very urgent matter, and I need your help with it. Only your esteemed lordship can help with this.”

  Professor Kharzun’s expression shifts. He looks pleased with the address. His shoulders settle and he smiles.

  Then, he sees Jacob.

  When Professor Kharzun’s eyes land on Jacob, his smile dies.

  “You,” he says.

  “Hi,” Jacob says.

  “I know you,” Kharzun says. His voice drops half an octave. The students lean in.

  “How do you know me, sir—Professor,” Jacob asks.

  “You are the Human bastard who claimed an Infernal class,” Kharzun says.

  “The Fake Champion, in the flesh,” Jacob smiles.

  The classroom stays composed but many raise their eyebrows at Jacob.

  Seeing that Professor Kharzun is not amused, Jacob moves to correct himself.

  “Sir,” he says. He clears his throat. “I received that honor only because I saved Princess Iskara Drazhal’s life. I hope you will not object to that.”

  He keeps his tone polite.

  Professor Kharzun harrumphs, and his eyes flick away for a moment.

  “You should watch whom you accompany yourself with, Vyrrak Skarathis,” Professor Kharzun says.

  Vyrrak’s jaw tightens. He does not look away from the professor.

  “Professor,” Vyrrak says. He clears his voice. “Jacob is the Leader of Champions and a friend of mine. I guarantee for him.”

  He draws in a breath. “What I am here for is a favor. I will, of course, be indebted to you. I need to obtain temporary access to the Room of Sacred Fire for the next three days.”

  The words “indebted to you” get Kharzun’s full attention.

  “What for,” Professor Kharzun asks. He sounds genuinely confused. “You cannot really benefit from the room. Your fire resistance is already top notch. Why would you need it?”

  The students look even more interested now, showing slight surprise on their faces.

  “There is something I must do,” Vyrrak says. “It is extremely confidential.”

  “I am sorry, Vyrrak,” Professor Kharzun says. “I cannot grant you such a permit. The room is for older students only. It has been booked down to the hour for months. If I supersede the current bookings, I must compensate them. That comes out of my own paycheck.”

  He gives a long-suffering sigh. “I like you. I do not have any favor you can tempt me with.”

  “Professor, this is a matter of life and death,” Vyrrak says, gritting his teeth.

  At that point Jacob’s attention drifts.

  Beside the whiteboard, where a cluster of complicated diagrams fills every inch of space, a sigil hangs. It is carved directly into the stone. It sits higher than the professor’s head.

  The sigil looks very familiar to him.

  Someone has covered it with childish derogatory markings. There are crude drawings over the curves. Some student has scrawled horns and a tail on it. Offensive words in three different handwritings wrap around the edges.

  Jacob’s jaw suddenly locks.

  “What is that,” Jacob asks. He points his finger at the sigil.

  Professor Kharzun looks bothered by the interruption. His eyes follow Jacob’s finger anyway. He sees the sigil. His annoyance shifts into a pleased smile.

  “Infernals were once plagued by an idiot of a king,” Kharzun says. “He is famous among my kind. He left behind cursed inheritances that will certainly kill any of those who are unfortunate enough to meet it because of the stupidity and poor craftsmanship of their traps. His name is a byword for idiot.”

  A few students chuckle. They already know this part.

  “For every student who graduates with full marks from my course, I grant the honor of defacing the symbol of that idiotic king,” Kharzun says. “It is a tradition. It reminds us that power without skill is an embarrassment.”

  Laughter ripples through the room. Jacob does not laugh.

  Vyrrak glances at Jacob. He raises one eyebrow.

  Why’s Jacob looking like that?

  He slowly sees Jacob’s face change to a darker and darker expression.

  The air around him feels colder.

  “What is the name of this king,” Jacob asks, frowning.