CHAPTER 202: AMAZING DORM!

The dome was massive, so massive, in fact, that some of the students craned their necks just to try and see the top of it, only to go dizzy and nearly fall backward.

It was like stepping into the belly of a sleeping god, with the stone ribs of its arched walls etched with glowing runes that shifted colors gently like slow-breathing embers.

The walls curved inward and upward, spiraling toward a glowing central orb that hovered mid-air at the very top, casting down light like a miniature sun.

Rows upon rows of cushioned seats stretched out in circles around a central platform that was shaped like a flower’s core; five sleek silver petals where the academy officials would soon appear.

Creed strolled inside with an easy gait, hands in his pockets, golden hair glinting under the strange radiant light, while Pascal darted in beside him like an overexcited child at a fireworks festival.

"Bro, bro, look at that thing! Is that floating? What kinda beauty is this?" Pascal was already buzzing in Creed’s ear, hopping on his short legs like a wind-up potato who’d just been plugged into an outlet.

Creed chuckled, plopping into a comfy seat somewhere near the middle and casually leaning back.

"Pascal, if you keep vibrating like that, the dome’s going to think you’re one of the relics and lock you in storage."

"Pah! Joke all you want, but I can feel it! Our destinies are changing right now. I, Pascal the Magnificent, shall become the spear that pierces the heavens!"

"You sure it’s not a toothpick?" Creed quipped with a smirk.

Pascal pouted, crossing his arms, but before he could come up with another dramatic line, a familiar figure with sleek blue hair and piercing sky-colored eyes walked gracefully down the aisle.

Amara.

Dressed in her uniform that was sleek and form-fitting in all the right places, she turned heads effortlessly.

She locked eyes with Creed, tilted her head slightly, and instead of sitting somewhere distant like usual, she made her way directly toward him and sat on his other side with a casual flick of her ponytail.

"Well, look at you. The great Creed, drowning in fangirls already," Amara said with a sly grin.

Creed grinned wider. "Hey, what can I say? It’s the uniform. Blue and orange brings out the sparkle in my eyes."

Pascal blinked. "Sparkle? What sparkle? I thought your eyes were—ouch!" Amara gave him a light smack on the head, and Pascal ducked, glaring at both of them. "You two are the worst!"

Creed and Amara just chuckled, their earlier tension from the trials replaced by something far more relaxed and flirtier.

They exchanged a few more teasing comments, Creed nudging her playfully and Amara firing back with witty insults wrapped in sugar.

Suddenly, the lights in the dome dimmed, and all the murmuring quieted down instantly. A ripple of energy spread through the air, like the feeling before thunder claps in the sky.

On the silver petal-shaped platform, figures began to appear; silent at first, like ghosts rising from fog.

There were five in total, all dressed in robes that shimmered faintly with symbols of different Paths.

But at the center stood one tall figure; stern, commanding, with sharp eyes and a calm, weighty presence that felt like standing before a waterfall that could crush you or cleanse you.

The Dean.

When the Dean spoke, it wasn’t loud. Yet every word cut through the air like a blade made of sound.

"Welcome to Ambassadors Academy. You stand at the gates of the highest seat of learning and power in the Hope Alliance—the only Tier 1 Academy League left on this whole planet. And we are its leaders."

A beat. The silence hung like thick cloth.

"You have passed trials most people wouldn’t survive. You’ve earned the right to walk these halls, but know this... survival was the easy part."

Some students shifted uncomfortably. Others straightened up. Creed leaned forward slightly, eyes focused.

"This place is not for the ordinary. You’re here to grow beyond the limits of your world, to master the Paths that chose you. To rise or fall."

The Dean’s gaze swept across the dome, and for a moment, Creed felt like those sharp eyes saw straight through him.

"Some of you will become leaders of bastions. Some of you will protect what remains of Earth. Some of you will break. We don’t care which. But the ones who rise will do so by their own hands."

He lifted one arm toward the glowing orb high above.

"The Hope Alliance fights to ensure the world. We, the Ambassadors, lead the charge. You are now part of this legacy. Live up to it."

Then the lights returned slowly, soft applause echoed through the dome; not thunderous, but respectful, thoughtful, like people clapping while still digesting the weight of what they’d just heard.

Creed blew out a low whistle. "Damn. And I thought I was charismatic."

Amara smirked. "I wish I had that presence."

Pascal grinned. "He didn’t even blink while talking! What kind of cultivation do you need to stop blinking?!"

The students were then told to rise and follow their class instructors for a tour of the academy, and one by one, everyone began exiting the dome through its massive arched doors.

The moment the sea of new students exited the orientation dome, the crowd began splitting like waves against a smooth stone.

Signs floated gently in the air above the heads of various instructors, flickering with glowing script that spelled out different group numbers.

Just like that, the tide parted into two major flows: the Elite Class and the Basic Class.

Creed glanced sideways at Pascal, who was squinting up at a sign that read "Group 4B – Basic Class," bouncing on his heels like an excited goblin.

"Bro!" Pascal called, making his way backward as his group began pulling away. "If they have a training arena with lava pits, I’m diving in first!"

Creed smirked and gave him a lazy wave. "Try not to melt your eyebrows off."

"No promises! Farewell, noble brother, may your future be paved with fangirls and glory!"

Creed barely suppressed a laugh as Pascal disappeared into the distance, ranting about his path to heaven-sundering greatness.

The Elite Class gathered quickly. There were only about thirty of them, far fewer than the hordes in the Basic Class.

It made sense. This was the best of the best. The top dogs. The ones who had survived brutal trials and still stood tall.

Creed stood out not just because of his calm, easy posture, but because he didn’t look like he was trying to prove anything. He just was.

Standing before the gathered elite was their instructor, a lean man with a square jaw and an eagle-like gaze.

His grey uniform had a sleek design with three golden stripes on the sleeves; marking him as a Gold-ranked combat instructor.

His arms were crossed, but his tone was calm, like someone used to command.

"My name is Instructor Varien," he began, voice smooth and powerful enough to cut through chatter like a blade through silk.

"You’re the Elite Class. You’ve earned that title. Most of you are talented. Some of you are monsters. And all of you are now targets—of jealousy, of competition, and of history."

That last word hung in the air for a moment before he turned and began walking, waving for them to follow.

"This is your one and only tour. Pay attention. The layout of the academy is simple enough, but missing out on key places will make your lives harder than they need to be."

Creed fell in line beside Amara, who gave him a lazy sideways glance. "Wow, look at you. Top of the Elite Class. The mighty goat walks among peasants."

He grinned. "Goat?"

"Greatest Of All Time, duh."

"I like the sound of that. Should I start signing autographs?"

"I’ll punch you."

He just chuckled, walking alongside her as Instructor Varien gestured toward a towering structure they passed.

It was shaped like an hourglass, made entirely of smooth crystal that glowed with pale blue lines.

"This is the Focus Hall. It’s where you’ll go to meditate, train your Will, or even attune to Paths. It adjusts to your strength level, so no, you can’t blow it up. Though many have tried."

A few students chuckled nervously. Varien continued leading them past different zones—one with dozens of floating islands where sparring duels took place under anti-gravity conditions; another with a giant crater lake that shimmered with mirrored illusions, known as the Lake of Mirrors, for mental and illusion-based training; and even a dark rectangular block of a building simply called The Vault, where ancient relics were stored for study.

"All of you should also be aware," Varien added, his voice suddenly more commanding, "that in one week, you’ll compete in the Class Captain Contest. It will determine who leads this Elite Class for the year."

A quiet gasp went through the group. Creed kept walking like it was just another Tuesday.

"The position comes with significant benefits: priority access to resources, personal instructors, and the authority to challenge any class member for accountability.

"But for now—until that contest happens—the current temporary Class Captain is the one who came first in the entrance evaluations."

Every neck snapped toward Creed like a row of robot mannequins malfunctioning in sync.

Creed blinked slowly, scratched his chin, and nodded modestly. "That’s me."

Some stared with awe. Others had narrowed eyes full of battle intent. One bulky guy cracked his knuckles, clearly already imagining their duel.

A red-haired girl leaned toward another and whispered, "He’s the guy who sat on the throne first, right?"

Another girl scoffed, arms crossed, but her pupils didn’t leave Creed for a second. Amara smirked like a cat with cream, clearly enjoying the silent tension.

Creed? He didn’t react at all. But in his head?

’Class Captain, huh? Tch, obviously. I already had the Goat Throne warmed up. These peasants better bring snacks when they come to challenge me. Or tribute. Preferably thick.’

Varien led them forward as the students simmered with newfound motivation and competitiveness.

They crossed a massive white stone bridge toward what looked like a small city nestled at the base of a glimmering ridge.

"And here we are," Varien said, sweeping his arm wide. "Your dormitories."

But calling them dorms was like calling a dragon "a lizard." It was a neighborhood.

Paved cobblestone paths wound through rows of elegant homes, each one unique; some shaped like modern penthouses, others designed like temples or mini-castles.

Trees with silver leaves swayed gently in the breeze, while floating lamps cast a soft glow over everything.

Birds chirped lazily in golden cages that hung from smart lampposts, and somewhere in the distance, music played softly from an open window.

Every student’s jaw dropped. Someone let out a loud, "Yo..."

Each house had a nameplate hovering above it with the student’s name and their ID number glowing beneath it.

Then, Varien gestured upward toward a villa floating on its own sky island above the rest. The building shimmered like it was made of glass and white gold.

A small waterfall ran down one side, somehow suspended in air and feeding into a rainbow-colored pond.

The entrance gate sparkled with runic lights and even the wind seemed to smell better up there.

"That," Varien said, with a slight smile, "is the private residence reserved for our top student. Creed Walden."

The group exploded into gasps and murmurs.

"Are you serious?!"

"He gets his own floating villa?!"

"Even the windows have golden trim!"

Creed glanced up casually, eyes narrowing slightly. "Huh. This is quite extravagant."

Meanwhile, inside his mind...

’LOOK AT THAT HOUSE, BRO. I COULD FIT A POOL INSIDE MY BATHROOM AND STILL HAVE ROOM FOR A WHOLE GYM. WHO LIVES LIKE THIS?! OH RIGHT. ME.’

He gave a nod like it was nothing, hands still in his pockets as if he hadn’t just been handed the single most luxurious student housing in the entire academy.

Amara leaned in and whispered with a chuckle, "Calm down, Class Captain. Try not to drool in public."

Creed smirked. "Drool? I’m too classy. I spit diamonds."

She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t hide her grin.

And as they continued forward through the neighborhood of prodigies and geniuses, all heading to check out their new homes, one thing was clear to everyone in the Elite Class: Creed Walden wasn’t just another student.

He was the bar to beat.