CHAPTER 178: A RANK MISSION

Caspian Arcwright.

A quiet beat.

Then the whispers started. Small, unsure. One of the girls in the back clapped. Then a few more followed.

Caspian didn’t move at first. Bloodmoon’s voice echoed faintly in his head.

"You expected anything less?"

He stood up slowly. His heart was steady, but he could feel the tension from the seat to his right — where Vynesaa sat, arms crossed, gaze forward.Not clapping. Not looking. Not speaking.

Professor Arlin didn’t miss it either.

"Miss El’Leather," he said, glancing at her, "I trust you’ll have no issues working under your new captain?"

She turned her head slightly, not toward Arlin — toward Caspian.

"Of course not," she said coolly. "As long as he doesn’t freeze up when things get real."

The room grew quieter.

Caspian met her gaze — calm, unreadable — and gave a small nod. Not smug.

Just firm.

"Don’t worry. I’m not planning to let anyone down."

Fianna looked between the two, lips pressed tight.

Oliver, sitting one seat away, leaned over and whispered under his breath:

"She’s not taking this well -what you have done yesterday . Better watch your back , captain."

Professor Arlin raised his hand.

"That’s enough. You’ll receive your mission dossiers tomorrow. Use this evening to rest, train, or reflect. Whatever helps you survive what’s coming."

"Caspian, you’ll receive the pre-mission data. Everyone else will be briefed tomorrow. Any complaints can be written and submitted through the formal channel — though I doubt that’ll change the decision."

The room stayed still for a moment.

Then movement returned. Bags shuffled. Voices low.

Everyone would be watching Caspian now.

Especially Vynesaa.

As the professor left, a brief pause followed — that familiar moment after a decision, when everyone waited to see what came next.

Caspian sat down, glancing over the mission details Arlin had just forwarded to his tablet. Pages of terrain, hazard levels, enemy types, and logistical instructions. All coded in military-standard formatting.

"Captain sir,"

He barely got past the first header when a voice called out.

Caspian looked up.

Oliver Atticus stood in mock salute, hand over heart, smirking.

"Captain Caspian," he said, dead serious. "I swear my loyalty, my sword, and... unfortunately, my unpaid bills to your service."

There was a second of stunned quiet.

Then someone chuckled. Then another.

Even Fianna shook her head, trying not to smile.

"And my patience," Oliver added. "Which is limited. Especially around Darian."

Darian, sitting a few seats away, leaned back in his chair, unimpressed.

"If you’re trying to kiss up, at least brush your hair, Atticus."

"This is natural volume," Oliver fired back. "Jealousy is unbecoming."

As if on cue, Darian made a playful lunge at him.

But Caspian instinctively stepped aside — and Darian stumbled, bumping hard into Oliver’s chair and almost knocking them both over.

Oliver caught him — barely.

The room paused.

A beat.

And then Seraphina

, from the corner, said dryly:

"Well, that escalated into a rom-com faster than I expected."

This time, the laughter was loud and real.

Just students — finally breathing again after the pressure.

Even Vynesaa — arms crossed, still unreadable — cracked a half-smile before burying it beneath her usual cool.

....

The class had ended. Laughter lingered faintly in the hallways as the crowd scattered — some to dorms, some to practice rooms.

Caspian wasn’t sure what he was doing. He just followed.

Down the corridor, toward the training arenas — her figure in front, back straight, pace unwavering.

Vynesaa.

She stopped.

Didn’t turn.

Then, without raising her voice:

"I know you’re there. Stop sneaking around and say what you want to say."

Caspian exhaled softly and stepped out from the corner.

"I just... wanted to say sorry. For yesterday."

She turned. Arms folded. Not cold. Just... tired.

"You don’t need to apologize. Everyone makes their choices, Caspian."

"Still—"

"And yours got you the title of Captain," she cut in. "So congratulations."

The words landed heavier than they should have. Too polite. Too sharp.

"It’s not about the title," Caspian said quietly.

She looked at him for a long second, her eyes unreadable.

Then she softened — just a little.

"I’m not mad at you," she said. "Just... a little angry."

’Don’t those mean the same thing?’ Caspian thought.

But he didn’t say it aloud. He just nodded.

She gave a faint smirk — like she knew what he was thinking anyway — then turned.

"I’m going to train. In my secluded room. I’ll see you tomorrow."

She didn’t wait for a reply. Just walked off — her braid swinging slightly as she disappeared into the side hall.

Swish.

Caspian heard it before he saw it — the clean, sharp sound of an arrow slicing air.

He turned.

At the far end of the arena, a lone figure stood.

Vera Ardent. Bow drawn, target pinned across the sand.

The moment the arrow hit, he lowered the string, sighed, and wiped the sweat off his brow.

’Class just ended and he’s already training?’ Caspian thought.

He turned to leave quietly, not wanting to interrupt.

"Captain."

The voice stopped him..

"There’s something I wanted to ask you."

Caspian nodded and stepped forward, listening.

"Yes," Caspian replied.

"Can you duel with me?" Vera asked, his voice clear under the high arch of the training dome.

Caspian blinked, surprised by the directness.

"Of course."

They didn’t speak much after that.

What followed was two hours of steady, relentless sparring — blade against bow, fist against foot, fire magic against movement. They shifted between offense and defense, adjusting their styles to the other’s rhythm.

Sweat dripped. Mana flickered. Their limbs moved on instinct.

"Again," Vera would say.

"Alright," Caspian would nod.

Time melted. Three hours passed like thirty minutes.

When they finally collapsed — not from exhaustion, but from a silent agreement that they’d pushed far enough — Vera leaned back on the cool arena wall, chuckling.

"You really don’t hold back, do you?" he said between breaths.

Caspian smirked. "You asked for it."

They sat in silence a moment longer, letting the stillness settle.

Then Vera asked quietly:

"What did you write?"

"Huh?"

"In your answer," Vera clarified. "That captain selection question. What did you write that made the professor pick you?"