CHAPTER 290: CHAPTER 290: THE LAST SIP

The director’s office had been dressed to impress, its walls lined with enchanted oak panels, runes humming faintly across the ceiling. Through the wide crystal windows, the muffled roar of the crowd still reached inside—thousands of voices emptying from the arena, echoing like a fading tide.

Nicolas von Aldros sat comfortably in the high-backed chair behind the desk, a glass of dwarven red wine swirling in his hand. His posture was relaxed, his expression mild, the weight of the entire tournament nothing more than a conversation piece to him now.

Across from him, Redna of Luceria lounged with a calm grace, her hair cascading over her shoulders. Beside her stood the headmaster of Velmora, a sharp-faced demon whose robes still carried the faint smell of brimstone. The three of them, rivals in the eyes of the public, were now nothing more than colleagues trading words after the storm had passed.

"It was a spectacle," Redna said smoothly, tilting her glass. "Selene and Noel were remarkable. They drew out a side of the crowd I haven’t seen in years."

The headmaster of Velmora gave a sharp snort, his arms folding tighter. "Remarkable? Hmph. Easy words when your academy secures second place. Velmora was pushed down to third—before every kingdom watching. A humiliation." His crimson eyes narrowed. "My students deserved better than this mockery."

Nicolas swirled his wine lazily, lips curling into the faintest smirk. "Ah, yes—third place. A noble position. Someone must fill the gap between failure and actual success."

The demon’s jaw tightened, his crimson eyes flaring with anger, but he said nothing.

Redna lifted her glass to her lips, but the smirk she hid behind it betrayed her. The corners of her mouth trembled as though suppressing laughter.

Nicolas leaned back in his chair, perfectly composed, tapping a finger against the stem of his glass. "Be grateful, Headmaster. Third place is still better than last... and it ensures Velmora will be remembered—for the wrong reasons, perhaps, but remembered nonetheless."

The demon’s nostrils flared. Redna’s eyes glittered, and Nicolas simply sipped his wine, calm and unshaken.

For him, the tournament was already finished, its aftermath nothing more than idle conversation.

The tension in the room lingered, the demon headmaster’s crimson eyes still burning with restrained anger. He leaned forward slightly, claws tapping against the arm of his chair.

"Tell me, Nicolas," he said, his voice low and sharp. "Do you still cling to those same prejudices against demons? Or is this just another excuse to sneer at Velmora every chance you get?"

Nicolas didn’t flinch. He swirled the last of his wine, watching the liquid spiral lazily in the glass. His smile was polite, his words calm, but edged like a knife. "Prejudices? Hardly. I judge results. And yours, as the rankings show, are... consistent."

The demon’s jaw clenched, a retort forming, but Redna’s voice cut in before the argument could spiral. She placed her glass down softly, her eyes gleaming.

"Enough," she said smoothly. "The tournament is over. Besides—next year may bring surprises. The selection is rarely predictable."

Nicolas chuckled at that, finally setting his glass aside. "Surprises, perhaps. But if you mean my academy being invited..." He shook his head, amused. "No. It’s rare to get an invite. Year after year, it’s the same. We got the privilege this time because maybe Torwan wanted to have us."

Redna’s lips curved faintly, not confirming nor denying his words. The demon muttered something under his breath, bitterness still heavy in his tone, but he didn’t push further.

He leaned back again, the picture of composure, as if the idea of conflict was nothing but entertainment.

The heavy air in the office eased slightly as the subject shifted. Redna refilled her glass, her tone lighter now. "And then there is Balthor. A drunkard one week, a crowned king the next. What do you make of it?"

The headmaster of Velmora snorted, though with less venom than before. "A joke, some would say. But... the dwarves respect strength and stubbornness. Perhaps he’s exactly the kind of king they deserve."

Nicolas allowed himself a quiet chuckle. "Oh, he’ll be a good king. Not because of wisdom or grace, but because he has something more valuable: loyalty. The dwarves follow him not out of fear, but out of familiarity. He was one of them, for better or worse."

Redna swirled her wine, considering. "Even so, his ascension leaves a hole. Tharvaldur’s Institute needs a new director. That post cannot remain vacant for long."

At that, all three fell into a brief silence.

The demon headmaster finally broke it. "They’ll want someone strong. Someone who can clean the mess Torwan left behind."

"Someone less corrupt, at the very least," Redna added, her tone dry.

Nicolas’s lips curved in amusement. "A rare find, in our line of work. But you’re right—without a director, the Institute loses credibility. And after what was exposed this year, they cannot afford that."

Redna tapped her glass thoughtfully. "Names will be put forward. No doubt politics will decide more than merit."

"Of course," Nicolas said smoothly. "It always does. Still, whoever steps in will inherit a mountain of problems. And I, for one, wouldn’t envy them."

Redna leaned forward, lifting her glass once more. "Then, to new kings and new directors. May they at least last longer than the last ones."

The headmaster of Velmora gave a dry grunt, but he reached for his cup nonetheless. "To stability, even if it comes in strange forms."

Nicolas’s lips curved faintly. He refilled his glass with a steady hand, the crimson wine catching the glow of the runes around them. "Very well. To kings, directors, and the endless cycle of politics we pretend to control."

Their glasses touched with a muted clink, the sound echoing softly in the quiet chamber. For a brief moment, the three of them—rivals, critics, allies of convenience—sat as equals, their laughter subdued but genuine.

The conversation drifted to lighter topics after that. Redna teased the demon about his scowl; the headmaster grumbled but didn’t truly protest. Nicolas offered a few sharp comments that drew reluctant chuckles, the sharp edges of their rivalry softened by wine and exhaustion.

Finally, Nicolas set his glass down, the last crimson drop rolling down its side. "I’ll take my leave. It has been a long day, and longer nights await."

He rose smoothly, and gave a courteous nod to both of them. Redna returned it with her usual elegance; the demon muttered something half-respectful.

Nicolas left the chamber at an unhurried pace, his steps calm, assured. He moved down the corridor, past guards who bowed without question, until he reached the familiar wing of the academy reserved for directors.

His office awaited, quiet and private, far from the noise of the arena. For him, the day was done.

He closed the door behind him, unaware that somewhere outside, a clock was already counting down.