Academy's Pervert in the D Class - Chapter 290
Chapter 290: Perched
Perched on the rooftop, Lor gazed toward the capital, its spires and palace barely visible in the distance, their outlines softened by the night’s haze.
The mana’s source wasn’t at the palace itself but somewhere close—perhaps the noble quarter, the arcane district, or the shadowed alleys near the royal crest’s stronghold.
The air thrummed with it, a dense, oppressive wave that made his skin tingle, his instincts screaming that something big was brewing.
A spell? A breach?
He wondered, his hazel eyes narrowing, his black hair whipping in the faint breeze.
Things like this happened sometimes—rogue mages, forbidden rituals, or noble experiments gone wrong—but this felt different, heavier, familiar?
He should’ve ignored it.
He had no business chasing mana surges in the dead of night, especially after the day he’d had.
Myra, Viora, Nellie’s date offer, Ameth’s ritual—it was enough to keep anyone grounded.
But Lor was curious, always had been, his lazy exterior hiding a restless need to poke at anything that sparked his interest.
The mana’s pull was too strong, too intriguing to let slide.
He leapt from the roof, his pajamas flapping as he landed lightly on the cobblestones, his bare feet silent against the cool stone.
With a flick of his wrist, a faint shimmer of wind magic coiled around him, lifting his lean frame into the air, his body soaring over the town’s rooftops, the night wind rushing past his face as he flew toward the capital’s distant glow.
The town of Vaeloria blurred beneath him—lantern-lit streets, shuttered market stalls, the faint glow of enchanted signs flickering in the arcane district’s edge.
The mana grew stronger as he approached the capital’s outskirts, the air thick with its weight, pressing against his skin like a storm about to break.
He landed on a rooftop near the noble quarter, his hazel eyes scanning the shadowed streets below, the palace’s spires looming in the distance, their golden crests glinting under the moon.
The mana’s source was close now, a pulsing knot of energy in a narrow alley just beyond the quarter’s ornate gates, where the cobblestones gave way to darker, less-traveled paths.
Lor crouched on the rooftop’s edge, his black hair falling into his eyes, his pajamas loose but clinging to his lean frame from the flight.
His hazel eyes narrowed, his lazy grin replaced by a focused intensity as he sensed the mana’s rhythm—erratic, powerful, but contained, like a spell being woven in secret.
Someone’s up to no good, he thought, his mind briefly distracted by the thrill of the unknown, his curiosity outweighing his exhaustion.
He leapt down, landing silently in the alley’s shadows, his pajamas fluttering as he crept forward, the mana’s pressure prickling his skin.
The glow intensified, pink light spilling from a wider clearing ahead, where the alley opened into a small courtyard flanked by crumbling stone walls.
Lor pressed against the corner, his hazel eyes peering around, and froze at the sight before him.
Kiara stood in the center, her sleek black hair matted with sweat and blood, her tight uniform torn at the shoulder, revealing a deep gash that oozed crimson down her arm.
Her busty, curvy figure was battered, her skirt ripped at the thigh, exposing the black lace of her panties, her pale skin streaked with dirt and bruises.
Her icy blue eyes burned with a feral intensity, her sharp face twisted in exhaustion and rage, her full breasts heaving with ragged breaths.
In her hand, a mana orb pulsed with glowing pink energy, its light erratic, flickering as if on the verge of collapse.
The orb’s power was unnatural, far beyond her usual capacity, and it crackled in her grip, feeding a spell that lit the courtyard in a searing pink haze.
In front of her, crumpled against the wall, was a man—tall, robed in the deep indigo of the High Mage’s court, his silver-trimmed cloak torn and bloodied.
His face was battered, one eye swollen shut, his lips split, his hands trembling as he tried to raise a ward, the faint blue shimmer of his magic flickering weakly.
He was the High Mage’s right hand, a notorious enforcer known for crushing anyone he deemed an enemy, witches included, but now he was a wreck, his dark hair plastered to his forehead, his body slumped, fear etched into his scarred features as he stared at Kiara.
“You… you can’t,” he gasped, his voice hoarse, blood dripping from his chin. “That orb—how does it! The Princess will—”
“Shut up,” Kiara snarled, her voice raw but venomous, her icy blue eyes blazing as she raised the mana orb higher, the pink glow intensifying.
“You hunted us. Burned us. You don’t get to talk.” Her curvy frame trembled with exhaustion, her injured arm shaking, but her will was iron, the orb’s power surging through her.
The man scrambled back, his ward collapsing as he raised a trembling hand, a weak bolt of blue lightning crackling toward her.
Kiara dodged with a fluid twist, her torn skirt flaring, her black lace panties flashing as she sidestepped, her full breasts bouncing with the motion.
She countered instantly, the mana orb flaring as she unleashed a whip of pink energy, the spell lashing across his chest, tearing through his robes and drawing a scream.
He staggered, blood spraying, but fired another bolt, this one grazing her thigh, deepening the tear in her skirt, a fresh cut blooming red.
Kiara gritted her teeth, her sharp face contorting with pain, but she didn’t falter.
She thrust the orb forward, pink mana coiling like a serpent, and struck again, the spell slamming into his shoulder, shattering bone with a sickening crack.
He collapsed, his screams cut short as he hit the cobblestones, his body twitching, his magic fading to nothing.
Kiara stood over him, her curvy frame swaying, her icy blue eyes cold as she raised the orb one final time, the pink glow blinding.
“For every hunter you sent,” she whispered, her voice breaking with exhaustion, and unleashed the spell.
A searing beam of pink mana shot from the orb, striking the man’s chest, his body convulsing as the magic burned through him, his scream silenced in an instant.
The courtyard fell silent, the pink glow fading, the mana orb dimming to a faint pulse in her hand. Kiara swayed, her full breasts heaving, her injured arm limp, blood dripping from her wounds as she sank to one knee, the orb slipping from her fingers, rolling across the cobblestones with a faint clink.
Lor’s hazel eyes widened, his heart pounding as he watched from the shadows, his lean frame tense.
Kiara…
The sight of her—battered, exhausted, but lethal—stirred something in him, a flicker of concern he hadn’t felt since their breakup.
He should’ve turned away, gone back to his bed, let the capital’s enforcers deal with this mess.
A witch killing the High Mage’s right hand?
That was a death sentence, and the mana surge would draw every mage in the city.
But the concern gnawed at him, deeper than it should’ve been.
They’d been lovers once, their perversions entwined, and despite the mess of their end, he couldn’t shake the image of her icy blue eyes, now dulled with pain.
He stepped from the shadows, his bare feet silent on the cobblestones, his pajamas loose in the night air.
“Kiara,” he called, his voice flat, like a stranger’s, stripped of the old intimacy, buried with their past.
His hazel eyes met hers, his black hair falling into his face as he stopped a few paces away, the mana’s fading pulse still prickling his skin.
Kiara’s head snapped up, her icy blue eyes wide with shock, then narrowing, her sharp face hardening despite the blood and bruises.
The mana orb lay dim at her side, its pink glow nearly gone, her curvy frame trembling as she pushed herself to her feet, her torn uniform clinging to her full breasts and hips.
“Lor,” she said, her voice hoarse, a flicker of something—relief, maybe regret—crossing her face before her icy demeanor locked it away. “What are you doing here?”
“You’re leaking mana” he said, his voice low, his hazel eyes flicking to the corpse, then back to her.
“Every mage in the capital’s gonna feel this. You need to run. Now.” His tone was urgent, not warm, but the concern slipped through, betraying him.
He shouldn’t care—not after she chose power over him, not after Silvia’s spell severed their bond—but he did, and it pissed him off.
Kiara’s icy blue eyes searched his, her sharp face unreadable, her full breasts rising with a shaky breath.
The mana orb flickered out, its light dying completely, leaving only the moonlight on her battered form.
She nodded, her black hair sticking to her bloodied cheek, her curvy frame swaying as she steadied herself.
“I…” she started, her voice faltering, but before she could say more, Lor turned away, his hazel eyes fixed on the alley’s exit, his lean frame tense.
“Go,” he said, his voice sharp, cutting off whatever she might’ve said.