Chapter 81: Chaos In the South
While Akasha and Dreamer’s Peak were preparing for their appearance in the coming competition, the world of Kalpa had never once stopped churning.
Deep within the heart of the Central Continent, inside the grand halls of the Academy of Eternal Knowledge, an old man sat alone in a dimly lit chamber.
The Headmaster of the Academy was ancient even by the standards of high-rank cultivators.
His long, white hair fell past his shoulders in thin, wispy strands, and his face was a map of deep wrinkles and age spots.
A simple white blindfold covered his eyes, yet his presence radiated a quiet, oppressive weight.
As mentioned before, each Academy possessed an artifact that enabled them to act with precision and was one of the main reasons they held power as rulers.
In this headmaster’s hand rested the Fate Orb—its surface alive with swirling threads of light and shadow, constantly shifting and weaving in an endless, mesmerizing dance.
Two weeks had passed during the time Akasha and Melvin had begun working towards Sword Aura and in this time, this man had constantly been keeping tabs on the world of Kalpa affair.
In that moment, the old man gazed into the orb, his weathered fingers softly gliding over its smooth surface.
Amid the swirling visions within, the fractured image of the Western Continent emerged — or at least what little was left of it.
The grand and venerable Academy of Revelations, once a beacon of knowledge and power, now lay in remnants, its glory lost to time....
Although it wasn’t complete devastation, with most of the Academy still standing and showing no obvious signs of invasion or battle, the scene told another story.
Rivers of blood ran across the ground, and the lifeless bodies of countless disciples lay scattered everywhere, resembling broken dolls abandoned in the aftermath of some unimaginable horror.
The image was gruesome, even to someone who had lived through many eras of war.
The headmaster’s voice came out low and raspy, barely above a murmur.
"...How does an entire Academy fall to one man?"
He fell silent for a moment, then slowly began channeling his power into the Fate Orb.
HUMMMMM!!!!
Threads of fate twisted violently inside the sphere as he attempted to peer deeper.
His fingers moved in slow, deliberate patterns, tugging at strands of fate, weaving them together, separating them, trying to trace the path of the one responsible—Lord Dream.
"Reveal it," he murmured. "Show me the truth behind the destruction. Show me the thread that leads to him."
But every attempt failed.
Each time he traced a thread connected to Akasha, the vision distorted, blurred, or collapsed entirely.
It was as if something—was deliberately obscuring anything related to him.
The old man tried again, his brow knitting tighter, his fingers moving with increasing urgency.
"This... fate does not hide without reason."
At last, he changed his approach.
With deliberate care, he turned the orb toward the Academy of Veils. Then slowly, the swirling haze settled, and the vision came into sharp focus.
At first, the connection shimmered faintly, barely there, but it gradually sharpened until it was impossible to miss.
The Headmaster’s expression shifted as the delicate threads revealed themselves, weaving Lord Dream unmistakably to the Academy of Veils.
His fingers, mid-motion, froze just above the smooth surface of the orb.
"...So that’s how it is."
In this moment it all became clear to him.... the Academy of Veils were indeed connected to the mysterious Lord Dream.
"Hmm, this still doesn’t explain why the Academy of Veils has been so quiet." He muttered to himself has he waved his hands trying to dig deeper.
With eighty-nine years still to go before the final showdown, every continent was already acting with clear intent.
Every continent except the Southern Continent... and if they were truly subordinates of Lord Dream, then why was he the one doing all the work—leaving clues instead of mobilizing his troops?
The Central Continent had mobilized hundreds—perhaps even thousands—of squads made up of disciples and instructors, all working to weaken the surrounding academies by attacking smaller factions that had yet to be conquered.
Since the battle with Jovian and Sunya, the Northern Continent had shifted its focus entirely toward consolidating power and bringing the whole region under its control.
Even in the East, activity surged, with Krax and the Barbarians raising more commotion than the Academy of Truth itself.
"Things are getting chaotic... much faster than expected," he muttered, as the situation involving the Kings and Queens had now become impossible to ignore.
Still, it wasn’t all bad.
With the Kings and Queens essentially sacrificed to an Academy that no longer existed, the path was left wide open for others to move in and claim their lands without resistance.
HUMMMMMMM
As he pondered in silence, the Fate Orb gave another slow, deliberate pulse, and the old man’s expression shifted as the truth began to reveal itself.
"In four weeks?" he murmured, almost to himself, just as a single sentence appeared before his eyes in shimmering golden script.
It declared that in only four weeks’ time, the entire Southern Continent would unite beneath a single banner.
The Academy of Veils.
Seeing this, the headmaster leaned back slightly, his blindfolded eyes narrowing.
For a brief moment, genuine disbelief flickered across his aged face. Then, slowly, he nodded to himself, as if confirming a calculation, he had already begun to form in his mind.
He rose from his seat with deliberate movements, the Fate Orb dimming in his hands.
Without another word, the old man turned and left the chamber. His robes whispered against the stone floor as he walked through the long, quiet corridors of the Academy.
----
Eventually, he arrived at a heavily guarded medical wing.
The doors opened at his approach, revealing a dimly lit room where several figures lay resting in special healing formations.
In the center of the room, Jovian sat cross-legged on a simple zafu cushion, surrounded by a glowing healing formation.
Though he had no visible wounds, his face was unusually pale, and his long white hair hung loosely around his shoulders.
Despite his condition, the usual casual, almost playful aura still clung to him.
Melissa stood nearby, speaking softly as she caught him up on recent events.
"...and that’s when the rumors really exploded. They’re now calling you one of the top four of the new generation — alongside Sunya, that Titan Krax, and this mysterious Lord Dream who wiped out the entire Nova Dragon Clan in one night."
Jovian gave a low, amused whistle as he leaned back on his hands, the lingering bitterness of his recent battle still gnawing at him and fueling his desire to get back at Sunya.
Yet the mention of two more beings with comparable skill stirred a genuine excitement within him.
Even more intriguing was the revelation that one of them had managed to surpass the spectacle of their own clash, adding an enticing edge to the challenge ahead.
"Lord Dream... One man taking down a whole dragon clan, huh? I might actually have to meet him someday."
As he spoke, a thought quickly took shape in his mind.
’Hm, I wonder... does this world have some sort of golden child or something?’ He knew well that worlds of fantasy always seemed to revolve around a protagonist and an antagonist.
Yet so far, Jovian hadn’t really picked up on anything that fit that pattern.
’The only truly troubling thing... is this damn impending war between the Academies,’ he thought with resignation, for unlike others, his eyes gave him a clearer view of what was coming and the real undercurrents shaping the world.
Still, Jovian had no interest in such matters and honestly couldn’t care less about the territorial disputes or even the looming deadline.
’Tsk... I just want the freedom to explore this damn place.’
Even as he grumbled inwardly, outwardly he kept smiling, though there was a faint weariness in his expression.
"Top four... not bad for someone who just woke up from a month-long nap..."
CREAKKK!!!
In that moment, the doors opened fully as the headmaster stepped inside.
Jovian and Melissa turned toward him.
"Headmaster," Jovian greeted casually, raising a hand in a lazy wave.
"It’s good to finally see you again old man."
Unlike most, Jovian didn’t display the usual signs of respect, though for this man, his respect was unmatched.
The headmaster had been the one to bring him into the Academy after his transmigration.
His life hadn’t been terrible before, but who could say what might have happened if he hadn’t been taken in?
The old man gave a small nod, his blindfolded eyes seeming to assess Jovian’s condition.
"Good... You’re healing well. Faster than expected."
He paused for a moment before speaking plainly.
"Since you’re ahead of schedule... maybe you’re ready to redeem yourself?" he asked, fully aware that Jovian’s main goal from the start had been to make his name known.
And that, he had indeed accomplished—though he never would have guessed it would come from a loss.
Jovian and Melissa exchanged a quick glance before the man went on.
"Your group will be heading to the Southern Continent. There’s been a change of plans."
The headmaster waved his hand, and four glowing projections appeared above the table — each representing a major faction.
"These four places must be thrown into absolute chaos before the month ends. The Bloodmoon Pack, the Ash Walking Giants, Kingdom Black, and Kingdom White."
Melissa tilted her head, curiosity flickering in her eyes.
"Headmaster, aren’t these the top factions in the South now that the Dragons are gone?"
The headmaster gave a slow nod.
"Correct. Something big is coming in a month, and we need everything in order before then."
He started toward the door, but paused in the doorway, his voice dropping to a warning.
"Stay away from Lord Dream... for now."
At those words, Jovian’s easy smile slipped for the first time in ages. A faint frown formed as he watched the door close, fingers drumming lightly on his knee in thought.
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