Journey to Become the Zenith

Chapter 134: The Mask of Righteousness

The Mask of Righteousness

Max asked, "How can I help you gentlemen?"

Out of nowhere, his words came soft - maybe even unnaturally so given where they stood. Not angry, not giving in either, just there, solid in a way that held the weight pressing at the edges of the school grounds. Earlier it had been peaceful, but now the breeze tightened, like something pulled taut and ready to break loose.

Just then, silence hung in the air. Nobody spoke right away.

One by one, the nobles glanced sideways, eyes flickering like candle flames in a draft. Nobody moved - each held back, hoping another would break the stillness first. Quiet tension wove through their ranks, stitched tight with ego and second thoughts.

Then—

A figure in his forties moved ahead.

Fine stitching ran through his robe, a sharp line held firm along his back, face set like stone after years of command. Rank gleamed on his chest - the mark of an Earl. Not just any title holder though; it was his voice that first urged lesser nobles to stand as one against the Saulon heir.

A small cough broke the silence just before he began, voice steady, each word placed with care.

"Principal Max, we heard that you have a student that has stolen something valuable."

From somewhere at his back came a soft ripple of voices, a few heads tilting down in silent approval while eyes stayed fixed.

"This student - no, this thief - " his voice sharpened slightly, as if the word itself gave him confidence, "we, the noblemen of the Skyfall Kingdom, wish to bring her to justice, and acquire the weapon she stole so that we may give it back to its rightful owner."

The words were clean.

Well-structured.

Almost convincing.

But beneath them—

The intent was obvious.

Max listened without interrupting.

His expression didn’t change.

Not even slightly.

Then—

A faint smile almost formed at the corner of his lips.

Almost.

"Oh, a thief, is it?" he replied, tilting his head just slightly, as if genuinely considering the claim. "I don’t remember having a thief as a student."

A subtle pause followed.

Not long.

But enough.

"Is there perhaps a misunderstanding here?" he continued, his tone still calm, still polite. "Or do you have any proof that she is indeed a thief?"

A quiet moment followed. The words came through gently.

Yet it landed just right, hitting the spot without error.

Some lords shifted in their seats. Unease crept across the room like a draft under the door.

Eyes shifted.

Expressions tightened.

A figure moved ahead without pause, as if afraid the moment might fade.

"He has a magic weapon that even a high-ranking noble would have difficulty owning," the man said, his voice rising slightly, as if volume alone could reinforce his claim. "A commoner such as her doesn’t have the money, nor the capability to gain such a weapon."

Some quiet sounds of approval came from people standing at his back.

Encouraged, he continued.

"Thus, we concluded that she stole it from another noble - or perhaps ransacked it from the tomb of a powerful warrior."

A small shift ran through him, shoulders rolling back. His head tilted upward, just a fraction.

"Making her not only a thief - but a person who desecrated the resting place of the dead."

A silence followed the words. Stillness settled where sound had been.

Heavy.

Deliberate.

And completely baseless.

Max heard every word.

And for a brief moment—

He almost laughed.

Not because it was amusing—

But because it was absurd.

The idea that only nobles could own such a weapon.

The claim that a student of his had committed grave robbery.

Hypocrisy.

Pure.

Unfiltered.

Everyone standing there knew the truth.

In past wars, many of those same noble families had built their wealth not just by conquering enemies—but by stripping everything from them.

Homes.

Relics.

Graves.

Nothing had been sacred.

And now—

They stood here.

Speaking of righteousness.

Max exhaled quietly through his nose, the faintest trace of amusement flickering in his eyes before it disappeared completely.

His gaze moved across the crowd.

And what he saw—

Wasn’t justice.

It was greed.

Clear.

Undeniable.

Burning behind every carefully spoken word.

"So all in all," Max said slowly, his voice still even, still controlled, "the proof you have... is nothing more than a claim made by the people gathered here?"

Some lords stood straighter, sudden tension in their shoulders.

"You don’t really have any hard proof that you can show to prove the legitimacy of your actions."

A flicker of focus lit his gaze.

Not aggressive.

But firm.

"If that is so, then I have no obligation to hand over one of my students."

That -

Shifted the atmosphere.

Frost edged his voice before he even spoke.

"Don’t be foolish, Max," he said, his tone losing its earlier polish. "Just bring out the thief, and we will settle this peacefully."

Some of those standing at the back began bobbing their heads faster, tension creeping into their stillness.

"Yes, there’s no need to escalate this," another added, though his voice carried a clear edge. "Hand her over, and this ends here."

Someone grumbled the question - too loud - as if daring anyone to answer.

But Max didn’t move.

Didn’t step back.

Didn’t yield.

"I have no intention of handing anyone to you."

The words were simple.

But they carried weight.

He stood there—alone before a gathering of nobles and armed men—yet there was no hesitation in his stance. His back was straight, his presence unwavering.

It wasn’t defiance.

It was conviction.

For him—

This wasn’t about politics.

Or power.

It was about his student.

The other noblemen started to react more openly now.

Some voices rose in frustration.

Fury fueled their edges.

"Do you even understand who you’re opposing?"

"You’re protecting a thief!"

"This is an insult to every noble house present!"

Meanwhile, some gave another method a go.

More controlled.

More calculated.

"Principal Max," one of them said, stepping forward with a measured tone, "think carefully. We are offering a peaceful resolution."

Another added quietly, "There is no need for unnecessary conflict. Just cooperate, and this matter ends without bloodshed."

But beneath both the threats and persuasion—

The truth remained the same.

They wanted the sword.

And Max—

Was standing in their way.

The wind stirred faintly between them.

Cloth shifted.

Armor creaked.

And for a brief moment—

Silence returned.

Not calm.

But waiting.

Because everyone there could feel it.

This was no longer a negotiation.

It was the edge of something far worse.