When Jester reappeared, he was already in the woods outside Brightgate City. Pine and tree leaves swayed in the wind.

Jester exhaled slowly, his form stabilizing as faint green light faded from his eyes. "Good," he muttered. "No civilians here."

Not that he cared for others to be honest. His master's commands just limited him to some actions.

The silence in the woods lasted only a heartbeat.

From above, three streaks of light tore through the canopy—blue, crimson, and green. The sky lit up with mana flares, followed by a series of concussive bursts.

Blades of compressed air and radiant spears rained down, smashing through trees and rock alike.

Jester's eyes widened slightly. "They started already?"

He had the two controlled knights by his side hurriedly protect him.

For a moment, he was genuinely surprised. He hadn't expected them to strike without hesitation, especially while their two comrades were still alive—though under his control.

Branches burned. Craters formed. The forest smelled of ozone and splintered bark.

He frowned, feeling mild irritation tug at the edge of his calm. "So they've already written them off as dead?"

Recalling his master's earlier orders, Jester had not killed the first two. He had only fractured their consciousness—suppressed the thinking mind and taken command of the subconscious. They could still breathe, their hearts still beat, and with rest they could even recover. The control wasn't permanent; it was a delicate balance that avoided permanent damage.

But their allies clearly didn't know that.

"This is… troublesome," he murmured.

Jester had assumed they would hesitate, try to rescue their companions, or at least attempt contact before attacking.

Through their hesitation he had planned to take control of them but unfortunately, the world doesn't sometimes accept to follow one's plan.

The moment the first attack landed, another wave came and another followed immediately.

From the treeline, three figures hovered in a loose triangle and flooded the clearing with long-range fire. Crescent blades of wind stacked over lances of light. Scattershot mana bolts peppered the ground in stuttering lines.

They were master stage knights, and while spellwork was not their strong suit, they did not need finesse to drown a target. Volume would do.

"Attack," Jester said.

The two knights at his side moved at once. Their eyes were dull, their auras steady. One lifted a palm and cast a slanted barrier that caught the first rain of wind blades. The other drew a breath and punched forward. A compressed shockwave ripped up through the canopy and met the descending lances midair.

The collision burst in a white ring that shook the pines.

Above, the trio did not pause. They widened their circle and began to spam in rhythm. The pattern built like drumbeats. Trees toppled. Soil kicked up in curtains.

Jester would have been overwhelmed alone but thanks to the two beside him, he had time to even observe the situation.

After thinking about it a bit, Jester took the risk and had the two knights by his side fly up to meet their friends.

Immediately a more intense wave of mana erupted.

The five knights clashed midair in a violent storm of color and sound.

Shockwaves rippled through the forest as their mana collided, distorting the air itself. Jester's two puppets met their former comrades head-on—instinct driving their bodies while their minds remained suppressed under his control.

Spells flared across the sky like fireworks gone rogue. A storm of blades, flame lances, and bursts of kinetic pressure crossed paths in chaotic brilliance.

Their subconscious instincts—honed through years of battle—drove them to fight as they would in life, not as puppets bound by restraint.

One of Jester's knights threw up a hardened aura shield and countered with a burning arc slash, while the other darted between blasts, closing the distance with explosive bursts of mana. Above, the three free knights matched their ferocity with equal force. Mana chains and compressed air orbs tangled midair, detonating in flares that burned across the treetops.

And then it happened.

Without Jester's command, the two controlled knights flared brighter—rings on their fingers pulsing with light. The runes etched into the metal shimmered, and in the next instant, flashes of steel appeared in their hands.

Weapons.

"Ah…" Jester's eyes narrowed faintly. "Space rings? This technology exists here too?!"

One drew a broad longsword. The other summoned a glaive. They crossed the final distance in a blur, meeting their former comrades head-on.

The three free knights didn't hesitate either—their own rings lit up in response, summoning their personal weapons.

The first impact was like thunder. A shockwave rippled outward, flattening the treetops below. Each strike was accompanied by a bloom of light, mana colliding and splintering mid-air.

From the ground, Jester watched calmly as they engaged. Spells exploded like artillery.

From what Jester could see, his luck was good as the two controlled knights just happened to have been the strongest in their groups.

However, no matter how strong they were, with their level of power, they couldn't end the battle quickly.

Fortunately, their abilities were still of help.

Unknown to the three other knights, they were not so far away from Jester anymore.

With their mind not focused on him and him being close to them, the four felt a force in their consciousness and lost control.

"Enough," Jester said, voice carrying cleanly through the battered treetops. His eyes gleamed green. "Down."

All five knights seized mid-swing, their auras stuttering. Like puppets whose strings had been yanked, they drifted from the sky, boots crunching into the churned earth.

Jester was just about to think of his next move when he suddenly paused and stopped.

A presence pressed lightly against the edge of his senses. He turned his head.

High above, half-veiled by cloud glare, a single figure hung in the air.

If Michael had been here, he'd have recognized the man instantly. It was that awakener from the Supers Association branch he met when he was updating his profile for his college exams.

The man studied Jester with a level look. "You look familiar," he said, voice unhurried. "But who are you?"

Jester opened his mouth to answer.

The man moved first.

He didn't strike at the five grounded knights. Unlike the other three, he could tell what could be saved and not.

Instead, a lance of compressed mana knifed straight at Jester.

The simplest solution was to capture the problem.

*

Michael stared blankly at the ceiling for a long time, unable to focus on anything.

An uneasy weight pressed on his chest — one that refused to fade no matter how much he tried to reason it away.

Something was wrong. He could feel it.

He clenched his fists. "What's going on over there…"

His mind spun through possibilities — none of them good.

Michael's jaw tightened.

His family was in Jester's care.

If something was happening to Jester… what guarantee did he have that Mia and Lily were safe?

He tried to calm himself, but the anxiety only grew sharper the longer he sat there.

Finally, he stood. "I can't just wait here."

He knew the rules. Leaving the academy required formal permission. But he couldn't shake the dread clawing at him. Every instinct screamed that something wasn't right.

After pacing once more, he came to a decision.

If he couldn't leave on his own, he'd ask for permission.

And there was one person who might grant it.

Without wasting another moment, Michael rushed out of his villa.

His destination — Instructor Yola's office.

The corridors of the administration wing were nearly empty.

Michael's footsteps echoed sharply against the polished floor.

A passing student tried to greet him, but one look at his expression made them stop midway.

By the time he reached the office hall, his breathing had steadied — but his mind hadn't. He raised a fist and knocked once, firmly.

"Enter," came a crisp voice from inside.

Michael pushed the door open, his steps firm but his expression strained.

Instructor Yola looked up from a stack of glowing reports, her brows lifting slightly at the sight of him. The faint light from the mana lamps reflected off her golden-rimmed spectacles as she set her pen down.

"Michael Norman," she said evenly, her tone calm yet sharp, "you look… unsettled. What brings you here?"

Michael didn't waste a moment. "Instructor, I need to leave the academy."

Yola blinked once. "Leave?" Her expression hardened. "You know that's not permitted without authorization. What's the reason?"

Michael hesitated only for a heartbeat before replying, his voice low but steady. "I think something might have happened to my… family."

For a brief moment, silence filled the room.

Instructor Yola's eyes narrowed, her instincts telling her there was more behind that vague statement. She was about to question him — to ask how he could possibly know something had happened from this far away — but then she stopped herself.

She let out a quiet sigh and rose from her chair. "Asking for leave should be submitted in advance," she said after a moment, her tone softer now, "but based on the situation… we'll make do."

Michael blinked, surprised by her quick decision.

"Follow me."

Without waiting for him to respond, Yola moved around the desk and headed for the exit, her heels tapping briskly against the floor. Michael trailed behind her, trying to suppress the growing anxiety in his chest.

Soon, they stepped out of the realm.

She turned to Michael. "You will be under my observation, so this will have to be logged manually. I'll handle the permissions later. Right now…"

She grabbed his hand firmly — her grip surprisingly strong — and the mana around them twisted in response.

"Where's the location?" she asked.

Michael's throat felt dry. "Brightgate City," he said quickly.

"Hold on tight," Yola said simply.

Before he could even answer, the world around them blurred.

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