"Master!"

The shout shattered the tense quiet of the encampment.

Violet paused mid-motion, her hand hovering over a map of the Northern Wastelands. She turned slowly, her robes settling around her petite frame.

Elara was sprinting toward the command tent. The girl had lost all semblance of decorum. Her breathing was ragged, her face flushed with a mixture of exertion and lingering terror. Behind her, Mira and Kaelin stumbled along, looking equally disheveled.

Dust kicked up around their boots, drawing the attention of every idler in the vicinity.

A frown etched itself onto Violet's porcelain face. Her eyes, sharp and discerning, flicked to the perimeter.

Dozens of male disciples from the Kingslayer Academy and the Wind Mage Academy had stopped their drills. They gathered around, their gazes glued to the torn robes of her students.

Greed, lust, and mockery painted their faces. They weren't looking at the injuries; they were looking at the exposed skin beneath the rips.

"Calm down, El," Violet commanded, her voice low but carrying the authority of a whip crack. "Is this how you behave with leeches around?"

Elara skidded to a halt, her chest heaving. "Wh—?"

"What do you mean by that, Principal Violet?" a young man from the Kingslayer group shouted, stepping forward with feigned indignation. "We were just concerned."

Violet didn't even look at him. She ignored the complaints rising from the crowd like buzzing flies.

Her gaze remained locked on her disciples. She traced the stains on their clothes. Dark, dried blood. Mud. Soot.

But as her perception swept over them, she realized something strange.

There were no wounds. Their skin was unbroken. Their mana reserves were low, but their vitality was overflowing, vibrant and healthy.

If they were uninjured, why the panic? Why the terror in their eyes?

Did some daring men try to force themselves on her students?

The temperature in the camp plummeted.

An oppressive energy exploded from Violet's body. It wasn't mana; it was Soul Power.

It slammed into the surroundings like a physical hammer. The leering boys choked, clutching their throats as the air turned solid. Their knees buckled. The color drained from their faces, replaced by the grey pallor of suffocation.

Even the Principals of the other two Tier 3 academies, who had been drinking tea in a nearby pavilion, froze. Their cups rattled against their saucers.

They looked toward Violet with fear masking their anger. They bit back their gloom, swallowing their pride.

They had no choice.

This woman was an anomaly. In the Valora Kingdom, she was the strongest entity below the Royal princes. A Soul Master.

With her power alone, she could have elevated the Violet Lotus Academy to Tier 1 status. She could have commanded thousands. But she refused. She accepted only girls, and even then, her selection process was brutal. She didn't care about talent; she cared about virtue, grit, and character.

Four years after its founding, her academy had only fifty-seven disciples. But no one dared to bully them.

"Master, please… stop," Elara wheezed, realizing she had caused a scene. "It's not them. It's the Rift."

Violet narrowed her eyes. The pressure receded slightly, allowing the surrounding men to gasp for air.

"The Rift?"

"It is not Faint," Elara coughed, her voice trembling. "The intelligence was wrong. We met a monster nearing the Apprentice stage in the outer perimeter. It was an Ogre. We sensed its attribute… Strength 27."

"What?"

The exclamation didn't come from Violet. It came from Principal Galen of the Kingslayer Academy, who had rushed over upon feeling the Soul pressure.

"Twenty-seven?" Galen paled. "That is impossible. The mana density readings confirmed it was a Faint Rift. An Ogre of that caliber belongs in a Minor Rift's core, not the perimeter!"

If there were monsters that strong roaming the edges, then the disciples he had sent in earlier…

Violet ignored Galen. She looked at Elara. "A Strength of 27 would have turned you into paste before you could lift your spear. How are you alive? How are you uninjured?"

She knew her student's limits. Elara was brave, but she was weak.

Elara took a deep breath. The image of the blonde-haired man flashed in her mind, causing her heart to skip a beat.

"We… we were saved," she stammered. "A group found us. They killed the Ogres."

"A group?" Violet crossed her arms. "The Apocalyptic Guild? Or the Royal Army?"

"Neither," Mira interjected, stepping up beside Elara. Her face was still red. "It was a family. A husband and his four wives."

Violet raised an eyebrow. "A family picnic in a Rift?"

"They were strong," Elara continued, her words tumbling out faster now. "They wiped out the Ogres and a goblin horde in seconds. And the man… Master, he was terrifying. He didn't even wear armor. He was shirtless."

Elara's voice dropped to a whisper. Her gaze drifted into the middle distance, unfocused.

"He was covered in blood and soot, but he looked like a king. His abs… they were like carved stone. Sweat was dripping down his chest…"

"Stop."

Violet rubbed her forehead. The headache was immediate. She had expected a serious report, not a recounting of a teenager's sexual awakening.

She turned to the two men standing awkwardly by the tent entrance. Principal Galen and Principal Jareth of the Wind Mage Academy.

"What do you two think?" she asked sharply.

Galen exchanged a nervous glance with Jareth. They shifted their weight, looking anywhere but at her.

They didn't want to be here. They didn't want to be involved in a Rift that was potentially upgrading its danger level. They were Tier 3 for a reason; they survived by picking low-hanging fruit, not by challenging destiny.

"If the Rift is truly that dangerous," Jareth mumbled, pulling at his collar, "we should recall our students. We should retreat and let the Guild handle it. We only came to scavenge some herbs and low level monsters."

"Agreed," Galen nodded quickly. "We can't risk our future talents on a misclassified dungeon. We should leave."

Violet sensed their unease. She let out a disappointed sigh.

She had thought, perhaps foolishly, that if she gave these men an opportunity, they would cling to that hope. She thought they might try to fight for their own advancement.

But no.

These men were cowards. They were cut from the same cloth as the men of Valora who had abandoned their homes when the apocalypse first claimed the kingdom's borders. They ran at the first sign of blood. They hid behind walls while women and children burned.

Her disappointment in the male gender grew far higher.

She waved her hand dismissively. A pulse of wind pushed the two Principals back, forcing them to stumble away from her tent.

"Leave. Go recall your cowards. I have to speak with my disciples."

The men didn't argue. They turned and fled, eager to escape her suffocating presence.

Violet turned back to the girls. Her expression softened, but her eyes remained critical.

"This man," she said. "Did you see him fighting?"

Elara blinked, snapping out of her reverie. She looked at Mira and Kaelin.

"N-no," Kaelin muttered, looking at her boots. "The Ogre was killed by an arrow. It was the Elf woman. And the goblins were killed by the Warrior woman and the Vampire."

"We saw the blood magic," Mira added. "And the healing. The healing came from the little halfling girl."

Violet curled her lip. A distinct look of distaste settled on her features.

"So, the women fought," she summarized dryly. "And the man stood back?"

"He… he intimidated us," Elara defended weakly. "He looked strong."

"Looked strong?" Violet scoffed. She pointed a finger at her own chest.

"Do you think I look strong?"

The girls looked at her. Violet was barely five and a half feet tall. Aside from her prominent curves which she hid under loose robes, she looked petite, almost fragile. If one didn't know she was a Master, they would mistake her for a librarian.

"That's not it…" Mira tried to correct.

"No need to defend him," Violet cut her off. Her voice was cold. "A man who watches his wives fight while he stands shirtless and poses? Tsk. These men are the same everywhere."

She began to pace.

"He relies on women to do his dirty work. He is likely a 'Soft Rice' eater. A pretty face with a silver tongue who tricked powerful women into serving him."

The three disciples looked at each other. They wanted to correct their master. They wanted to explain the suffocating aura of Intimidation the man had released. That wasn't the aura of a leech. That was the aura of a predator.

But arguing with Violet when she was in her 'Man-Hating Mode' was futile.

Violet stopped pacing. She gazed at them silently, noting the flush that still hadn't left Elara's cheeks.

"Don't tell me you guys fell in love with him," she laughed, the sound sharp and cynical.

The girls stiffened.

"Or," Violet continued, leaning in with a smirk that didn't reach her eyes, "was it his dick that charmed you?"

"MASTER!"

The three of them screamed in unison, their faces turning a violent shade of beetroot.

"Haha." Violet waved a hand, dismissing their embarrassment. "Don't worry. It is a perfectly natural reaction of a female body to a fit male. Lust is biology. Just don't mistake it for love, and certainly don't mistake a peacock for a dragon."

She turned back to the map.

"We are not leaving," she announced. "If there is a Minor Rift here, it is an opportunity. We will proceed with caution. But first, you three need to meditate. Go."

The girls bowed hastily and retreated, desperate to escape the conversation.

Violet watched them go. Her smile faded.

"A man with four powerful wives in the Wastelands," she whispered to the empty tent. "Interesting. I wonder which poor noble house he stole them from."

She grabbed her staff.

"I should probably go see this 'King' for myself. If he is exploiting those women… I might have to educate him."

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