Chapter 426 [Event] [Semester-Exam At Vanadias] [14] Taking Care Of The Bullies

Chapter 426 [Event] [Semester-Exam At Vanadias] [14] Taking Care Of The Bullies

"You lot seem to be enjoying yourselves."

Amael stood at the edge of the scene, his amber eyes taking in the situation with a measured gaze. Amael hadn't come here by chance. During his training, he had felt a gaze upon him—a sensation that gnawed at the back of his mind for a moment. When he turned to investigate, the source was elusive, but the lingering presence was unmistakable. Following it out of curiosity, he arrived to witness something far more out of expectation than he'd anticipated.

His gaze briefly flickered to the overturned wheelchair, its familiar design catching his attention. A wheelchair?

His mind turned back to the girl he had met just the day before. The wheelchair was identical.

His eyes traveled to the figure on the ground, a young elf with delicate features and long hair that faded into a striking gradient of blond and green. She lay crumpled on the earth, tears glistening on her cheeks. It was the first time he had truly seen her face, but the look in her eyes—those tear-stained, pleading eyes—triggered a sense of déjà vu in Amael.

She's the girl from yesterday...

Unless she had a twin, there was no mistaking it. It was her. The girl he had encountered before, the one who had looked at him with the same wide-eyed gaze when she realized he was human.

'What's she doing here?'

Judging by her appearance, her status wasn't common.

Could she be royalty? She wasn't with the other royals when Tanya introduced them yesterday, so maybe she is a cousin or a distant relative?

While Amael pondered the girl's identity, one of the tormentors stepped forward, arrogance dripping from his posture.

"Who are you to interrupt us, Human?" Onas asked, eyes narrowing at Amael's interruption.

Before the situation could escalate, Neia quickly intervened. "Onas." Her calm voice was a warning to hold his tongue. She wasn't about to let him speak recklessly.

She knew exactly who stood before them, even if Onas did not. It wouldn't befit her status if she hadn't recognized him. Amael Falkrona—or rather, Amael Olphean, as they now knew—was no stranger to the royal courts of Sancta Vedelia. His name had been whispered in corridors long before the formal introductions. The moment Allen Teraquin had returned home in a crippled state, one name had risen to the surface—Amael's. And yet, here he was, standing before them. The brother of Christina and Connor, the youngest son of Alea herself.

I didn't get a proper look at him yesterday, Neia thought, her curiosity piqued as she studied him closely now. But he's different than I imagined.

The rumors surrounding Amael had painted a vivid picture—she expected a burly, rough-edged man with battle scars and a hot-blooded temper. But what stood before her was nothing of the sort. Amael was strikingly handsome, his features refined and slightly delicate, yet there was an undeniable strength behind his calm demeanor. Neia felt a strange bitterness swell within her as she found herself admiring him, even though he was human.

"What is it, Princess Neia? He's just a human," Eril muttered, his voice laced with disdain as he watched both Neia and Glamir fall silent. Only the two of them knew well about Amael.

Amael, however, paid them no mind as he moved toward Bryelle, who lay crumpled on the ground, visibly shaken. His amber eyes softened as he approached her. "You sure hid things from me, didn't you?"

"T-That's... sorry..." Bryelle stammered, lowering her head, her voice barely a whisper.

Amael's expression softened bit. "Well, don't worry, just kidding," he said, offering his hand to her. "Come."

"Hey! What's a human doing standing before Elven royals?!" Before Bryelle could reach out, Thina snapped.

Neia shot her cousin a silent glare. Read the mood, idiot.

Amael waved his hand dismissively, as if brushing off a minor inconvenience. "Thought you were a guy. My bad," he said nonchalantly, wiping the blood off his knuckles.

Glamir, enraged, took a step forward. "Do you know what you've just done?"

Amael's expression darkened as he turned to face Glamir, who visibly tensed.

Amael's gaze on Glamir was far more menacing than the others—he clearly had no intention of letting him off easily.

"Enough!" Neia shouted, stepping forward to intervene. She could see the murderous intent in Amael's eyes as he closed the distance between him and Glamir in a blink.

"B-Bastard!" Glamir unleashed a punch, his fist glowing with potent mana.

Amael caught the punch effortlessly. With a single, fluid motion, he yanked Glamir forward, throwing him off balance, and drove his knee into Glamir's stomach.

"AGH!" Glamir gasped, his eyes widening in pain as blood sprayed from his mouth. He crumpled to the ground, clutching his stomach, barely able to breathe.

Amael wasn't finished. He raised his leg again, ready to strike, but Neia quickly thrust her arm out in front of him. "If you go any further, you'll create an international crisis! He's a royal—this has to stop. We're even."

Amael paused, his leg still in the air. After a moment of tense silence, he slowly lowered it. "I suppose so."

Neia let out a sigh of relief, but it was short-lived. Before she could relax, Amael moved swiftly toward her. His hand shot out, and Neia flinched, closing her eyes tightly in fear.

She felt his hand on her neck—a firm touch. When she opened her eyes, she saw him calmly running his fingers along the chain of her emerald pendant.

"W-What are you doing?" She stammered, trembling. No man had ever dared touch her like this, let alone a human. In any other circumstance, it would have been unthinkable, but Amael's presence was overwhelming, suffocating. She couldn't bring herself to move.

A strange sensation flooded her body. She had never felt anything like this before. It reminded her of the raw power she sensed from Alvara, but this was different. Amael was a man—a man who defied every delicate ideal she had of Elven masculinity. His aura of danger, of dominance, completely shattered her preconceptions of what a real man was supposed to be. Even Lykhor, with all his handsome features and noble air, paled in comparison to the raw, primal energy Amael exuded.

"What a beautiful pendant," Amael muttered, his fingers lightly stroking the emerald.

Neia's throat tightened as she clenched her fists, trying desperately to steady her breath. She couldn't meet his gaze.

With a sudden, sharp motion, Amael yanked the pendant from her neck, the chain snapping painfully against her skin.

"Ah!" Neia gasped, her hand flying to her reddened neck.

Amael glanced at the pendant before throwing it into the grass without a second thought. "But it doesn't suit you," he sneered, dismissing it as though it were worthless.

Neia stood frozen, her hand still on her neck, her eyes wide with shock. She had never felt so humiliated in her life. Her face burned bright red with a mix of shame and anger, but the overwhelming feeling of helplessness kept her from speaking.

Amael, now indifferent to her, bent down to pick up a leaf pendant from the grass and handed it to Bryelle, who had watched everything in stunned silence.

"Ignore the losers," Amael said calmly, gripping the handles of Bryelle's wheelchair. Without another word, he turned and began to leave, pushing her away from the scene.

Neia watched his back as he walked away, her fists clenched tightly at her sides, her body trembling with a whirlwind of emotions—mainly embarrassment.