Jinn BLADE-Chapter 185 | Plans

"Try to lie better next time," Venedix muttered, her voice low but carrying an authority that washed over Jinn like a tide. She flicked her golden eyes at Jinn, and for a brief moment those eyes gleamed with a sharp glow, the kind that cut deeper than any blade she wielded.

There was no anger there, not truly—yet it was a stare that slid right through him, seeing everything he tried to hide, as if she could pry open all the quiet truths he buried inside his chest.

She lifted a single finger and pressed it lightly against the middle of his chest, the gesture simple but firm, like she was pointing at the very core of him, the place where every secret and every weakness stayed.

"You do not serve royalty," she added, her voice steady, "I know you better than anyone else here. Better than anyone who thinks they can order you around." Then she leaned in the smallest bit, her tone dropping.

"Whatever lies within your chest that makes you lose your composure like that... cut it out. Let it go. If you don’t, someone will use it against you, and they will kill you in the worst, most miserable way."

Those words struck deeper than Jinn wished to admit. The moment his friends had parted ways with him, the moment life had pushed him into a path alone, he had been thrown into the grueling hands of Venedix. Days and nights of training, endless drills that pushed him to the ground, forced him back up again, and built him piece by piece into something unrecognizable from the weak boy he once was.

She forged him like a weapon, but also watched him like one—careful, precise, studying every part of him until she understood him not only as a fighter but as a person.

And throughout that time, Venedix learned Jinn in a way others couldn’t. More than anyone in Zerafhon could claim. Even more than Troy, who lectured and guided him, even he could not see the deepest parts the way Venedix did.

So when she said she saw past his lie, Jinn knew she was right. He couldn’t deny that Venedix understood him enough to detect the falsehood he blurted out earlier at the spur of the moment.

Still, his expression did not waver.

Jinn remained stubborn, as he always had been.

Maybe too stubborn.

It didn’t matter what Venedix said, or how much she demanded of him, or how much she tried to shape him into something sharper, safer, stronger. Jinn could never erase the thoughts of his friends. He could never erase Nevi. She was the very reason he pushed forward, the reason he tried to grow, the reason he refused to be weak again. Her memory was the flame that kept him moving, even when everything else tried to pull him down.

If he let go of them... if he erased them like Venedix wanted, then he would lose everything that made him take another step.

He would lose the reason he breathed.

He would lose the reason his hands refused to tremble in battle.

Those memories, even the painful ones, were what formed him.

They kept him on the path he swore to follow—one shaped by strength, by protection, by never letting what happened before ever happen again.

Because without strength, he could never protect the people he loved.

Without strength, he could never protect himself.

And he knew, deep in his heart, that no one—not Venedix, not royalty, not any noble—had the right to demand he forget the things he cherished.

No one will take those thoughts away.

No one will erase Nevi from him.

If they tried, Jinn couldn’t even imagine what kind of monster or empty husk he would become.

So he simply stood there, silent, his expression calm... but inside, his resolve hardened even more.

"Enough about the subject," Jinn finally spoke, his voice low but steady, his eyes staying fixed on his master as if anchoring himself on her presence before his mind drifted somewhere darker again.

He inhaled deeply, trying to steady the tension still crawling along his nerves. "Master, I have finally able t—"

"I know," Venedix cut him off instantly, her tone calm yet absolute, the kind that ended any chance of further words. She didn’t even look at him anymore, her gaze already shifting toward the far side of the hall where an individual stood, preoccupied while talking with a group of nobles.

Troy.

Venedix’s expression softened only slightly, but there was a sense of recognition there—a silent acknowledgment before she turned her gaze elsewhere again.

"A discussion once this event is over," she stated plainly, no room for debate.

Her eyes drifted to the distant end of the hallway where the loud blare of trumpets echoed, bouncing off the tall, polished walls and announcing the gathering of several houses. Members of House Sorellia lined the corridor, some wearing proud smirks, others nodding respectfully as they awaited the return of their eldest and the apprentice who now walked behind her like a sharpened shadow.

And so, master and apprentice stepped forward.

Venedix moved with the confidence of someone born for war and honor, her long cape flowing behind her like a trail of presence that demanded respect without ever needing to request it.

Jinn followed close behind, silent, composed, and still recovering from the emotional storm within him. And yet he walked with dignity—because beside her, he always had to.

The first to rush forward was Merilyn, her steps quick and filled with the same youthful excitement she had always shown whenever their elder sister finally returned home. Her eyes lit up immediately, bright and warm, as she took Venedix’s hand with both of hers.

"Elder sister! It has been ages since you’ve been back in the city!" she exclaimed, practically bouncing. Her voice carried an excitement that pulled the attention of nearby nobles, her joy louder than the trumpets had been.

Venedix placed a gentle hand on Merilyn’s shoulder, her strict eyes softening only a little. "It is good to be back. What of our residency... have you—?"

"Aye," Zendrell stepped forward before Merilyn could answer, his towering form casting a long shadow over both Jinn and Venedix. Despite his size, his tone was respectful and composed, the kind of presence that felt solid like a fortress rather than intimidating.

"Everything is prepared. I’m sure the new training grounds will benefit everyone in the family... especially little Jinn over here." His eyes narrowed with a teasing glint as they landed on Jinn.

The corner of Jinn’s eye twitched slightly, though he didn’t respond. Zendrell had that effect on him.

"Very well," Venedix said as she folded her hands behind her back. "We will make use of the training grounds soon. I am eager to test the capabilities of my apprentice." Her gaze flicked over her shoulder only briefly, just enough for Jinn to feel its weight.

She did not smile, yet the tone implied she expected much—and would accept nothing less.

She then turned toward Mezra, who had been standing patiently with her usual calm, scholarly aura. Her glasses glimmered under the chandelier’s light, and her posture remained straight as always.

"What of the affairs of the academy that I mentioned before?" Venedix asked.

"All subjects and classes are accounted for," Mezra replied quickly, her tone meticulous and respectful, as though every word was placed with careful precision. "A spot is open and will be ready for use once you give the order, Elder Sister."

Her answer was clean, exact, and confident—typical Mezra.

"That would be exciting indeed...!"

Troy appeared from behind with his usual casual attitude, placing a relaxed hand on Jinn’s shoulder as if he had been standing there for a while, watching everything unfold with quiet amusement. His long black hair drifted slightly over the dark robes he wore, robes marked with the distinct insignia of Nythrael—an elegant golden axis centered by a slowly burning violet flame that shimmered whenever light hit it.

Troy always carried himself like someone who knew he was talented, someone who knew his own presence alone was enough to draw attention, and right now that same self-assured air wrapped around him as he grinned at Jinn.

"You’ve never gone to an academy, haven’t you, Jinn?" he asked, tilting his head slightly. The tone was light, but the question carried something underneath it, something that made Jinn’s lone eye twitch in quiet irritation.

Jinn’s voice came out sharp, almost annoyed. "Why are you asking me this? Are you about to send me to the academy?" He spoke with a cold edge to his voice, trying not to show how frustrated he already felt with everything happening tonight.

"For a while," Venedix replied before Troy could even open his mouth again. Her tone was firm and calm, as always, yet carried the weight of her authority. "But you aren’t there to learn, not at all."

Troy abruptly stepped in again, puffing his chest just slightly, clearly proud of the idea he was about to say. "Well, she’s right—you have the Blade of the Empire herself training you how to fight, and the prodigy of Nythrael—me, obviously—lecturing you!" His voice boomed with pride, forcing Venedix to raise a brow at him, her expression implying he should maybe let her finish before running his mouth.

Venedix released a subtle sigh, lifting a hand to press her fingers against her brow as if dealing with Troy’s antics drained a bit of her patience every time.

There was no anger, only slight frustration and a tired acceptance that Troy would always be Troy.

"High Command placed this missive upon our family," Venedix finally continued, her voice steadying again as she shifted into a tone of pure seriousness. "There is an investigation happening within the academy... concerning the students, the professors... and the cultists that are festering within."

There was more she clearly wanted to say, more details that probably kept her awake at night, but she stopped herself before revealing too much in the middle of the palace hall.

"We will talk with you after this event, Jinn. Now come—let’s get this event over with."

Zendrell approached at that moment with a wide grin stretching across his face, the kind of grin that mixed both teasing and genuine pride. His massive arm, thick as a pillar and heavy with muscle, rose to rest over Jinn’s shoulder in a rough but affectionate gesture.

"You’ve been eating good, eh? You’ve grown tall, little Jinn—so you’ve finally got to taste war!" His voice boomed loudly enough that a few heads turned, though none dared approach when they recognized who he was.

Jinn, ever the snobbish and cool-tongued, rolled his eye slightly and answered in a calm but dismissive tone.

"It was what I’ve been tasked for, so I must follow." His voice held no bragging, only a straightforward truth spoken by someone who had lived through brutal experiences and came out colder because of them.

Zendrell studied him quietly for a brief moment—his stance, his posture, the subtle maturity in the way Jinn carried himself now.

It was as if the young fragile boy had vanished, replaced by someone hardened, sharpened, someone who carried the weight of battle on his back.

And in that silent moment, Zendrell understood deeply that Jinn had truly grown—not just physically, but as a fighter, a soldier, and as a man shaped by hardship.

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, a smirk filled with pride he didn’t bother to hide.

"Not too shabby..." he muttered under his breath, almost soft enough that Jinn couldn’t hear it.

Side by side, the two walked forward, following Venedix and the rest of House Sorellia. Step by step, they moved onward toward the next part of the night.