Reborn Financier-Chapter 50: Shadows Beneath the Bell

First day of school as classes as finally started to commence. The morning sun spilled its golden rays across the wide training grounds of B-Class, painting long shadows on the rough stone pavement.

The building itself stood like a stoic veteran—weathered, scarred, and solid. Unlike the polished marble corridors of A-Class, B-Class had a raw, untamed energy about it. The air buzzed with the hushed murmur of students, most of whom had already gathered in clusters, some stretching, others sparring, and many whispering as they eyed the newcomer.

Kaidën Valtorin— the Blindfolded Fighter

He walked in alone, his dark cloak trailing behind him like a shadow. His presence sent a ripple through the atmosphere, but he neither flinched nor acknowledged it. His eyes were calm, too calm—like still water that ran dangerously deep. He looked around briefly, scanning the space not out of awe, but calculation. He moved to a quiet corner and sat down without a word.

Whispers started immediately.

"That’s the kid from the evaluation matches, right?"

"Tch. They say he barely moved in his fight. Probably got in through connections."

"No way he beat Meng Ji fairly. She’s from a Grandmaster family."

"What a joke. This system’s rigged."

Kaidën heard it all but chose silence. He wasn’t here to prove anything. His only goal was simple—survive, observe, and graduate quietly.

But B-Class wasn’t a place for peace.

A muscular teen with a shaved head and heavy boots approached him. His name, Kaidën would later learn, was Ron Garrell—a third-generation mercenary from the Ironblood Peaks.

"Hey, you’re the new ’golden boy,’ huh?" Ron smirked. "Got a fancy record and zero scars. Let me guess, never taken a real hit in your life?"

Kaidën looked up slowly. "You sound upset."

"Damn right I am. I fought tooth and nail to get into B-Class. You? You just glided in."

Ron leaned in, voice low and mocking. "When the inter-class ban lifts, I’ll come for your spot. Hope you’re not made of glass."

Kaidën didn’t blink. "Hope you’re not relying on your muscles alone."

Ron scoffed, but before he could retort, the instructor blew his whistle, commanding everyone’s attention.

Drills began, and Kaidën moved with quiet precision. Every form, every motion was controlled and minimal—but efficient. He didn’t overperform. Didn’t try to impress. Yet a few eyes caught the subtle mastery in his footing and form.

One belonged to a quiet girl with braided white hair and pale tattoos running down her arms. She sat cross-legged on the sidelines, her narrowed eyes fixed on Kaidën. Northern Tribes—Kaidën guessed. Her gaze wasn’t hostile. It was wary.

Another student, a large boy with fiery hair and a two-handed axe, watched from afar with a grunt. "That guy’s not normal," he muttered.

By the end of the session, Kaidën hadn’t spoken a word more. But already, his silence screamed louder than the loudest boast.

***********************************************

Back at the infirmary where Meng ji was, the door to the infirmary slid open with a sharp wooden groan. In stepped a tall figure, casting a long shadow across the polished floor.

He wore a sapphire-blue kimono, the fabric embroidered with the subtle silhouette of twin dragons circling each other. His black hair was tied in a warrior’s topknot, and at his side hung a long katana wrapped in silk. His gaze was sharp, unreadable—like a still lake hiding the riptide beneath.

Meng Ji turned her head slightly, grimacing.

"...Brother," she said weakly, eyes flickering with a hint of shame.

Meng Kyun didn’t answer immediately. He stood at the door, arms folded behind his back, surveying the room like a general inspecting a battlefield. Finally, he took one slow step forward, then another.

"So," he said, his voice low and cool. "You lost."

The words struck harder than she expected.

Meng Ji flinched, her hands tightening into fists beneath the blanket. "I didn’t lose. It was a draw."

"Then why are you lying in bed while he’s walking free?"

"...Because I overexerted my qi."

"No," Meng Kyun snapped. His voice cut through the air like a sword. "Because you were scared."

That silenced her.

He walked to her bedside and stared down at her, his expression unreadable. Then, with a slow exhale, he sat on the wooden stool beside her.

"Tell me the truth. What did you feel in that last moment?" he asked. "When your sword shattered. When you lost control. What happened?"

Meng Ji turned her gaze to the ceiling. Her lips parted—but no words came.

"...I don’t know," she whispered. "It was like... I looked into a void. Not just power, but something ancient. Something that didn’t belong to someone our age. It wasn’t him that scared me—it was what was inside him."

Meng Kyun tilted his head slightly.

"You panicked."

"I didn’t panic!" she said, voice rising for the first time. "I adapted. I had to overpush my art to stop him. If I hadn’t—"

"You would have lost. You know that."

She fell silent again, ashamed.

Meng Kyun sighed and leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees.

"I’m not angry because you drew," he said. "I’m angry because you let your instincts override your control. That’s not what we were taught. That’s not what our clan expects of a daughter of the Meng."

"I didn’t choose to lose control," she snapped. "My body... it moved on its own. It felt like if I didn’t act, I would be consumed."

Meng Kyun’s eyes narrowed. "Consumed... by what?"

Meng Ji looked away. "By... him."

There was silence for a moment. A long pause.

Then, softer, Meng Kyun said, "...He is just a blind Mother f*cker, how could he consume you"

Meng Ji closed her eyes. "I saw someone... Someone of greater power than I could have ever taught."

She turned her face toward her brother. "He’s hiding. I don’t know from what, or why... but there’s no way someone like that should’ve been in C-Class. Or B-Class. He doesn’t care about rankings. He wasn’t fighting to win. He was testing me."

Meng Kyun stood. He paced slowly, his footsteps soft against the wood.

"I spoke to Grandfather before coming here," he said at last.

Meng Ji blinked. "Grandfather?"

"He’s intrigued. Very few people ever impress him anymore—but your opponent did. He watched the duel in its entirety... twice."

Meng Ji swallowed.

"What did he say?" she asked.

"He said, ’Tell my granddaughter: dragons don’t spar with rabbits.’"

Meng Ji stared.

"...He thinks I’m a rabbit?"

"He thinks he is a dragon," Meng Kyun corrected. "And that you met one for the first time."

The silence between them stretched again.

Then Meng Kyun’s voice softened, just a little. "You know... when we were children, you used to cry whenever you couldn’t match me in training. You swore you’d become the strongest girl in the clan."

"I still will," she said quietly.

"Then prove it."

He reached into his sleeve and placed something on the bed beside her. It was a jade emblem shaped like a bell.

"The Bell of Trials," he said. "They’re reviving it. Headmaster Alaric just confirmed it in a closed meeting. After midterms, the challenge will begin. Five students from each class. A chance to rise beyond your rank... or fall and be forgotten."

Meng Ji stared at the emblem, fingers curling around it.

"I’m already entering," Meng Kyun continued. "I’ve been chosen to represent the Sword Pavilion in the Continental Evaluation. You should fight your way into it. Earn your place, not just in the Meng, but in the wider world. That’s where your real opponents are."

She hesitated, then asked softly, "And if I lose again?"

He looked at her without blinking.

"Then lose knowing you gave everything. But if you let fear guide you again—if you pull back at the last moment, or let hesitation twist your blade—then you’ll never be anything but a rabbit."

She clenched the jade piece in her hand.

"I want to fight him again," she whispered.

"I know," he said.

Meng Kyun turned toward the door, but paused before leaving.

"...By the way, next time you go all-out and shatter your core technique, try not to collapse in front of a crowd," he said dryly. "You almost gave the old Pavilion Master a stroke."

Meng Ji laughed weakly.

"He’s always been dramatic."

Meng Kyun smirked, then slid the door open. "Rest up. You’ve got a dragon to hunt."

And then he was gone.

***********************************************

Two weeks as passed and finally the student are gathered together again. But this time it was different, it wasn’t for a fight, but for an announcement.

The courtyard brimmed with students. A-Class elites, B-Class contenders, even a few select C-Class prodigies stood at attention as magical glyphs lit the air above them.

A booming voice echoed—deep, commanding, laced with mystery.

"Students of Emberforge Academy. Today, I awaken an ancient tradition—one bathed in challenge, glory, and risk. The Bell of Trials shall ring again."

Gasps followed.

"The Bell of Trials was last held fifty years ago," whispered one student.

"I thought it was banned..."

The glyphs shifted, forming a spectral image of a great black bell surrounded by chains.

"Only the worthy may ring the Bell," Headmaster Alaric’s voice declared. "Only five will stand among the best to represent our Academy at the Continental Evaluation."

Kaidën stood in the crowd, arms crossed. He didn’t speak, but his eyes narrowed slightly. The name stirred old memories—of pain, fire, and blood. The Bell of Trials wasn’t a game. It was a battlefield dressed in ceremonial robes.

He turned to leave, uninterested in fanfare, heading towards his dorm, to rest. Although many people had their eyes in him, like mengi and the 6th prince but kaidën didn’t really care, he just left quietly.

***********************************************

Back at the door of kaidën, late in the night, the moon hung high as Kaidën sat on his bed, the dorm quiet. His room was modest—only a few scrolls, some plain bedding, and a locked drawer.

He opened it slowly.

Inside was a black envelope, wax-sealed with an insignia only a few living martial artists would recognize.

He broke the seal and unfolded the letter. The ink shimmered in the candlelight—ancient martial script that twisted unnaturally as he read it.

> "You must enter as one of the five representatives for the Bell of Trials. No matter what happens. Remember—I am watching you closely."

Kaidën read the words twice.

Then he crumpled the paper.

"Of course," he muttered. "When I thought it was finally over... boom. He comes again."

His fingers flexed.

This wasn’t just an invitation. It was a command. One written in a language only someone trained in the old ways would understand.

One used by only one man: Headmaster Alaric.

Kaidën leaned back against the wall, eyes closed.

He didn’t want to fight.

He didn’t want to rise.

But fate, as always, seemed determined to drag him back into the storm.

Days till bell trials »»»» 60 days

To be Continued...