Soulbound: Dual Cultivation

Lucas remained where he was, arms at his side, shoulders straight. "I only ask for the full assessment, Elder. The flame binding essence was completed. It should be examined."

Gasps rose around the chamber. Not loud ones, but enough to fill the space with a rising tension. Some of the older Alchemists shook their heads, their faces tightening with irritation. One scoffed openly.

"He's bluffing," someone whispered, loud enough for others to hear. "Ten minutes and now he wants applause?"

"Knows a few techniques and thinks he's a prodigy," another spat.

But the Grand Elder did not respond right away. His expression remained firm, unreadable again, though the faint furrow on his brow betrayed a flicker of displeasure. This was not a man used to being second-guessed, not even by high-ranking officials, much less an untested youth.

"Young man," he said at last, and now the chill had fully returned to his tone, "you should learn to know your place before you reach too far. Arrogance is a poor substitute for skill, and this hall has no tolerance for either."

Lucas did not answer.

The air in the hall had changed. Where once there had been mild curiosity and faint mockery, there was now irritation simmering just beneath the surface. Alchemists who had been amused now looked at him with narrowed eyes. To them, Lucas's request wasn't bold, it was disrespectful.

He was beginning to tread on dangerous ground.

Lucas's jaw clenched slightly as he stood beneath the scrutiny of the room, the weight of the Grand Elder's gaze pressing down on him like a cold mountain wind. The murmurings of the other Alchemists filled the air again, but he paid them no mind this time. He had heard enough, he had been quiet long enough.

He took a step forward, raising his arm slowly, pointing directly at the vial that still sat untouched on the table in front of the grand elder. His voice was sharper now, no longer calm or composed, but edged with a simmering frustration that bled into every word.

"You will pick up that vial," Lucas said firmly, his eyes never leaving the Grand Elder's face, "and inspect my flame binding essence. Assess it properly and give me the rank I've earned. I don't care for the sneers or the whispers, but I do care about respect. If this is a hall that values truth in alchemy, then truth should be honored, regardless of how young or unknown the Alchemist is."

The atmosphere in the room shifted once more, this time hardening into open hostility. The muttering Alchemists now let out bursts of derisive laughter. One of them clapped mockingly. Another leaned back in his seat, smirking, enjoying the scene as if it were a traveling play for his amusement.

"Listen to him bark," someone muttered.

"Who the hell does he think he is?" another grunted.

But Lucas did not back down. The fire in him, one born not from arrogance but from long-practiced resolve, burned now in his eyes. He had seen what had become of those who allowed others to define their worth. He had lived too long bowing before men with more titles and less merit. This time, he had drawn a line.

The Grand Elder, however, had heard enough.

His expression, already stern, twisted into something far more severe. His ancient features tightened with clear offense, and the air around him began to pulse with the unmistakable pressure of his cultivation. It was like a curtain of invisible weight had descended upon the room. Several of the junior Alchemists involuntarily took a step back, and even the older ones straightened with caution. The Grand Elder did not often flare his Qi, but when he did, the room listened.

"You insolent child," the old man hissed, his tone low but thunderous. "This is not your academy courtyard or some filthy market stall in a common town. This is a sacred space, an Alchemist's council hall. And you will not, you will not, dictate terms here."

He stepped forward, his robes rustling with the force of his stride, and raised a single hand toward Lucas.

"By my authority as Grand Elder of this conclave, I hereby expel you," he declared. "There is no place here for a disrespectful brat who has not even earned the right to wear the Alchemist's sigil."

The air went still for a breath, and then a roar of mocking voices followed.

The older Alchemists burst into laughter, not even trying to hide their amusement now. A few even slapped their knees in delight. Some chuckled while shaking their heads, as if they had seen this sort of arrogance before and always enjoyed watching it be put in its place.

"Expelled before even getting a robe!"

"Didn't even last an hour—ha!"

"Go cry to your tutors, boy!"

Lucas said nothing. He stood still, his face unreadable, though his fists had curled tightly at his sides. The embarrassment washed over him, not because of failure, but because he had not been given the chance to prove himself. And worse, because he had expected it. Part of him knew the moment he stepped into this hall that this was how they would treat him, young, unknown, a threat to their rigid traditions and brittle pride.

He reached out slowly, his fingers moving toward the vial on the table. He would take what belonged to him and leave without another word. The moment he touched the vial, he would gather his belongings and walk away from their laughter and their scorn.

But before his hand could close around the glass, a voice rang out through the room.

"Please, Grand Elder," came Lady Isabelle's voice, smooth and melodic, yet respectful and precise, "forgive the interruption, but might I request a small indulgence on behalf of the boy?"

The entire hall stilled once more. Even the sneering Alchemists turned to look in her direction, their expressions shifting as her presence suddenly reminded them that they were not merely dealing with an insolent youth, but with someone who had already impressed the Grand Elder not ten minutes ago.

She stepped forward from her place near the center of the chamber, her gown flowing like silk over water, her posture regal but not prideful. Her face was calm, almost disarmingly so, and she offered the Grand Elder a small, graceful bow, one that did not humble her, but rather elevated her poise.

"He may have spoken out of turn," she continued, her tone gentle but persuasive, "but I believe he speaks not from arrogance, but from the sting of being misjudged. I understand that the hall must maintain its standards, but if you would be so kind, I ask only that you take a single moment to examine the flame binding essence he produced. If nothing else, it may settle the matter with clarity."

She lifted her gaze to meet the Grand Elder's, the flicker of quiet charm in her eyes both disarming and impossible to ignore.

The room went completely still once again, all eyes were back on the Grand Elder.