SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant Chapter 543: The Man Selara Left Behind

Uncorking a bottle discovered on a shelf, Selara poured a slender measure of amber liquid into her glass – likely a costly vintage that would stagger the Academy's finances. She delayed her first sip, swirling the contents and inhaling their aroma before finally taking a small taste.

Across from her worktable, Trafalgar remained stationary, a patient observer.

A hush had descended upon the laboratory following the revelation concerning the vial. The machine behind Selara continued its low hum, its crystalline rings rotating with unhurried grace, yet the atmosphere had shifted palpably. Any former levity had vanished, replaced by a vintage, sharper ambiance – the kind of space where hidden truths are excavated and forced into the light.

Selara leaned against the table, exhaling softly through her nose.

"My master," she began, her tone devoid of preamble, "was a truly wicked individual."

There was no hesitation, no attempt to soften the statement with fond remembrance or gratitude.

"He did save me," she continued. "That much is indisputable. Without his intervention, I would have perished long before setting foot in this Academy. My life owes him a debt, which is an unwelcome complication, as it prevents me from simply demonizing him and moving on."

Trafalgar offered no response.

A faint curve touched Selara's lips, though the emotion behind the gesture was far from mirthful.

"He possessed an affinity for talent," she elaborated. "That was among his most detestable traits. Discovering potential in someone, he would draw them into his orbit, imparting knowledge, honing them to a razor's edge, and presenting this mentorship as absolution for his underlying darkness." She swirled the drink once more. "It was no such thing."

Her voice lost another sliver of its warmth.

"He conducted experiments on living subjects, Trafalgar. Individuals coerced into his research for the sole purpose of observing outcomes." Her grip tightened on the glass. "He experimented on various bloodlines – humans, vampires, beastkin. Anyone whose specific reaction he deemed necessary for his formulas."

The laboratory's illumination cast pale glints off the nearby vials, each now appearing profoundly altered.

"His obsession lay with boundaries," Selara stated. "The limits of physical endurance. The extent to which a being could be forcibly reshaped. How much a bloodline could be stretched before fracturing. He found healing and simple enhancement mundane. Crafting was child's play. His true desire was transformation – to demonstrate that exceptional talent could venture where law and morality dared not tread."

Trafalgar's brow furrowed slightly.

"And no one intervened?"

Selara emitted a low, dry chuckle.

"Attempts were made. Some vanished. Others retreated once they grasped the price of proximity to him. A select few were bought off. Individuals like him persist longer than they ought to, shielded by their utility from the condemnation that would otherwise engulf them." She turned the glass between her fingers. "Eventually, however, his reach extended far enough to incite the wrong kind of opposition."

Trafalgar's voice interjected, sharp and direct.

"Who?"

Selara met his gaze unflinchingly.

"The Vaelion," she declared. "The esteemed human lineage of mages."

A perceptible shift occurred within him, an immediate tension in his expression, as if an unseen string had been pulled taut.

"This transpired over a century ago, more than one hundred twenty years past," Selara continued. "My recollections are still quite vivid. He tested a new procedure on a man from one of their collateral branches. An uncle, I believe, or a relative close enough to warrant significant retribution upon discovering the man's demise. The experiment was a catastrophic failure."

She lowered the glass.

"The man perished as a result."

The weight of her words settled upon the room like heavy stone.

"The Vaelion discovered his fate," Selara stated. "And unlike those who preceded them, their influence extended beyond mere threats. They apprehended him. Imprisoned him. I assumed that was the conclusion." Her shoulders lifted and fell in a singular motion. "At the time, I simply departed. I had already absorbed sufficient knowledge from him to recognize that remaining under his tutelage would lead to my own moral decay. Thus, I chose a different path and never looked back."

Her lips twisted slightly.

"And now, I hold the position of director."

Trafalgar absorbed her words without immediate comment, his mind already constructing a disquieting hypothesis.

'The Vaelion? Then how did he manage to escape?'

If Selara's account was accurate, that individual had remained captive under the authority of one of the Eight Great Families for more than a hundred years. Such a duration seemed improbable on its own. Families like the Vaelion would not retain something so hazardous under lock and key unless they intended to exploit it for considerable gain. A century was an immense span of time. Furthermore, his particular expertise could yield outcomes beyond the ordinary world's capacity to acquire.

'Did they utilize him? Was such a possibility even conceivable?'

The mere contemplation left an unpleasant residue.

'No... I sincerely hope not.'

Yet, hope offered little solace against the relentless logic of the situation.

The truth was that if someone, perhaps the adept Icarus, had managed to reach him, a way had been opened. Or maybe the old man had forged a path entirely on his own. Regardless, the reality of the situation remained just beyond Trafalgar’s grasp. From his vantage point, the Vaelion were simply too powerful to influence. No amount of pressure he could exert would compel them to relinquish something of this magnitude.

Furthermore, if Selara’s master had indeed been in hiding for so long, the core of the issue extended far beyond a single unhinged individual roaming free.

Trafalgar shifted back slightly, releasing a breath.

"If he wasn't just any ordinary master," he inquired, "how precisely are we expected to handle this predicament?"

Selara placed her glass down and folded her arms.

"I will utilize the alchemist network," she stated. "There are individuals who are indebted to me. People who deal in secrets, illicit shipments, stolen formulas, and peculiar commissions – all the clandestine dealings that legitimate academies conveniently ignore. I'll make inquiries and see what information surfaces." Her expression remained grim. "Once I have something concrete, I will inform you."

Trafalgar gave a subtle nod of acknowledgement.

"This process could take days," Selara added by way of clarification. "Or weeks. Even months. Individuals like him leave behind unusual traces, but seldom in places where anyone sensible would think to look."

"Yes," Trafalgar responded, "that much I already understand."

His lack of evident frustration caused Selara to raise an eyebrow.

"You are considerably calmer than I anticipated."

Trafalgar's voice retained its even tone.

"I find it unlikely that he possesses the resources to orchestrate something similar again in the near future. The incident with the vial was not something he accomplished single-handedly." He cast a glance toward the apparatus behind her, where the viscous yellow liquid resided within its containment, resembling captured sunlight that had curdled and soured. "He had the backing of a prominent house like the Thal’zar. He acquired stolen ingredients. He had Icarus strategically maneuvering elements on his behalf. Such an intricate network of support cannot be reconstituted instantaneously."

Selara inclined her head slowly.

"That much is accurate. Icarus managed the situation efficiently." A flicker of disdain crossed her features. "A complete deviant. The sort who causes even brilliant minds to disengage. Kidnapping a member of a Great Family to facilitate this endeavor…" She clicked her tongue audibly. "Such an extreme level of ambition is almost insulting."

Trafalgar tilted his head slightly.

"You seem remarkably well-informed about the intricacies surrounding this matter."

Selara’s emerald eyes reflected the light, carrying a sharp, arid glint.

"I hold the position of director at the most esteemed Academy in the world, Trafalgar. My knowledge extends to this and much, much more." The corner of her mouth curved upwards slightly. "You students perpetually operate under the assumption that if the Academy hasn't made a formal announcement, we must all be idly standing by, hands tied."

This remark elicited the faintest hint of amusement from him.

Selara perceived it and, with swift precision, her demeanor shifted. It was no longer grave, but carried a different, far more personal undertone of menace.

"Ah, and I neglected to mention this the last time we spoke," she said casually. "You departed before I had the chance."

Trafalgar’s premonition of trouble intensified.

Selara offered a smile. It was the kind of pleasant expression that only served to amplify the unspoken warning behind it.

"If you should happen to break the heart of my cherished Aubrelle," she stated, "I am uncertain as to what actions I might take. That is the conundrum. My creativity flourishes when I am angered."

Trafalgar remained impassive, showing no outward reaction.

"You need not concern yourself with such matters."

Selara observed him intently, as if assessing whether he fully comprehended the significant weight behind her understated declaration.

After a moment, she emitted a satisfied hum.

"Good. Endeavor to persist in being worthy of this considerable trouble." She gestured vaguely towards the door with one hand, her focus already beginning to withdraw. "Now, depart. Savor your respite while it lasts. The second year presents greater hardship than the first, and the Academy takes a certain perverse pleasure in witnessing promising students endure escalating costs in increasingly luxurious accommodations."

Trafalgar stood to leave.

"I shall bear that in mind."

"I have no doubt you will."

He turned and made his way toward the exit, his boots echoing on the stone floor as the machine behind Selara continued its low, mechanical drone. Just before stepping through the doorway, he cast one final glance backward.

She was already turning her attention back to the table, her fingers gently brushing over worn notes, the vial, and whatever remnants of memory her master had unwillingly unearthed.

Trafalgar departed without another word.

As the door clicked shut behind him, the corridor seemed to grow colder, and the name Vaelion lingered in his thoughts like an inaccessible splinter, a constant, irritating presence.