The Unvanquished: Child of Nihility-Chapter 83: Distinct Responses of Cadets

Chapter 83: Distinct Responses of Cadets (If Morca pushes the heavens–then I, Denis, will tear open the abyss.)

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UCv3 – Cultivation Chamber, Apex Thorn Villa third year leader

Inside one of the deeper villas, beneath the soft glow of a DX-Mano Fitter Energy Machine platform, a young man sat cross-legged on the platform. His white training attire clung to a lean, athletic frame. Long silver-gray hair fell to his shoulders, unmoving in the still air.

Though he wasn’t a cultivator, he was a Peak Sage-rank supernatural expert – and the cultivation chamber served as both a sanctuary and recovery zone.

The DX-Mano Fitter was more than just a mana-energy extractor, doubled as a physical and mental realignment machine–especially valuable for experts who had returned from grueling missions.

Most cadets, even non-cultivators, spent their downtime here. And this cadet? He was no ordinary figure.

Eyes closed, expression calm, he remained still... until his wrist device blinked.

Beep Beep

The projected screen floated into view, and across it flashed:

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[Public Alert: Conflict at Cafeteria Pavilion.

Unique Cadet Morca Sherman engaged and incapacitated second-year Thorn Division member: Wyns.]

[Incident reviewed. Pavilion Master issued warning. No penalty.]

---

The cadet’s eyes opened–calm, sharp, unreadable. No wave of energy pulsed around him, but the silence now carried a different weight.

"That fool Leron Vance let those idiots stir trouble again..." he muttered, barely above a whisper. His gaze stayed on the screen. "But this time, it’s... Intriguing. A first-year cadet taking down a second-year isn’t to be scoffed at. Even if Wyns is just a Peak Saint-rank..."

He said nothing more. The chamber fell silent once again. But this time, a faint smile traced his lips.

Let’s see how far you climb... Morca Sherman.

This youth was one of the top twenty third-year cadets – and the true leader of the Apex Thorn Division.

---

Inside Villa No. 03 – UCv1 Zone, Nightfall

The room was dim and quiet, swallowed in shadow. No lights were on. Only the pale glow of the half-moon slid through the reinforced glass window, outlining a lone figure by its frame.

Morca stood motionless.

His silhouette, draped in quiet, stared beyond the glass. Ink-black hair fell over one eye. His arms were relaxed, but his gaze was anything but.

He looked beyond UCv1 – past the shimmering villas and toward the distant towers of the Central Zone. The academy glowed softly, like a beast pretending to be asleep.

"The flies have started moving..." he murmured.

His voice was steady. Controlled. Cold.

"The big ants will crawl next. And those bigger bugs..." He shifted slightly, eyes narrowing toward the faint silhouette of the Monument Tower. "They’ll show their faces soon enough. I don’t have time to play low."

He exhaled. Low. Measured.

Then, as if drawn by his thought, a crimson-black mask shimmered into existence in his palm.

Smooth, metallic, featureless–except for the faint rune-carved lines that curved into a twisted smile. A mask given by the dark avengers club after his two days ring battle victory.

His fingers curled around it. And then, like a ghost flickering behind his eyes–

Emmett Lee.

That absurd grin. The echo of laughter. The pressure of that moment. The weight of being thrown into the unknown. The truth behind it all.

’We’ll meet again at the academy. Don’t hide your abilities. If possible, let them know you’re Crimson-Black–that will increase the odds we meet again. If you don’t see me... just survive.’

It wasn’t just a memory. It was a command. 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

Morca’s eyes narrowed.

"He said we’d meet here..." he whispered. "...but he still hasn’t shown himself."

He turned slightly, his thoughts drifting.

"But that Mentor Gray..."

He didn’t finish. But his eyes did. They burned with suspicion.

Moonlight glinted off the mask again, like the world itself was holding its breath to see what he would do next.

He didn’t move. The silence pressed around him. The pale light crept further along the floor, touching the edge of his boots.

"I’ve still not explored what this mask can really do," he said, eyes locked on it. "Maybe I didn’t have time. Or maybe... it won’t matter."

What he truly sought wasn’t the mask.

It was freedom.

Freedom from chains. From false guidance. From every system that believed it could label him.

The Monument Tower. The EDA. Even the Crimson-Black itself.

He didn’t want to be used–not by watchers, not by Emmett Lee, and definitely not by the hidden factions trailing his rise.

Because his enemies weren’t school rivals.

They were real.

The Heavenly Titan Court. The Abyssal Realm. And the truth behind his existence...

They wouldn’t wait while he played academy games.

He remembered when the clone of that heavenly being, who was about to extract his soul, said, ’an awakened child of the cursed one.’

Later, after waking up in Eden, when that unknown voice sounded in his mind in his apartment bathroom, before he could finally able to gain access to the Infinity Nihility System.

Finally, his clone in his unique domain confirmed something he was unaware of: ’You, Morca, didn’t reborn, reincarnate, transmigrate, or something similar in that circle.’

All this are the most important things he needs to find out and how will he do that... By growing stronger than anything and everything...

His lips curled slightly–an expression somewhere between promise and threat.

"I’ll break all limits," he said, voice low but echoing like thunder. "Shatter every known rule in my way."

His right eye pulsed–piercing crimson lighting up the shadows across his face. And then–

His left eye pulsed too. A deep, abyssal throb. Like the room itself blinked. As if something ancient and patient stirred inside it.

He looked down again.

The Crimson-Black mask didn’t smile.

But Morca did.

"Assassin... isn’t my thing," he muttered. The mask gleamed faintly, the twisted smile catching moonlight again.

He gripped it tighter.

"I will–" he began–but stopped.

Silence hovered in the room. His breathing slowed. His gaze dimmed.

Whatever came next–wasn’t meant to be spoken yet.

Instead, he turned from the window and walked slowly toward the other end of the room–where no moonlight reached.

---

Inside Villa No. 7 – Leo Mordric’s Room

The room was dark. No energy lights, only the faint glow of the half-moon filtering through the high, narrow window. The light caught on metal – small throwing knives aligned with unnatural precision along the far wall.

On the ceiling, rune marks traced faint curves like the talons of a bird, absorbing ambient sound. Even the bed beneath Leo didn’t creak under his weight.

Leo Mordric sat cross-legged atop the bed, hands resting on his knees, eyes half-lidded – not asleep, but deep in thought. His expression was unreadable, yet his aura hummed with unease.

"It was said... that monster just crippled a second-year cadet in the cafeteria pavilion..." His lips twitched.

"Tch. That annoying fellow..." A soft breath escaped him as he tilted his head slightly, eyes lingering on the blades.

’I wish I could just deal with him once and for all.’ But even as the thought formed, a sharp, deep pulse gripped his chest.

Flash.

The memory struck.

The survival dungeon trial. The moment Leo believed Morca was easy prey–especially when Morca dropped after a dagger pierced his neck. But Morca reversed the situation... turning predator into prey.

The cold sensation of Morca’s blade pressed against his neck–and that calm, detached gaze burned into memory. He subconsciously touched his neck...

Though he had acted calm that day, deep down he feared those mismatched eyes. It was as if his very being had been unraveled and stitched back together by something older than fear itself.

He hadn’t been able to move. He couldn’t forget that pressure. Not magical. Not martial. Worse–something deeper. Instinct-shattering. It was power that shouldn’t exist. Not among trial candidates. Untouchable.

Leo clenched his fist. He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees.

"He is a monster," he muttered. "One the second-years should never have provoked."

He exhaled sharply, brows furrowing as Morca’s face returned to his mind – calm, still, those dual eyes steady as death.

Then, in a whisper barely above breath:

"...My mission to assassinate him will be put on hold for now... Time to report the progress."

He stood up and moved toward the bathroom to change–still clad in his academy uniform.

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Northern Cadet Region – UCv1, Villa 08 – Denis Sherman’s Villa

Inside his dim white training room, Denis sat cross-legged on the cold floor. Flickering wall-lights cast faint shadows across his focused face. His wrist device pulsed silently – a red notification blinking.

He tapped it.

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[Public Alert: Conflict at Cafeteria Pavilion.

Unique Cadet Morca Sherman engaged and incapacitated second-year Thorn Division member: Wyns.]

[Incident reviewed. Pavilion Master issued warning. No penalty.]

---

Denis stared for a long moment.

"He crushed a second-year... this time?" His fists clenched. "I thought after reaching Saint Rank... maybe the gap was closing. That I could finally stand beside him. Not beneath his shadow. But..."

Who would’ve thought the future heir of the Shermans would feel inferior to someone the family once mocked as a ’one-eyed librarian fool’–someone not even regarded as a genius, much less a prodigy?

And yet, in just one week after awakening, Morca had already defeated a second-year cadet who’d spent a full year at the academy. How amusing... or perhaps, that’s what separates EDA’s Unique Cadets from elite cadets like Wyns.

Denis’s gaze sharpened. No frustration surged in his chest. Only silence. Cold, calm silence.

"No. I won’t retreat... He’s a Unique Cadet, and so am I. I’ll carve my own path forward." It wasn’t envy. It wasn’t fear.

It was a vow.

"I don’t care how far he climbs. I’ll follow. And one day–I’ll surpass the monster they fear."

He stood and approached the training corner. The air shifted faintly as he lifted the weighted rods. No shortcuts. No excuses.

’If Morca pushes the heavens–then I, Denis, will tear open the abyss.’