Volume Two: The Youth of a Thousand Faces, Seeming Truths Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Opening Ceremony

The opening ceremony began promptly at eight in the morning. As the second hand touched twelve, the melodious chimes rang throughout Bancroft. The students, as if receiving an unseen command, dispersed from their casual gatherings and formed neat, orderly lines.

The chimes echoed endlessly, and amid this magnificent assembly, Old Jack, the principal, slowly ascended the podium. With white hair yet a youthful countenance and a robust complexion, no one would guess he had already surpassed seventy years. He was an elder of the academy, a teacher since its founding—though not its first principal, he had accompanied Bancroft through fifty years of storms and sunshine. In all that time, he had seldom left, never residing in any colony for more than a month.

This place was his home, the sanctuary he had devoted most of his life to shaping. His affection for Bancroft ran deep, inseparable from his very being. Another school year dawned, and as he cast his mind back fifty years to the founding of the academy amidst the wilds with the first principal, he recalled how they were deemed mad, dreamers chasing folly. For a whole decade, the number of students brave enough to attend Bancroft never even reached a hundred.

But now, all was different.

Old Jack gazed at the students standing tall in the square, as imposing as soldiers. He felt a sudden urge to tell his departed companion, Bancroft has changed.

His eyes lingered on the rising star among them—Eddie Holles’s son.

Few in the academy knew, for lack of seniority, that the unruly Kezhen, standing with the teachers, was Old Jack’s last disciple. Nor did they realize that Eddie and his son were, in a sense, his academic grandchildren.

Humanity had gained another glimmer of hope, Old Jack mused.

He cleared his throat, eschewing any microphone, and his powerful voice resonated through the square, “How are you all today?”

No one answered, yet their expressions spoke for them: We are well.

Old Jack stroked his white beard, smiling warmly. “Another year has passed, and my old friend Bancroft is about to celebrate its fiftieth anniversary. Time flies; fifty years is nearly a lifetime for many, but I believe Bancroft's glory is just beginning.”

“We have just survived a wave of calamity. Though a formidable ultimate entity emerged, making the battle fierce, your performance has shown me hope that humanity can overcome disaster. You are the finest among your peers. Do not be discouraged by the strength of disaster. Stand tall, believe that tomorrow you will be stronger! The history of humanity will be forged by you!”

Many students felt their blood stir at these words. With youthful fervor, they believed themselves the protagonists of the world, destined to write history. In this moment, their spirits soared.

Old Jack continued, “Someone told me that since our academy produced Eddie Holles—if we could teach one Black Reaper, we can surely teach a second. I firmly believe this.”

As Old Jack spoke, teachers and students turned to look around.

The teachers glanced at Kezhen, brash and beer-bellied, standing among them. Ten years of rough living had seen this boisterous man return to his teaching post.

Kezhen raised an eyebrow and said, “I always keep my word!”

The students looked to Holle, nicknamed the “Little Reaper.”

Holle said nothing, exhaled softly, looked up at the sky, then closed his eyes, lost in thought.

Though Old Jack’s speech continued, Holle paid no heed. The idea of becoming the second Eddie Holles was like a shadow in his heart. He had always set Eddie as his goal, striving to reach his heights.

But Holle did not want to become another Eddie; he wanted to drive away all calamity. Even Eddie had never achieved this. Someday, Holle would reach Eddie’s heights, but he would not stop there. He would go higher, become stronger, make his name a terror to all calamities, and rise as humanity’s bulwark—a pillar of the human spirit.

He reflected on his actions over the past two years. His aim had been to quell war, yet it seemed he had not fought hard enough. What had he truly done? Killing calamities, or perhaps—idly killing calamities as circumstances allowed?

He followed the tasks of the Hunting Corps, hunted disasters to protect passengers from the Frostfang Wolves, stood guard atop the walls of Bancroft, but rarely had he volunteered for anything.

He recalled Tan Xiao’s words: “See you at the club showdown. I hope it's your own club.”

Very well—see you at the club showdown.

A thought suddenly stirred in Holle...

When Old Jack and the other key school leaders finished their speeches, Holle heard his name called and walked onto the stage, picking up the microphone.

“Respected school leaders, dear classmates, greetings. I am Holle, newly transferred to Bancroft. These days, I’ve heard you call me Little Reaper, and some say Black Prince. I rather like those names. Others claim they want to sneak away with me.”

Holle recited the speech he had prepared, though he hadn’t memorized it—his mind was elsewhere.

At his words, many girls in the square covered their mouths, giggling.

“I am delighted to be here, I…”

Holle read another line, but suddenly gripped the speech tightly and stopped. In the next instant, he crushed all five pages in his hands and tore them to shreds.

The sound of paper ripping echoed through the microphone, broadcast clearly across the square. No one knew what Holle intended, not even Alice and Shangguan Jade Butterfly, his closest friends.

When the scraps were reduced to palm-sized pieces, Holle waved his hand, and the paper fluttered like angelic white feathers, swirling around him in the sunlight.

Holle picked up the microphone and declared, “I prepared a speech, even tried to memorize it, but now I realize I don’t need any of it.”

“Before I came here, I kept thinking about what heights I should reach. I have a grand dream, and to achieve that near-unattainable goal, I might need to reach an unprecedented realm. So I was lost, for that path offers no guidance. But now I see—if there’s no road, then I’ll forge my own!”

“You call me Little Reaper, expect me to be the second Black Reaper. But I’m sorry, I am not a harvester of calamity—I am a banisher of calamity. Many of Bancroft’s major clubs have invited me these past days, but let me be clear: I will not join any of you. I will form my own club. This year’s club showdown, I will lead my club to victory. I will be the best in this academy, because Bancroft is just a school—a starting point for me.”

Holle seemed to expel all the pent-up air from his chest. He said, “Finally, let me tell you: I have never feared anyone. If any of you think I’m just boasting, come and try—I’ll be happy to oblige!”

With that, he strode off the podium. Silence reigned over the square.

Then a loud, gruff voice rang out from the teachers’ ranks: “Well said! Damn impressive!”

Kezhen patted his beer belly and chuckled, “The younger generation always surpasses the old. Even his father never dared to be so bold.”

Holle walked out of sight. Today, through his speech, he meant to tell all of Bancroft: he was a fierce wolf—wherever wolves roam, they feast on meat.