Incubus Living In A World Of Superpower Users-Chapter 261: Legacies Can Guide Us.... But Don’t Let It Control You
Chapter 261: Legacies Can Guide Us.... But Don’t Let It Control You
There was no promise of glory, no shield from hardship, no guarantee of success.
Only the truth—that from this point forward, every student here was now part of something larger than themselves, something deeper than individual talent or good fortune.
And being part of it didn’t mean safety or reward—it meant being seen, measured, and shaped, sometimes harshly, by forces they didn’t yet understand.
Above the stage, the badge faded—its glow retreating into the projection sphere as if its presence had merely been a reminder, not a reward.
The lights across the Hall of Presence returned not in a dramatic flood, but gradually, with the softness of early dawn.
The kind of light that didn’t command attention but invited breath.
Then her voice returned. Soft. Measured. The kind of tone that didn’t rise, but still landed.
"Legacies can guide us," she said. "And power can defend us."
Her voice dropped slightly, just enough to make the next words feel heavier.
"But if we worship the past too much... we forget how to write the future."
She paused.
"So remember it. Respect it. Learn from it."
"But don’t let it control you."
The Dean didn’t gesture or raise a hand to mark the end of her speech. She didn’t bow. Didn’t exit with ceremony. Instead, she gave a single, subtle nod—quiet, composed, final.
A gesture that didn’t dismiss the audience but handed something over to them. A burden. A choice. Something to carry.
No one clapped. No one cheered. No one even shifted in their seats.
Because they hadn’t been given inspiration or praise, they’d been given the frame through which their futures would be measured. It wasn’t a conclusion. It was a starting point.
A few seconds passed, and then the air itself seemed to restart. A low hum—the soft electrical current that always ran beneath the floor—returned, unnoticed until now.
Like the room had been holding its breath and had finally begun to exhale.
From the far right of the stage, the woman in silver stepped forward. The maid—silent until now—was no longer a background presence.
She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t change her posture. Yet somehow, her calm announcement carried to every corner of the Hall.
"This concludes your orientation," she said. "You will now be guided to your assessment sectors. Your wristband colors determine your route. Follow the floor markers accordingly."
Beneath the students’ feet, the ground responded as if waiting for that command. ƒreewebɳovel.com
Sharp, clean, color-coded lines of light rippled outward across the amphitheater in distinct bands of red, green, blue, and white.
No alarms, no rush, just a quiet motion as all the students stood up.
Small groups began to shift as students checked their wrists and located their color markers. Some moved with purpose.
Others hesitated before following the light trails stretching toward distant exit arches. There were no staff calling names.
No supervisors are hurrying the flow. The system worked because it had been designed to assume students would figure it out, and so they did.
Ethan remained near the amphitheater’s center, still thinking about everything they’d just heard. He glanced down. So did the two women beside him.
Their wristbands pulsed with soft white light.
Everly was the first to speak, her tone low but certain. "White tier. Upper clearance."
Evelyn’s eyes didn’t move from the floor, but she gave a slight nod. "Temporary housing near the central campus. Probably priority track."
Ethan finally exhaled, his jaw unclenching as some of the tension drifted out of his shoulders. "Looks like we’re staying together, then."
Everly’s mouth curved into a small, familiar grin. "Obviously. Did you think we’d let them separate us after everything?"
There was no formal decision; no discussion was needed. The three of them simply moved together toward the corridor where the white path led—a faintly glowing archway pulsing with gentle light.
Students stepped aside, unconsciously shifting to allow them through. It wasn’t deference or fear.
It was the kind of space granted to people who had already proven they didn’t flinch when things got heavy.
The trio approached the exit arch. A small node sat embedded near its base, scanning wristbands as they passed.
As Ethan moved forward, the device chimed quietly, flashing an acceptance code before the wall panel slid open with a soft hiss.
Waiting just inside was a tall woman in a grey uniform. There was no insignia, no flashy weapons, just clean lines, an alert posture, and a clipboard resting lightly in one hand.
"White tier, sector seven," she said briskly. "Your transport is prepared. You’ll be guided to your temporary class unit.
The logistics brief will be delivered inside. Class assignments will populate after assessment review."
Ethan nodded. The twins followed suit.
The woman gestured behind her without stepping aside. There was no overexplanation, no artificial friendliness, just streamlined efficiency.
They followed her gesture into a narrow transit bay where a sleek three-seat transport pod waited, already humming softly above its guide rails. The door opened without a command.
They stepped in.
Ethan sat between the twins, arms relaxed on his lap. His eyes moved to the translucent wall as the pod glided down a gently curving tunnel.
There was no jolt or sound—only the hum of a system that had clearly run this route thousands of times before.
The Hall of Presence vanished behind them, replaced by the outer shell of Astralis’s main sector.
It didn’t look like a university.
Not in the traditional sense.
The landscape outside wasn’t filled with crowds or shop signs. No noise. No clutter. Instead, the terrain flowed with intentional design—trees braided into walkways, layered platforms rising like terraces, and wide open spaces where natural elements met engineered silence.
Ethan took it in quietly.
Everly tilted her head toward the window. "Think we’ll get important classes immediately?"
Evelyn responded without shifting her gaze. "Filtered, probably. Our performance data from the survival simulation is likely uploaded directly into the placement AI."
Ethan blinked. "Who knows, but it’s not something we have to think about, right?"
Evelyn’s reply was almost gentle. "True, but isn’t that where the fun lies?"
He leaned back slightly and smirked. "Good point, but it is kinda of a pain, you know."
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