On the training grounds, Wharton was still panting, but his gaze had already followed Loa's.
"Headmaster?" He froze for a moment, then hurriedly straightened and bowed respectfully. "Headmaster, sir."
Loa raised an eyebrow slightly.
The headmaster?
The gray-robed old man walked over slowly, his footsteps so light that they made almost no sound against the stone slabs. He looked quite old, with snow-white hair and wrinkles on his face, but his back was perfectly straight and his eyes were exceptionally bright.
He nodded to Wharton first, then looked at Loa.
"Fine skills, young man." His voice was quiet, yet everyone heard him clearly. "Those moves just now didn't look like our O'Brien style."
Loa studied him.
At the peak of the ninth rank, his aura was steady as a mountain, his foundations exceptionally solid. Although he had yet to take that next step, he was unquestionably among the very best at the ninth rank.
"You flatter me, Headmaster," he said politely. "My name is Loa. I was passing by your academy and couldn't resist sparring. Sorry for the disturbance."
"Loa?"
A gleam flashed through the headmaster's eyes.
"The Dawson Chamber of Commerce's youngest guest elder, the man who defeated Marcus, commander of the Radiant Church's Glory Legion?"
Something stirred in Loa's mind. It seemed that when he killed Alolia, his swift withdrawal from the battlefield had worked.
Although the disturbances from a Saint-level battle could not be concealed, when the guardian of the O'Brien Empire's northern frontier arrived at the scene, he had found only the black feathers left behind. There had been no trace of Loa.
Still, news of the defeat of the Radiant Church's Glory Legion commander was probably known only to a few major powers.
So the fact that this headmaster could identify him at once clearly