The Author's Extra: My SSS Skill Turns Souls into Anything!

The sudden hum through the room felt different from the previous panic, shifting away from fear and into sheer disbelief and awe.

A Spire. That was not a rank you were born into or bought into. It was not an academic title. It was the absolute peak of what a human fighter could become, a rank reserved for the living weapons that held the line between civilization and extinction. To be named a candidate was to step outside the reach of ordinary laws.

Isabella turned her head slowly.

Her gaze traveled past the Headmaster, past the bench where Nicholas and Roselle and Leon sat frozen, past the gallery of stunned nobles.

It stopped on the bound, bruised youth standing in the center of the hall.

She raised one gloved hand and pointed at him.

"The first war-candidate selected by the Upper Academy," she said, "is Alden."

Alistair’s face went from pale to red in one second. "ABSOLUTELY NOT!"

Isabella was already moving toward Alden. She stepped up beside him and reached to place a hand on his shoulder.

Alden twitched his torso away from the touch immediately. Just a small shift, but she had to pull her hand back.

He kept his face flat.

’Watch the shoulder,’ he thought. ’That man was using an iron whip ten hours ago.’

Isabella lowered her hand to her side as though the whole thing had been intentional. Her expression did not flicker.

Alistair was gripping the railing above with both hands, leaning over it. "That boy is a condemned criminal awaiting execution! He killed the Crown Prince! There are hundreds of noble-born talents across this kingdom, loyal and distinguished, with clean bloodlines and proper records! Why in the world would you choose a murderer?!"

Isabella looked up at him.

"I understand your grief, Your Highness," she said, soft and polite and carrying no warmth in it whatsoever. "But I must ask you one question."

She did not raise her voice.

"Is satisfying your personal desire for vengeance more important than the survival of the human race?"

Alistair’s mouth closed. His throat worked.

Isabella turned to the gallery before he could recover. "Regarding the claim that better candidates exist, the Astral Academy’s analysts have already evaluated every active student up through the second round of their final exams." She looked at Alden. "By every metric, Alden’s raw combat output, mana density, and tactical adaptability exceed every registered student in the Academy."

She let that settle.

"We are not basing this on theoretical potential. We are basing it on proven results. During the mountain pass ambush, Alden single handedly wiped out an entire vampire army. He then fought Crown Prince Augustus in single combat, even while the prince was fully empowered by progenitor blood magic and held the title of the Academy’s top performer." A pause. "And Alden ended him."

Several nobles exchanged looks that were equal parts fear and reluctant, stunned respect.

"Executing an asset of this power right before a total war isn’t justice," Isabella said. "It is strategic suicide."

The Chief Magistrate pressed his fingers together and leaned forward. "But Miss Ashford, procedural law is still absolute. He stands formally indicted for regicide. Even if the court acknowledges his value, what guarantee is there that he will follow orders?"

"That falls under my personal jurisdiction," Isabella said.

"Meaning?"

"I will personally ensure his compliance."

Beside her, Alden glanced sideways at her profile.

He couldn’t help but smile internally. ’A remarkably confident statement for someone whose vines he had burned through in seconds.’

"Furthermore," Isabella continued, pivoting toward the bench, "Article 14 of the High Judicial Codex contains a clear emergency rule. The Martial Deferment Clause."

The Magistrate’s expression shifted. "Article 14."

"It permits the immediate suspension of all domestic criminal sentences, including capital execution, if the accused is designated a Critical National Defense Asset." She folded her hands neatly in front of her coat. "The Upper Academy officially requisitions a total stay of execution for the student Alden."

Her voice filled the hall.

"Until the conclusion of the Vampire War."

BOOM.

Alistair slammed both hands onto the desk so hard it cracked down the middle. "I UTTERLY REFUSE! The Upper Academy has zero constitutional authority to pull a royal murderer off the gallows under the excuse of power necessity! Magistrate, you will strike this petition and order the execution immediately!"

Isabella raised one eyebrow.

"Is that your final decree, Your Highness?"

The hall got heavy. The air itself changed. The kind of change that happens when something with a great deal of concentrated mana behind it stops pretending to be relaxed.

"The Upper Academy have protected this kingdom ever since they founded it." Isabella said. She took one slow, deliberate step toward the royal dais. "We have shielded your borders with layers of wards across every land, allowing you to live here in safety and peace." Her eyes settled on Alistair with absolute, total calm. "And in all those years of service, we have never once asked the crown for anything."

The nobles near the front rows were leaning back.

"Until today."

Alistair’s face went grey.

He was a political creature. He had spent decades in rooms exactly like this one, and he understood the shape of a trap the moment it completed itself around him.

The moment Alden crossed into Upper Academy custody under the Upper academy Candidate Program, the crown’s leverage disappeared. If Alden survived the war, he would return as a hero. Executing the man who saved the human race would be politically catastrophic. The Upper Academy would protect him. The public would lionize him. The monarchy would look like petty, grieving tyrants.

Alistair’s fists shook above the cracked desk.

’She’s taking him right out of my hands.’ his eyes found Alden in the center of the hall. ’Once he crosses that place, I can never reach him again.’

Alden stood completely still.

His head was slightly lowered. His expression was flat and tired, the picture of an exhausted student caught between enormous forces he couldn’t control.

In the very corner of his mouth, invisible to the king and the gallery and the nobles, a small smirk lived for exactly one second.

’Did you seriously think I was going to stand here and let a bunch of side characters put my head in a noose?’

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