Parallel Memory

Chapter 544: Loren Vance

Loren Vance had always lived in the illusion of superiority.

From the moment he first entered the gates of Moonsprings Academy, he had been treated not as a student, but as an heir. The Vance Guild—his guild—was the only platinum-ranked guild in the city, making them untouchable in both status and influence. And Moonsprings, being more of a business hub than a martial domain, idolized wealth and background more than merit or rank. In a place where merchant families ruled with coin and status, Loren had grown up with everyone bowing their heads long before he earned it.

Even the academy professors, many of whom could crush him in a duel, referred to him with forced politeness. Why wouldn’t they? His father, Virgil Vance, an S-ranked guild master, practically funded the entire institution. Moonsprings Academy—while considered prestigious within the city—wasn’t even in the top hundred academies in Edolas. Yet within its walls, Loren strutted like a dragon among ducks, never once realizing he was just a pond fish who had never glimpsed the ocean.

He reminded many of Professor William in temperament—entitled, arrogant, and unwilling to acknowledge those without noble bloodlines or famed crests. But Loren’s delusion went even deeper. He believed that power should serve status, not the other way around. And now, for the first time, that belief was being shaken.

When he was deployed to the Delta Outpost—allegedly to gain experience in real warfare—Loren expected to be celebrated. After all, he was the only platinum-guild heir in the region, surely deserving of a captain’s rank or higher. But instead, he was assigned a mere soldier’s role. That humiliation stung even more when he learned that Hiro, someone who was from a gold-graded guild, had been appointed as a squad captain.

Hiro Ernest. The name alone irked him.

To Loren, Hiro was a nobody from nowhere. And yet, people followed him—respected him. What’s worse, the ones doing so weren’t just some nameless foot soldiers; they were Sylvia Mavis, and Lisa Kyelpas—scions of families with backgrounds equal or superior to his. Even Zion Maxwell, from a rising house, followed Hiro’s orders without complaint.

It was insulting. How could they not be embarrassed? How could they willingly serve under someone whose bloodline hadn’t even held prominence for a decade?

That’s when Loren’s twisted logic took root.

In his mind, Hiro wasn’t the problem. The others were simply misunderstanding the hierarchy. They were following military protocol, nothing more. If Loren could publicly humiliate Hiro—show them that status still reigned supreme—they would surely reconsider their loyalty. Perhaps, they’d even thank him. And if he impressed them enough, the daughters of the Diamond-ranked Mavis and Kyelpas families might remember his name favorably. He’d secure future ties. Favors. Influence.

But what he didn’t expect was resistance.

Instead of silence or submission, Hiro’s group pushed back. Lisa’s glare had frozen him in place. Sylvia’s hand drifting to her bow was enough to make even his bodyguards pause. Zion’s quiet anger was more unsettling than shouting. They weren’t just following Hiro because of orders. They believed in him.

Still, Loren wouldn’t back down.

Yes, he was only A+ rank. But he was at the peak of it—on the verge of S-rank. At twenty-five, that alone was considered impressive, especially for someone who had spent more time basking in luxury than training. His father had spent a fortune to acquire a rank-up potion in the hopes of pushing him past the threshold. But the potion had failed. Whether due to incompatibility or a lack of foundation, Loren’s body rejected it entirely. That failure humiliated the Vance name, which was likely part of the reason why Virgil sent his son to the frontlines—to toughen him, yes, but also to get him out of Moonsprings while the scandal cooled.

But Loren didn’t see it that way.

To him, this was still an opportunity. He was going to reclaim his honor—not through war strategy or earned rank—but by dragging Hiro down publicly. If he could prove Hiro didn’t deserve the role he was given, then the others might abandon him, and Loren would take his place.

The moment Hiro struck him, Loren tasted blood—and reality.

The impact had been so fast, so sharp, that for a second, he didn’t even know what hit him. The entire mess hall had gone silent, and all he heard was the ringing in his ears. But even as he stood back up, dazed and bleeding, his mind was working.

It’s fine. This changes nothing.

A single punch didn’t mean defeat. Loren was no fool. He knew he couldn’t take Hiro in a one-on-one fight. Not yet. But Hiro’s squad only had one S-rank. Loren had two loyal S-ranked companions who owed him favors and were more than happy to step in for a "training exercise." With that in mind, he proposed a three-versus-three duel, confident the odds were finally in his favor.

He grinned, imagining the outcome.

I’ll defeat Hiro. Publicly. Thoroughly, with the help of his supporters, he could smell victory is guaranteed. Life isn’t so different from the academy he thought.

Once he was down, Zion, Lisa and Sylvia would rethink their decision. Maybe they’d see Loren as a more suitable leader. And Misha—weakest of the bunch and without powerful backing—would be put in her place. The embarrassment alone would fracture their group. Once that happened, Loren would seize control of the squad and begin rebuilding the hierarchy the way it was meant to be.

As the challenge was accepted, Loren could practically hear his father’s voice in his head.

"Power is nothing without presence, Loren. Make them feel your name."

He would do just that. And once the duel was over, everyone at Delta Outpost would know who Loren Vance really was, or so he thought.

Because Loren still didn’t understand something fundamental—something people like Hiro lived by and people like Mia protected: rank might be earned, but respect was forged in battle. And wealth and fame alone, no matter how loud, could not drown out truth.

The battlefield didn’t care about backgrounds; it only remembered survivors.