I Was Summoned as the Academy’s Janitor… But I Accidentally Became the Most Overpowered Harem Protagonist?!
Chapter 49: A World Set Alight — The Return of the Scorched One

Scene I: The Grand Arena of Household Arts (Dusk)

‎The Grand Arena glowed under evening torches, its enchanted marble floor still humming from last month’s Mop Tournament. Tonight, however, the banners fluttered in anxious breeze rather than triumphal pride. Students huddled in the stands—faces painted with equal parts awe and fear—as the Cult of Ruin’s war horns shattered the air.

‎‎At the center ring, a swirling Dark Portal crackled with corrupted mana. From its depths emerged a towering figure clad in ashen armor, bristles of smoke and embers trailing from a massive, scorched mop. The Scorched One—Zephyr’s prototype—stepped forward, eyes glowing with bitter spite. Its voice rumbled like a dying furnace:

‎‎Scorched One (echoing): “I was meant to be the hero. You… are the mistake.”

‎‎Zephyr, flanked by Drakynia Flameheart and Arwen Galehart, advanced without hesitation. His mop’s phoenix-fire bristles flared blinding white, illuminating every carved glyph in the arena’s walls. Around them, the crowd fell silent, save for the crackle of eldritch flames.

‎‎Drakynia hefted her Dragonfang Blade, molten heat licking its edge. Arwen nocked Aurelia, frost-silk bowstring humming. Yet as they prepared to strike, a new figure darted through the shadows: Seraphina Noctis, silhouette glinting with obsidian runes.

‎‎From within her cloak, she drew twin Shadow Blades, their edges whispering of corrupted nights. She slashed at a Cult acolyte trying to flank Zephyr, then turned her violet gaze to the Scorched One.

‎Seraphina (coldly): “You think you understand destiny, but you know nothing of sacrifice.”

‎‎With a swift parry, she deflected a wave of burning ash, buying Zephyr the moment he needed.

‎‎Zephyr raised his mop, chanting the Custodial Invocation under his breath. Each word resonated with ancient authority:

‎‎“By bristle and flame, I bind thee to purpose;

‎By heart and by hope, I cleanse thy corrupted core!”

‎‎A Purification Surge roared outward—phoenix-fire colliding with black smoke. The Scorched One staggered but recovered, its own dark vortex countering with a hiss of embers. Sparks danced on the arena’s wards; cracks spread across the runes as if the very floor protested this clash of opposites.

‎‎Amidst the chaos, Rosalia de Glorieux knelt at the edge of the ring, raising Purity’s Light in a solemn hymn. Golden runes bloomed at her feet, weaving a protective cocoon around Zephyr’s allies and shielding fleeing students from stray magic. Nearby, Selena Frostveil scrawled rapidly in her Frostbrand Grimoire, mapping each mana fluctuation. She ripped a page free, folding it into an Ice Rune Scroll—then hurled it toward the Scorched One, entombing part of its corrupted armor in crystalline frost.

‎‎The Scorched One howled, dropping to one knee. Its briars of smoke shrank under Zephyr’s relentless surge. Gathering every ounce of his mop’s inherited power, Zephyr leapt forward and drove the bristles into the creature’s chestplate. A blinding explosion of white flame and shadow-blue light rent the arena’s air.

‎‎When the smoke cleared, the Scorched One lay broken—its ash-skinned remnants dissolving into motes of soot that drifted harmlessly away. Zephyr staggered back, mop crackling softly, phoenix-fire reduced to a warm ember.

‎‎A stunned silence reigned. Then, from the stands, reluctant cheers rose as students realized their hero had prevailed once more. The banners drooped no longer in fear, but in reverent relief.

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‎Scene : Fallen Thrones and Silent Vows (Night)

‎‎Later, beneath a sky strewn with lantern-stars, the Champions gathered around the Shattered Throne—the same stone seat they had reforged in Chapter 48. Its armrests still bore faint scorch marks from the Scorched One’s arrival, and its bristle-like spines glowed dimly in the torchlight.

‎‎Zephyr knelt before the throne, mop planted like a scepter. His cloak, singed at the hem, whispered of battles won and burdens borne. He looked up at his friends: Rosalia, tears of golden light glimmering on her cheeks; Arwen, frost-silk cloak absorbing torch glow; Drakynia, stance proud despite ash smudges; Selena, eyes soft yet analytical; and Seraphina, leaning on her shadow-blades with unexpected respect.

‎‎Zephyr (softly): “Tonight… the throne spoke of three truths. I have faced the Summoner’s Error—the prototype’s fury, the Custodial Ritual—my inheritance, and now… the Shadow Before Dawn—the sacrifices yet to come.”

‎‎Rosalia stepped forward, laying a hand on the throne’s base.

‎‎Rosalia: “We will stand by you, Zephyr. Whatever dawn breaks, our hearts remain united.”

‎‎Arwen placed an arrow-tipped frost-flame next to Zephyr’s mop.

‎Arwen: “And I will guard this throne’s remains—ensuring no darkness ever claims it again.”

‎‎Drakynia crossed her arms, ember-fires dancing in her palms.

‎Drakynia: “I’ll rebuild any scars left on this arena. Flame and ash can forge new strength.”

‎‎Selena closed her Grimoire, sliding tablets of wards into her satchel.

‎‎Selena: “I’ll chart every fluctuation—predict the next quake in our world’s seams.”

‎‎Finally, Seraphina approached, lifting her twin blades in solemn salute.

‎‎Seraphina: “And I… will guard the shadows to keep them from consuming the light you bring.”

‎‎Zephyr rose, mop bristles flaring one last time with phoenix-gold. He placed a firm hand atop each of their joined shoulders.

‎‎Zephyr: “Thank you… my family of light, frost, flame, and shadow. Together, we hold the balance. Tomorrow, a new challenge awaits—but tonight, let us rest in the peace we have earned.”

‎‎A gentle breeze rustled through the shattered throne’s runes, as if the world itself whispered its approval. Lanterns overhead drifted in circle patterns, mirroring the unity below.

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‎End of Chapter 49