Solo Cultivating in Superhero Academy
Chapter 102: Colt Northrim

Chapter 102: Colt Northrim

The man—Colt Northrim, known to the world as Radiant Man—finally broke the silence.

A soft chuckle rumbled from deep within his chest, and then, he spoke, his voice warm but carrying that undeniable iron weight that even Elius, in all his caution, couldn’t help but feel settled deep in his bones.

"Where’d you learn to fly, kid?"

Elius blinked, confused. His mouth opened slightly, but before he could answer, Colt strode forward, clapping a massive, calloused hand on Elius’s shoulder with a force that would have flattened an ordinary person.

Colt’s grin widened, exposing the fierce pride behind it.

"You have no idea how rare that is, learning how to fly so easily" Colt said, his voice growing stronger, louder, almost like a teacher giving a lecture in a great hall. "You know, when I first started out, back in my... hometown," he said, carefully avoiding naming his galactic Solarion Empire, "you wouldn’t believe how much hell we had to go through just to get off the ground."

He shook his head, laughing with a mixture of humor and nostalgia.

"It ain’t like people think," he went on, gesturing broadly to the wide open sky above them. "You don’t just sprout wings and soar. Nah. Not even close. Every fool with a new power thinks the air’s gonna catch them, like magic. And every fool hits the dirt so hard they see stars. Me? I hit the ground more times than I can count."

He pulled off his sunglasses for a moment, looking Elius straight in the eye with a rare seriousness.

"First time I tried to fly, I was so damn excited. Thought I had it all figured out—’Just jump and push,’ I told myself." He laughed, the sound low and gruff. "Jumped off a rooftop. Guess what happened?"

Elius raised an eyebrow, silent.

"I cracked three ribs, busted my collarbone, and damn near broke both my legs. My mother... she patched me up so many times, I think she considered chaining me to a chair."

Colt threw back his head and barked a genuine laugh, his shoulders shaking.

"But I didn’t stop. How could I? Flying wasn’t just cool, it was... it was freedom." His voice softened for a moment. "It was the dream of standing above the world. It meant something."

He started pacing around Elius now, his hands gesturing animatedly as if reliving each bruised, battered memory.

"The second time, I thought, ’Maybe if I jump higher! If I just go higher, it’ll click!’" He snorted. "I found the tallest tower in my whole damn city. Climbed all the way up. Stood on the very tip of it. The wind nearly knocked me off before I even jumped. And when I did? Hoo boy. It wasn’t flying."

He mimicked a comical fall with his hands, making an exaggerated splat noise.

"Flattened myself so bad, even the damn pigeons were laughing. Took three weeks to heal that one."

Colt wagged a finger in front of Elius, mock-stern. "Flying’s hard, kid. Harder than mastering your own fists. Harder than breathing right when you’re hurt. It’s a battle against instinct. Your body wants to fall. It expects it. You have to force yourself to deny gravity. Over and over. Until it gives up."

He folded his arms proudly across his broad chest. "Took me two years. Two damn years before I could fly properly without dropping like a rock."

Colt leaned closer, a fire gleaming behind his sunglasses.

"And here you are," he said, almost in awe, "grabbing the air like it’s yours. Standing there like you belong in the sky."

Elius, overwhelmed by the flood of words and emotions from the man he barely knew, finally muttered, "I... I wasn’t flying."

Colt blinked.

Elius cleared his throat awkwardly. He raised one hand, and with a mental tug, one of his flying swords materialized behind him in a gleam of spiritual energy. It hovered loyally beside him, steady and proud.

"It’s my sword," Elius said, quietly. "I was just... using it to stabilize myself."

For a moment, silence fell between them.

Colt stared at the floating sword.

Then at Elius.

Then back at the sword.

Finally, Colt’s lips curled upward in a proud, knowing smile. He slid his sunglasses back over his eyes, masking whatever storm of thoughts brewed behind them.

"He doesn’t even realize I saw how he grabbed the air to control his equilibrium," Colt thought. "I’m even sure he’s not flying by instinct. Yes, he looked like he learned how to fly a long time ago..."

But Colt didn’t say any of that.

He understood.

He understood that Elius didn’t want to be compared to him. Didn’t want to be tied to his father. Didn’t want the chains of destiny wrapped around his ankles.

So Colt just patted Elius’s shoulder again, more gently this time.

"Good sword, then," Colt said, simply.

No pressure.

No expectations.

Just pride.

"Come on," Colt suddenly said, his voice bright again. "Fly with me."

Before Elius could respond, before he could even twitch, Colt vanished from his vision—and appeared behind him.

Another SWOOSH.

The world twisted and spun again.

Elius barely had time to brace himself.

This time, it wasn’t the chaotic, violent teleportation from before. It was smoother, like sliding along a polished rail at incredible speed. Still disorienting, but not overwhelming.

They zipped through space like comets.

One place.

Another place.

A barren mountaintop.

A roaring seaside cliff.

A gleaming metallic skyscraper’s rooftop.

Each location flashing by so fast that Elius’s mind could barely keep up.

Finally, they landed.

WHUMP!

Elius stumbled, barely catching himself.

He looked around—and found himself standing outside a sprawling mall.

A normal mall.

People bustled about, shopping bags in hand, unaware that the most powerful man in the world—and his heir—were casually loitering outside.

Colt stood beside him, carrying a ridiculous armload of clothes.

Without a word, Colt shoved the massive pile into Elius’s chest, nearly burying him alive in fabric.

He pointed at a changing room nearby.

"Go. Pick something," he said, smirking.

Elius, confused beyond words, managed to stagger into the changing area, arms full of shirts, jackets, jeans, shoes, and even hats.

"What is he planning?" Elius thought, pulling at the hangers and sifting through the piles.

Still, he understood the hidden meaning.

He needed to blend in.

No flying swords gleaming in the sunlight.

No shimmering robes.

No symbols that would tie him to the Sword Immortal persona.

Just a boy.

A civilian.

A normal son.

After much debate, Elius picked a dark hoodie, simple jeans, and sneakers. He chose clothes that wouldn’t attract attention, clothes that would let him slip through crowds unnoticed.

When he emerged, Colt was waiting.

He looked Elius up and down, then gave a satisfied nod.

Now, they looked like a rich father and son on a casual day out—Colt, with his muscled bulk barely contained by his fitted clothes, exuding a raw, confident aura that drew eyes without effort. Elius, at his side, radiated a quieter presence, sharp and contained.

Colt threw an arm casually over Elius’s shoulders, pulling him close.

"Come on," Colt said, his grin flashing like a summer sun. "Walk with me."

His aura flared out for a brief moment—muscular, proud, vibrant—before settling into a laid-back, carefree swagger.

And together, they walked into the bustling heart of the mall.