Chapter 322 - Light Spectacles

Zalgor Armenius Crowler, esteemed associate professor of Raelion Academy for Superior Studies, clicked his tongue. A single affinity barely reaching forty and a few paltry minors.

“…to enroll in Mana Studies.” He scoffed, noting down the applicant’s pathetic result in elegant letters.

Clank.

The lowborn boy ran out the moment the door unlocked, releasing the wards. Not even a bow, or waiting for a dismissal.

Untalented and mannerless.

How had this rubble passed the status threshold?

True, few examiners possessed his discerning eye, but they couldn’t possibly consider admitting such uneducated dredge.

It would have never been allowed in my time.

When he had frequented, people accepted their station. From the highest patricians to mana siphoners and bound servants, everyone knew their place. Over a century of lax hands and undisciplined leadership had eroded that natural order to its sad present state.

I warned them what thinning the blood would do.

Zalgor Armenius Crowler allowed himself a sigh. It pained him to see Raelion’s decline.

He had hoped the new dean would restore the academy’s old glory, but despite his illustrious bloodline, the man was too young and radical. Drunk on his own accomplishments, he refused to listen to the wisdom of age.

How could they let this happen…

When they instituted Martial Studies, he recognized the usefulness of training promising servants and retainers, but vehemently protested placing them on the same grounds. You didn’t raise dogs together with their masters. It was common sense, but the collegium still outvoted his proposal.

And look what that brought us.

Swarms of lowborns encroached upon Mana Studies. An insult to Raelion’s legacy. How much further must they disgrace the institution before—

“Uhm…” The assistant at the door cleared her throat, watching him with pretty brown eyes. “Professor Crowler?”

“What is it, girl? Send me the next candidate!” He snapped his fingers to get her moving.

Why am I surrounded by incompetence?

To think she might graduate from Raelion made him shiver. The standards had fallen precipitously low.

“Ehm…” The girl lingered on the threshold and held the clipboard to her chest. “Excuse me, professor. I need the result for candidate 1768 to proceed.”

The results… You…

The air shimmered in rippling waves of mana. If they hadn’t cut his research funding, no one would speak to Zalgor Armenius Crowler with such impertinence. His arms shook and clenched, searching the empty desk for something to throw—anything aside from the plaque bearing his name.

“What does that matter?” He spat, heat rising from his neck as his aura crackled. “Such rubble will never enter Raelion. Not while I breathe! Sign nine points and fetch me the next candidate. Be quick.”

“I— Y—yes…” The assistant darted away with a shallow bow, stuttering excuses.

How— how—

What had he done to deserve such treatment?

This was what happened when you started making exceptions for people who didn’t belong. To have a professor of his standing perform menial tasks. Inexcusable.

I’ll be treated with the respect I deserve.

His chest heaved. House Crowler might have fallen from the middle peerage, but it maintained powerful connections.

The dean will hear about this.

Zalgor Armenius Crowler breathed in and out to settle his nerves. Even in the face of injustices, true patricians kept a befitting poise.

“Come on in.” He motioned at the candidate entering.

The boy met his gaze without flinching—the door shut behind him. His snowy hair and softly sculpted features looked unusual. They didn’t match any of the bloodlines he recognized, though he couldn’t be a lowborn citizen from his bearing.

A new lineage? Or a foreign halfblood?

Some patricians were known to have bizarre tastes, and there was always the possibility of an arranged marriage outside civilized lands. It was the easiest way to ensure an alliance would endure, though it diluted the blood. For newly raised families, a title couldn’t replace the ancestry and history of a true House.

Better than a commoner, I suppose.

After the slew of inepts, the thinnest dignity was welcome. “Take a seat, young man. Let me see what I can do for you.”

“Thank you…” The boy’s eyes moved to the gold-plated plaque on the desk. “Associate Professor Zalgor Armenius Crowler.” An awed smile curved his lips. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

Finally, some manners.

Zalgor gave a terse nod, chest puffed with Distinguished Demeanor. “It heartens me to see a promising seed among the chaff. Raelion is in dire need of them. But hmm… do tell… I didn’t recognize from which House you hail?”

Though newblood, it might be worth remembering.

“Excuse me, Professor Crowler.” His pale brows formed a furrow. “I thought we weren’t supposed to say.”

He’s still so naive.

“Don’t mind the examiners, young man. They like to exaggerate.” He leaned on the desk to share a complicit glance. “What’s the point of anonymity between us?”

“Oh, I see.” The candidate dipped his chin, eyes widened in understanding. “But well… I’m not from the Republic. I doubt you’d recognize the name of my House.”

Excuse me?

Zalgor fell into his seat, mouth dry and curled in disdain. Not a halfblood, but an uncivilized barbarian? Really, he would have realized if he had taken a second look.

It’s obvious.

The boy’s face was too perfect. It couldn’t be natural. His family must have paid a heathen biomancer for the modification. Proper patricians knew better than to excess in such extravagant splurges; his own closing eyebrows and pronounced nose distinguished his ancient lineage. He would pick that over a handsome veneer any day—even if he had the money.

What an awful day.

“Let’s get this over with.” He flicked his hand to the array on the left desk side. “My time’s too precious to waste.”

Seven concentric runic circles covered a base of adamantine brimming with mana, the enchantments linked to a square catalyst of moon quartz. Zalgor licked his lips. The price of the materials alone was worth a villa in the capital’s inner district.

More than these commoners deserve.

“Spill a drop of blood in the center.” He gestured to the enchanted needle beside the array. “Hurry up, boy. I don’t have all day.”

“My apologies, professor.” The fool boy kept smiling, almost naively. Instead of using the needle, he pressed his thumb against his canine.

Savages.

A drop, gleaming bright crimson, fell upon the enchantments.

“Sit back and don’t touch the array.” Zalgor took a bead of crystallized mana from the drawer. “We’ll see if you have some measure of talent.”

Pitiless Sister… It's such a waste.

With a regretful gesture, he placed the bead on the siphon mark and watched it melt into a stream of light. The glow spread through the runic chains; the array hummed to life, painting the room in color.

Dark purple, silver-white and a deep ocean blue, mixed with a myriad paler hues.

What’s happening?

Zalgor squinted at the bright light, too busy analyzing the results on the quartz catalyst to ponder it.

This doesn’t make any sense…

His gaze darted to check the integrity of the array: the mana flowed smoothly through the runic script. He couldn’t spot any irregularity, let alone a scratch. Everything was working correctly, but…

These results don’t make sense.

“What does it say, Professor Zalgor Armenius Crowley?” The boy sat straighter with an inquisitive smile. “I’m good with Water Magic, but I’ve never had a professional reading done in the Republic.”

Why is this fool…

“There is a mistake… Yes. That’s it…” Zalgor waved at the array and grabbed another bead from the drawer. “Add another drop of blood. No tricks this time.”

“Is that necessary?” The ignorant boy asked, clearly confused.

“Stop wasting time and do it.”

“Okay, professor.” He bit his finger again, performing each gesture with exceeding slowness.

Another drop of crimson fell on the runes.

Another bead of crystallized mana melted into the array.

Another ocean of blue light flooded the testing room.

No, no, no. It can’t be…

He had followed each step without blinking—there were no mistakes.

“Professor? Is everything alright…?” The boy tilted his head up at him.

Divine Moons, why did you bless the unworthy?

To be naturally gifted with such an affinity… When had he last heard of a value this high?

“It appears the Sleeping Sister has bestowed on you a bit of talent…” Zalgor croaked, obsessively checking the catalyst, his hope for errors slowly withering.

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“Really?” The boy beamed. “How much is it, professor?”

“You— You’ve got three major affinities… Mind at 54 and Gravity at 63. Both are exotic elements. Likely, you’ll never achieve much with them. Same for the minor ones, not worth mentioning.”

“Uhm, I see.” The boy bobbed his head, white teeth shining. “I will try my best, professor. Hmm… but what is the third major one?”

Moons… why…

Zalgor massaged his balding scalp. “Water… at 82.”

Affinities scaled exponentially closer to 100, and became equally more difficult to raise. The difference wasn’t very noticeable until 50, where each point began to mark a significant improvement. And at 82…

Why… Moons? Why this nobody?

“Sorry, professor. Could you repeat that?” The boy perked up, pale eyebrows arched in confusion on his forehead. “You said 82? Is that good?”

Of course, the uneducated lowborn has no idea of his loathsome luck.

“Yes.” Zalgort gritted his teeth. “It’s quite good. We’re done here. Now leave.” He slammed his hand on the rune to unseal the door.

"Of course. I'm honored, associate professor Zalgort Armenius Crowler has found me worthy." The boy performed a shallow bow before gliding out of the room.

Like runes wasted on a kettle.

Sensing his mood, the assistant keeping the record stood by the door. “… Professor Crowler?”

“Candidate 1771. Forty-seven points.”

Her eyes widened. “The applicant got—”

“Don’t make me repeat it.”

“Y—Yes.” The girl threw glances at her back where the jolly fool had disappeared. “I’ll send in the next candidate.”

This day can’t get any worse.

Zalgor Armenius Crowler crumbled into his armchair. The Moons would bring justice to the worthy in the end—he must believe that.

The following applicants lifted his spirits: all patricians with bright futures ahead, his mood only marred by another lowborn commoner who fancied herself a mage.

“Candidate 1783. Thirteen points. Not even one affinity above—.”

The words choked in his throat, stifled by a throb in his chest.

Damned soul contract.

Ancient Houses rightfully wished to protect their offspring, but who cared about the affinities of some peasant or retainer? It was already an honor that they got tested for Raelion. Most of them wouldn’t pass the first year anyway.

How many are left?

He had tested over thirty applicants—the majority unworthy of his time. The academy couldn’t treat him like some lowly laborer.

The Moons will reward the worthy. May the Patient Sister witness my struggles.

“Send in the next one!” Zalgor Armenius Crowler snapped at the assistant girl, who scurried to obey.

Alas, the next candidate proved to be another disappointment.

More rubble.

“Hello.” The boy greeted, sitting without permission and seemingly ignorant of the glare. From his skin tone, he must be from some uncivilized borderland, spending his time out in the sun.

Zalgor exerted his aura over the room to discipline him.

The boy blinked, showing no hint of discomfort. “May we begin?”

Why doesn’t he react?

At this distance, flaring a green presence should make the young teen pale and sweat, perhaps even cause him to hold his throat for air.

He must have a skill to resist.

That must be it. Only an ignorant commoner would waste a slot on a showy ability—a truly shortsighted choice.

Time will teach him.

“Alright, boy.” Zalgor flicked the page of the folder and beckoned with his chin at the array. “We may start. Place a drop of blood in the center.”

The sooner he was done, the sooner he could move to more worthy candidates.

The blond teen watched the enchantments in wonder, clearly it was his first time beholding equipment of such value. “Excuse me, examiner. How does this array work? I’ve never seen runes layered like this.”

What nonsense is he spouting?

“Of course you haven’t.” Zalgor let out a forceful chuckle. “Even if I explained its workings, you wouldn’t understand. You’re Lucky you even get to witness it. Few of your stock can say the same.”

“I see…” The bumpkin pursed his mouth and nodded to himself, attention fixed on the runes. “So you don’t know either…”

“What— I— How dare you!” His voice rose, garbled at the child’s audacity. “Do you have the faintest idea who I am?”

The boy turned to address him and gave a glance at the gold nameplate. “Associate Professor Zalgor Armenius Crowler? Not a senior lecturer yet, huh? I’m sorry. That must be hard.”

“You— I— It’s just a technicality. I'd have gotten the seat ages ago if they didn’t cut my funding.” Zalgor spluttered before realizing he was justifying himself to a nobody. With a cough in his fist, he regained his patrician poise. “My position is miles higher than you may ever reach. How can you question me without even introducing yourself?”

Who let him in here?

The boy scratched his lobe, gesturing around him. “Isn’t that the whole point of the soul contract and the sealed rooms? To maintain anonymity between candidates and testers? And to avoid favoritism?”

“That— that doesn’t excuse your behavior!” He straightened his back over the height of his armchair seat. “The word of an examiner precedes those basic rules.”

This talentless lout wasn’t worth losing his cool.

The boy cowered in his seat, hiding his lower face with a palm.

“You’re right, sir.” His voice rang terse and defeated. “I apologize. I’m not yet familiar with patrician etiquette. Once we’re done, I’ll find the Head Evaluator and confess what happened. The rude question about the array… and not introducing myself. I… I hope he’ll give me a fitting punishment.”

Wait…

“The Head Evaluator?” Zalgor wet his dry lips. His ears hurt thinking of that old lunatic. “We shouldn’t bother such a busy man over something so small.”

The boy looked down at his feet, appearing repentant. “But professor, isn’t it only fair I…”

Why did I get stuck with this virtuous idiot?

“The Moons are merciful.” Zalgor Armenius Crowler magnanimously waved off the guilt. It was a patrician’s duty to guide the masses, even those undeserving. “As long as you’ve recognized your faults, there is no need to dwell on them. Spill a drop of blood and let’s get on with the test.”

This day has gone on long enough.

The applicant peered at the enchantments as if debating something—most likely the wrong of his actions. At last, he stabbed his finger on the enchanted needle and spilled two drops on the runes. “Is that enough?”

“Yes,” Zalgor said, strung between cheers and exasperation. “Stay back. The reading won’t take long.”

Not a second passed when the boy spoke again.

“You’ll measure every affinity I have?”

“The ones above 10 points. Those lower aren’t considered relevant.” He marked each word to show his desire for silence.

“Hmm…” The boy drummed his fingers on the desk underside. “May I have a copy of my affinities? The examiners outside said I could have one.”

How can even a commoner be so unaware?

“Yes.” He curtly grabbed a clean paper from a drawer and slapped it down beside the quartz catalyst. “Just keep quiet. I need to focus.”

“Of course. My apologies, professor. I’m really glad we resolved our misunderstanding. Uh, do you mind if I take a look at this?” The boy grabbed the golden name plaque from the desk—the one bought with his own money.

You brat—

“No, I do not mind. Just don’t scratch it.” Zalgor forced the words out between his clenched teeth. At this point, he only cared to get this over with—even if he must swallow his irritation.

The boy bobbed his head, finally keeping his mouth shut.

It’ll soon be over.

Once the testing was done, nothing stopped him from kicking out this uncivilized commoner.

He’ll rot back at his little farm, and I won’t see him again. The thought

kindled his determination. The boy might even cry once he saw his insignificant talent.

Picking a bead of crystallized mana, Zalgor eagerly watched it melt into the array.

Light flowed through the circles of runes, growing brighter and brighter. Then brighter yet, till his eyes started tearing. A rainbow of hues. Deep blue, vibrant green, earthy brown, iridescent shades and muted grays.

Blessed Moons…?

The quartz catalyst buzzed with the affinities, forcing him to focus. Zalgor noted down the numbers on the prepared paper, one after the other, without seeming to end. Once he was done and looked at the lines of elegant text, his throat closed.

How is this possible?

Major affinities

* Water: 71

* Nature: 68

* Space: 64

* Earth: 60

* Shadow: 53

Minor affinities:

* Air: 23

* Darkness: 20

* Fire: 16

* Mind: 11

* Dream: 10

* Light: 10

At 71, his highest affinity was not unique among the patrician house’s upper echelon. But his elements didn’t stop there, no, Water was just the beginning.

Eleven affinities above 10, and five majors, all above 50. The numbers were simply absurd.

“How are my results, professor?” The boy leaned on the desk, naively blinking. “Are they good?”

You— Monster!

Zalgor threw the crumpled paper at him, veins throbbing in his neck. He unlocked the room, his arm quivering and pointing. “Get out! Now.”

The boy calmly bent to pick up and fold the sheet, cruelly smiling as he turned to leave. “I’ll see you at the academy, professor.”

The assistant examiner, peeking from the door, looked baffled at the scene.

“Candidate 1785. Fifty-eight.” Zalgor Armenius Crowler raised a finger to silence the woman. “Not a word! Send in the next one.”

“I… Yes, professor.” She scribbled down the result, pecking her head back and forth.

How… Radiant Moons, how… Is it the work of some blasphemous god? It just… it doesn’t make sense.

A young patrician came in next; Zalgor couldn’t pay him any attention. His only wish was to lay down with a bag of ice over his head.

Time and candidates passed in a blur till the last applicant came in, a tall lowborn boy with amber skin, likely a field hand. He had the decency to wait by the door, gaze respectfully down.

Could be worse.

“Take a seat.” Zalgor gave a tired gesture. From the info provided, the applicant aimed to enroll in the Martial Study—an appropriate ambition for his station.

“Thank you, Professor Zalgor Armenius Crowler.” The brutish boy gave a respectful bow before sitting in silence. No silly questions or annoying fiddling.

He has some manners.

Zalgor leafed to the last page of the folder. “You must be lucky to have gotten here.”

“Yes, I’m very thankful, Professor. I could never imagine the Moons would bless me with such grace. To think I'd be tested by a professor of Raelion.”

Mhmm… There is potential in him.

“Indeed, the Moons reward the worthy.” Zalgor Armenius Crowler cited. “Put a drop of blood on the array. Do you wish to have a copy of your affinities?”

“If it’s not too much trouble. I would be grateful.” He efficiently cut his finger and bled on the runic circles.

“I’m amenable since you’re the last.” He picked a mana bead to feed to the enchantments.

Applicants for Martial Studies were only required to measure major affinities, making the process relatively simple. The crystal melted into the array.

Bright purple flashed over gray clouds, lit by paler hues beneath.

Zalgor jotted down the numbers, his thick brows climbing his forehead at the results.

Major Affinities:

* Shadow: 58

* Lightning: 53

* Plant: 32

* Metal: 30

That’s… notable. For one of his kind…

While the lowest affinities would never amount to much, the highest two offered ample potential for growth in his profession skills. With appropriate guidance, the boy could make a useful tool.

House Crowler was always in need of trusted retainers.

A pleasant ending.

“Contact me if you get into Raelion.” He graciously smiled at the boy. “I could find a place for you.”

The young applicant bowed deeply, obviously shaken by the generosity of the offer. “That’s too gracious, professor.”

“The Moons reward the worthy. I see potential in you, young man. You may leave.”

“Candidate 1799. Twenty-four points.”

~~~

In the rows of chairs outside the testing rooms, Kai sat bouncing his knees when the door opened. Flynn strode fully past the threshold, only then did he turn to smirk.

“So, how did it go? Any problems with the old fool?”

“Only keeping my laughter in.” Flynn winked. “It went well. I think I just got offered a job.”

“A job…?” Kai swallowed. “Are you gonna take it?”

“Nah. He can’t afford me.” He rested his arm on Rain’s shoulder. “And you owe me a dinner.”