Class E had arrived early but the way they acted was the same as latecomers usually do, half-stumbling in with hurried steps and guilty faces.
The doors hadn't even fully shut behind them before the mood in the hall shifted with the simple, unspoken awareness of gravity.
'So, these are all Class A scholars? Each one of them gives out a confident stance unlike in my class.'
Ruvian let his gaze linger on several of them, minutes longer than necessary, burning with curiosity.
Then, three familiar figures slipped into his view.
The narrative's chosen ornaments.
The ones who would orbit the protagonist when the time came.
'The three of them are here. Calyra, Rosalin and Silvena. There is nothing much changed. Then, I guess Julian and Loden would be in the other hall…'
Before his thoughts could deepen, a sharp clap sliced through the hall like a clean cut. Delila stood at the front now, eyes scanning both groups with professional ease, hands folded behind her back as she shifted into a straight stance.
"Welcome, scholars," she said, her voice was pleasant, almost kind, with just enough warmth to pass for sincerity if one wasn't listening too closely.
"Today's lesson is something special. A unique opportunity for both Class A and Class E to learn from one another in a live environment. Mutual growth, shared experience. A cross-class cooperation."
The words floated across the room, soft and inoffensive on the surface, but Ruvian heard them for what they were. Her words were scented lies. Polished phrases meant to dull the edge of a very blunt knife.
Delila continued, her tone never once losing its luster, every word feel like it had been pre-approved by the academy's image department.
"This morning's session will consist of rotational mock duels. Each match will feature a structured format: three scholars from Class E will face one scholar from Class A. This way, the experience remains challenging for both sides, while keeping the duels within reasonable parameters."
Several heads in the Class E cluster turned slightly, the shift in posture betraying a sliver of relief, a quiet exhale as if three-against-one sounded, at the very least, survivable. Some of the more naive ones even perked up at the phrasing, as if it were generous.
However, Ruvian did not.
'Three against one… they think that makes it fair? Idiots. Numbers don't mean anything if all they do is dilute the fight.'
The numbers looked kinder on paper, but only if one ignored the math behind magical efficiency, core density, and the countless variables between raw talent and refined skill.
'Combat isn't arithmetic. Even three opponents can't synchronize if their foundations are weak. If anything, three against one just means triple the cracks to slip a blade through.'
Ruvian thought about it with a bit of realism.
Because he knew that strength was not numerical only. One properly trained Tier Two spellcaster with a mastered affinity could dismantle three barely-formed cores like flicking dust off a sleeve.
Still, Delila smiled as if she had done them a favor.
"There will be a sign-up board projected behind me," she went on, as a faint blue light beamed to life in the air.
A lightscreen hovered quietly near her shoulder, listing empty brackets and placeholder names waiting to be filled.
"Those who wish to volunteer may come forward. If the numbers are not balanced, we will complete the rotation with random selection. We want full rounds."
Simple words but the implication was loud.
'I see. She's really not giving any of Class E the luxury of choice here. If there are 5 Class A scholars who want to participate, then, there should be 15 Class Scholars as well to balance it.'
A few students near the back of Class E shifted uneasily. Whispers began to circulate, as they were trying to figure out who would step forward or silently praying someone else would volunteer first.
Ruvian already knew the pattern.
It's very predictable how this will turn out to be.
The brave would leap in out of misplaced optimism. The proud would enter because their pride couldn't afford to stay silent and the unlucky… would follow, dragged into the spotlight by the statistical cruelty of randomness.
Ruvian kept still listening to his classmates aimless discussion. There was no need to act yet. No need to expose intent. This wasn't the time for stepping forward, not until he had gauged the Class A roster properly.
'Besides, this wicked woman isn't doing this for our growth. She is doing it to reinforce a hierarchy.'
Dress it in "training," frame it as "collaboration," but Ruvian had seen the narrative spine underneath.
This was about putting Class E in their place and polishing Class A's confidence while they stood over broken opponents.
'It was efficient… and terribly hideous.'
His stomach tightened, in resistance to the thought that someone with real influence had orchestrated this knowing full well the imbalance, and choosing to frame it as learning.
'Call it whatever it is—but this isn't training. It's a damn stage play. That wicked clown up there isn't teaching anyone. She's just feeding her ego, tossing scraps and calling it wisdom. Pathetic if I must say. Or if anything, the only thing worth learning here is how much of a fraud she really is.'
Ruvian scoffed inwardly with a crooked grin only he could feel, contempt folded neatly behind his calm exterior.
The lightscreen hovered in place behind Delila, lines of empty brackets gleaming faintly, waiting to be filled by names that, for the moment, no one from Class E was willing to give.
Not a single hand rose, not even a nervous half-step forward or the feigned motion of someone considering bravery.
The entire side of the hall where Class E stood remained heavy and unmoving, their silence not rebellious but shaped by primal fear but also the hidden understanding that walking forward would mean walking into a losing game.
Because no one wanted to be the first piece sacrificed just to make the board look occupied.
Ruvian didn't blame them.
Then, the movement came, but not from Class E.
One by one, eight members of Class A stepped forward, placing their names onto the list. Their expressions remained composed, untouched by anxiety.
These were not volunteers in the noble sense.
They were participants in a formality.
This exercise, for them, would not be a test of survival, but an hour of sharpening already-polished blades.
Delila watched them with approval blooming in her expression, the corners of her lips lifting. Her gaze swept back toward the rest of Class A, who remained silent and still, forty students divided cleanly now between those willing to step forward and those who hadn't.
But again, her words were not aimed at the mass.
"I do wonder, why are the rest of you holding back? Don't you all want to get better and make good use of every opportunity provided?"
She said gently, tone light as if making polite conversation.
The question floated across the space, soft enough to sound rhetorical, but angled carefully, aimed at a single person instead of the mass.
Calyra Arcanis stood untouched.
She neither blinked nor flinched, her gaze unfocused in the manner of someone who had long since stopped bothering with the details around her.
She didn't answer, well, more accurately, she didn't even pretend the question was meant for her. And that, Ruvian thought, was the answer.
He watched her silently with pride.
'Calyra Arcanis. One of the heroines that will accompany Zian in the future. One of the named characters with a huge potential that is close to the highest height of magic.'
Ruvain shifted his eyes to the fraud instructor.
Delila's eyes narrowed, not enough to be impolite, but enough to confirm that the silence had struck her.
Luckily, a voice cut in.
A boy from Class A stepped forward, offering something forgettable about strategy and observation.
"We don't mean it in that way, instructor Delila. Some of us prefer to learn from the bystanders. And I think some of Class E as well. If all of us from Class A participated, I don't think there would be enough numbers for Class E to balance the match."
His words were tidy, respectable, and entirely on the point.
"I see… I guess that's a valid point." Delila nodded anyway, smoothing the wrinkle in her expression with calm ease.
But everyone knew the truth of it.
It's not because of that reason but they were simply waiting on Calyra.
And Calyra had chosen not to move.
Where she stood, others stood.
Her presence carried the influence of legacy – the House of Arcanis. To move without her was to move alone, and no one here wanted to walk against that current.
Delila's smile wavered, before turning again.
This time toward another edge of the hall, toward the girl lounging with deliberate elegance near the rear column, emerald hair framing her face in soft waves.
"Silvena D'Elvoire," she said, voice carefully warm, tone dipped in false curiosity, "you usually have sharper instincts than this. Surely you don't intend to miss an opportunity to demonstrate to them what you can do?"
The question sharpened by irritation, but wrapped in silk.
Silvena's response was not immediate as she took her sweet time as though still deciding whether the conversation deserved her attention.
"This is why I don't like any assistant taking charge of a lecture~"
When she spoke, her voice was as smooth as a poured potion, yet with a curl of amusement.
"What?..." A thin laugh slipped past Delila's lips, brittle at the edges, hinted at the sting of the remark.
"An opportunity you said?" she echoed, brushing an invisible speck from her sleeve, as if the question itself was a little dusty.
"Sorry, Instructor Delila, but I must admit, it doesn't quite feel like one."
She stepped forward, tilting her head as if studying Delila's face with interest.
"I've always believed the point of combat practice was refinement, but if one already knows how to win… where exactly is the refinement in overwhelming the inexperienced? This joint-training session is just plain stupidity dressed up as discipline."
"Since this is voluntary, I'll observe, if it pleases you. I find the asymmetry more interesting from this angle."
Silvena's playful smile widened by a fraction.
PP= 250
ME= 180