As the all-student praxis disaster finally came to a close, the wounds it left behind turned into eternal scars.
There were eleven casualties in total.
All of them were faculty members.
Thanks to their heroic efforts and sacrifices, not a single student died.
Yet few could bring themselves to feel joy or relief as they carried their professors' coffins—some barely holding what was left of the disfigured corpses—into the graves and buried their teachers.
Some coffins were empty. The killers had been that barbaric.
Wives became widows.
Children lost fathers and mothers—one even became an orphan.
Others lost sisters, brothers, cousins, friends, or colleagues.
Everyone at Rigarden Academy, and many beyond, felt the pain.
As for the ones responsible, wanted posters were quickly put up for Headless and Marze.
A manhunt was launched without delay.
Yet the two had vanished without a trace.
When Noelle heard the news, she felt a flicker of regret.
But only mild regret.
She knew the fate waiting for them would make even a psychopath beg for death.
Because Nacht Faust never forgives evil.
What he had in store wasn't mercy. It was justice so brutal, it left you wondering who the real villains were.
But that was a matter for another time.
Headless and Marze still had a role to play. Nacht needed them alive.
As for a certain group of students, though Patri had healed their injuries, Workner Norgram ordered them all into sick bay for mandatory bed rest.
He wouldn't hear any protests.
When he gave them a stare that—somehow—made Edward Serfence seem friendly by comparison, the six overachievers ducked their heads and scurried inside without another word.
They wouldn't be allowed out until the next morning.
Which left the pack of teenagers feeling stiff, restless, and unsure what to do with all that sudden free time.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Rigarden Academy: Injury Ward
Six white hospital beds lined the brick wall of an exquisite Edwardian-esque room, complete with a large window overlooking the row.
Wignall, Sion, Julius, Lihanna, Colette, and Will lay left to right from one end of the room to the other, each in their school uniforms—robes noticeably absent.
They stared blankly at the bare brick ceiling, arms crossed over their chests in heavy silence.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The only sound was the soft ticking of the grandfather clock mounted on the wall opposite them.
Colette was the first to break the quiet.
Brows drawn, mood dim, she chewed her lip and murmured, "I-I still can't believe Bruno-sensei is gone…"
The mood dropped even further, slipping into a weighted hush as Julius gave a distracted nod.
"Yes… truly unbelievable…"
Of the eleven casualties, Bruno Marcus's death hit them hardest.
He had always been the closest of the faculty to them.
In fact, he was originally meant to be their homeroom teacher when they enrolled.
But his wife had gone into labor at the time, and he'd taken paternity leave—so Workner-sensei was assigned instead.
Alongside Edward-sensei, Workner had taught them for the past six years as their main instructors.
Spellwork students were usually grouped by elemental attribute, and while Bruno missed their first year, he oversaw the Water and Ice cohort for the next five.
Even Julius couldn't pretend the man's death meant nothing.
Bruno had been the closest thing he had to a mentor—in all but name.
And the image of his wife—now a widow—and their five-year-old son sobbing at his gravestone made the Reinburg heir uneasy.
He didn't want to fall asleep and embarrass himself with a nightmare in front of the others.
Dammit, Loire, why'd you have to bring that up…?
He cursed Colette inwardly, weak and annoyed, as the silence returned—no longer empty, but suffocating.
He needed someone else to say something, anything.
He didn't want to be the one scrambling for a new topic just to fill the air, but as the seconds crawled, keeping a neutral face became harder and harder.
Thankfully, help came from a source he usually got along with like fire and ice—not just metaphorically.
"FLUNKEE!!"
"Eek!" Will yelped, shooting upright in his bed and staring across the room, wide-eyed. "W-what's up, Sion?"
The Ulster heir glared at the so-called No-Talent as he also sat up, swinging his legs over the side of his bed.
Colette immediately sprang to her feet, stepping between them with her arms stretched out to block Sion's view.
"What are you up to now, Sion?"
The flame mage paused, irritation flaring—only to cool into mild disgruntlement at the sight of his longtime crush interfering.
"Relax, I'm just talking," he muttered with a soft snort.
Colette exchanged a glance with Will, unconvinced, but slowly lowered her arms and backed down.
The others stayed silent, watching as Sion pointed at the swordsman from across the room.
"So you got a master. What's that about?"
At the question, the room's attention snapped to Will—even Julius, who tried to look disinterested, couldn't fully hide his curiosity.
Will stiffened.
All eyes were on him.
He gulped and forced out a shaky smile.
"W-well, I needed someone to teach me how to use a sword… right?"
Sion's expression darkened. "Don't act stupid, Learner. Who's this master of yours? We're humans—we use wands. Don't tell me there's someone out there with as much gall as you?"
Will sat up straighter, reaching over to the nightstand for his glasses.
He slid them on slowly, eyes narrowing.
His voice came out steadier than expected—firm, almost defiant.
"That doesn't concern you."
Sion blinked.
So did the others.
Will gave a small nod.
"Who my master is—and what kind of person he is—is none of your business."
That was all he said. No explanation, no elaboration.
His face made it clear: even beating the answer out of him wouldn't work.
To Sion's credit, he didn't try.
He simply snorted again and looked away.
Colette followed up with another question.
"W-Will?"
Hmm? Will gave her a small nod, signaling her to continue.
"What's with all the secrecy…? You never mentioned having a master before. And why'd you lie about that ring—saying it was from Rosti?"
And is there really nothing between you and that pretty woman?!
She kept her other, very jealous question to herself.
A certain androgynous blond-haired boy, secretly standing outside the room and eavesdropping, shared in Colette's silent worries.
Lihanna, meanwhile, was already hungry—and craving something to go along with the juicy drama unfolding before her.
Will rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, looking apologetic as he bowed slightly.
"Sorry… It's just, I know firsthand how this world treats people who swing swords instead of wands. I wanted to keep my s-master out of any unnecessary trouble…"
He tried to look as pitiful, desperate, and filial as possible.
Thank god for Ki letting me read the room…
Everyone seemed to buy it.
Colette looked moved.
Lihanna and Wignall gave him a glance of understanding.
Sion and Julius merely harrumphed—but no one pushed the matter further.
Lies laced with truth were always the easiest to sell.
Will let out an inward sigh of relief and began leaning back into his bed.
"Well, if there's nothing else—"
"Wait a moment, Flunkee."
Will stiffened again.
Suppressing a resigned breath, he forced a tight smile.
"What now, Sion?"
The crimson-haired student no longer looked angry or annoyed.
His expression was somber—cold and calculating.
It nearly made Will gulp.
"That power of yours… what was it? Have you been holding back on us this whole time?"
Again, all eyes turned to Will.
This time, every stare—no matter how soft—carried a tinge of bitterness.
Even Colette.
We almost died, you know…
That's what their silence screamed.
If you were always capable of doing that… what did we suffer and nearly die for?
Will trembled, hurriedly waving them off.
"W-what? N-no, I would never do that! I-I just picked up that trick in the moment—I didn't even know I could do that, I swear!"
"How?" Sion asked flatly, clearly unconvinced. It was all far too sudden. Too convenient.
Will hesitated.
There was no way he could explain the bizarre dream and ice shard without sounding insane—or worse, suspicious.
So, once again, he forced a clueless smile and tried to look as innocent as possible.
"I-I had an epiphany, I guess…?"
The deadpan looks that followed told him exactly what everyone thought of that answer.
But this time I'm actually kind of telling the truth!!!
Will shed imaginary tears, visibly wilting under the glares stabbing into him like invisible knives.
Then, all at once, his head snapped up. His posture straightened.
He no longer looked nervous—or like he cared about the atmosphere at all.
The memory of his dream dragged his thoughts in another direction. One that pressed heavily on his mind.
"H-Hey… actually, I have a question?" he asked cautiously.
Julius scoffed. "Don't try to change the topic, No-Talent—ack!"
The Reinburg heir winced as a sharp pain cracked across his forehead, the sound of a pebble hitting the floor echoing right after.
He turned to Colette, teary-eyed.
"What was that for, Loire?!"
The Earth Princess didn't flinch.
"Stop calling Will names. He saved our lives, for god's sake!"
Julius nearly exploded, cursing her inwardly.
Then why am I the only one getting hit?!
He caught the mocking smirk Sion shot from next to him and had to physically restrain himself from flash-freezing the bed.
Thinking himself above such childish bickering—and refusing to disgrace his noble beauty with an outburst—he simply lay back down and turned away from the Ulster heir.
Colette gave a satisfied nod, then looked back to Will.
"Sure thing, Will. What's on your mind?"
Will steadied his breathing, doing his best to look calm, casual, and completely unbothered.
"There was a little boy with Lord Masterias' entourage... Mr. Finn, the guide. He didn't seem like a member of Masterias Noah... do any of you know who he is?"
Outside the room, Rosti narrowed his eyes, cold and sharp.
Inside, most of the group looked puzzled.
Sion and Julius just shrugged, clearly uninterested.
Colette and Wignall shared apologetic glances.
Wignall, for his part, still couldn't stop thinking about Patri. Once I reunite with Ellenor and my people again, he promised himself, I'll ask around.
But Lihanna looked thoughtful.
"I… might," she said, drawing everyone's attention.
Will had to stop himself from leaping out of bed in excitement.
That's Miss Perfect for you!!
As the room quieted, their former leader nodded slowly.
"Well, my sister and grandmother used to tell me stories about a special clan of dwarves in Paradise."
Dwarves?! Will's heartbeat quickened as Lihanna continued.
"There's a group called the Finn Tribe—also known as the People of Light."
"They can't use magic, like all dwarves. But somehow, they've earned real standing in the Tower. Even the magical elite respect them."
Will's eyes lit up.
"Why? H-how?" he asked, unable to hold back his curiosity.
Most mages barely tolerated dwarves. For an entire tribe to not only enter Mercedes Caulis, the pride of Paradise, but to be respected by high-ranking mages—it shattered everything he thought he knew.
His question came off naturally, so no one found it suspicious.
Lihanna cleared her throat.
"Because of their knowledge. No one knows much about them, but apparently they've been gathering information about the dungeon for generations. Starting with the Mage Queen's reign, they were officially hired as guides."
"It's said that to reach the deepest floors, their help isn't just useful—it's absolutely necessary."
Julius, Wignall, and even Sion looked contemplative. Colette, impressed, turned to Lihanna with a bright smile.
"Wow, Lihanna. You're so smart!"
The lightning mage blushed, her pride unmistakable.
Will, however, was reeling.
Wait... dwarves only came to Paradise after the Mage Queen repelled the Heavenly Invaders and put up the Great Barrier... so why does it sound like the Finn Tribe was already in the dungeon?
He schooled his expression, even as a new storm of questions churned beneath the surface.
The Finn Tribe. That magic blade. That sudden surge of power…
What even are they?
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Meanwhile:
The Headmaster's office of Regarden Magical Academy was massive—easily rivaling any lecture hall in size.
It wasn't just big, though. It was lavish. A rich red rug blanketed the marble floor. Carved pillars, inscribed with arcane symbols, rose to support the high ceiling, from which hung a sprawling glass chandelier that shimmered like frozen lightning.
At the far end stood two sets of grand, twin wooden doors. Opposite them, a long rectangular desk rested like a command center. Floating behind it, almost comically, was a giant black witch's cauldron that bubbled without fire.
Seated at the desk, on a chair that resembled a throne more than anything else, was the Headmaster herself—Caldron Anouve.
She was old, deeply wrinkled, with long gray hair that framed her neck like draped curtains. Her jewelry was unmistakable: a large blue pendant, a gleaming gold necklace, ruby earrings like tiny suns. Bangles jingled on her wrists, rings sparkled on every finger, and her signature witch's hat tilted stylishly to the left. Her ever-present, closed-eyed smile made it impossible to guess what she was really thinking.
Suddenly, the doors to her right swung open—without a knock, without permission.
Only a handful of people in the magical world could barge into her office uninvited.
He was one of them.
Messy blond hair, bright blue eyes, and the air of an underachieving manchild, Finn strolled in casually, something long and cloth-wrapped slung across his back.
"Hey Caldron! I'm back from the expedition," he called out with a lazy wave.
The Headmaster smiled gently, already bracing herself.
"Oh, Finn. Good to see you again," she replied smoothly, voice polite and measured, trying to rein in the chaos she knew was coming.
"You were gone for quite a while. How far did you make it this time?" she asked, as if making small talk—though she already knew.
Finn knew she knew. But he played along, spreading his arms in a show of weariness.
"Hah…" He let out a long breath. "The 49th floor. That Aaron really worked us to the bone."
Ka-clunk.
Not a moment after entering, Finn set the cloth-wrapped object on Caldron's desk and unfurled it.
Inside were the shattered remains of a blade—neither fully natural nor obviously forged. Something between the two. Something wrong.
"Surprise!" Finn said far too casually. "I brought you back a souvenir."
Shadows flickered across Caldron's face. Her smile vanished.
"This is the Mage Slayer mentioned in the report?" she asked.
Finn grinned. "Yup!"
Hands on his hips, eyes closed like a bard spinning a tale, the dwarf continued.
"We ran into some shady folks on the 40th floor… Ended up clashing with them. Lost about ten high mages in the fight."
Caldron's voice turned grim. "...Ghotia?"
Finn shrugged. "Probably. But that's not the point."
His expression dropped, voice turning cold.
"We didn't have the luxury to hold back. We wiped them out. And I'd be willing to bet.." He tapped the fragments. "This Mage Slayer wasn't something the dungeon just spat out. They were experimenting down there."
Silence.
"You're saying they collected materials from across the dungeon—even from the deeper levels—and fused them into this?" Caldron asked quietly.
Finn didn't answer. His faint, mirthless smile said enough.
Her gaze darkened further. Then Finn gestured at the weapon.
"Aaron asked me to head back down and poke around a bit more. I'll leave this thing with you."
Caldron's pleasant demeanor returned as if nothing had happened. She gave a nod.
"My apologies for all the trouble," she said, drawing her wand.
A silver glow outlined the Mage Slayer. It floated into the air, then sank into the swirling water of the cauldron behind her.
"I don't mind," he replied calmly, eyes fixed on the weapon. "Seems there are some rather unsavory actors lurking in the dark. Be careful."
"You too."
Finn gave a little salute. "Always."
Caldron nodded once more, her smile returned—but her thoughts had already drifted elsewhere.
And for a brief, foolish moment, she dared hope the conversation was over. That he would leave.
But then Finn's grin shifted—something cruel curling at the edges—and dread began to creep in.
"Now, as for why I'm really here…"
Of course. Caldron let out an inward sigh as the dwarf hopped onto her desk, settling cross-legged with his cheek resting against his palm.
"Caldron," he said, voice light but eyes sharp, "why didn't you tell me about the boy?"
The smile he wore didn't reach his eyes. It wasn't a smile at all.
Caldron mirrored it anyway, though a thin trickle of sweat rolled discreetly down her temple.
"I thought you all looked after the wands…" Finn continued. "And I handled the swords?"
She sat tall, posture immaculate, voice steady and unshaken.
"Will is a student of this academy. Naturally, he wishes to become a mage above all else."
"In fact," she added smoothly, "he intends to climb the tower and earn the title of Magia Vander."
Silence followed.
They smiled at each other, unmoving. Locked in an invisible standoff.
Tick.
Tock.
Vroom.
The grandfather clock ticked, the cauldron behind them swirled. Time passed—five seconds, ten, a full minute—before one of them blinked.
It was Finn.
He let out a breath and dropped his hand.
"Sigh..."
When he looked up again, his smile had softened—no longer a threat, just exasperated amusement.
"Honestly. Who ever heard of a sword trying to become a wand?"
Is this what you wanted, ████████?
Caldron kept smiling, something unreadable behind her eyes.
"Yes, it truly is a first. Which is precisely why I expect the impact to be nothing short of… explosive."
"Ohhh, you witch," Finn muttered, tone mocking but no longer hostile.
Caldron finally allowed herself a breath of relief.
She had won.
"Now," Finn said, clapping his hands, "as for why I'm really really here—"
Huh?
Caldron blinked.
She had not won.
Caldron stiffened the moment Finn produced a dagger—from where, she couldn't say—and began twirling it idly in his hand.
Seemingly idly.
She knew better. There was nothing idle about it. This was a threat, plain and simple.
"Now," he said, voice light as ever, "tell me about those guardians of his. I'm particularly interested in that woman… and his master."
Caldron swallowed. This time, she knew Finn wouldn't tolerate evasions or half-truths.
He wanted something real. Concrete.
Her smile faltered for the briefest second before she recovered and replied.
"I honestly don't know much. Will seemed to have met them of his own accord—"
"Caldron," Finn interrupted, that grin of his turning darker, sharper. "Do you really expect me to believe you haven't kept tabs on the sword all this time?"
Her spine locked into place as the dwarf raised the dagger—slowly—pointing its tip toward her throat.
"Do you take me for a fool?" he asked, voice low. "You expect me to believe you know nothing about that husband and wife pair? After granting them dungeon access? After briefing them on the Fifth Source?"
Another gulp. Her smile stretched thinner, more strained.
"I had no choice," she said, voice tight. "Two years ago, the Sword's power activated in their presence. I had to reveal myself to save his life."
"I shared no specifics about the origins of his abilities. They've only picked up scraps, fragments—caught onto clues—clever as they are."
Finn's eyes narrowed.
He lowered the dagger.
And began tapping its tip gently against the desk.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
No scratches. Just rhythm. Just silence. Just pressure.
He didn't speak.
He didn't need to.
He waited.
And eventually, Caldron gave in.
Somewhat.
"You, of all people, should know," Caldron said quietly, "that while I may withhold things from you… I would never lie. Not once I've been confronted."
Finn didn't react. Not even a blink.
She pressed on.
"I truly don't know much about that strange pair. I've had my hands full—striking a little deal with our dear Ice Maiden to keep her obedient… and diverting their attention—just to make sure the Sword hasn't gotten himself killed."
"I left Workner in charge of watching over him in the meantime," she added. "But he seems more inclined to grant Will privacy. Agency."
Finn's eyes narrowed.
"You found the spell?"
Caldron nodded.
"How much progress?"
She answered without hesitation.
"Enough that the Sword can begin unlocking his powers. Slowly."
Finn clicked his tongue in irritation, shaking his head.
"Don't try to distract me, Witch," he growled. "Tell me about the woman and her husband."
Caldron let out a slow, tired breath.
"I can't give you what I don't have. What I do know is this: they appeared out of nowhere, exactly six years ago…"
Finn tilted his head. "Six years…? You mean when that incident occurred?"
"Precisely," Caldron said.
Finn's grin returned—crooked, dark.
"Right. Around that time, a curious fellow showed up in the tower… and ever since then, things have gotten interesting."
He thought of certain names. Patri. That pervert. Others, too.
More eyes than ever in Mercedes Caulis. Unsettling shifts in Samios, Terralis, Alfswood… even Garzaronso.
And the Food Goddess. Can't forget that one. Might be time I 'visit home' again.
Caldron nodded, reading his silence perfectly. "My thoughts exactly."
Finn nearly snorted. "Any thoughts on the boy's master?"
Caldron smiled faintly. "Only that he's something of a sword himself."
That caught Finn's attention. He leaned forward slightly, eyes glinting. "Tell me more."
Caldron shook her head.
His face darkened instantly.
She raised a hand in quiet defiance—measured, not mocking.
"They mean no harm to Will. That much I can swear. Leave them be, and they'll remain allies. Trust me, Finn… they're doing more than their part to protect this world. Don't antagonize them."
Her voice had hardened. For once, her smile dropped entirely.
For once she seemed to be the intimidating one.
Finn paused, the weight of her words sinking in.
"All we do… is to transcend the sky?"
"Exactly."
A low sigh escaped the dwarf as he turned, hopping off the desk with a grunt. He walked away, boots echoing lightly against the carpeted floor..
"Fine," he muttered. "So long as they stay out of my way, I'll return the favor. But the boy—" he glanced over his shoulder, tone sharpened, "—I'm only letting you hold onto him a little longer."
"Don't be surprised if I start sticking my nose in."
"Oh, please do," Caldron replied without missing a beat.
Finn chuckled darkly to himself.
Conniving old bat.
With a grunt, he kicked open the door and strode out. He had only just returned from the dungeon, and yet…
It was already time to go back.
The calamity wouldn't wait for them to be ready. And so neither could he.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Next Morning - Injury Ward:
"Flunkee!!"
Will groaned, still half-asleep. "What now, Sion?"
"FIGHT ME!"
"Huh?!" Will jolted upright in bed, blinking hard as he turned toward the Ulster heir.
Sion was already on his feet, face darkening. "Don't act surprised! We had an agreement!"
Will stared, blank.
Right... during the Crown attack I kinda promised him, didn't I?
Seeing her best friend—and not-so-secret crush—actually considering it, Colette leapt off her bed.
"Oh no you don't! Workner-sensei told us to—"
"Don't care," Sion snapped, cutting her off.
Not that it was surprising. Nine times out of ten, the only time he ignored Colette's orders was when it involved the No-Talent.
Before Will could even get one foot off the mattress, Sion whipped his Halcon Wand from his sleeve and aimed.
"Wait—!"
Too late.
A burst of Levitation Magic hit Will square in the chest. He was yanked off the bed and flung—straight out the third-story window.
"Aaahhh—!"
"Sion?!" Colette shrieked, rushing to the window in horror.
Below, Will twisted midair, his body flipping like a thrown coin. With a grunt, he managed to shift into a handstand just before hitting the ground, absorbing the impact through his arms.
The muscles in his shoulders tensed. Then, with a push and a flick of his legs—
He backflipped and landed neatly on his bare feet.
Still half in his pajamas.
Will's head snapped up in shock just as Sion climbed onto the windowsill—and jumped without hesitation.
"Wait, Sion, don't—!"
Thud.
Will winced. The flame mage landed hard on his feet, knees nearly buckling on impact.
Idiot...
Sion bit down on his lip until blood welled up, using the pain to suppress a scream. Still trembling, he raised his wand and pointed it at Will.
"L-let's do this, Flunkee!"
Will sweatdropped.
Are you insane? You're not built like me—
But then he saw it.
The fire in Sion's eyes—not rage, not recklessness, just pure, focused resolve.
He didn't want to hurt him.
He just wanted to fight him.
Will's heartbeat slowed. He nodded.
"All right."
Sion grinned, then glanced back up at the window where Colette, Wignall, Julius, and Lihanna all stared down at them.
"Colette! Make him a sword!"
The Loire girl flushed, her face twisting in outrage.
"There's no way I'm doing that!"
Sion stiffened, fury rising—but before he could shout, Will spoke calmly.
"There's no need."
Sion blinked and turned, confusion flaring into irritation at the smug smile on Will's face.
"You looking down on me? You think you can beat me without your s—"
"Of course not."
Sion blinked. "Then…?"
Will's smile deepened. He raised his left hand and rubbed his thumb across the back of his ring.
Mrs. Silva had told him before she left—no more need for secrecy, no point in making him figure things out himself. There was a hidden function, and now was as good a time as any to use it.
The ring pulsed, glowing a deep blue—the same shade as its gem—before something flickered into view.
A transparent cube, two meters across, formed in the air. Runes and sigils glowed along its edges, unfamiliar and otherworldly. All five students stared as a single object hovered inside.
Will's sword.
The Moria blade dropped into his open hand the moment the cube flickered out, the glow of the ring fading.
Sion froze, eyes wide—then grinned.
Without hesitation, he launched a spiraling blaze of fire at Will.
The swordsman cleaved it in half with one smooth swing—and charged.
Up above, on the windowsill, Colette gaped.
"Seriously, what in Paradise is that ring?"
Lihanna blinked. "I want one." She was already imagining the snacks she could smuggle in without ruining her reputation.
Wignall glanced at her and nodded wryly. "I'm sure you do."
Julius twirled a lock of icy hair, watching the duel below. He scoffed.
"Barbarians. Ever heard of rest and recovery?"
His mood briefly lifted when Workner-sensei arrived and sentenced both Will and Sion to janitor duty for the rest of the day.
It soured again almost instantly when Workner caught him laughing—and assigned him to join them.
Truly, there was no soul more pitiful in Urbus Rigarden than Julius Reinburg.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Lecture Hall — Two Days Later
The classrooms of Rigarden Academy were deathly silent.
The arrival of Ellsmoon marked the end of the year.
And with it… final exams.
For the sixth years, the tension was suffocating—this wasn't just another round of tests. These were their final exams at Rigarden. Ever.
Workner Norgarm stepped to the front of the room, a black binder under one arm. With a flick of his wand, sheets of paper floated into the air and settled neatly before every student. Each desk was clear, save for a single quill and a pot of fresh ink.
He set his binder down on the front desk, adjusted his glasses, and looked out over the room.
"I'm sure many of you are still processing recent events. Be that as it may, there is no excuse to neglect your studies."
His gaze swept over the class.
"Another school year is ending… and for you sixth years, this truly is your final test."
He cleared his throat.
"These are no longer final exams. They are graduation exams."
The room tensed. Not a breath was heard.
At Rigarden, there were no second chances.
No retakes. No being held back.
You needed 1000 credits per year—6000 total by the end of sixth—to graduate. Miss the mark by even one, and you weren't offered remediation. You were expelled.
This was the premier institute under the Upper Institute—more research lab than school—and they didn't waste time on failures.
If you reached sixth year, you had until its end to hit 7200 credits or invent an original spell. Without either, your dream of joining the Tower was all but over.
For the students here, their only hope was in amassing credits, otherwise they'd long be in the tower.
Workner placed both hands on the desk.
"You may begin."
The sound of parchment flipping filled the room, followed immediately by the soft scratching of quills.
Will inhaled, steadying his nerves. Ink met paper.
This is it… wait for me, Elfie.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Author's Notes:
[1] Will has 5817 credits, meaning he needs 183 to graduate, and 1383 to advance to the tower.
[2] Feel free to join the discord: https://discord.gg/s3MME8X8ar