The staircase creaked faintly beneath their steps as Lucien and Caelum made their way back from the cafeteria, torchlight flickering lazily along the stone walls.
Caelum stretched his arms behind his head with a groan. "Ugh. I just remembered. We've got the class duel next week."
Lucien glanced over. "Class duel?"
"Yeah. It's a combat assessment they do every semester — pairs get matched based on spell rank and battle score. It's a huge deal. Professors watch, some nobles too." He scratched the back of his neck. "Honestly, it's more of a popularity show than anything. Still, everyone gets sorted by tiers afterward. That sticks with you."
Lucien said nothing, filing the information away. So a test of magical ability in front of everyone. Perfect.
Caelum huffed. "Not that I'm worried or anything. But they better not match me against that idiot Davor again. Last time he lit my cloak on fire and blamed me for getting in the way."
Just then, a student passed by them on the stairwell, nodding toward Lucien in passing. "Lucien Renhardt? Professor Corven wants to see you in his office."
Lucien stopped.
Caelum turned as he rose a brow. "Corven? What's that about?"
Lucien's gaze stayed fixed down the corridor. "Probably just wants to go over some homework or something."
Caelum scowled. "He better not be blaming you for what happened again. You want me to come?"
"No. Head to the dorm. I'll catch up with you later."
"You sure?"
Lucien gave a faint nod. "If I'm not back in twenty minutes, I'll have probably been dissected."
Caelum grinned despite himself. "Twenty minutes. If you're not back by then, I'll come looking for you."
Lucien gave a curt nod, pushing his thoughts aside as he squared his shoulders. The lightheartedness of the cafeteria still lingered faintly, but now a heavier sense of purpose settled over him.
Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself for what lied ahead with this Professor Corven.
The faculty wing in the school was colder and much quieter. The polished floors and brass-lined doors gave off a sterile chill, as if warmth wasn't permitted past the arches.
Lucien passed several rooms with enchanted lamps glowing softly through frosted glass, each one humming with arcane readings and the scent of mana.
Finally, he stopped in front of a simple brass plaque that read:
Professor Corven – Mana Circuitry & Healing
He barely knocked once before a calm, authoritative voice called out from behind the door, "Enter."
Lucien stepped inside, his eyes quickly glancing around. The office was neat, angular, and dim. Floating diagrams hovered mid-air over several stone tablets, glowing with diagnostic runes.
Professor Corven sat behind a darkwood desk, sleeves rolled up, a shimmering slate hovering in front of him.
He looked up — brown hair neatly combed, glasses perched low on his nose, a shadow of stubble along his jaw. In his forties, maybe, though the sharp glint in his eyes felt older than that.
"Renhardt," he said in a flat, unhurried tone. "Sit."
Lucien did as asked despite feeling irritated by the professor's demeanor.
Corven set the slate aside, steepling his fingers. "You were attacked today," He paused for a moment, glancing up from his desk.
"That makes three incidents this semester alone," Corven continued. "Your mana diagnostics remain unclear. No spells cast. No progress noted. Your written scores are passable, barely, and your class participation is… minimal."
Lucien didn't make an effort to say or do a thing as he listened to the professor, wondering what the true intention of this meeting was.
"I've spoken to the council board," Corven said, tone still level. "It's time we consider other paths. You're not fit for becoming a mage. At this point, your continued enrollment is a disservice to both you and the academy."
So that's what this was. A warning shot dressed in formality.
Lucien leaned back slightly with a cold expression, calmly stating, "You want me to drop out."
"I want to spare you further embarrassment," Corven said bluntly. "Or you will face something far worse. As you know, the class duel is next week, and even the lowest-tier matches require competency. If you were hoping to sit out, this is your chance."
Lucien didn't even have to blink. "I'm not sitting out."
That gave Corven pause.
"…What?"
"I'm entering the duel," Lucien said plainly. "Assign me to whoever you want."
Corven narrowed his eyes. "This isn't a game, Renhardt. You can't bluff your way through it. If you step into that arena with zero mana output, you will be crushed. In front of the entire student body."
"I'm aware."
The professor studied him, analytical silence stretching between them. He tapped the desk once, then exhaled through his nose. "Fine. You'll be registered."
Lucien then stood up from his chair, readjusting his uniform's blazer. "Is that all?"
"But understand this," Corven interrupted, his voice sharpening slightly. "Once you enter that arena, there's no special treatment. No leniency. If you collapse again, I'll file your withdrawal papers myself—on the spot."
Lucien met his gaze with a chilling calmness. "Understood."
Without another word, he turned and walked out, the soft click of the door quietly closing the conversation behind him.
As Lucien made his way back to the dormitory, one thought burned quietly in his mind—regaining his strength and proving them all wrong. Especially the ones who thought he'd already lost.