A smirk spread across Adam’s face, his defiant glare daring Matthew to abuse his authority. Of course, he had no backers. It was a bluff—a truth delivered with such conviction that Matthew doubted his own certainty. Because, as usual, he hadn’t spoken a single lie.
The mont he stepped into Port Vaelora, he had sealed his soul affinity using the Lóngshān valley guardians’ thod. After all, even if he still didn’t know why, mages abhorred it.
Though he could have sealed more elents to avoid suspicion, he opted against it. This was probably the most prestigious magical college in both the cultivation and magic worlds.
The knowledge held between these enchanted walls was priceless, accumulated over more than fifteen millennia. He wouldn’t pass on anything. Therefore, hiding now would only attract more scrutiny later—questions such as: ’Why is reading mana cultivation techniques designed for so many elents that don’t match his affinities?’
No, he was done hiding—tired of it. He would devour every grimoire, every page, every technique this place had to offer. And even more.
He observed Matthew’s muscles tense and release, a frown creasing his narrowed eyes, the mana erupting from the corner of his eyes flickering like a candle guttering in winds of doubt.
Still, the record set by another owner of mana affinity made the process unexpectedly more complex. Who was he, and was he born with it, or did he unlock it through a ritual like he had?
He stifled a frown before it could form and snickered. "I have better uses for my ti. Either you bring away to use your thods, or we can complete my registration and move on."
Matthew glared back at him, his brows twitching. For a mont, another silence lingered, not tense, but the quiet of surrender. Eventually, he withdrew his hand from his pouch, letting out a sigh laden with suppressed fury and humiliation.
"At the slightest misstep, you’ll find at your back." He pointed two fingers at his eyes, then begrudgingly switched to his professional deanor. "Show your best spell, knowing that I assess not its potency, but the control you have over it."
Adam raised his palm with a chuckle, the temptation to call Matthew a good boy burning his lips. Instead, he channelled his mana, chaotic magic circuits swelling like a living being taking a sharp inhale.
Purple lightning surged upward with an apocalyptic crackle. Matthew began to shake his head at the blinding pillar stretching toward the ceiling when, suddenly, it curled. Beautiful arcs danced along Adam’s palm, controlled to condense into a humming circle.
Magma erupted, casting an orange glow on their faces. The molten liquid instantly solidified into an obsidian core, its surface black and glassy as frozen arabesques slithered around its dark surface.
Matthew flinched, but Adam was far from over.
Water surged, then evaporated. Light struck the swirling gas, forming a dancing aurora over the obsidian and lightning. His solar affinity manifested in a scarlet corona around the obsidian, creating a srising sculpture made from pure elental control rather than a spell.
Matthew gawked for a second, recognising Adam’s insane control. As far as he knew, even students in their fourth year didn’t co remotely close to his level. Then, the mana crystal in his grip cracked as he tightened his fist. A genius. A monster. Perhaps the only human who could soday rival the other individual who had an affinity for mana.
"Is my control to your liking?" The elents dissolved into motes of light as Adam clenched his fist, leaving only the lingering scent of cold stone. "Or do you want to see real, destructive spells? I won’t mind..." He paused, his eyes trailing to the other n, who had been faking their work to watch the confrontation. Now, their hands even stopped moving, their facade crumbling beneath the sa shock Matthew felt. "This reward hall wouldn’t do. Too many precious materials and devices. It’d be a pity to vaporise them, right?"
Upon hearing Adam’s arrogant claim, Matthew recovered. He pursed his lips, eyes narrowed as crystal dust fluttered out of his palm. "Humph. Big words from soone who’s not a student yet. Vaporise? This place? Ha! We’re all magi, impudent rascal. No matter what you can do, we weave spells you wouldn’t fathom in a hundred years of study, so get off your high horse before reality makes you fall."
The other magi nodded behind their desks. Yet, unlike Matthew, sothing else sparked in their eyes. Interest for most. Scorn for the rest. Malice for a few who, like Matthew, followed the rules pragmatically and disliked Adam’s defiance. To them, students were nothing until they said they were.
But speaking now was pointless. Once Adam enrolled, they’d teach him what authority ant. At the slightest breach of rules, they would be there, returning his arrogance with sanctions heavy enough to alienate the other students. After all, the college was more than just classes and teachers.
Adam tucked his fingers around his chin, silently pondering.
For a long ti, the magus had lood as the ultimate force of nature in his reality. Yet, every teacher was one? This place was indeed the temple of knowledge he had sought.
"I’ll keep that in mind." He nodded, then dropped to the ground in a push-up position. "Instead of as much as I can, is there a limit that would satisfy you?"
"Of course." A grin spread across Matthew’s face. "A hundred thou..." Yet, he paused mid-sentence. It was another trap to expose his pettiness!
"A hundred thou—?"
Adam tilted his head, and Matthew almost cursed him aloud. Instead, he barked. "If you can make a thousand, you’ll be exempted from physical training classes. You’ll have until the shadow reaches that pillar."
A thousand? Adam rolled his eyes. "Give five minutes."
Without wasting a second, his coat flapped as if caught in a squall, and his body lowered then rose with chanical precision. Back straight, arms at an even distance, chest kissing the ground before rising. The form was perfect despite the speed.
Matthew’s snort died in his throat. The other magi reacted with equal shock. Quills snapped in their hands, or devices clanging on their desks.
Was there anything this brat wasn’t good at?
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AN: Sry for the delay >
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