Whoosh!
A sharp little pebble shot past Alan and Francis at high speed.
But that was just the beginning.
After dodging the first pebble, countless more stones, previously set up by Francis within gravity traps, ca raining down from the sky —
all of them aid precisely at Alan!
In the nick of ti, Alan unleashed the power of the Stone of Sage,
transforming all the falling stones into harmless droplets of water.
Francis grew desperate and blurted out,
"You bastard! How many tricks are you still hiding? Hurry up and confess already!"
Alan, having just neutralized the last pebble, chuckled lightly,
"Actually, I can also copy other people's spells.
Don't believe ? Look up."
"What?!"
Francis panicked and instinctively glanced upward, trying to sense traces of gravity magic.
But a mont later, a realization struck him —
if Alan could really copy his gravity magic,
then Alan wouldn't have been floating helplessly in the air earlier!
He had fallen for it!
The instant Francis reached that conclusion,
he felt a heavy punch slam into his abdon.
Though the blow wasn't lethal, the pain was imnse.
Francis doubled over like a boiled shrimp and was sent flying skyward.
Monts later, he plumted back down,
creating a brand-new, massive crater right beside the one he had already made earlier.
It took a long mont before a disheveled Francis crawled out of the pit,
pointing an accusing finger at Alan, who was chuckling nearby.
"Are all magi as shaless as you?!"
"Who's being shaless?"
Alan asked, barely suppressing his laughter.
He gently lifted Francis into the air using wind elent magic.
"Tell honestly — doesn't this floating effect look similar to your gravity magic?"
Francis nearly passed out from rage.
"So that's it!
When you said you could copy magic, you ant you could copy the effect, not the actual magic!"
Alan rolled his eyes and replied,
"Of course!
I can manipulate the six basic elents, sure,
but it's not like I know every spell in the world.
Gravity magic is rare.
You're the only one at the Academy who can use it — how could I possibly master it?"
After saying this, Alan shrugged and casually turned away.
Francis ground his teeth in frustration.
He knew this deep down from the beginning,
but Alan's trickery during their duel had still caught him off guard.
Ever since that battle at Lioncrest Academy a few days ago,
Francis had developed a subconscious belief that Alan was practically invincible.
That false impression was what led him into this blunder.
"Sigh... comparing myself to him is just asking for suffering."
Francis shook his head, preparing to vent his frustrations to his old comrade Fort.
However, Fort simply tossed a bundle of heavy steel bars at him, saying flatly,
"Tie these to your legs.
Continue jumping.
Headmaster's orders."
"Fort... not you too!"
Francis's eyes welled up with tears.
Yet in the end, he obediently tied the steel bars to his legs and resud hopping around the Academy grounds like a frog.
——
That afternoon, inside the headmaster's office,
Old Gayle leaned back comfortably in his chair, resting his feet on the desk, and closed his eyes lazily.
A small cauldron sat on a fire beside him —
but instead of brewing potions, he was simring a homade blend of fruit juice and alcohol.
This fruit wine was a recent experint of his.
It tasted quite good.
Seizing a rare mont of leisure,
Gayle had decided to brew himself a pot to satisfy his cravings.
Just as he was about to take the finished brew from the cauldron, however,
the office door was suddenly slamd open with a loud bang.
Clatter!
The cauldron toppled onto the desk,
spilling the sticky, sweet, alcohol-scented mixture everywhere.
Old Gayle first glanced at the uninvited guest,
then mournfully looked at the ss on his desk.
He let out a deep, helpless sigh.
"Alan," he asked wearily, "what do you want?"
Alan, completely unaware of the trauma he had just inflicted, walked straight up and said,
"Headmaster, I want to break through to tier-silver."
The recent series of events had made Alan realize he could no longer afford to waste ti.
Sure, defeating a tier-gold opponent while still at tier-bronze sounded impressive —
but only Alan knew the truth:
his mana reserves were still genuinely at the bronze level.
And he had been stuck at this stage for far too long.
More than once, Alan had felt his mana on the verge of evolving,
only to fall short by a hair's breadth each ti.
It was infuriating.
After much thought, Alan decided to follow the advice of the mysterious black-robed woman:
he needed to find staffs and absorb the Origin mana within them.
Only then could he quickly push his strength to the next level.
Hearing this, Old Gayle's expression shifted from regret to satisfaction.
"Thinking about advancing to silver, huh?
Good.
From now on, shift your focus from mana Overpressure to mana refinent.
With your talent, it shouldn't take more than a few days for you to break through."
Alan, however, shook his head.
"Headmaster, to be honest, the way a magus tempers mana is different from how an ordinary mage does it.
I need to absorb a large amount of Origin mana from staffs.
So... could you possibly help purchase so using the Academy's funds?"
Thud!
Old Gayle imdiately leaned back in his chair, eyes rolling upward dramatically,
pretending to faint dead away.
"Headmaster? Headmaster!
Co on, it's just a few staffs, is that really worth fainting over?!"
Alan couldn't help laughing bitterly.
This old drunkard truly had frugality carved into his very bones.
Training? Fine, whatever.
But ntion money?
Instant deafness.
Now he was even pretending to be unconscious!
"Don't make things difficult for him,"
ca a sudden female voice from behind Alan.
He turned around and saw it was Blanche.
Their eyes t,
and Blanche gave him a small, teasing smile.
"Although the Academy can't afford real resources right now,
we can compensate you in other ways."
"Other... ways?"
Alan swallowed nervously,
his gaze instinctively drifting to Blanche's figure, which had only recently recovered from severe injuries.
Blanche stepped forward, twisted his ear sharply, and scolded,
"You little pervert!
What are you thinking about?"
Her cheeks flushed slightly.
Then she grabbed his collar and dragged him along,
saying,
"Co with .
I'll show you what the compensation is."
Monts later, Blanche led Alan to a cluster of derelict buildings behind the Academy.
The place looked abandoned for years —
moss covered the walls and ground, and from ti to ti,
multi-legged insects scuttled between the crumbling bricks.
Alan quickly scanned the surroundings.
His gaze finally landed on an old door — or rather, what had once been a door.
Above it, faint but still recognizable, were four ancient words:
Starry Sanctum.
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