Just when Hyacine expected the Headmaster to drone on for ages, he surprised everyone by abruptly concluding, "That's all for now. I won't keep you any longer. Best of luck to you all!"
The magical projection vanished, leaving the freshmen buzzing among themselves. Hyacine wore a thoughtful expression, mentally reviewing what she knew about the man.
Heinrich's titles included: Founder of the Arcane Federation, Tower Master of the Transformation Tower—one of the nine great Mage Towers—and... currently the most powerful wizard in the world.
Yet, in that brief projection, Hyacine had observed no overtly inhuman traits in the wizard. He appeared entirely human, though for a wizard of such immense power, extending his lifespan would hardly be a challenge.
Following the Headmaster's unusually concise address, the freshmen lined up in orderly queues across the open grounds, proceeding into their assigned classrooms. There was no random class assignment here; the first fifty students entered Class One, the next fifty Class Two, and so on.
In other words, unless their luck was exceptionally bad, Hyacine, Anaxa, and Pela—who had met beforehand and were standing together—would almost certainly be assigned to the same class.
In the end, no such extreme exception occurred. All three were assigned to Class 7. Pela immediately rushed to claim a seat in the front row, waving at Hyacine and calling out, "Here, here!"
Hyacine was momentarily stunned. Who fights for the front row? Isn't it usually the back rows that get snatched up first?
Hyacine now knew for sure that Pela was the diligent, studious type. Though she had initially intended to sit at the back, seeing Pela's expectant expression, she obediently took the seat beside her.
As for Anaxa, after surveying the entire classroom, he also chose a seat in the front row—the one closest to the podium.
In a classroom, sitting in the front row typically meant one of two things: either the student was exceptionally diligent or exceptionally unruly, preferring to disrupt class. The latter type was often placed under closer supervision, and Anaxa had undoubtedly chosen such a conspicuous spot.
Less than two minutes after all fifty students had taken their seats, a dignified man in his forties, wearing glasses and carrying a stack of books, strode into the room.
He was clad in a white Mage Robe, and a golden five-pointed star medal adorned his left breast. In the Arcane Federation, a Wizard's status was immediately discernible by the color of their Mage Robe and the presence of any medals on their chest.
Typically, gray Mage Robes signified students, while white robes denoted teachers. Wizards who achieved significant breakthroughs, such as inventing new spells or advancing magical theory, earned corresponding medals. The more medals a Wizard wore, the greater their prestige.
However, there were exceptions to this norm: the Nine Tower Lords. As the Arcane Federation's most formidable Wizards, they could wear whatever they pleased—even ditching their robes for miniskirts and white stockings.
Returning to the main point, the forty-year-old bespectacled wizard scanned the fifty students. Among them, individuals like Hyacine and Pela were clearly children, with thirty-eight being pure newcomers. The remaining twelve were older adults, such as Anaxa, who appeared slightly older.
The bespectacled wizard announced, "Listen carefully! Whether you're a complete novice who's never touched magic or a wild wizard who's learned a few trash spells from who-knows-where, here you're all the same—students! You'll all start from scratch!"
As he spoke, the bespectacled wizard slammed a stack of books onto the lectern with a thud. He then drew his staff, and after a brief incantation, a semi-transparent arm materialized beside him. The arm picked up a quill and began to scribble rapidly across the 'blackboard' behind him.
This was the cantrip Mage Hand, a spell with virtually no combat applications but tremendous practical utility.
The Mage Hand worked with astonishing speed. In just a few minutes, the once-blank blackboard was covered in dense text. The bespectacled wizard announced, "Alright, let's dive straight into the fundamental principles of magic!"
Yes, it was that direct. On the very first day of registration, students arrived in class and immediately began their first lesson!
Moreover, though the bespectacled teacher was covering the most basic magical principles, he spoke at a blistering pace. To put it in context, it was like a math teacher who immediately dives into theorems and formulas without explaining why they work.
Why is this theorem structured this way? No explanation.
Let's work through some typical examples? Not a chance.
The teacher would finish one theorem and immediately move on to the next. In this academy, teaching time was relentlessly compressed.
This was the capital of the Arcane Federation, the world's most prestigious Magic Academy. At other academies, teachers might patiently cover these topics over three or four years. Here in the capital, that same material was compressed into just three or four months.
Can't keep up?Can't learn it fast enough? Then what are you doing at this academy? The Arcane Federation is brimming with schools across the land. Go study at your own pace somewhere else. This place isn't for you!
Given this ruthless approach, older freshmen with a foundation in magic seemed to have a distinct advantage.
That was indeed the case, but it only provided a slight advantage. After all, magic heavily relied on innate talent. A fool who studied diligently for ten years might still be outmatched by a genius who studied for a single day.
This explained the Magic Academy's remarkably high expulsion rate—over fifty percent. Anyone who successfully passed the entrance examination could truly be considered a prodigy.
The bespectacled teacher began lecturing rapidly. Hyacine glanced around and saw most students furrowing their brows, racking their brains to memorize everything. Pela had even pulled out a notebook and pen, furiously scribbling down key points.
Just then, Anaxa raised his right hand. The teacher shot him a dismissive glance and continued lecturing, but Anaxa refused to lower his hand, stubbornly keeping it raised.
Remember, Anaxa was sitting in the front row, right under the teacher's nose.
After a full minute, the teacher finally snapped. Frowning, he demanded, "Student, our time is limited. What do you want?"
Anaxa shrugged nonchalantly, stood up with a casual air, and said, "Nothing much. I just think... someone of your caliber isn't qualified to be my teacher."