Placing his hand on the stone, Valiance closed his eyes as he infused his mana into it. He could feel a weird but warm and fuzzy feeling within his abdomen moving toward his veins. The feeling turned quite cold but now comfortable. Within ten seconds, his mana reached his hand and entered the Core Measuring Stone. After a few minutes of silence, all his mana was drained.
[. . .]
Opening his eyes, Valiance noticed the three dots slowly appearing on the stone's surface. His eyes concentrated on it. This was it. He knew that the stone was now evaluating the quality and quantity of his mana to determine his talent as a mage. He suddenly remembered what his old man said in his letter.
Inferior mana core, huh? Please don't tell me it will be at the bottom of talents.
Agnes looked at the stone with interest as she leaned back in her chair, clearly relaxed. Meanwhile, Syrie, who was standing by the door, had a genuinely curious and expectant expression on her face.
[. . .]
Does it really take this long?
Valiance was beginning to feel nervous. Although he had the advantage of using mathematically correct magic, having higher talent meant it would be a lot easier for him to attain greater power. Of course, he still held the belief that hard-working mages with poor talent could still reach greater heights. However, he couldn't completely deny how talent helps a mage's improvement.
After a few more seconds of waiting, the three dots on the stone's surface slowly faded away, replaced by a faint glow as the stone lit up with a new color.
Valiance, Agnes, and Syrie stared at it, their expressions frozen in surprise. Valiance's eyes widened in disbelief, his chest tightening as the reality of the result sunk in.
It was Agnes who broke the heavy silence. Forcing a wry smile, she leaned back in her chair and said, "Well, it seems you've got some bad luck, getting orange and all. But hey, at least you didn't get the bottom one."
"Right," Valiance muttered nervously, attempting a weak chuckle. His gaze stayed fixed on the stone glowing with an unmistakable orange hue. His heart sank further with every second that passed, countless thoughts swirling in his mind.
I'm screwed. Really, truly screwed. The magical core the old man gave me is actually inferior.
He gritted his teeth, trying to hold back the frustration welling up inside him. While he was deeply grateful to his father for granting him a new body and mana core, he couldn't help the gnawing disappointment that came from seeing, so clearly, that his potential was limited. The stone's glow felt like a cruel confirmation: he might truly be bound for mediocrity.
Agnes noticed the gloom that had settled over him as he sat silently, glaring at the stone. She sighed, then clapped her hands together once, a sharp sound that snapped Valiance out of his spiraling thoughts.
"Well, it is what it is," Agnes said, her tone less sympathetic than he'd hoped. "But you've spent years under your old man's wing, haven't you?"
"Yeah?" Valiance replied cautiously, still reeling from the blow to his pride.
"That eccentric old coot must've taught you his peculiar ways of magic. Knowing him, I bet you've already learned techniques to compensate for… let's call it lack of talent."
Lack of talent.
Those three words echoed bitterly in Valiance's mind. His lips twisted into a faint, humorless smile. The bluntness of her words stung more than he cared to admit. He was already wallowing in disappointment, and hearing it stated so plainly only drove the dagger in deeper. Still, as much as he hated it, he couldn't deny the truth. This was his reality now, and he would have to live with it.
"Anyway," Agnes continued, her tone lightening, "as I mentioned yesterday, you're going to be working as my assistant. Well… sort of."
Valiance's head throbbed at the thought. Just hearing those words was enough to give him a headache. Great. More responsibilities I didn't ask for. He wanted to protest, to demand an explanation or at least a reprieve, but he knew better. Agnes wasn't just the headmaster—she was a legendary powerhouse capable of obliterating him with a flick of her wrist. Complaining would do him no good, and, honestly, he didn't have the energy to argue.
Seeing Valiance fall into an awkward silence, Agnes's sharp eyes shifted toward Syrie, giving her an almost imperceptible nod. The tall girl immediately stepped forward, her long strides deliberate yet elegant, each step a display of quiet confidence. Valiance's attention snapped to her as if pulled by an invisible thread, his brow furrowing slightly.
Agnes exhaled slowly, leaning back in her chair with an air of nonchalance. Her fingers tapped rhythmically on the edge of her desk, the sound punctuating the otherwise quiet room. "What you're about to do is actually quite simple," she said, her voice calm yet laced with authority. "Syrie here is the vice president of the Disciplinary Committee. Since the committee's president is currently off-campus on a mission assigned by the academy, Syrie has stepped up as acting president to oversee its operations."
"What?" Valiance's voice rose slightly, his surprise unmistakable. He blinked, shifting his gaze between Agnes and Syrie, his disbelief plain on his face. "You're in the committee?" he asked, his tone both incredulous and mildly accusatory.
Although he had only been at Orith Academy for a day or two, he'd already gleaned a general understanding of the school's structure. Steven's incessant chatter had introduced him to the concept of the Disciplinary Committee—a prestigious, if intimidating, group charged with maintaining order and upholding the academy's strict rules. He'd read snippets about them in the rulebook as well, though the details had seemed unimportant at the time.
"Yes, I am," Syrie confirmed with a slight tilt of her head, her expression softening into a polite smile. Her calm, unflappable demeanor contrasted sharply with Valiance's visible unease. "Allow me to reintroduce myself properly. I am Syrie Illugràd, Vice President of the Disciplinary Committee, and as of now, acting president in the absence of my superior. It's a pleasure to meet you, Valiance Esteban."
With that, she extended her hand toward him, her fingers slender but steady.
Valiance hesitated for a fraction of a second, the motion almost imperceptible, before clasping her hand. Her grip was firm yet restrained, a gesture that carried an air of professionalism. He released her hand after a moment and turned back to Agnes, his gaze narrowing slightly as he crossed his arms over his chest.
Taking a deep breath, he asked, "So, Headmaster, I assume this is about the committee? What exactly am I supposed to do here?"
"Exactly," Agnes said, nodding as if she'd been waiting for the question. "Whether you like it or not, I'm assigning you to the Disciplinary Committee. There's a vacant seat for the secretary position, and I've decided that you'll be filling it."
"Wait, what?" Valiance's jaw tightened, and he leaned forward slightly, his confusion giving way to frustration. "Why me? This has to be some kind of punishment for that fireball incident yesterday, right? But even so, I don't see why that alone would land me in the committee. There has to be more to this."
Agnes's lips curved into a faint smirk, clearly pleased by his ability to connect the dots. "You're not entirely wrong," she admitted, her tone almost teasing. She gestured toward Syrie with a casual flick of her wrist. "But rather than me explaining, I'll let Syrie handle this part."
Without further elaboration, Agnes leaned back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest. Her sharp, calculating gaze settled on them both, and for a moment, Valiance felt as though she were silently assessing his every move.
The room fell into a brief but palpable silence. Valiance shifted uncomfortably in his seat, stealing a glance at Syrie, who now stood beside him. Her posture was impeccable, and her expression was calm yet serious, as if she were carefully choosing her words.
Finally, Syrie inhaled deeply, her lips pressing together in a moment of contemplation before she spoke. Her voice was steady, carrying a tone of quiet authority.
"I'll sum it up in one word: Arclight."