Atticus delved deeper into his understanding of primal essence.
It thrived on the unexpected: different emotions converging at once, the rush of thrills, and the allure of challenges.
For now, there were two methods available to enhance his rank:
The first involved allowing the Immortal Core to expand its absorption capacity; the second relied on primal essence flourishing through deliberate cultivation and exposure to the raw intensity of life.
To that end, he had deliberately chosen to mock and provoke them.
Though deep down, he felt a sense of gratification from his trash-talking.
It was a release for the pent-up frustration he had toward the heroines, characters who, in the game, were notoriously difficult to gain affection.
Don't worry, my fellow players I chastised the heroines on your behalf.
The heroines? Meh. There were far better choices.
Atticus, being an honest man, had no shame in his ambition to create a harem, one he had already carefully planned in his mind.
Gigantes, Spider Queen, Foxgirl, and Widow Elf.
As for Kaori… he would not pursue her, for the path he walks forbids it - only friendship.
She deserves better—someone whose love belongs solely to her and hers to them, without compromise.
Yet, the thought of anyone daring to court her in his presence ignites something within him, should such a moment to arise, he might end them without a second thought, he could only hope it would never come to that.
But then, he wondered, could they burn the world for her?
Because he would.
"Atticus."
"Yes, Instructor Nicholas."
He woke from his reverie, his thoughts dissipating.
"Imagine a mage named Alaric attempting to cast a fireball. The mana density is 50, the caster's willpower is 30, and his elemental amplifier is 10.5. With air resistance and a free movement factor of 12, how fast would the fireball travel?"
Instructor, you do realize this is my first day, right? Do you have some kind of beef against me or something?
Atticus glanced at the intricate whiteboard, catching Montmogery's snort, as if he could answer the question.
Isn't this just like a velocity formula, but with a fantasy twist?
"The fireball would travel at exactly 125.875 m/s."
"Explain."
"First, take the mana density and multiply it by the caster's willpower, this represents the magical focus and foundational strength of the spell. Then, you add the elemental amplifier, Alaric's alignment with fire augments the spell's efficiency. Finally, divide the result by the environmental resistance factor. The calculated speed comes to 125.875 m/s."
Instructor Nicholas nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Very good. You've earned five points."
Several students stared at him, clearly not expecting such a detailed response.
Atticus glanced at Montmogery and stuck out his tongue, a vein pulsed visibly on her forehead.
As the lecture dragged on for over an hour, it came to an end.
"Monday, I will pair you up and have you fight in Dungeon Laplace."
Dungeon Laplace, one of the most prized possessions of the Aurelian Academy of Eminence.
A towering relic from the Old Epoch, it had been enhanced with cutting-edge technology, meticulously controlled by the Academy's overseers.
Unlike standard holographic simulations, this dungeon spawned actual monsters, formidable creations ranging from simple beasts to 7-star monstrosities that Ascendants could overcome with relative ease.
"Atticus, since you've missed an entire week of lectures, you are to gather the notes from your peers. As for your Grade 6 Grimoire, that can clearly wait, for now. I have yet to witness your combat abilities."
Atticus responded with a curt nod.
Most Prodigies, such directives posed little concern.
They were the scions of prestigious bloodlines, wielding mythic grimoires and bolstered by alliances of unfathomable influence.
Tsk, the privileges of nobility.
Still, he found solace in the fact that it cost him nothing in the end.
Instructor Nicholas exited the lecture hall.
"What's your name?"
Atticus addressed his custom creation, a figure with androgynous features, long black hair tied into a sleek ponytail, and a slender frame.
He couldn't help his curiosity, wondering about the purpose of this creation, particularly now that it was neither under the control of a player nor his own.
Something felt… off.
Wait… What? It's already mid-Silver? How?
The custom creation fixed its gaze on him, its eyes narrowing.
"Avery."
Well, I'm glad it is not Juicefart.
"Want to check out a café? I know a great spot."
Avery contemplated briefly before offering a stoic nod.
Just as Atticus rose from his seat, a crushing grip clamped down on his shoulder, paralyzing him.
He couldn't move.
The air carried no hint of disturbance, as though the hand had materialized out of thin air. Even the heightened awareness granted by the『Reaction Time Origin』offered him no reprieve.
"You vile mongrel, do you truly believe you'll escape unscathed after your earlier stunt?"
Kenn's voice brimmed with contempt as his two slim imposing, mythical horns glimmered faintly, have shaggy mane of red hair and the crimson hue beneath his eyes lent an ominous allure to his sharpened features.
"Oh, scary, and tell me, what are you going to do with little ol' me?"
Atticus's smile twisted unnaturally, as he locked gazes with Kenn.
"Kenn, unhand him."
Asher arms crossed as he stood at a distance, his voice indifferent.
"Why are you interfering, Asher?"
Kenn stood with the same air of indifference, as if even the slightest movement would ensue a fight.
"Now you've taken to picking fights with those who aren't even your equal?"
Asher said, as Kenn scoffed.
"A fight? I'm merely reminding him of his earlier actions: how foolish he was, spewing absurdities and daring to insult both the royals and the hero princess. This place is tarnished only by the filth he himself has brought."
"Perhaps, but that's his burden to bear, or do you like playing into his ploy?"
"I already know that."
With a sharp, forceful motion, Kenn released him and stalked off without another word.
Heh, as expected of Golden Prodigies.
Atticus offered Asher a single, wordless gesture of thanks before leaving the room, Avery trailing silently behind him.
"Why are you stopping me, Sinclair?"
Montmogery's expression burned with the desire to immolate Atticus on the spot, but the Saintess placed a calming hand on her shoulder, grounding her volatile rage.
"You heard their conversation, didn't you?"
"Still... Grrhh... that insolent mongrel! How dare he? How dare he accuse me of lacking originality and ingenuity? And to call me a spoiled brat—does he have even the idea of the hardships I've endured?"
She hissed and continued, her frustration building.
"And that face! Ugh, so annoying, with his tongue sticking out like some child, he's practically begging to be scorched alive."
Sinclair offered a faint, knowing smile.
"Don't give him the satisfaction of getting under your skin, and I suggest you should let it out in the training grounds."
Montgomery paused, exhaling slowly as if trying to steady the flames within her, a twisted smile forming on her lips.
"That's… not a bad idea."
Sinclair turned to the Hero Princess, "Nera? Want to come along?"
Hero Princess Venera, aloof as ever, merely gave a faint nod of approval.
"A saintness indulging in questionable smut books, how shockingly scandalous."
Shamus teased, a sly smile tugging at her lips.
"Naturally. And who else would believe him, if not someone like you?"
Sinclair met her gaze with an unruffled calm, as Shamus sneered and swept past her.
As Sinclair glanced at Montmogery and Venera, relief washed over her.
Montmogery seemed too preoccupied with her lingering anger to catch the jab, and Venera, ever impassive, remained utterly indifferent. Sinclair disguised her exhale of relief with practiced ease.
"Smut book?"
Venera tilted her head slightly and asked in an impassive voice.
"It is just storybook."
Sinclair replied with an innocent smile, her demeanor so serenely pure it seemed capable of summoning angels.
"I must be getting rusty... I feel an increasing urge to strengthen my light magic, to deal with insolent, arrogant demon."