The Class Assignment Exam (Part 2)

The class assignment exam was generally divided into two components: a written evaluation where graders were notoriously stingy with points, and a practical examination that accounted for the vast majority of the final score.

Dueling was one format of the practical exam. In theory, it was designed to let students display their growth and hone their capabilities through peer combat—at least, that was the intent before the very essence of the duel had been corrupted.

At some point, peculiar regulations began creeping into the rubric, steadily gouging a chasm between specific tiers: match restrictions, weapon authorizations, and mana badges. Once the factors dictating victory and defeat tilted irreversibly to one side, the assessment became little more than an arbitrary hurdle designed to blow open the divide between Class D and Class C. Ranged mages who could bombard targets from uncontested safety—especially those boasting high mana reserves—secured overwhelming win rates.

That was why I never had much stomach for these dueling exams.

Aris shared those exact misgivings. A contest devoid of upsets, repeating the exact same foregone conclusions year after year, offered no genuine value. In previous terms, she had gone so far as to dodge the exam entirely under the pretext of monster subjugation.

This time, however, the reality was starkly different.

"...Is this opponent even human?"

Because it was billed as a dueling test, her opponent was supposed to be a fellow student. Yet could anyone truly call these movements human?

Rapid footsteps drummed across the stone floor.

Clang!

"Ngh."

The student lunged forward with weapon bared. Their assault went beyond mere recklessness; they hurled themselves into the fray like a moth plunging straight into an open bonfire. The all-out charge was pressed with zero regard for self-preservation, resembling a training mannequin sculpted into the shape of a person far more than flesh and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠blood.

Worse still, because Aris had deliberately held back her strength out of concern for a classmate, she had given the figure an opening to close the distance.

"Tch, I was hoping to send you off painlessly."

In the end, Aris had no choice but to let her lotus bloom.

A deafening blast shattered the air. The crimson blossom detonated, striking the charging assailant dead center. Even with her power tempered, it was a direct hit of catastrophic force. Under normal circumstances, the opponent's mana badge would flare crimson, triggering the protective wards woven into the academy uniform and removing them from the field.

Yet nothing happened.

"What...?"

The uniform's defensive ward failed to deploy. The standard safety mechanism engineered to prevent lethal casualties had never engaged. Before her eyes, the student's physical silhouette dissolved, collapsing back into an inert clump of raw mana.

Her adversary was nothing more than a phantom synthesized from ambient magical energy inside the Talbrut Ark.

"Ha... So that's why the uniform's barrier never went off? And why the mana badge didn't react...?"

Aris stared in stunned silence at the empty flagstones where the figure had stood. Overhead, a crisp chime reverberated through the chamber.

"...So that's what it was. That's why the professor warned us not to fixate solely on winning or losing."

Molded to replicate the intricate habits and fighting styles of actual students, the phantom had been indistinguishable from a living person. Even to a veteran like Aris, who had walked actual battlefields, the test possessed remarkable screening power. Beneath the veneer of a mundane duel lay a web of hidden assessments.

Mistaking the construct for an ordinary peer, she had instinctively curbed her power and nearly suffered a fatal mistake. Had she analyzed the enemy's attack pattern with greater care, she might have realized far sooner that no human stood before her. She had come terrifyingly close to elimination—even after surviving true war zones, fulfilling multiple roles across several squads, and confronting countless varieties of monsters.

Only the grueling close-quarters drills Goden had forced upon her, demanding she duel melee beasts ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠one-on-one, had kept her from faltering today.

"Those fools who relied purely on brute firepower must have washed out in droves."

Yet there was someone who had spoken as though he had foreseen every single detail of this trial.

'So when those duel opponents step up, don't hold back. Knock down every last one of them so we can meet up as quickly as possible.'

Once again, his image rose unbidden in her mind.

Thirteen opponents in all. Nothing deviated from his expectations.

Most examinees likely assumed that dropping them into an unmapped field without coordinates was meant to gauge situational awareness. The truth ran far deeper. This trial pitted students against phantoms synthesized from their behavioral habits, tactical competence, and overall achievement records logged inside the Talbrut Ark. While staged under the pretext of a duel, it was effectively an engagement against humanoid monsters.

"They'll justify the rubric by asking what we'd do if beasts ever learned to mimic human form."

Even without that specific rationale, the faculty was sure to conjure plenty of legitimate excuses. The simulated arena of the Talbrut Ark faded away, leaving only the threshold of the exit before him. Yet when he stepped through, an unexpected figure stood waiting.

An impromptu reception was surprising enough, but the identity of the greeter was downright shocking.

"Oh-ho. You finished quite early, didn't you?"

"...Professor Denise? Are you even permitted to be here?"

"Professor in name only, mind you. I don't even hold formal lectures. As an external instructor, I hold zero administrative authority over Lebrant Academy."

"Ah... right. I forgot."

As a rule, faculty members were strictly forbidden from meddling in student examinations. Yet Professor Denise was the sole exception—a scholar bearing the title of professor who maintained complete independence from the academy's internal bureaucracy.

"Then... don't tell me you were waiting here this entire time for me to finish?"

Professor Denise offered a breezy nod. Good grief.

"I was holding onto the Belshuar Ark you handed over before heading in. Its mana stores have been fully replenished, so it should function normally ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠now."

"...Is that so? No wonder the proctor never came looking for me."

"Contrary to how it looks, the matrix can actually be recharged using raw mana stones. I took care of it personally this time. Ah. Was I not supposed to mention that?"

"Professor..."

Denise let out an awkward chuckle, wagging a finger to insist he keep her slip of the tongue quiet. Not that Junon had any intention of advertising it anyway. But when he reached out to reclaim the artifacts, the countess casually pulled her hand out of reach.

"Now, now. Rather than worrying about getting ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠this back, shouldn't you be following me?"

"Pardon? Following you where?"

"You need to attend my lesson right away, don't you? You can hardly participate in my regimen while strapped into the Belshuar Ark, can you?"

Junon sucked in a sharp breath. Gazing at the professor, whose face practically beamed with sadistic delight at the prospect of another hellish training session, he ventured a cautious question, praying with every fiber of his being that he had misheard.

"Um... what do you mean by..."

"I never gave you permission to play dumb and run away. Come along now."

"P-Professor! I literally just walked out of an exam! I don't have an ounce of strength left to—whoaaaah!"

"Then I'll just drag you myself, so save your breath. Oh, and if you try to slip away, I'm doubling today's intensity. Understood?"

Regrettably, the conclusion of the exam brought with it the immediate resumption of Professor Denise's merciless curriculum.

"────!"

"───."

"..."

From the shadows of the corridor, someone watched Junon being hauled away. Pressing her back flush against a massive stone pillar, she tucked away every strand of her pale pink hair to stay hidden.

"Just what... are you...?"

How much do you actually know?

Aris whispered under her breath, her eyes locked on Junon's dwindling silhouette.

"What are you doing over here, Aris?"

"S-Senia? What is it all of a sudden?"

"I've been shouting your name from across the hall, but you were spacing out so hard I had to come drag you back myself. Did someone smear honey on that pillar or something?"

"...It's nothing like that. More importantly, why were you calling me?"

"Did you already forget that Goden called a gathering because he had something important to say?"

"R-Right... I'm coming. I'm not late, am I?"

"Hurry up. The others have already heard the brief."

Though Aris had mentioned feeling high-strung before the exam began, she seemed exceptionally peculiar today.

"What on earth was she staring at to be that distracted?"

Senia turned her gaze toward the empty walkway where Aris had been looking, but whatever had captured her attention was already long gone.

"Haven't you gone completely soft while I wasn't looking? I'm fairly certain I instructed you to practice properly."

"Excuse me, Professor? It's not that I've gotten soft, it's just—whoa!"

It had been some time, yet Denise's uncompromising tutelage kept Junon's body scrambling frantically. After exchanging a flurry of blows, finding himself dangling helplessly by the collar—just like old times—felt practically preordained.

"Isn't this a bit excessively cruel? To a student who literally just walked out of his practical test?"

"I'm teasing. If you were the sort of slacker who cut corners, I wouldn't have wasted my time teaching you in the first place. Even so, you managed to pull off everything expected of you in the middle of it all. That final maneuver was quite inspired."

"Right... thank you..."

"...Hm?"

Denise ran a practiced eye over Junon's physique, her gaze suddenly narrowing into sharp slits.

"Now that I'm looking closely, you're covered in cuts and abrasions. They aren't deep enough to be bite wounds, and judging by the clean precision of the lacerations, you took these during the recent clash with the Orthoptera swarm."

"Uh... yes."

"With defensive magic of your caliber, why on earth were you taking direct hits? Given your technical skill and that unique magic of yours, you shouldn't have suffered a scratch."

Junon found himself caught in a dilemma.

The truth is, I rallied the students and mounted a siege defense during the Orthoptera raid. People deserted, chaos broke out, and because our combat strength was stretched paper-thin, I had to overextend myself. On top of that, I pushed the Belshuar Ark past its safety limits to hold the final choke point, and the concussive backlash tore open my wounds.

There was no way he could lay out the unvarnished truth.

If she finds out someone else claimed the credit, she's the type of person who would turn the academy upside down to set things right...

Detached as she was from academy politics, Denise was still an imperial researcher and scholar of high standing. Nothing good would come from revealing that the entire defensive feat had been swept under the rug and attributed exclusively to Aris.

"Out with it. What happened back there?"

"Ahem..."

Professor Denise crossed her arms, fixing him with an unrelenting glare. Now that her suspicions were aroused, evasion was out of the question.

"During the siege, before Professor Dahlia arrived, we were pushed right to our limits. One of the beasts was about to breach the interior, so I had no choice but to step in..."

"And that's why you took the hit? In a choke point as narrow as Alkaid Hall's entrance?"

"The others were far more exhausted than I was, and I was in relatively better shape."

"Unbelievable."

From Denise's perspective, the explanation was downright staggering. Official reports stated that the student body had handled the Orthoptera with commendable discretion, and academy leadership boasted zero casualties. Yet reconstructing the incident from Junon's sparse words, it was glaringly obvious that the defenders had been pushed to the brink of collapse.

"Then the one who bought time until the very end was actually—"

Rattle! Rattle!

—He's in here! The bastard is inside!

"What is that racket?"

Shouts echoed down the corridor outside. Accompanied by Denise's deeply irritated murmur, heavy impacts began violently slamming against the reinforced door of the training chamber.

Looks like the results were just posted.

Junon could easily deduce what had transpired. Reeling from the shock of seeing an unthinkable outcome not once, but twice, the aristocrats had lost their minds and come storming in. Knowing that protesting to Professor Muniherr was an exercise in futility, they had come hunting for the one target they believed they could push around. Even before his regression, the results of the phantom duel evaluations were processed far faster than standard exams, and history was unfolding right on schedule.

Crash!

"It's down! Get in there!"

"Just as I told you! Look at him, standing there bold as brass!"

The splintered door gave way, and a swarm of students surged into the room. They were the usual suspects—nobles consumed by wounded vanity, frantic to tear down and slander anyone who dared challenge their unearned sense of superiority.

Yet their venomous glares could not remain fixed on Junon for long.

"Wait. Hold on, everyone stop."

"Who's that outsider?"

"You idiot! Don't you know who that is? That's Countess Beryl of the Empire!"

Denise Flovel Beryl.

Struck by her imposing presence, the intruders froze, thrown into sudden disarray. They had charged in with every intention of cornering Junon, only to find an imperial authority whom they dared not cross standing squarely in their path.

"I was under the distinct impression that casting magic indoors was strictly prohibited. So why, pray tell, did you feel compelled to blow open my door with a spell?"

Denise's voice dropped to a bone-chilling calm, ignoring their customary greetings entirely. Ostensibly a question, it carried the unmistakable weight of a lethal warning.

Desperate, one of the ringleaders stepped forward, hastily scrambling to spin the confrontation.

"We beg your pardon, Your Ladyship, but that fellow has committed a grave offense."

"A grave offense? What offense?"

"He received blatant favoritism in the grading process. There is simply no other way an outcome like this could occur. In order to challenge the absurdity of Junon being assigned to Class A, we must take him into custody."

"Favoritism, you say?"

From that moment on, the students who had been relegated to the lower tiers unleashed a torrential barrage of complaints and bitter accusations.

"You heard it all, didn't you?! How on earth can that bastard belong in Class A?!"

"The ones who contributed most during the defensive battle were Aris and Erika, and they were assigned to Class A! Ranking that dead weight alongside them is completely absurd!"

A flood of outrage poured over me for being assigned to Class A in the latest sorting. Blind to their own glaring deficiencies and raised to believe the world conformed entirely to their shallow hierarchy, the idea of someone from Class E leaping straight into Class A was something they could only view with paranoid suspicion. Incapable of accepting reason, these ignorant fools were merely throwing tantrums, scrambling to overturn reality through sheer noise.

Fortunately, I had a remarkably sturdy backer standing right beside me.

"Pfft... Ahahahaha!"

Having listened to the students' grievances, Professor Denise suddenly burst into uproarious laughter.

Of course she would. To a true scholar who had walked the rigorous path of empirical research, their hysterical claims were nothing short of farcical. What spewed from their mouths was not reasoned debate—it was pure sophistry.

"That's quite enough flapping your gums. Every single one of you, step outside."

I had never fully appreciated it during our training sessions, but Professor Denise was genuinely terrifying when provoked. A heartbeat ago, she had been laughing, yet the entire atmosphere plummeted into a suffocating freeze.

Unlike the mischievous, teasing smirk she had worn while drilling me into the floor, the expression carved into her face now radiated profound, razor-edged disgust.