“I’ve been racking my brains but still can’t understand—just what exactly is this ‘interest’ you have in me?”
Luo Lan gritted his teeth as he spoke.
“Regrettably,” the Headmaster gave him a helpless smile, “I have nothing to say on that matter. However, if you accept my invitation, I will, correspondingly, offer you some compensation.”
“Can I have a few days to really think it over?”
“I’m afraid not.” The Headmaster’s refusal was clean and decisive. He lifted his wrist and glanced at a nonexistent watch, “At most, you have… let me see… about five minutes to decide.”
As he spoke, he somehow produced an exquisite hourglass from who knows where and set it on the table, then lazily drew a circle with his right hand, shrouding both himself and Luo Lan in a transparent barrier.
Lastly, a palm-sized violet orb, formed by highly condensed magic, appeared at his fingertip. He placed it lightly on top of the hourglass.
“When the five-minute timer is up, this orb will lose stability and explode. As for its power… it could easily blow this entire Royal Garden sky-high.”
“Oh, and though I’ve set a barrier that should, in theory, contain most of the energy and protect the innocent guests outside… you know, I haven’t used this spell in ages, so I might be a bit rusty. How effective will it be? How much force will it actually absorb? To be honest, I have no idea.”
“You—”
Luo Lan was so furious he almost leaped out of his chair.
He stared dead at the rapidly draining silver sand in the hourglass, at the same time sensing the fragile balance within the orb breaking down, bit by bit.
The Headmaster wasn’t lying—the magic inside could indeed wipe out everyone at the Holy Rite… But why was this old man going so far? What about him was so special?
Although entering Altras Institute was part of his plan, joining of his own volition and being forced to join under threat were fundamentally different.
Time slipped by.
Arms folded, the Headmaster sat in front of him, feigning a nap, looking completely unhurried.
Luo Lan could feel the cold sweat running down his back. His mind was racing, frantically piecing together a reasonable explanation from the Headmaster’s previous words.
“Ten seconds left, Mr. Luo Lan.” The Headmaster slowly opened his eyes. “What is your answer?”
Three seconds.
The Headmaster’s fingers seemed to twitch slightly.
Two.
Luo Lan almost smelled that burnt scent right before magic overload.
One.
Time reached zero.
“Sorry, but I still can’t agree.”
Luo Lan was gambling.
Gambling that the Headmaster of Altras Institute wasn’t truly insane.
Clearly, he guessed wrong.
The Headmaster grinned, and the last glimmer of stability on the violet orb atop the hourglass guttered out, like a candle in the wind.
Unrestrained, wild arcane energy erupted into a torrent of pure destruction, swallowing every inch inside the barrier in an instant.
He was going to die.
The chill of impending death seemed to stretch time indefinitely. Luo Lan saw every thread of that tide of annihilation expanding outward.
The suffocating pressure forced Luo Lan to activate “Conceptual Phantasm,” then used Slood as his anchor, releasing all of her defensive spells on himself.
It still wasn’t enough.
He instantly drained nearly all the magic from his body, raising one last barrier of pure magic before him.
Yet the catastrophic shockwave—enough to obliterate both himself and the room—never came.
The shriek of energy and rending space cut off abruptly. The searing violet light threatening to burn through his eyelids recoiled in a blink.
Luo Lan opened his eyes in disbelief.
The arcane energy that had swept through the space like a flood was now surging, as if time reversed, back to a single point.
The Headmaster still stood there, his arm extended, fingers slightly curled, all the magical power desperately streaming back into his palm, re-forming into that palm-sized dark purple orb.
The room fell silent.
He closed his hand, and the violet orb vanished noiselessly, as if it had never existed.
He straightened the cuff that the energy’s turbulence had ruffled, then looked up at Luo Lan, that infuriating smile still on his face.
“Mr. Luo Lan, I must say your nerve is impressive. But let me give you some advice—don’t gamble against someone clearly stronger than you when you have no confidence in winning. Sooner or later, you’ll pay for it.”
The pressure of impending death disappeared in an instant. Overloaded magical circuits ached, and the vertigo from drained mental strength surged like a tide.
Luo Lan’s legs gave way, and he collapsed awkwardly back into his chair.
“All right, time’s just about up, and I should be leaving.”
The Headmaster clapped his hands, straightened his collar, and walked to the door.
“…Wait! I haven’t agreed to anything yet.”
“You will, won’t you?”
The Headmaster twisted his wrist and pushed the door open.
“Oh, almost forgot something.”
One foot over the threshold, he paused, turning to look at Luo Lan in the room. This time, the Headmaster’s smile was dazzling, even showing off a row of white teeth.
“As punishment for your disrespect and repeated failure to learn, I’ve decided you need to suffer a little.”
With that, and not giving Luo Lan any chance to respond, the Headmaster cheerfully waved at him.
“Mr. Luo Lan, let’s meet again at the start of term.”
With those words, he stepped fully into the night-shrouded garden outside, his figure instantly swallowed by the distant lights and shadows.
“Wait—”
Luo Lan sprang from his chair and staggered to the doorway, looking out. All he saw was the Royal Garden’s usual night splendor, the evening breeze rustling the treetops, and the distant fountain’s gentle murmur.
No sign whatsoever of the old man.
Luo Lan blinked, turned back, and saw that behind him was just a perfectly ordinary storage room.
Altras Institute, deep inside the soaring-domed observatory.
A plain wooden door opened. William Albert Wordsworth stepped inside and closed it behind him.
The room was dim, lit only by several magi-crystal lamps set around a massive round table in the center, revealing a few figures seated there.
“Good evening, everyone. Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long?”
The Headmaster greeted them with casual ease, as if he’d just taken a quick stroll in the middle of a meeting.
Three people sat at the table.
One was a white-haired old man with a stern, rigid face.
One, a beautiful matronly woman in gold-rimmed spectacles, exuding a noble grace.
The last, a silent figure cloaked in a shadowy hood, face hidden in the gloom.
“Headmaster, in the end, how did you handle it? That Luo Lan Rufinius.”
The old man was first to speak, his brow tightly knit from the moment the Headmaster entered—now furrowed even more.
“Oh, he’s quite the interesting young man.” The Headmaster picked up a glass of water that someone had poured for him and sipped. “In the end, I invited him to join the Institute, and gave him a Glorious Class badge. He was very pleased. We were all happy.”
“What did you say?!”
The old man jumped up from his chair, disbelief etched across his face.
“This… This is nothing like what you said at first!”
“What sort of nonsense are you spouting?” The Headmaster set down his glass, his smile fading. “Did you really want me to kill him in front of all those Rodland nobles, not to mention that nearly berserk little Rufinius girl?”
“I’m the Headmaster of Altras Institute. I have rank, status, and reputation. I’m not some depraved assassin with something to hide.”
“But Headmaster, you know better than anyone! The magic affinity he tested for—he’s clearly an occultist in the making! Haven’t the tragedies wrought by those who pursue forbidden knowledge without restraint, who become mad and destroyed, taught us enough? Shouldn’t we nip such things in the bud?”
The word “occultist” dropped like a stone in a pond, sending ripples through the dim room.
The Headmaster leaned back, eyes resting on the magical projection of a turning starfield at the table’s center, and paused in silence.
“I understand your concern. But until things happen, nothing is set in stone. That’s only one possibility—not a predetermined fate.”
“Besides, judging someone now for what they might do in the future… Even I wouldn’t be so arrogant. That’s tyranny born of fear. The root of disaster is uncontrolled knowledge and swelling ambition—not that everyone who treads unconventional magical paths is born guilty.”
“But, Headmaster…”
“All right, all right, I know what you mean. But I still trust my own judgment.” The Headmaster waved a hand, a little impatient. “It’s better to keep him under our eyes—to nurture, observe, and guide him—rather than push him out over a possibility, letting him truly take the path we fear because of our rejection and hostility… Don’t you know which is the wiser choice?”
He sank back in his chair, his voice tinged with weariness.
“These years, too many people have died needlessly over hunting occultists.”
“…Fine. Since it’s your decision, we’ll do as you say. But, Headmaster, if—just if—he really does go down that path one day? The loss and disaster then would be far greater than now.”
At those words, the Headmaster slowly raised his head.
“No matter. If it truly comes to that, I’ll deal with it myself. Does that finally set your mind at ease?”
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