After finishing the patent discussion, Allen finally arrived at the core of his carefully laid plans.
If entering the academy was unavoidable, then he might as well find some amusement in it.
Having played the role of a nameless background villain in F Class at the very bottom for nine hundred and ninety-nine iterations, being trampled underfoot every single time, this time he could finally stand on the other side of the chessboard and let everyone truly experience the “joy” of learning.
At the thought of the “blessings” awaiting those pampered young masters and misses of the future, the corners of Allen’s mouth threatened to curl upward.
But he forcefully suppressed the urge and spoke in a tone of near-sacred solemnity.
“The academy’s admissions must be open to the entire kingdom, recruiting geniuses from all walks of life—not just the noble children of the Capital who are mandated to enroll. We must show everyone through action that talent is far nobler than bloodline.”
Headmaster Gregoire nodded. This aligned perfectly with the ideals he had always championed.
“Most critically,” Allen smiled slightly, dropping a true bombshell, “we will abolish the existing F-to-A class grading system. All new students, noble or commoner, will be mixed together after enrollment and randomly assigned to classes, with shared dormitories.”
At these words, even the perpetually aloof Livia couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow.
Allen continued: “We will no longer look at individual grades—only the comprehensive points of each class. Whether it’s academic coursework, practical combat, daily conduct, or public labor, everything will be quantified into points. I intend to use collective honor to crush whatever pitiful class barriers individuals might cling to.”
Allen had his own selfish motives for this, of course, but the benefits were also obvious.
He wanted those diligent, hardworking commoner geniuses to deliver a stinging slap to the faces of those useless nobles through their breathtakingly superior results.
He wanted those sword-bearing nobles who prided themselves on their lofty status to be forced, for the sake of their class’s laughable honor, to lower themselves and protect the defenseless commoner classmates who could rake in mountains of points for their class.
One could imagine a noble young master, perpetually looking down his nose at others, having to humbly seek guidance from a commoner “bookworm” he once wouldn’t even deign to glance at—all to keep his class from ranking last. The image…
Just thinking about it made Allen feel immensely satisfied.
What a spectacular and vibrant chaos the future Saint Nora Academy would become.
“Ultimately, we must forge a brand new identity.” Allen spoke with eloquent confidence, subtly peddling his own agenda.
“When they walk out those gates, their primary identity will be ‘Saint Nora people.’ Only secondarily will they be members of some family.”
“Furthermore, we must reform the academic evaluation system, introducing ‘theses’ and ‘practical assessments’ to encourage students to pursue independent research. Simultaneously, we will establish various student organizations—such as the ‘Natural Philosophy Society,’ the ‘Mathematics Society,’ the ‘Political Philosophy Reading Club’…”
These would all serve as perfect breeding grounds for “Dawn’s Children” to recruit new members and spread new ideas.
“The authority of the academy should derive from knowledge and truth, not from royal decree.” Allen stared intently at the old headmaster.
“I propose the establishment of an Academic Senate composed of professors, where internal academy affairs are decided by scholars themselves. We must make this place a sanctuary of knowledge, transcending the petty political squabbles of the secular world!”
To finally dispel the old headmaster’s lingering concerns, Allen leisurely produced the true “sweetener.”
“To welcome all of this, House Laval will fully fund the demolition and reconstruction of the Old School Building, building more lecture halls and dormitories. Additionally, for the academy’s ‘Rural Affairs Officer’ program—which trains officials designated for the Kingdom—House Laval is willing to contribute both money and effort to ease His Majesty’s burdens.”
This was his true fang.
Through the academy’s golden nameplate, he would drive those revolutionary comrades of bottom-class origin into every nerve ending of the Kingdom—legally, systematically, like nails.
Gregoire listened quietly, his fingers unconsciously tapping against the table.
It took him a long while to digest the grand, almost maddening blueprint Allen had painted, pondering the feasibility of each reform measure.
“Hoo…” He let out a long breath, removed his glasses, and massaged his aching brow.
The scholar’s typically rigorous face now showed only exhaustion and shock.
He lifted his head again, studying the young man before him with a complicated gaze.
“This plan… is extraordinary. Reforming the academy itself may be achievable, but expanding it into a full university, establishing entirely new disciplines… that will hardly be accomplished overnight.”
Allen nodded. “Naturally. A millennium of foundation cannot be built in a single day.”
“But Sir Allen,” Gregoire’s brows knit tightly as he raised the most practical concern, “money and time can perhaps be found. But the most critical point—where will the teachers come from?”
He spread his hands, his expression helpless, his tone carrying the embarrassment of a cook without rice.
“Those entirely new courses you mentioned—chemistry, physics… who will teach them? Our faculty knows nothing of these subjects. Surely you don’t intend to teach every single class yourself?”
“Simple.” Allen was confident. “Let the Church provide them.”
“The Church?”
Gregoire didn’t object outright, but fell into deep thought. As headmaster, he considered problems far more deeply than ordinary men.
After a moment, he spoke slowly: “Allowing the Church to interfere in academy affairs would shake the very foundation House Durand’s royal family laid for this institution. One of this academy’s purposes is to counterbalance priestly authority—to curb the Church’s influence over the Kingdom’s future. This is the law of our ancestors.”
“The law of our ancestors?” Allen let out a light laugh, a hint of mockery in his tone.
“Headmaster Gregoire, the times have changed. When the sword-bearing nobles come at us with drawn blades, do you plan to fight them off with ancestral law?”
“If we’re to walk the path of academic freedom, we must cast aside those stale political restrictions entirely. Whether a cat is black or white, it’s a good cat as long as it catches mice. We look only at ability, not origin. Whoever can teach students well is a qualified teacher.”
Allen’s tone softened, taking on a guiding quality: “Besides, look at it from another angle. If we wish to weaken the academy’s own royal attributes, wouldn’t bringing the Church into the picture actually help? Using divine authority to check royal authority will make everyone understand that Saint Nora Academy is not merely a tool of the Crown—it is an academic paradise belonging to all.”
“Scholars alone are the only masters of this paradise.”
Gregoire’s pupils contracted slightly.
Checks and balances!
The word struck precisely at his inner concerns and hopes.
Allen’s scheme seemed like inviting a wolf through the door, but in truth it was driving a tiger to swallow a wolf—the ultimate result being the academy’s independence!
Gregoire fell into a long silence.
In the past, he had always played the role of the radical reformer. But today, standing before Allen, he felt his own past reforms were nothing more than children playing house.
His Majesty the King had indeed said that no matter how radical Allen’s reforms were, they could all be approved.
But now, he truly wanted to burst into the Royal Palace, grab His Majesty by the collar, and demand: Your Majesty! When you hear about these radical reforms, can your heart truly withstand it?
As for his own heart, it was already struggling.
He looked at the reform proposal on the desk—enough to upend an entire era—then at Allen’s eyes, which seemed capable of seeing through everything.
Finally, as if coming to some momentous decision, he nodded solemnly.
“Sir Allen, you have convinced me.” His voice was exceptionally firm. “I will devote my full efforts to implementing your plan.”
“I promise,” Allen smiled with the satisfaction of victory, “that within one month, the new teaching materials and implementation plans you need will arrive on your desk.”
Once the banner of “Academic Freedom” was raised, the subsequent discussions flowed naturally.
Allen and Livia—two veterans who had experienced academy life over and over again across nine hundred and ninety-nine cycles of reincarnation—knew every possible problem the reforms might encounter like the backs of their hands.
After ironing out numerous details, the most thorny issue presented itself before the three of them.
“Conflicts between students are unavoidable.” Livia’s cool voice carried the clarity of one who saw reality for what it was.
“Even if we abolish the class system, the tensions between sword-bearing nobles, robe nobles, and commoner students will only be inflamed, not eliminated.”
“Correct.” Allen nodded. He had prepared for this problem long ago. “Which is why we need an entirely new organization to serve as a buffer and a platform for resolution. This organization must be managed by the students themselves—I call it the Student Council.”
The original work of was, after all, faithful to its late medieval setting.
So although Saint Nora Sigil Academy gave off the impression of a modern institution, the student self-governance organizations that only emerged in the modern era hadn’t yet made their way over.
“The Student Council?” Curiosity flickered in Gregoire’s eyes.
Allen continued his explanation: “The Student Council is a self-governing organization run by students. Its members are elected, representing the interests of all students. It manages clubs, organizes competitions, mediates disputes, and can even participate in drafting certain academy regulations.”
“Students governing themselves?” Gregoire seemed taken aback. “They’re only children. I fear they may not be up to the task.”
“No, Headmaster.” Allen’s smile carried deeper meaning. “Precisely because they are children, they need to learn how to take responsibility, how to cooperate with others, and how to find their place in a small ‘society.'”
“We can’t keep treating them like flowers that need constant protection. Let them argue, let them compromise, let them establish order—that in itself is the finest political lesson.”
The Student Council. This was his perfect breeding ground for cultivating future revolutionary cadres and administrative bureaucrats.