Read Novel Full Chapter 554: No Rush
Chapter 554: No Rush
This particular teacher was not from just any academy. He was from the very First-Rank academy Michael had chosen to accept his offer from.
In the Awakener academies, order mattered as much as power. The structure was strict, layered like the bones of a fortress: Principal at the peak, then Vice Principals, followed by Heads of Departments, their Deputies, then the Teachers, the Assistant Teachers, and finally the students.
But the weight of each position was never the same across academies. It scaled with rank.
In a First-Rank academy, the Principal was always at least a Rank 5 Awakener—sometimes more. The Vice Principal might stand at Rank 5 as well, or at worst a strong Rank 4. Heads of Departments and their deputies were often Rank 4 too, though the weakest among them would still be a solid Rank 3. Teachers were Rank 3 at minimum, their assistants no lower than a powerful Rank 2, often Rank 3 as well.
But in the Second or Third-Rank academies, the difference was stark. There, a Principal could be a Rank 4—or even Rank 3 if the foundation of the academy was thin. The gulf between ranks wasn’t only about resources. Even cultivation academies did not escape this truth. Power was still the measure.
As for this teacher, he was no exception. A Level 63 Awakener. He was one of the teachers assigned to monitor the applicants’ performances in real time. His task was simple: watch, record, and make notes.
And so his gaze lingered on Castle 37, where one boy stood alone.
At first, his expression was pity. But then, as the teacher saw the coffin materialize, shadows spilling forth like smoke, his brow lifted ever so slightly.
One, two, five, ten... twenty.
Rank 2 undead, arrayed in silence.
The teacher’s lips pressed into a thin line. "Hmph. Not ordinary after all."
What had seemed like bad luck a moment ago now looked different.
At first glance, the teacher could tell the boy’s class revolved around the dead.
As an old hand, three paths came to mind immediately: Necromancer, Death Knight, and Puppeteer.
One rare, and two special.
Puppeteer did exactly what the name implied—pull strings. Corpses could be used, yes, but seasoned Puppeteers preferred materials that scaled: alloys, enchanted woods, stitched constructs that could be torn down and rebuilt stronger. Corpses hit ceilings. Good for shock value, poor for long-term growth unless backed by absurd craftsmanship.
Death Knight was a marriage of Knight and the necromancer class. A dual like class. However, it leaned more "Knight" than "Necro," but the blend produced monsters on the field when cultivated right.
And then the Necromancer. Fighting a strong Necromancer was fighting a team. Still, even there, the ceiling was real. High-end undead were hard to make, harder to keep, and hardest to upgrade. Resources, rituals, rights to grave-lands, specific catalysts—there were only so many methods to go around a few undead.
The teacher watched the twenty Rank-2s array themselves.
He turned his gaze to the document in his hand—a dossier compiled in Aurora before the last round of exams. Nothing detailed, just the basics: name, level, class.
His eyes tracked the lines until one matched the boy he was watching.
"Michael Norman. Level 40..." The teacher’s brow lifted. "That’s high. A king family heir? Or perhaps even an emperor-line heir? Either way, that foundation is strong."
He tapped the edge of the page, thoughtful. "Strange though. I’ve never heard of a Norman family before."
His eyes narrowed at the class designation. "Necromancer. At Level 40, twenty undead should be far from his limit... but how many of them are truly powerful?"
The teacher leaned back slightly, expression unreadable. "Still, he doesn’t look troubled by being alone. Might even work in his favor."
The teacher leaned forward in the void, eyes narrowing as he adjusted the recording glyph before him. He marked Castle 37 with a personal seal.
He suddenly wanted to see just how far this unlucky candidate could go.
The teacher let the document fold back into his sleeve with a flick of his wrist. His gaze lingered on the glowing projection of Castle 37 for another heartbeat before he exhaled.
"Alright," he murmured, voice low but steady. "It’s time."
From his storage space, he retrieved a small, palm-sized crystal plate etched with intricate sigils. Its surface shimmered faintly. With ease, he pressed his palm against it and infused a steady flow of mana.
The plate flared to life, runes crawling across its surface like fireflies aligning into formation.
Other supervisors from other academies did the same.
Back in the examination space, every candidate’s robe stirred.
Michael’s academy badge—stitched into the front of his robe—suddenly pulsed with light. A holographic panel bloomed in the air before him, crisp lines of text hovering just above eye level.
[The Unified Examination has officially begun.]
Beneath the announcement, more details scrolled into view.
[For every castle destroyed: +100 Academy Points awarded to surviving members of the victorious castle.]
Michael’s eyes narrowed slightly. Academy Points?
The panel elaborated:
[Academy Points serve as merit within Federation Academies. They may be exchanged for resources, rare opportunities, or specialized knowledge. Treat them as highly valuable currency.]
Michael’s lips twitched faintly. If the participants weren’t tempted to destroy more than one castle, now there was a lure.
The panel shifted once more.
[Do not fear for your lives. This battlefield has been warded. Any participant whose injuries surpass a critical threshold will be forcibly teleported out. However, should you leave without destroying a single enemy castle, you will be disqualified and fail the examination.]
The words hung in the air like iron.
[Good luck.]
The light dimmed, and the panel dissolved into sparks that faded into the misty air.
Michael blinked once, then let the faint smile fade from his lips. His gaze swept the horizon, where other castles stood.
"So," he muttered under his breath, "it begins."
However, Michael didn’t make the first move.
It wasn’t time yet.
There was no rush.