You Stay and Sit In on a Class

The morning sun shone through towering floor-to-ceiling windows, filtered by alchemically treated stained glass into mottled patches of cool-toned light that fell across the spacious, brightly lit classroom.

This was the seventeenth floor of Cain Wizard Tower, Markley Kane's private teaching laboratory.

The air carried a faint fragrance of incense. It was ambergris, specially burned to mask the odor of experimental materials, and each gram was worth ten Purple Gold Coins.

Compared to Tylen's dark, damp morgue, reeking of mold and decay, this place was practically heaven.

At that moment, Tylen respectfully set the three boxes on the floor and stood beside the enormous semicircular experiment table.

The twenty-third floor had been the laboratory. This was where classes were held.

He stood straight, his hands resting naturally against the seams of his trousers. His head was slightly bowed, his gaze fixed on his mentor's gleaming crocodile-leather shoes, his manner humble yet steady.

Makley held a slender mithril teaching whip as he carefully examined Tylen's work.

There had been too many people earlier, so he had only given it a cursory glance. Now that no one else was around, he could inspect it properly.

The teenage boy's corpse lay on the left. Its skin was pale but clean, its wounds meticulously stitched, and even the dirt beneath its fingernails had been thoroughly removed.

In the middle was a stark white skeleton. Every bone carried the warm sheen of ivory, while the joints had been flawlessly reinforced and connected with extremely fine brass wire, giving it an exquisite quality.

On the right lay the young woman's corpse, her expression peaceful, as though she were merely asleep.

"Not bad."

After a long while, Makley set down the teaching whip.

"Especially this skeleton. You controlled the acid-washing time with great precision. You preserved the spirituality of the bones while thoroughly removing the impurities."

"Even the professional craftsmen responsible for preparing specimens might not have this much patience."

"This is what a student ought to do." Tylen's voice was steady, without the slightest hint of taking credit.

"Saving you time on such trivial tasks is this student's honor."

Makley nodded faintly, clearly pleased by the answer.

He walked to the washbasin and washed his hands with expensive cleansing powder as he asked casually,

"The Half-Year Assessment is coming up. How is your review of the theory courses going?"

Tylen's heart stirred. He knew his mentor was testing him offhandedly.

In this rigidly hierarchical Wizard Tower, a casual question from someone above often became an opportunity for someone below to change their fate.

He immediately showed a fitting trace of unease and embarrassment, scratching his head as he spoke in a clumsy yet earnest tone.

"Mentor, you know me. I'm not very sharp, unlike those young masters from good families who understand everything at a touch. I... I can only use a stupid method."

"A stupid method?" Makley dried his hands and raised an eyebrow.

"Rote memorization." Tylen lowered his head, as if he were admitting something shameful.

"I've memorized the entire Meditation Atlas, and I'm working hard on the other books too."

"Although I still only half understand many of the principles, I figured that as long as I get all the words into my head first, I can't go wrong."

Makley froze.

He had memorized all of it?

That was more than a hundred thousand words of obscure, dry technical material.

In this impatient age, the overwhelming majority of apprentices tried every possible shortcut.

Drugs, back doors, connections—those willing to endure such hardship were rarer than unicorns.

"What about your Mental Power?" Makley asked again.

"Theory alone is not enough. In the world of Wizards, strength is what ultimately speaks."

Tylen took a deep breath and drew upon the power that had only just stabilized in his Spirit Sea.

"My current Mental Power reading is 3.2. My Magic Control... is around 1.4."

Hearing those figures, Makley's hand stopped mid-wipe.

He turned around, his sharp eyes fixed on Tylen as though he wanted to see through his soul.

"3.2?"

There was undisguised surprise in Makley's voice.

As a mentor, he knew Tylen's records very well.

When the commoner boy had enrolled half a year ago, his Mental Power had been a pitiful 1, placing him at the very bottom of his class.

With normal meditation efficiency and no assistance from expensive potions, reaching 3 in half a year would already have been the limit.

Yet now, he had reached 3.2?

That extra 0.2 proved he was stronger than ordinary people.

After all, apprentices had to deal with heavy corpse-collecting work in addition to their studies.

Makley fell silent for a moment, a trace of appreciation appearing in his eyes.

"Diligence can make up for inadequacy. It may be a cliché, but it does work. It seems you are not as dull as I imagined."

He glanced at the clock on the wall. There were still ten minutes before class.

Ordinarily, by the rules, Tylen should have gone back to attend class in the large classroom on the first floor after delivering the goods.

But as he looked at this humble yet tenacious apprentice, then at the teaching materials on the experiment table that had been handled to near perfection,

Makley suddenly made a decision.

"Magnus."

"Yes, Mentor."

"You stay." Makley spoke lightly, as though it were a trivial matter.

"Stand in the corner and sit in on a class."

Tylen abruptly raised his head, his pupils swiftly widening as he entered a state of intense focus.

At that moment, he needed no acting.

Because this truly was the opportunity he had dreamed of!

In Cain Wizard Tower, knowledge was strictly divided by rank.

Bottom-tier apprentices like Tylen could only attend public lectures for hundreds of people in the main hall each month.

The lecturers were usually senior students, and the lessons merely repeated the textbooks. They were dry and tedious, without touching on any core techniques at all.

Makley's small classroom, however, was the core disciple class prepared specifically for those who had paid exorbitant sponsorship fees, possessed genuine talent, or came from prominent noble families.

What was taught here was the true essence of magic—practical experience that would never be recorded in books!

This was the privilege of class, the barrier of wealth.

And now, a crack had opened in that barrier for him.

"M-Mentor..."

Tylen's voice trembled, and his eyes instantly reddened.

He bit his tongue hard. The sharp pain stimulated his tear ducts, and two hot streams of tears slid down his cheeks.

He bowed deeply, his forehead nearly touching the cold floor, his voice choked with sobs.

"Thank you... thank you for your grace! I... I will never disappoint your expectations!"

Seeing Tylen's tearful gratitude, Makley felt a sense of satisfaction at having changed someone else's fate.

He waved a hand, his tone casual.

"Go on. Stand at the back and keep quiet. How much you understand will depend on your own fortune."

"Yes!"

Tylen quickly straightened, wiped away his tears, and hurried to stand in the corner at the back of the classroom.

His head remained lowered, and he appeared obedient, but his eyes beneath the shadows gleamed with calm confidence.

It worked.

The first step of managing upward was a success.