First Lesson

Over the two-day weekend, Zhang Wen shut himself in his office to prepare for class.

Calling it "preparing for class" was actually a bit flattering. More accurately, he was cramming at the last minute.

More than a dozen books lay open on the desk—Black Magic: A Guide to Self-Defense, Confronting the Dark Arts, Walking with Ghouls, Wandering with Female Ghosts, along with several obscure books he had dug up at Flourish and Blotts.

As Zhang Wen flipped through them, he discovered a serious problem.

The textbooks were organized in an absolute mess.

First-years learned about Pixies and Red Caps, second-years jumped straight to Cornish Pixies and werewolves, and fifth-years began learning the Patronus Charm—there was no coherent progression at all. No wonder Hogwarts students' Defense Against the Dark Arts skills varied so wildly. The textbooks themselves were flawed, and professors changed every year, each with a different teaching focus.

"This curriculum is a complete disaster." Zhang Wen closed the book and leaned back in his chair.

Artoria sat in an armchair by the window, holding a cup of tea.

Hogwarts' house-elves were extremely diligent. Ever since they discovered Artoria's appetite, the kitchen elves had treated her as a priority guest, delivering another round of tea and snacks every two hours.

Artoria was satisfied with this arrangement, though she would never say so.

"Although the Mage's Association in the Type-Moon Universe has plenty of problems too, at least its educational system is complete," Zhang Wen continued complaining. "From basic Magic Circuit development to advanced Reality Marbles, every step has a clear training path."

"Then reorganize it according to your own understanding." Artoria took a sip of tea.

"I'm not a professional teacher."

"You weren't a professional Master either, yet you survived the Holy Grail War."

Zhang Wen opened his mouth, only to find that he had no way to refute her.

Fine.

He reopened the books and began taking notes.

Two hours later, Zhang Wen had drafted a second-year teaching outline.

The core idea was simple—teach defense first, then identification, and finally counterattacks.

Phase one: practical training in basic Shield Charms and the Disarming Charm. No theory, just hands-on practice.

Phase two: identifying common Dark Magical Creatures and learning how to deal with them. The textbooks could be used for this part, but it needed to be paired with live demonstrations.

Phase three: basic combat training. Students would engage in mock duels to develop practical response skills.

"What do you think?" Zhang Wen handed the outline to Artoria.

Artoria read through it once and set down her teacup.

"It lacks physical training."

"What?"

"No matter how powerful magic is, physical fitness is still the foundation," Artoria said seriously. "Someone who cannot even run will not have the chance to escape when facing a Dark Magical Creature."

Zhang Wen thought about it.

She had a point.

Most wizards in the original story truly had worrying physical fitness. Aside from a few tough men like Alastor Moody, who spent years outside fighting Dark wizards, most wizards got about as much exercise as none at all. They relied too heavily on their wands. Once their wands were knocked away, they were basically helpless.

"But this is Defense Against the Dark Arts, not physical education," Zhang Wen said hesitantly.

"In my era, a knight's training began with physical conditioning." Artoria's tone allowed no argument. "Swordsmanship, horsemanship, tactics—all of it was built on physical fitness. Magic should be the same."

"You want twelve-year-olds running laps around the Black Lake?"

"We can begin with the basics."

Zhang Wen stared at her for several seconds, making sure she was not joking.

She was not joking. The King of Knights never joked about training.

"...I'll think about it."

"I suggest you think about it seriously."

Zhang Wen wrote a small note in the blank space on the outline: Physical training (pending).

He had a feeling that "pending" would sooner or later become "confirmed."

Monday morning, first period.

The second-year Gryffindors and Slytherins had a joint class.

When Zhang Wen entered the classroom, the students were already seated. Gryffindor occupied the left side, Slytherin the right, clearly divided by an invisible boundary down the middle.

Artoria entered behind him and stood off to one side of the classroom.

Zhang Wen noticed that most students' gazes landed on Artoria first before shifting to him.

Fine. He would get used to it.

He set the textbooks on the podium and swept his gaze around the room.

Front row, left side: Hermione Granger, with her textbook, notebook, and three sharpened quills already laid out before her. Beside her sat a round-faced boy, Neville Longbottom, who looked so nervous he might slide right out of his chair.

Second row: Harry Potter and Ron Weasley sat side by side. Harry looked expectant, while Ron's expression said, "I hope this professor isn't too boring."

On the Slytherin side to the right, Draco Malfoy sat in the middle of the front row, with Crabbe and Goyle on either side of him, like two human doorposts.

Malfoy wore his usual arrogant expression, but Zhang Wen caught a trace of curiosity in his eyes—he probably still remembered Artoria's sword at the opening feast.

"Put your textbooks away," Zhang Wen said.

Everyone froze for a moment.

Hermione raised her hand.

"Professor Zhang, don't we need our textbooks?"

"Not today," Zhang Wen said. "The first lesson today has only one subject—tell me, what do you think Defense Against the Dark Arts is?"

The classroom fell silent for several seconds.

Hermione raised her hand even higher.

"Miss Granger."

"Defense Against the Dark Arts refers to a series of spells, protective measures, and strategies used to resist and counter Dark magic," Hermione rattled off in one breath, as fluently as if she were reciting a textbook. "This includes, but is not limited to, defensive magic such as Shield Charms, the Disarming Charm, and the Patronus Charm, as well as identifying Dark Magical Creatures and—"

"That will do." Zhang Wen nodded. "A very standard textbook answer. Ten points."

Hermione smiled slightly.

"But it's only half right."

Hermione's smile froze.

"Miss Granger, if you were walking down a street in Hogsmeade right now and a Dark wizard suddenly cast a curse at you, what would be your first reaction?"

Hermione thought for a moment. "Raise my wand and cast a Shield Charm."

"What if your wand wasn't within reach?"

Hermione opened her mouth, but did not answer immediately.

Zhang Wen turned to the whole class.

"The first step in real Defense Against the Dark Arts is not casting a spell. It is surviving," he said. "No matter what method you use—run, hide, play dead, throw something to distract them—as long as you are still alive, you still have a chance to fight back."

Whispers began spreading through the classroom.

"Play dead?" Malfoy's voice came from the right, dripping with mockery. "That doesn't sound like something a professor ought to teach."

Zhang Wen looked at him.

"You're Malfoy, right?"

"Draco Malfoy." Malfoy lifted his chin slightly. "My father—"

"I didn't ask who your father was." Zhang Wen cut him off calmly. "Let me ask you something. If you encountered an Acromantula in the Forbidden Forest and you had no wand on you, what would you do?"

Malfoy's face stiffened for an instant.

"I wouldn't go into the Forbidden Forest," he said.

"Assume you are in the Forbidden Forest."

"Then it would be impossible for me not to have my wand."

"Assume you don't."

Malfoy fell silent.

Crabbe and Goyle exchanged looks, apparently waiting for Malfoy to produce a cool answer.

"The correct answer is to run," Zhang Wen said. "Acromantulas have poor eyesight. If you sprint through the woods and frequently change direction, you have roughly a forty percent chance of escaping. But if you stand there and try to punch a two-meter-tall spider to death, your survival rate is close to zero."

The tips of Malfoy's ears turned faintly red.

Ron muttered something from the Gryffindor side, and Harry struggled not to laugh.

"So, the essence of Defense Against the Dark Arts is not 'defense' and 'attack,'" Zhang Wen concluded. "It is 'survival.' Every spell and technique serves one purpose—to get you out alive when danger comes."

He paused.

"Now, everyone stand up and push your desks and chairs against the walls."

The students looked at one another.

"Faster." Zhang Wen clapped his hands. "We're doing an exercise."

Three minutes later, a large open space had been cleared in the middle of the classroom.

The students stood in a circle, unsure what would happen next.

"The Disarming Charm." Zhang Wen raised his wand—Lockhart's wand. "Expelliarmus. This is one of the most important spells you will learn this year. Who has already learned it?"

No one raised a hand. Hermione hesitated, but did not raise hers either.

"Good, we'll start from zero," Zhang Wen said. "The incantation is 'Expelliarmus,' and the wand movement is a forward thrust—"

He demonstrated once. A red beam shot from the tip of his wand and struck a painting on the wall. The old wizard in the painting cursed as he jumped away.

Zhang Wen silently made a note—he was still using too much force.

"Now pair up and stand face-to-face," he said. "One person attacks, while the other tries to defend with a Shield Charm. It's fine if you don't know the Shield Charm yet. First, get a feel for what it is like to be attacked."

"What it is like to be attacked?" Neville Longbottom's voice trembled.

"Don't worry. The Disarming Charm won't hurt you. At most, it will knock your wand out of your hand," Zhang Wen reassured him.

Neville did not look reassured.

The students began forming pairs. Harry and Ron naturally teamed up, while Hermione paired with Neville. On the Slytherin side, Malfoy pulled Goyle over as his partner, leaving Crabbe to pair with another Slytherin student.

"Begin."

The classroom instantly descended into chaos.

Red beams flew everywhere, but eight out of ten missed their targets. Ron's wand made a strange buzzing sound—Zhang Wen remembered that Ron's wand was his brother's old one, and it would probably cause even bigger problems this year. Hermione was the only one whose first attempt produced red light from her wand, though the beam vanished after traveling only half a meter.

Neville's wand showed no reaction at all. He cast "Expelliarmus" at Ron three times, but not even a spark came from the wand tip.

Harry's performance was unexpectedly good. He succeeded on his second attempt—a red beam struck Ron's hand, and Ron's wand flew away and smacked into the ceiling.

"Not bad." Zhang Wen walked over to Harry. "Mr. Potter, have you practiced before?"

Harry shook his head, but his eyes shone brightly.

Zhang Wen understood inwardly. Harry was naturally talented, especially in defensive magic. In the original story, he could cast a corporeal Patronus in his third year, formed Dumbledore's Army in his fifth year to train his classmates, and had better teaching ability than most adult wizards.

This child was a genuine genius. He simply had not realized it yet.

"Keep practicing." Zhang Wen patted his shoulder. "Once you can hit consistently, I'll teach you the next one."

Harry nodded and turned back to continue practicing with Ron.

Zhang Wen paced back and forth through the classroom, correcting stances and adjusting positions, occasionally demonstrating in person—when he did, he deliberately controlled his power so he would not blast something else away.

Artoria stood in the corner and observed.

Her gaze lingered briefly on every student, as though evaluating their abilities.

Zhang Wen knew what she was thinking.

In her eyes, these children had practically no combat awareness at all. Compared with the Masters from the Holy Grail War, they fell far short. Even Camelot's most ordinary knight apprentices were better than them.

But they were only twelve.

There was still time.

The bell rang.

The students put away their wands and began moving the desks and chairs back into place.

"Homework," Zhang Wen said. "Practice the Disarming Charm twenty times every day. I'll check next class."

A chorus of groans filled the room.

"One more thing," Zhang Wen added. "Starting next week, there will be fifteen minutes of physical training before every lesson."

The groans grew even louder.

"Physical training?" Ron said in disbelief. "This is Defense Against the Dark Arts, not Quidditch practice!"

"Mr. Weasley, you started panting after practicing with Potter for ten minutes," Zhang Wen said expressionlessly. "If that had been a real battle, you would probably already be dead three times over."

Ron opened his mouth, unable to argue.

Beside him, Hermione silently added "physical training" to her notebook.

The students gradually left the classroom. When Harry reached the door, he glanced back at Zhang Wen, as if he wanted to say something, but in the end he simply turned and left.

The classroom emptied.

Zhang Wen leaned against the podium and let out a long breath.

"How did it feel?" Artoria walked over.

"Tiring." Zhang Wen rubbed his temples. "Teaching is more exhausting than fighting in the Holy Grail War. At least the Holy Grail War didn't require lesson preparation."

The corner of Artoria's mouth moved.

Only slightly.

If Zhang Wen had not been staring at her, he would never have noticed.

"You did well today," she said.

Zhang Wen froze for a moment.

Artoria rarely offered praise on her own initiative. During the Holy Grail War, her assessment of Zhang Wen had always been "a barely qualified Master." Hearing her say "not bad" was probably equivalent to an ordinary person saying "excellent."

"Thank you," Zhang Wen said. "Can you help me demonstrate the Shield Charm next class?"

"Yes." Artoria nodded. "But you need to submit your physical training plan to me for review first."

"Why?"

"Because if you design it yourself, you will definitely set the intensity too low."

Zhang Wen thought about his stamina.

She was right.

"All right." He resigned himself to it. "You decide."

Artoria nodded and turned toward the door.

She paused when she reached it.

"There's roasted lamb chops for lunch."

"How did you know?"

"I asked the kitchen elves."

Watching her leave, Zhang Wen suddenly felt that life as a fake professor might not be so bad after all.

At least there were roasted lamb chops for lunch.