In the examination hall, Professor Ola’s eyes fell upon the results of the second round of assessment. His expression was a tangled mix of astonishment, confusion, and deep disappointment. The test had been designed to measure mana level on a scale from one to five—a metric distinct from potential, for while mana level could, in theory, be cultivated over time, its true capacity for growth was laughably minimal. After all, no matter how much water fills a bucket, it will never transform into a river.

BaiYun’s result resembled nothing more than a mere cup of water.

The professor recalled Sigurd’s performance. Sigurd’s mana level had soared to a staggering 3.8—a number that sent shivers down the spines of even the most seasoned mages. On this continent, where most practitioners hovered between levels one and three, a score above 3.5 would certainly ensure that a mage becomes exceptionally famous. Even Professor Ola himself, who now boasted a near-mythical mana level of 3.9, had only got 3.2 at Sigurd’s age. Mages reaching a level above four were so rare they could be counted on one hand. Sigurd’s promising beginning nearly touched the very ceiling that Professor Ola had reached.

And then there was BaiYun—whose result, when finally revealed, was a paltry 0.2.

Even for ordinary folk, such a number sat at the lower end of the gene pool. Compared to his potential level, this number sounds like a clumsy joke.

The reaction among the examiners was immediate and intense. All three directors showed signs of confusion or shock, but none more so than Barrett Raine. With a booming laugh, Barrett pointed his finger at BaiYun and pounded his fist against the table so vigorously that snot even managed to escape before it splattered onto his ginger beard. The force of his amusement left no doubt: Barrett found the result impossibly hilarious.

BaiYun, aware from the outset that his mana level was low, did not seem overly troubled by the disappointed faces. However, Barrett’s mocking reaction sparked a flicker of anger within him.

“I know it’s low,” BaiYun thought bitterly, “but do you really have to laugh like that?” Yet as he glanced at Barrett—whose muscles appeared as if ready to burst from sheer intensity, and whose half-person-tall, giant battle-axe loomed beside him—BaiYun wisely decided that sometimes silence was the better part of valor.

Workout, after all, paid off; it forced even the most sharp-tongued critics to pause before speaking.

The candidates remained unaware of the precise results of the second round again. But as Barrett’s laughter filled the room, they couldn’t help but join in. Their collective mirth only stoked BaiYun’s inner fire, though he eventually resolved to let it go—after all, he remembered his own foolish strutting during the first round, and felt he deserved some reproof.

Amid the laughter, a voice suddenly rang out from the crowd: “Bulb Lighter, why didn’t you light another bulb this round?”

By the way, the second test had measured the concentration of mana in the blood using precise instruments—no mystical crystal balls involved.

That absurd moniker, “Bulb Lighter,” was the final straw for BaiYun. Unable to hold back his anger any longer, he roared, “Did you even hear your own question? This second test doesn’t even come with a crystal ball—what in the hell am I supposed to light a bulb with, your mum?”

Before the man could muster a reply, BaiYun continued with a cutting edge, “Did you forget your prostate at home this morning, so you could actually have asked such a dumb question?”

He scrutinized his accuser—a young man with silver-white short hair and pale blue eyes, exuding a clean, handsome air. Clad in an ostentatiously luxurious noble robe of bright yellow, the young man bore a striking resemblance to a certain cartoon creature.

If only the people of this world knew of Pikachu, BaiYun might have even bestowed a friendly nickname upon him.

But he always found alternatives when it came to mocking.

The young man was wearing his thinking face, clearly still processing the part of “prostate at home”. And BaiYun pressed on, “I’m saying you’re thinking with your prostate—no brain at all. No wonder you’re draped in that childish yellow; how many bananas did you have to steal to make a robe like that?”

The hall erupted with laughter at his biting remarks.

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Professor Ola felt speechless. He was struggling to reconcile why BaiYun’s mana level and potential were so mismatched, and BaiYun himself had started himself a little stand-up comedy? Besides, the “banana robe” was, in fact, the renowned Thorisson’s Raiment of Thunder—a detail he should probably know.

BaiYun didn’t know all of that, nor did he care. Reveling in the satisfaction of his own verbal volley, he barely noticed the sudden shift in the atmosphere. Suddenly, a massive black magical hand surged through the air toward him.

Unruffled, BaiYun extended a single finger and pointed directly at the ominous appendage. He’s even got a smiling face towards the owner of this “hand”, the “Pikachu man”.

What followed was nothing short of surreal. As the magical hand made contact with BaiYun’s finger, it shuddered violently—like a thick tree trunk being fed into a wood chipper. The moment of contact caused the very portion that touched his finger to vanish instantly, and then, piece by piece, the entire hand dissolved completely under the influence of his pointed command. None in the hall had ever witnessed such a spell. Not even Professor Ola or the usually haughty Sigurd could hide the spark of curious wonder that flickered in their eyes.

Before anyone could fully process this strange occurrence, the young man in the garish yellow robe raised his hand, and from his palm, lightning danced as though preparing another assault. But then, a silver-white figure darted from among the examinees, and in a flash, a longsword was drawn and aimed directly at the yellow-robed noble. Faster still, Barrett leaped from his examiner’s seat, his giant battle-axe gripped tightly, and swung it so powerfully that it embedded deeply into the hall’s floor, intercepting the silver-white figure’s path. The intruder paused and glanced toward Barrett, who responded only with a quiet, dismissive shake of his head.

“That’s Arthur Valtor, the heir to Valtor of Fenrir, one of the Noble Six!” The bare-fanged wolf head emblazoned on the silver-white swordsman's cloak immediately revealed his identity to the other candidates.

BaiYun was about to express his gratitude to this swordsman for his heroic intervention, but only to notice that he actually met this guy before.

“Hold on, aren’t you the guy from Dawn Tavern the other day? Why did you dress…”

Ignoring BaiYun’s reaction, Colin bellowed, “What do you think you are doing? The academy forbids private duels! Offenders need to leave immediately!”

“Mr. Vether,” the “yellow robe” announced politely to Colin, “I, Hermann, heir to House Thorrison, request an Academy Duel! I challenge this Easterner.” He gestured towards BaiYun.

Colin was taken aback. Academy Duels were a hallowed tradition at Aurora Academy, a recourse for students with irresolvable disputes. He was about to refuse—they weren’t even students yet—when Professor Ola interjected, “Granted. What is the wager?”

Duels, of course, required stakes. If both parties agreed, Academy Duels could even be fought to the death.

Colin was initially surprised by Professor Ola’s swift approval, but a glance at the professor’s expression revealed the truth: Ola wanted to see BaiYun in combat.

“The loser forfeits their admission to Aurora Academy!” Hermann declared immediately.

Colin looked at BaiYun, seeking his assent. BaiYun shook his head and uttered a single, blunt curse word.

“Dumbass.”

He then turned to Hermann. “What are you, nine? I can’t see why anyone would come up with such a stupid wager.”

His words, though forceful, suggested fear to those present. Having witnessed the electrical energy crackling around Hermann’s hands, BaiYun’s withdrawal was understandable.

Surely, Hermann seized the opportunity to taunt, “You were so eloquent a moment ago. Now you’re scared? All talk, huh?”

BaiYun remained unfazed. “Let’s say I lose, and I withdraw from the entrance exam. You, however, don’t. The third round is a virtual sparring match against a stone golem. After our duel, do you think you’ll have enough mana to pass that round?”

Hermann stroked his chin, finally grasping the flaw in his wager, but his confidence remained unshaken. He was the heir to Thorrison, and even if House Thorrison wasn’t among the Noble Six, he was confident in his ability to defeat BaiYun, who appeared to be nothing but a commoner.

“Winning a duel against you won’t take much mana,” he retorted.

BaiYun sighed, exasperated by Hermann’s stubbornness. “Let me rephrase this, hopefully, you’ll understand this time, eh? If I knew I couldn’t win, why would I fight you in a normal way? I’d simply focus on draining your mana throughout the duel, ensuring your fail in the third round. That’s to the best of my interest, isn’t it? And of course, you can do the same.” Classic Prisoner’s dilemma.

He shrugged. “So, what’s the point of this wager? Winning and losing both mean failing the entrance exam.”

Seeing Hermann speechless, BaiYun concluded. “We can duel of course, but the stakes need to be reasonable. I suggest the duel becomes our third round test, and the examiners decide admission based on our performance.”

He then turned to Professor Ola. “Do you agree, Professor Ola?” His expression clearly indicated that whether the duel would happen depended entirely on Ola’s desire to witness it.

Ola paused for a breath, then erupted into laughter, surprising Colin, who had always perceived the professor as solemn.

“Excellent suggestion,” Ola agreed, finding BaiYun’s intelligence and shrewd negotiation impressive.

“Let’s finish the third round tests for the other examinees. Two hours. The duel between Hermann Thorrison and BaiYun will commence in two hours.”