Chapter 254: Final Assessment

The other students stood up, packed their books, and headed for the door.

Dozens of students filtered out, leaving the lecture hall largely empty.

Phillips finished packing and winked at Richard as he walked by.

"Looks like I'm not included."

He grabbed his satchel and sauntered out.

Richard stood up.

Montagu walked over from the other side at an unhurried pace, his composure entirely unchanged even in front of two Major Adepts.

Catherine came over from the corner, clutching her books.

Pendleton closed the lecture hall doors behind them.

Only the two professors and three students remained in the massive hall.

With the outsiders gone, the two Major Adepts retracted their ether, loosening its pressure.

Through Richard's perception, the suffocating ocean of pressure bearing down on him seemed to ripple and ease.

Professor MacFie's gaze first fell on Catherine.

"Blackwood. A Highland surname."

Catherine stood straight. "Yes, Professor."

"Which part of the Highlands?"

"The north. West of Inverness."

The hard, chiseled lines of MacFie's face softened.

"A Highland lass from Cheltenham. Now that is rare.

These days, nine out of ten Highland girls get taken in by those women's academies to learn trivial things like flower arranging and playing the piano."

He studied Catherine for a moment.

"I'm no stranger to your surname."

"The Blackwoods have been Hunters in the northern Highlands for generations. Your clan has produced some tough stock."

Catherine's back tensed.

"What was your great-grandfather's name?"

The red-haired girl thought back for a long moment.

"I never met my great-grandfather... The genealogy records him as Alpin Blackwood."

"Alpin Blackwood."

Something surfaced on MacFie's face, an expression worn very faint by the years.

"Old Alpin. I went on field assignments with him."

Catherine's eyes widened.

Standing to the side, Richard took it all in.

"That year, trouble broke out in the northern Highlands."

MacFie's voice dropped, each word echoing through the empty lecture hall.

"Too many had died near an ancient battlefield, and foul things festered in the soil.

At night, the shepherds' flocks went mad, whole herds kneeling in the same direction."

"The Guild sent people to deal with it. I was young back then, just tagging along to handle the inscriptiology work.

Your great-grandfather, Alpin, was the Hunter leading the team."

MacFie folded his large hands in front of him.

"While everyone else huddled shivering by the fire, he grabbed a Silver Blade and walked into that blackened land all by himself.

Before he left, he looked back and told me one thing."

"'Boy, you handle the reading, and I'll handle the killing. What you can't read, I'll cleave open for you; what I can't cleave, you read for me.'"

Catherine listened without moving.

The lecture hall remained quiet for a moment.

Richard could tell that the red-haired girl, who usually maintained a cold facade, was far from calm at this moment.

Her father had died young. The glory of those unyielding figures and generational Hunters in her clan was probably nothing more to her than a few dry names on a genealogy chart.

Now, a Major Adept who had lived for over a century was personally recounting her great-grandfather's past deeds.

Richard was also thinking about another matter he hadn't voiced.

The mortal feud between the Blackwood and MacPhee families.

Professor MacFie standing before him had a surname that was only one syllable different from Maggie's.

Was this professor somehow connected to that blood feud from generations ago?

Maggie didn't seem to care about that old grudge, and Catherine probably didn't either.

Richard pushed the thought aside.

MacFie shifted his gaze from Catherine to Montagu.

"Montagu."

"Professor." The blond young man nodded slightly, his manners perfectly polite.

"How is the old Earl doing lately?"

"He is well. Thank you for your concern, Professor."

MacFie nodded.

The brief exchange was polite, but it held little genuine sentiment.

The two professors were courteous to him, but their courtesy was directed at the weight behind the Montagu surname.

Montagu himself had yet to earn their special regard.

Professor Mortimer had been cradling his teacup the whole time, scarcely saying a word.

At this point, he set the cup down.

"Little Richard, I wrote a letter for you."

Richard's heart skipped a beat. Here it comes.

"Yes," he answered formally. "I am deeply grateful for your favor, Professor."

"It wasn't a matter of favor."

Mortimer waved his incessantly trembling hand.

"I wrote that letter on account of young Hutton."

"I'm old, and my memory is poor."

"I've completely forgotten what kind words I wrote about you."

He picked up the teacup and took a sip.

"What you said just now was quite interesting."

"Let me ask you one more thing."

"Since the things inside the door will 'look' back through your eyes...

...then why do so many people in this line of work continue to read into them, one after another?"

Richard steadied his mind.

The question struck at the very root of the matter.

"I believe there are three reasons."

"The first is that we have no choice but to read."

"Seals loosen, and texts erode.

If no one reads and repairs them today, they will seep out in the future, harming the living outside the door."

Richard paused.

"The second is that if we read to the very end, the things inside the door will no longer be 'mysterious'."

He recalled Professor Mortimer's own words and conveniently borrowed them.

"Those in our line of work read into them to endure 'incomprehensible danger' until it becomes 'comprehensible safety'."

Cradling his teacup, Professor Mortimer looked visibly gratified.

"The third reason." Richard's voice dropped a little lower.

"I can't express it very well. It's only my humble opinion."

"Speak."

"If a person stands at the edge of a cave caught in a dilemma, hesitation is what will ruin them."

Richard remembered the passage from Virgil that Phillips had quoted to him in the Imperial Capital University Library.

"Since advancing is dangerous, retreating is dangerous, and pacing in place is also dangerous... then one must simply take a step in a direction."

"It may not be safe inside, but what he wants is only found in there."

These words, in truth, voiced his own inner thoughts.

Professor Mortimer held his tea, looking at Richard for a long time.

"...Hmm." The old man finally responded. "You really aren't bad, kid."

Montagu re-evaluated the youth standing before him.

Catherine held her books in silence, her expression unreadable beneath her red hair.

Professor MacFie also smiled. "Old Mort, you didn't write that letter in vain."

"When have I ever written one in vain?" Mortimer took a sip of tea.

"In the New Calendar year of 1872." MacFie laughed aloud.

"You wrote a letter for a young man, and he later pilfered several rare ancient tomes from the third floor of the library.

Including that copy of the Seven Chapters of the Wind, which he still hasn't returned."

Professor Mortimer's hand paused on his teacup.

"...That was an accident."

"So many unique copies, and they were an accident?"

"That boy didn't take the ordinary path." The old man set his teacup down. "And that is why he later became a Master."

Listening to them, Richard found the story somewhat familiar.

"This time is different." Mortimer pointed at Richard. "This kid is steady."

For the rest of the time, the two professors asked a few more questions regarding their studies.

Montagu answered comprehensively, leaving no room for fault; Catherine answered crisply and concisely; Richard answered calmly and unhurriedly.

At the very end, Professor MacFie cast an unknown Spell Formula, inscribing a small scroll of parchment.

He walked over to Catherine and handed the parchment scroll to her.

"This is for you."

Catherine hesitated, unsure whether she should accept it. "Professor, this..."

"These are rubbings of the standing stones by the ancient battlefields in the northern Highlands."

MacFie explained:

"I jotted them down in passing when I went on that field assignment with your great-grandfather in my youth."

"You are of the Blackwood family, and you are walking this path."

"This is perfectly suited for you."

Catherine took the parchment scroll, holding it in her hands, speechless for a long time.

Her father hadn't left much behind, and her great-grandfather had left absolutely nothing.

"...Thank you, Professor."

MacFie waved his large hand.

"It is never easy for children of the Highlands when they are far from home."

"In the future, if you run into an insurmountable hurdle in the Imperial Capital, you can come find me in my office."

Catherine gave a firm nod.

Richard and Montagu also bid their farewells and left.

Stepping out of the lecture hall, the daylight outside momentarily dazzled their eyes.

The corridor was empty; there were hardly any people around during the summer break.

Richard walked outward along the flagstones of the corridor.

A figure was crouching by the stone railing at the corner of the corridor.

Phillips.

The guy had somehow scrounged up another pot of tea and was basking in the sun against the railing.

"Yo." He looked up, saw Richard, and shook the teapot. "Finished with your Q&A?"

"Finished."

"What did those two old professors ask you?"

"They asked about reading," Richard said, taking a seat on the stone railing next to him. "They asked very deep questions."

Phillips poured a cup of tea for his fellow tea enthusiast.

"What did I tell you?" he said smugly.

"When it comes to studying, all of you are strung as tight as bowstrings. I'm the only one who actually gets the true flavor out of it."

Richard took a sip of tea.

It was good tea, as always. This guy's true talents were never found at a study desk.

"Oh, right." Phillips suddenly remembered something.

"I memorized the name of the distillery Professor MacFie mentioned. Once the seminar is over, I'll have someone buy a bottle.

We'll try it together then and see if it's really as divine as he claims."

"Are you of age?"

"I'm eighteen." Phillips blinked. "I just had my birthday last month."

"...I'm not of age, but I can keep you company if you want to drink when the time comes."

Richard leaned against the stone railing, gazing at the June sky over the Imperial Capital beyond the corridor.

The sky here in the Imperial Capital was clearer than in Briston, clearly the result of some level of environmental regulation.

He finished his tea and stood up.

"Let's go. We have class this afternoon."

"What's the rush?" Phillips leaned back against the railing. "We haven't finished the tea yet."

..................

Friday. The final official seminar for the special class.

Croft finished lecturing on the final topic in the folklore lineage: the skin-walkers on a certain island in the Spice Islands.

Once finished, he tossed the chalk back onto the podium tray.

"That's it for today." He swept his gaze across the class. "The assessment is scheduled for next Monday at eight-thirty in the morning."

"Four subjects: Classical Languages, Inscriptiology, History, and Folklore."

"The supplementary materials handed out to each of you two weeks ago..."

"Those who have completed them should know what to expect by now."

He cast a glance at the few students who had clearly been slacking off and smiled maliciously.

"As for those who haven't done them, heh heh heh..."

Old Croft left his words hanging there and began packing up his lecture notes.

"Dismissed. Hurry back and prepare for the exams."

After packing his own things, Richard glanced over in Phillips's direction.

That guy was ignoring Croft's words completely, holding his teapot and chatting and laughing with a fellow student beside him.

On the day of the assessment, Richard arrived at the testing venue half an hour early.

His mindset was very peaceful; he hadn't even reviewed the supplementary materials any further.

The testing venue was set up in an independent examination building belonging to the Department of Classics.

Because there were very few students taking the exam, each candidate was assigned a separate, partitioned examination room equipped with surveillance Spell Formulas. The supervision was incredibly strict.

Richard's exam room was at the innermost end of the third floor.

The moment he pushed the door open and walked in, he saw a stack of blank paper and four test papers laid out on the desk.

The invigilator gave him a nod.

"Mr. Williams."

"The entire assessment will last four hours. One ten-minute break is allowed midway through."

"Understood."

Richard sat down.

The first subject was Classical Languages.

He flipped open the test paper. Among the questions was a translation exercise on Thucydides.

The original text was from Book III of the History of the Peloponnesian War: Cleon's speech during the Mytilenian Debate.

It was the exact same passage Croft had tossed to him on his very first day.

Richard's pen flew across the page.

The second subject was Inscriptiology.

The paper included a question testing knowledge of the Celtic tripartite seal structure.

This was clearly Professor MacFie's handiwork.

He had personally chewed through this very structure in the texts of the Whitcom Boundary Stones, and his aunt had later given him specialized, intensive training on it.

Furthermore, the customized supplementary materials had happened to feature a question of the exact same origin, which he had practiced back and forth several times.

The third subject was History, and the fourth was Folklore.

With every subject he tested on, Richard felt he had done similar questions before.

At this moment, he completely understood the true purpose of those customized materials.

The exam questions hadn't been drafted at the last minute.

What had been taught in class was the skeleton.

Those customized materials were the final step of adding flesh to that skeleton.

Those who had attended the lectures and worked through the materials question by question were now writing effortlessly.

As for those who had attended the lectures but tossed the materials aside...

Richard didn't think too much about it and continued answering his papers.

He quickly finished all four test papers.

He didn't use up the full four hours.

Nor did he take the ten-minute break midway through.

By the time he walked out of the exam venue, a few students were still desperately holding out in their respective exam rooms.