Harem System In A fantasy World - Chapter 87: Maximus
Chapter 87: Maximus
The Selection.
The word hung heavy in the air.
“As per long-standing precedent, since we have only fifty spots,” Halbrecht continued, “quota distribution will favor the upper years. Fifth and Sixth years will receive the majority of participation slots—ten to fifteen each, going lower as we go lower in the years.”
The illusion shifted again.
Numbers rearranged.
“And lastly, first years will receive three as per usual.”
Silence followed.
There was shock, but there was no outrage, just a bit of tension. The favouritism was clear for all to see. It wasn’t the first time this would be happening, and surely not the last.
Everyone present understood the logic behind his words, but it still wouldn’t stop them from speaking out.
“Don’t you think that’s a bit too much? Even though it is tradition to award more quotas to the older students, the younger ones deserve recognition just as much.”
A second-year professor was the first to express his displeasure; it was clear why he would voice his disagreement. While the first years got the fewest spots, the second years would not fare much better.
They would be lucky enough to get more than five, since that was the usual number they were awarded, and at most, they would get six.
“This is not a solo expedition, Oliver,” said Professor Aderic, a third-year instructor whose lightning affinity crackled faintly along his sleeves. “Other academies will be present. Many of them far less… restrained than we are.”
“Strength tramples talent,” Halbrecht said bluntly as he nodded in agreement. “And while the Legacy World does reward potential, it rewards those who survive even more so.”
“And experience,” Voren added. “Upper years have fought together for longer. They understand battlefield cohesion. The first years are too green and inexperienced.”
Several professors nodded.
“Better an average talent who survives than a prodigy who dies because they bit off more than they can chew.”
They had seen it before.
Talented juniors entering the Legacy World full of confidence—only to be crushed by veterans who had spent years honing their edge.
At the lower tier, three familiar figures exchanged glances.
Then they nodded in unison.
Professor George was the first to speak.
He did not raise his voice.
He did not need to.
“With respect,” he said, tone firm and controlled, “this first-year cohort is quite exceptional.”
A few heads turned.
Selene rose beside him, her tall beastwoman frame drawing attention immediately. Her ears twitched, and her tail swayed in restrained agitation.
“Exceptional doesn’t begin to cover it,” she said. “More than five students have already stabilized themselves well into the Adept Mage rank. That hasn’t happened in over two decades.”
Murmurs broke out.
“That early…?”
“Impossible.”
“I have confirmed it myself,” Selene snapped. “During the last combat class. The upcoming assessment will only be a formality to confirm it on paper.”
Miss Eveline rose last with deliberate grace while smoothing out her slit robes. Her voluptuous, curvy form drew in the eyes of every man in the room, making even Halbrecht gulp. Her lips curved in a lazy smile that did little to hide the sharpness in her eyes.
“And that’s only the ones you are aware of,” she added lightly. “Some of the students are very good at hiding what they can do; there have been a few good seeds in the last few weeks.”
Halbrecht frowned. “My point remains the same regardless. Talent does not equal survival.”
“No,” George agreed. “But denying them opportunity guarantees stagnation.”
The chamber erupted in murmurs, then sharp rebuttals. Harlan Voss raised a hand, his tone brooking no nonsense. “Noble as your zeal is, it comes at our expense. Those extra slots mean one less from my second years, who’ve earned their place through blood and sweat. Talent’s a spark; But this realm demands a blaze. Your first years might shine in your mediocre drills, but against an actual challenge? They’d crumble under the weight of great beasts and advanced spells.”
“Exactly. You’re asking us to sacrifice our students’ futures,” Aderic shot back. “Every additional slot given to first years is one taken from the upper years; you are asking to shift a whole system!”
“And don’t pretend your own students wouldn’t benefit,” Voren said. “The upper years have the strength to claim far greater returns, which we can all benefit from.”
Selene’s jaw tightened. “Returns mean nothing if we never cultivate the next generation properly.”
“Enough,” Halbrecht said. “This argument has been had every century.”
The truth was undeniable.
No one wanted to give up quotas.
And no one wanted to gamble on untested youths when the stakes were so high.
After a long moment, George exhaled slowly.
“…We had to try,” he said.
Selene sighed in defeat and looked away with an unsatisfied grunt.
Eveline shrugged, though her smile had faded. “A pity. They would’ve been good seeds for this trial.”
The chamber seemed ready to move on to the next topic.
Until—
Tap.
A staff touched stone.
The sound was quiet.
Yet it carried an undeniable weight.
Every professor froze in their motions and looked in a singular direction with bated breaths.
At the highest tier, nearly forgotten in his stillness, sat an old man.
He had a long white beard cascading down his chest, wrinkled skin etched with crow’s feet and age lines deep enough to seem carved rather than formed. Grey robes embroidered with gold thread, the patterns so old they no longer aligned with modern spell theory.
His eyes were closed shut as if they hadn’t been opened in years.
Many times during the meeting, glances had passed over him in confusion.
Some might have thought he was asleep.
That would have been a grave error.
This man was known as Maximus the Great Mage.
The Grand Principal of the Floating Academy.
The only Sage class Mage in the world who ruled no nation—not because he could not, but because he chose a different path.
When he cleared his throat, the chamber went utterly silent.
Even the ambient mana seemed to become still.
His voice, when it came, was rough and weathered by centuries—yet carried a depth that pressed upon the soul.
“We have been blessed,” Maximus said slowly, “with a remarkable seed of first years.”
His eyes did not open.
“To ignore that,” he continued, “would be foolish.”
A few professors shifted uncomfortably.
“True, the Legacy World does not reward potential as much as it does strength,” he agreed. “But neither does it forgive hesitation.”
His staff scraped softly as he leaned forward.
“The assessments are approaching,” he said. “Let their results speak.”
He paused.
“If the first years prove themselves to be far stronger than their predecessors… then those overseeing selection should consider adjusting the quotas, if only a little.”
Frowns bloomed across the chamber.
Displeasure was clear, but not a single voice dared rise in opposition.
Maximus straightened and planted his staff in front of his seat and stood very slowly.
No spell circles appeared, and no mana surged.
He simply took one step—
And vanished.
There was no flash, no ripple, and no mana residue.
He simply vanished, as if he had never existed.
For several heartbeats, no one breathed.
“…There’s no traces of mana,” someone whispered.
A chill swept the room.
This was the power of a Sage.
George slowly exhaled, with a light smile on his face.
Selene’s tail flicked, sharp and eager, as if she were raring to go.
Eveline smiled—this time, genuinely.
“Looks like,” she murmured, “We have a chance after all.” Maximus’ statement wasn’t much of a guarantee, but it was still better than nothing. His words carry far more weight than what one would assume.
His words might have sounded neutral, but it was clear which side he leaned on.
As long as the first years did well in the assessments, they could steal at least one quota for themselves.
And as Eveline thought of a particular handsome young man, she found herself smiling even wider.
