Chapter 222: Spellcraft
It was like the guy was just picking random people and throwing insults at them.
Every few seconds, Professor Drake’s sharp eyes would land on some poor soul, and the next moment his tongue lashed like a whip.
A noble boy with perfect posture?
"Peacock."
A shy girl fumbling with her pen?
"Snail."
One unfortunate student who sneezed too loudly?
"Do that again, and I’ll teach you a spell that makes your lungs collapse."
The insults flew with no clear pattern, like he was just spinning a wheel of cruelty in his head and letting it land wherever it pleased.
And to Azel, sitting at his desk beside Sybil, it was almost... funny.
Back in the game, he had laughed whenever this professor appeared.
Drake had been a memorable NPC, always barking and snarling like a chained dog, daring players to prove him wrong.
It was part of his "charm," the way he mocked everyone equally but secretly wanted them to surpass him.
But now that Azel was actually here, experiencing it firsthand, he couldn’t decide whether the man was truly entertaining or just insufferable.
’What is he even trying to do?’Azel thought. ’Ragebait them?’
It felt exactly like that.
The tension finally snapped when a young man stood up.
His blue hair shimmered faintly under the sunlight pouring through the windows, his regal bearing impossible to hide.
He wasn’t just any student. He was the prince... the same one Azel had written the exams with.
"Professor, please excuse me—" the prince began.
Drake didn’t even let him finish.
"You are not excused. Shut up and sit down."
The dismissal was brutal in its bluntness.
Gasps rippled through the classroom.
Nobles shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
Even commoners flinched, as though worried the prince’s wrath might somehow splash onto them.
But the prince, jaw tight and fists clenched, had no choice.
His status meant nothing here.
This was the academy, and Drake wasn’t just a professor — he was an institution in himself.
Grinding his teeth, the prince forced himself back into his chair, his blue eyes burning with humiliation.
Drake floated a few feet above the ground, crossing his arms as though the room belonged to him and everyone else was merely trespassing.
"So," he drawled, as if nothing had happened, "back to my original point."
"I will be teaching you Spellcraft Theory. However, since this is my class, you will not just be learning the basics. I will be teaching the full Spellcraft package. And by the time two months have passed, every single one of you will be capable of casting mid-tier spells."
He smirked, eyes narrowing. "If you cannot, then you are nothing more than the monkeys you evolved from."
The room fell into a thick silence.
Azel leaned back slightly, lips twitching.
’I really don’t understand this guy. Does he hate nobles, or is he just racist? He ought to pick a side before he gives himself a stroke.’
Drake clapped his hands once, the sound echoing unnaturally loud thanks to some amplification spell.
"Now," he barked, "the first thing. Do you know what magic is?"
The question was so simple it bordered on insulting.
Almost every hand in the room shot up.
Dozens of eager faces turned toward him, some smiling nervously, others radiating confidence.
It was obvious everyone hereknew the answer.
Magic was their life, their future. Even children could define it in simple terms.
But Drake ignored them all.
His sharp gaze slid across the rows of students like a blade, cutting down each raised hand with indifference.
Finally, his eyes landed on Azel and Sybil.
For a long moment, it seemed like he was weighing which one to humiliate first.
His stare lingered on Azel, then flicked to Sybil, then back again.
Azel felt his stomach twist.
’Please pick her, please pick her.’
Drake extended a finger. "You. Stand."
Sybil rose gracefully.
Her posture was perfect, her expression was calm, and she was obviously confident.
"My name is Sybil Elra de Allencourt," she declared. "What I think magic is... magic is the will of the soul given form. It is the act of bending reality to match one’s desire, of shaping the world with thought and affinity. To me, magic is the bridge between the impossible and the possible."
Azel wasn’t surprised. Sybil was a high noble, trained since childhood in the art of speaking except when she was talking to him.
But more than that, she actually believed in what she was saying.
Drake’s expression soured.
His lips curled down and his jaw tightened. He looked almost annoyed, like he had been hoping she’d stumble so he could cut her down.
But then his face hardened back into its sharp, hawk-like mask.
"Good answer," he said, his tone begrudging.
He lifted a hand, palm facing the ceiling.
"Magic is indeed powerful. However, there is one truth you must all remember: no one in this world can use every type of magic. Your affinities awaken with you, and once revealed, they are yours forever. You cannot gain new ones, nor lose those you have. That is an iron rule of the world."
Azel stiffened.
’Wait... I can already use both Light and Ice because I have Kyone and Nyala. If I keep bonding with more goddesses, I’ll gain even more affinities. Doesn’t that mean I’ve already broken one of this world’s laws?’
It sounded good but two goddesses were already taxing, could he handle ten?
Drake continued, pacing slowly through the air as though walking invisible steps.
"There are many affinities. Fire, water, wind, earth — the common ones. But some are rarer. Holy magic, for instance. Only a handful outside the church are born with the talent for it. Then there are others, equally scarce... Shadow and Arcane for example."
Murmurs spread across the room.
Rare affinities meant prestige, opportunity, power.
"But don’t mistake rarity for superiority," Drake snapped, silencing the whispers. "Even the lowest affinity, wielded with discipline, can become a weapon stronger than any so-called rare gift. Do not think your birth defines your ceiling."
He inhaled deeply, letting the words sink in.
The class sat frozen, absorbing every syllable.
"Understood?"
Dozens of heads nodded quickly. No one dared defy him.
"Good," Drake said, his eyes glinting.
His tone shifted, growing sharper, hungrier.
"Now... let us move onto spellcraft itself."
He extended his hand suddenly — toward the prince.
The very same prince who had dared to speak earlier.
A magic circle flared into existence before Drake’s palm, glowing with intricate symbols and spinning lines.
The air crackled with energy, the hairs on Azel’s arms rising as the pressure spiked.
For a heartbeat, the room froze.
Then, before anyone could react orbefore anyone could even scream except Azel, who already sensed what was coming...
A beam of pure magic erupted from Drake’s hand.
It tore through the air with violent force, the kind of spell that could erase a man from existence in the blink of an eye.
The target was clear.
The prince.
And the blast was strong enough to take his life.
[Author’s Note]
Happy new month fam 🙂↕️🖤We’ve gotten through another month again, thanks for the support too, it really keeps me going.
Let’s have another spectacular month.