Sorcerer: I want to be an Academic Prodigy

Cassia Swordsmanship Hall.

Because he couldn’t learn much, Ivan rarely came here.

"Donnie."

"You’ve been away for so long."

Seeing him, Donnie ran over happily.

Ivan, feeling a bit embarrassed, still pulled him into a corner of the martial arts arena and asked, "Donnie, any news from that side recently?"

Donnie didn’t think too much and shook his head, "It’s strange, there have been no new developments recently, which is probably a good thing."

Nothing?

Ivan couldn’t figure out why, as he had even less information than Donnie.

Realizing something, Donnie spoke up, "Is something the matter? Or did you find out something? Spill it, don’t be stingy with the details."

Under his urging, Ivan briefly mentioned the test.

"How much?"

"15 gold."

Upon hearing the price, Donnie gasped, shocked by the costliness.

He asked hopefully, "Can it be a bit cheaper?"

Ivan said, "It probably can’t, we don’t have any bargaining chips."

Financial constraints are frustrating, Donnie sighed dejectedly, then said with a hint of sourness in his tone, "Buddy, you really are flush with cash now."

Ivan chuckled, "It’s alright, if you need help, I can provide a bit of assistance." Donnie was willing to share all sorts of information with him, so naturally, he wouldn’t be too miserly.

"Forget it, I’m just temporarily short of cash, give it some time---I’ll be fine soon," Donnie refused outright.

Indeed, Donnie was proud and especially so in front of friends, always rushing to pay the bill and known for his generosity.

The entire martial arts arena was U-shaped, with both sides covering a significant area, divided into several zones so that the disciples could practice dispersedly without getting in each other’s way.

Yet there were those who couldn’t stand the sight of others.

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"Hey, what are you two whispering about over there? Coming here and not properly training, you’re ruining the atmosphere of the Swordsmanship Hall."

"Senior Brother Henge, we---"

By his voice, Ivan knew it must be their meddlesome Third Senior Brother Henge.

Donnie tried to explain, but Henge interrupted him, "No ’what’, not practicing seriously explains why your strength is always at the bottom, going out and losing face for everyone here."

He was completely unaware when he was overstepping boundaries, his gaze wandering between the two.

He repeated his often-said line, "Not satisfied? Want to spar? Let me give you some pointers."

Donnie knew that this Third Senior Brother was looking to take advantage of them, his hand reaching into his pocket, only to find it empty, his expression darkening.

Donnie subtly tugged at Ivan, flashing him a look.

Glancing down, Ivan made no response.

Seeing the two not giving way, Henge grew more impatient, "Both of you, come at me, let me teach you how to use a sword."

That’s when Ivan stepped forward, "Fine, I will learn from your expertise." If he had no strength, he might let it be, but with the ability he had, he couldn’t tolerate such pettiness.

Donnie, surprised by his impulsiveness, quickly grabbed his arm, "Don’t be rash, let’s talk this out, Ivan." He knew well that Henge, being ranked third in the Swordsmanship Hall, relied on his strength, otherwise, with Henge’s nasty character, he would have been taught a lesson numerous times already.

"There’s nothing to say to people like him, better to teach him how to speak with a sword."

Ivan pushed his hand away and took a few steps aside, drawing the Quillen Sword from its scabbard, his attitude very clear.

To think someone would be so overconfident!

Henge, angry but laughing, "Good, this Junior Brother is brave."

He decided then, he’d have to teach this Junior Brother a profound lesson and show others a lesson as well, that he was not someone just anyone could challenge.

He waved his sword, signaling Ivan to follow.

The two, one after the other, moved to a more central location in the training ground, immediately drawing the attention of many.

Ivan guessed his opponent’s thoughts, cursing inwardly, let’s see how you’ll face the crowd after losing so badly.

Considering that the Swordsmanship Hall’s number three was not easy to deal with, he promptly channeled the blood energy in his body upwards, slowly pushing it towards his arms. Strength was his advantage, so it made sense to enhance it.

Beaman had once reminded him, upon sensing an enemy, to grasp every second to accumulate power and seize the opportunity to strike first.

"Senior Brother Henge, don’t be too hard on him."

"Just teach him a lesson."

Henge, one of the top contenders in strength at the Swordsmanship Hall, was not without supporters, someone shouted encouragement from a distance.

As a handful of junior brothers and sisters approached, Henge, having assumed his stance, finally raised his sword to issue a challenge, with a dramatic flourish he called out:

"Ivan, junior brother, the longsword is sharp and merciless, please be extremely careful."

"Come on then."

Without waiting for a reply, Ivan’s Quillen Sword struck first, closing the distance with large strides.

"Good attack," Henge said, but he didn’t take his opponent seriously. He held his longsword with one hand, angled toward the ground in front of him, his face exuding ease and pleasure, as if he were out for a walk.

"Ha!" Before the swords met, Ivan suddenly placed his other hand on the hilt and, in the next second, swiftly launched the attack he had long been planning.

"Ding!"

In Henge’s estimation, he could defeat this bottom-ranked opponent barehanded; using both hands on the sword seemed like nothing more than a struggle from his opponent, so he made no change to his stance.

Their swords met at a single point, force colliding directly.

He keenly sensed that the strength transmitted to his hand was off, and Henge’s expression changed.

Such great strength.

This isn’t good!

That second, his expression became particularly stiff.

His grip on the sword was unstable, beyond his control.

"Ding!"

Then, the Quillen Sword delivered a second blow, targeting that sword-grasping palm.

In a rush, Henge haphazardly brought his sword up to block.

The longsword was knocked flying.

Ivan was skilled in sword artistry, and he wouldn’t miss this opportunity. The Quillen Sword hissed through the air with its edge slicing through, thrusting straight at his opponent’s face.

The tip of the sword stopped in front of his opponent’s neck.

"Ah."

Feeling the sharp point touch the skin of his neck, Henge felt a flutter of panic, letting out an involuntary cry of shock.

The onlookers fell silent, none of them had anticipated this outcome.

Ivan sheathed his sword succinctly: "Thank you for the lesson, senior brother Henge."

He had mastered three types of swordsmanship: basic swordsmanship, Gushing Sword Skill, and Frog-style Sword Technique. With Beaman occasionally feeding him moves and teaching him many tricks and experiences for fighting enemies, those who underestimated him were sure to suffer.

Henge was one such person, who never took this bottom-ranked junior brother seriously.

"Idiot."

At the entrance of the Swordsmanship Hall, the eldest senior sister, Mellie, just happened to see the moment Henge was at sword-point, muttered a curse, and cast an additional glance at Ivan, seemingly deep in thought.

Hearing Ivan’s words, the others snapped back to reality, with Donnie staring at his friend as if seeing a deity.

Henge was also jolted from his nightmare.

The matter of winning or losing was settled!

This was an undeniable fact.

"Ivan... junior brother, let’s duel again next time."

Regardless of whether he had been complacent, a loss was a loss. Henge’s face flushed with embarrassment, he left behind those words and scurried off.

...

Night.

A light mist draped over Flying Fish Port’s lights like a delicate veil.

Within the City Lord’s Residence, Earl Hobson, in the prime of his life, was unusually agitated.

"How many people went in total?"

His trusted official, Baron Karl, replied, "12 people."

Earl Hobson asked again, "How many are dead by now?"

"7 people."

The Earl knew full well that among those was his niece Pearney, who had been sent to the island where the sorcerer resided. The continuous stream of death reports made him inevitably worry about Pearney’s predicament.

Watching the Earl pace back and forth, Baron Karl seemed to want to say something but halted at the edge of his lips.

After a while, Earl Hobson sighed softly and waved his hand, "Start preparing, proceed with your suggestion, just in case."

Baron Karl inclined slightly, stepping out of the study with light footsteps.