SPELLCRAFT: Reincarnation Of A Magic Scholar-Novel

The highest score belonged to a senior called David Springer. He defeated a total of 89 Automatons—an impressive feat, all things considered.

As for the Middle-Class ones, the highest among them could only manage nineteen.

That was how pathetic the whole thing was!

Compared to the number I estimated would be possible for me with my current capabilities, all of them were subpar—both the Upper-Class and Middle-Class students.

By thoroughly calculating everything without bias, the results I arrived at were simple.

‘I would have scored at least one hundred and fifty… these seniors are not as impressive as I thought.’

Of course, it could be that the Upper-Class members were holding back and not taking things seriously, but it remained a fact that they could have achieved better.

In any case, there was no use ruminating on the thought. Their Semi-Finals were about to commence.

As per the rules, the two highest of the Upper Class were chosen and the same applied to the Middle Class.

After splitting them into groups, those who had their matches in the second round left the stage and watched from the sidelines as the round began between an elite and an average.

“Begin!”

The results were to be expected, but they still shook me every time I saw them.

Even though the Upper-Class Second Year was obviously superior to his opponent, he didn’t bother ending things simply with a stronger spell. No, he dragged things out and completely made a mess of the opponent.

Enjoyment seemed to play on his face as he toyed with the determination of the Middle-Class Student who kept trying, even though victory was not in sight.

Of course, I felt no pity for the one being pummeled. If he couldn’t win, the best thing he could do was learn from the gap that existed between him and his opponent and surrender. There was no shame in that!

But, for stubborn people with something to prove, they ended up wasting their time and only causing more injuries for themselves.

‘Maybe he thinks he’ll get the attention of a Lecturer and become an Apprentice…’

Unfortunately, life wasn’t that simple.

Lecturers always aimed high, looking for talented students to accept. Those who had no prospects, or were not talented—no matter how much they struggled—would never gain the attention of any Lecturer.

Besides, it wasn’t as if our Lecturers had to pick Apprentices. Some would rather choose no one if they didn’t excite them enough. An example of that would be Neron Kaelid.

In any case, my dear senior was struggling for nothing. Ultimately… loss was inevitable.

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Both matches were won by the Upper-Class seniors, but as per the rules, only one would make it to the Finals.

Since the first match wasn’t as hardcore as the first, and the Middle-Class senior who fought in the first round struggled as hard as possible, he was allowed to fight in the Finals.

As for the Upper-Class member who passed, it was the one who fought a more brutal match in the second round.

With that, the results were clear.

‘Sigh… this is pathetic!’

I was certain the Middle-Class student who passed would be overjoyed with the fact that he was given another chance. But what of it? Only more suffering and pain awaited him.

That was most certainly not something to look forward to.

As soon as the Magic Division was done with their Exchange, it became time for the Martial Artists to clash.

Though none of their Martial techniques were as good as the Martial Blade God, I still wanted to feast my eyes on the fights of more experienced fighters. The more fights a Martial Artist witnessed, the more powerful they became.

I was not strictly a Magic-User. Using my standard of measurement, I was at the Intermediate Level of Martial Arts, and was a Sage as a Scholar as well.

In essence, I was eligible for all three Divisions of Ainzlark Academy!

“Begin!”

The match started, and their weapons clashed.

One of the seniors used a blade, while the other was donning two daggers at top speed.

They fought and exchanged hits, unrelenting in their endeavors.

Of course, the one with the upper hand was the Upper-Class senior. The way he commanded the battle was as if he was merely toying with the Middle Class one.

Even though he wielded a dagger, he was easily able to bypass the reach of the blade, dealing little hits on the desperate swordsman as he whittled down the poor guy’s health.

“Gahh!”

“Arghh!!!”

“Uarghhh!!!”

Screams filled the air as each exchange of their weapons led to more strikes that proved detrimental to the Middle-Class senior.

“I’ll finish this now…” The elite announced, not even a scratch evident on his body.

And so, he did!

SWISH

SLASH

The twin daggers crisscrossed and completely tore through the attire of the opponent, causing blood to spurt out.

The Middle-Class swordsman, having no energy left to continue, fell flat on his face.

The winner was clear to everyone.

“Tch…”

Once again, the Upper Class secured victory!

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The same applied to the Scholars’ round, and even the Third Years.

The Upper Class won every single match!

The only blot to the supremacy of the Upper Class’ undeniable victories was the fact that we First Years had a couple of Lower Class members who made it to the Finals.

Just Edward and I… we were the only ones left who had yet to taste defeat!

‘Hoo… if this is how the Semi-Finals are, then…’

“That concludes the Semi-Finals, and the Inter-Class Exchange for today!” Klaus announced.

I looked at the stage with weary eyes, wondering how Klaus was always able to maintain his bright attitude.

“There will be a break tomorrow! You should all rest and try to recover your strength for the day after!”

That made sense.

Many people were exhausted, whether physically or mentally. Having a day off to revitalize the competitors and even the audience was a good call.

I had so many things to do and consider, and I needed that time badly.

“We will resume the Inter-Class Exchange on Thursday! Till then… rest up, and prepare yourselves!”