CHAPTER 853: THE WAGER OF TEN THOUSAND POINTS

Words of Adam’s duel caught and spread through the common hall like a summer wildfire. Even around breakfast and lunch the following day, he heard descriptions of Virgo’s beauty by fascinated boys, or about her attire by girls who agreed that they should order a few sets of the same style from the best tailors.

They didn’t leave his stylish water dance out, nor the punch that smashed through Dorian and Abyrath’s tsunami. He heard nothing about his taunts, though. Seemed like Kassel’s plan worked.

Louder than the other voices were Astride’s students’ boasts about witnessing it all. Some traded paintings of Virgo for rare materials in broad daylight. Others swore that a friend of a distant relative knew Adam and that they could trust their big brothers to introduce them.

As if.

Adam ignored their teenagers’ nonsense. But what he couldn’t ignore were the students from his own House. He sat at his usual deserted spot with Desmond and Elliot. But when he wouldn’t get more than contemptuous glances before, he felt surrounded by eyes from all sides.

The emotions he read in them were mixed. Curiosity, jealousy, awe, resentment—all mixed in a curious crowd of teenagers too shy to be the first to approach.

"Tsk." Desmond knocked his fork on his plate across from Adam and waved his hand as if to chase clingy kittens. "Do they take us for exotic beasts? I’m out." He rose brutally, making sure to slam his palm on the table.

Elliot followed with a nod. "I’ve lost my appetite... not that I had any to begin with."

Adam glanced at his half-filled cup of tea, then shook his head. A pity he couldn’t finish it. He caught up with his friends, patting Elliot’s tense shoulder. "Everything will be fine."

"I know," Elliot grumbled beneath his breath, the garden’s wind almost blowing louder than his voice. But there was something in the scent that seemed to appease him ever so slightly. Perhaps the rich scent of flowers blown by the petals that caught in their hair. "I trust you. It’s just that... I don’t trust myself yet." He glanced at Desmond, then rolled his eyes when the purple-haired teenager raised a confident thumb. "I don’t trust him either."

"Hey, boy! Live through half of what that blue bastard and I lived through, then I’ll allow you to talk about trust. Actually, I won’t bother getting mad. Just keep your eyes wide open to see me blast my way through our adversaries’ fortifications. YAHOOO!" Desmond hurled his fists up, and Adam chuckled.

They arrived in the shade of the hovering platform on which they had taken Haldris’ class this morning. Beneath their feet, blades of grass swayed gently against their dark pants with the afternoon wind.

Adam watched the crowd of students spread across the plain in a semicircle. There had to be three times as many students as in Astride’s class. And that was at the very least. He went beyond the surprising number, his gaze falling on Teacher Maxwell, who had guided him through the common hall during the entrance ceremony.

The man stood at the center of the crowd, his neat blond hair unmoving in the wind. He seemed to feel something and turned toward Adam, then smiled.

"Ah! A moment, everyone. Allow us to welcome Astride’s new prodigy, who found a moment in his busy schedule to visit our humble class. Make way! Make way!"

Adam’s brows twitched as the students parted before him. This new reputation... he almost regretted being scorned.

Before he could answer, Maxwell passed a thick arm around Adam’s shoulders.

"I know why you’ve come. I won’t refuse." A playful grin spread across Maxwell’s face. "Astride and I have been fighting over the meaning of strength for thousands of years through our students. She believes personal strength is all that matters. A fancy way to get yourself killed. What’s one man lost in a war? An isolated target. But a group of mages taught discipline? Earth mages at the front line, heavy hitters at the back, and healers at the ready? That’s a battalion that’ll survive. Don’t you think so?"

Adam ducked beneath Maxwell’s arm, then sighed. Was there even an absolute answer to this question when even Haldris had needed companions during the demonic war?

He ultimately shrugged. Not a relevant question to him. "Both are equally important, Teacher. That’s my answer, but I’d rather not dwell on philosophical teachings and jump straight to the wager."

"As the rumors said, a man of action. But I wonder if action is enough against my best team or if they’ll defeat you where Astride’s student failed. Here is my offer. You make your own with whoever agrees. But here is the trick: you can also fight on your own. Five hundred points for each disadvantage in team members. In short, the wager will reflect what you believe you can do and test your answer."

Adam clicked his tongue when Maxwell slapped his back. Then, he watched six teenagers walk forth.

They were around his age, each an archmage bearing the emblem of the House of Transmutation. Their glares promised humiliation, not to him, but to Astride’s teachings. Adam understood this would be more of a clash of ideologies than mana.

Fine by him, though he didn’t care. He would win anyway.

"Elliot and Desmond are on my team." He started, and Maxwell nodded. But his next words froze the teacher. "But we’ll take on your ten best students."

"That’s..."

"Light turd!" Desmond completed Maxwell’s sentence. "That’s ten archmages fully geared with artifacts. They know how to fight together, to distract, to target blind spots, to protect each other. Listen, Adam. Ten is too much." He shook his head, and Maxwell’s student chuckled in amusement. "But we can take nine."

The mockery died in the students’ throats as Elliot sighed. "Wow, you made such a sharp analysis only to say nine? Nine? Because you feel there is a difference between nine and ten? At least say seven!"

"Ten. Three thousand-five hundred points..." Adam smirked at Maxwell. "For each of us."

For a moment, Maxwell’s pupils constricted. Then, he hissed through gritted teeth. "That’s ten thousand five hundred points on the line—a thousand and fifty from each of my students. Are you a foo..." He tightened his lips in a thin line. "I mean, are you sure you want to stake that much, to risk compromising your House’s chance to win this year?"