CHAPTER 70: ZANE’S JUDGEMENT

"Hah...Hah..."

"Hah...Hah..."

The sound of ragged breaths filled the training ground. Students collapsed onto the grass one after another, some coughing, some groaning, and a few blinking awake after having fainted mid-run. Sweat drenched their uniforms, their bodies trembling as if they had been dragged through hell.

Only a handful still stood tall—Ron and Lia, their pace steady even after all those laps, and Maera, calm as though the trial hadn’t even begun for her.

Among the exhausted crowd was Selene Raynhart, the half-elf noble whose presence normally radiated elegance. Midnight blue hair stuck to her cheeks, her refined aura nowhere to be seen as her face flushed crimson from exertion. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, lips parted as she fought for air. Every breath sounded strained, her once-proud eyes shimmering with frustration and fatigue.

She was the one girl foolish enough to try to undo Zane’s magic , and the five extra kilograms dragging at her body showed no mercy. A hint of tears welled at the edges of her dark blue eyes, hidden beneath a layer of stubborn pride.

Zane leaned back in his chair, the very picture of ease, before standing and brushing invisible dust from his coat. His deep purple eyes swept across the gasping, broken students.

"Pathetic," he said flatly. "Aside from a select few, the rest of you can barely be called students."

His words cut through the silence, heavier than the weight Selene bore, and the field fell quiet save for the sound of desperate breathing.

A ripple went through the students at his words. Some lowered their heads in shame, others clenched their fists in quiet anger, and a few bit their lips hard enough to draw blood. Selene’s face twisted for a moment, the sting of humiliation cutting deeper than her fatigue, though she said nothing.

But Zane simply watched them, his expression calm-indifferent even-before clasping his hands folded as if he were merely observing insects struggling in a storm.

The last of the students stumbled in, some bent over with hands on their knees, others pressing their foreheads while gasping for air. A few still wobbled on their feet, clearly struggling to remain upright. Zane shook his head slowly, clicking his tongue.

"Tsk, tsk..." he sighed, looking at their pitiful state. Then, as if mocking their efforts, he added in an overly dramatic tone, "Oh man!"

Several students looked up in confusion, too tired to even argue.

"Well then," Zane straightened and clapped his hands once, "let’s move on to your next assignment."

He snapped his fingers, and in an instant, a massive greenish-white magic circle flared to life beneath the group. The intricate runes glowed brightly as it began to rise upward, passing through each student like a wave of light. The moment it touched their bodies, exhaustion melted away. Muscles loosened, stamina returned, and even the faintest injuries from the brutal run were gone in an instant.

Gasps echoed across the courtyard.

"What... what was that?" one student muttered, wide-eyed as he flexed his arm.

Another stared at his hands, astonished. "I... I feel like I never even ran..."

Selene Raynhart, still catching her breath from before, froze completely. Her midnight-blue eyes widened in disbelief as she whispered, "That magic circle... I’ve never seen anything like it." Even she, a noble half-elf trained in advanced spells, couldn’t make sense of what had just happened.

The magic-oriented students whispered furiously among themselves, unable to hide their curiosity.

Meanwhile, Ron and Lia shared a knowing smile with each other, as if they had expected this from their teacher all along.

Zane noticed the smug little grins on their faces, and a thought slipped through his mind as he frowned slightly.

Why are they acting smug when I’m the one doing the healing magic...?

.

.

.

.

Zane clapped his hands together.

"Next assignment—demonstration. Each of you, show me your best technique on the dummy."

He led them across the training grounds until they reached a long section where rows of practice dummies stood tall, scarred and burnt from countless past students. Zane stopped, his eyes scanning them with an odd softness.

Reminds me of when I was training martial arts...

He exhaled, then lifted his hand. A casual snap echoed, and two faint blue circles materialized in his palm before dispersing into the nearest dummies. A subtle glow ran across the wooden figures, fortifying them.

The magic-oriented students blinked, whispering among themselves.

"What was that circle...?"

"Enhancement magic? But that didn’t look like any spell I know..."

Unbothered, Zane sat back on a chair that hadn’t even been there a moment ago, legs crossed, expression unreadable.

"One by one. Show me what you’ve got."

The first to step forward was a nervous commoner mage, sweat glistening on his brow. He held his hands out, muttering an incantation under his breath. Seconds ticked by—six full ones—before finally, his magic surged.

"Second Circle Magic: Fireball!"

A flickering sphere of flame formed and wobbled through the air like a drunken bird before finally smashing into the dummy’s side. The wood hissed as black scorch marks spread across it, smoke curling upward.

The student straightened, chest puffed out in pride. He turned to his teacher, waiting for praise.

But Zane only stared, his eyes cool and detached. Then, slowly, he shook his head.

The pride in the boy’s face crumbled instantly. His shoulders slumped, and he lowered his gaze, lips trembling as the weight of silent disappointment settled heavier than words.

The faint scorch marks left by the commoner boy’s earlier strike faded in an instant, the dummy repairing itself with a ripple of light. It stood once more, pristine, as though nothing had ever touched it. Murmurs spread among the students—some awed, some unsettled—but Zane didn’t spare it more than a glance.

One after another, students stepped forward, channeling their mana, swinging blades, and launching spells. Each attack landed with varying degrees of force—some barely leaving scratches, some making decent impressions before the dummy swiftly restored itself.

Zane’s responses were just as swift. A flat stare for the weakest attempts. A faint shake of the head for the mediocre. A sharper, cutting disappointment for those who wasted energy or lacked control. Only a rare few received the slightest shift of his expression—a subtle nod, barely noticeable if one wasn’t watching closely.

The atmosphere grew tense. Every student wanted that nod.

Then came Ron’s turn.

The moment he stepped forward, his presence changed. His red-orange aura flickered to life, heat rippling off him in waves as if a small sun had been lit. The other students instinctively stepped back, wary of the pressure he gave off.

But before Ron could ignite his full might, a calm voice brushed against his mind.

Don’t use your heightened state. Show them what you can do without it.

Ron’s grip tightened on his spear. He glanced at Zane—who gave only the smallest of nods—and understood. He exhaled, steadying himself, and let the aura flow naturally without crossing that threshold.

Then, with every ounce of raw strength he could muster, he launched forward.

"Inferno Spear—Sixth Technique: Hellfire Barrage!"

His spear became a blur. A storm of stabs and thrusts rained down on the dummy, each strike exploding into a lingering, crackling point of fire. The relentless speed and the suffocating heat made it feel less like an attack and more like a natural disaster—an inferno given form.

The dummy was completely overwhelmed, torn apart piece by piece until nothing but blazing fragments remained. The attack didn’t stop there—scorch marks spread across the ground behind it, the heat lingering like embers on the battlefield.

Ron stood breathing heavily, his eyes flicking toward Zane with anticipation. He waited—for approval, for judgment, for something.

Zane’s response was simple. A single nod.

Ron’s chest eased with relief. He didn’t need words—just that nod was enough.

Then, before the stunned students could comment, something happened.

The destroyed dummy... began to reform. Light coiled around the scattered fragments, pulling them back together. In moments, the training target stood once more, flawless as if Ron’s storm of flames had never touched it.

Gasps echoed across the field.

"A restoration circle?" a magic student whispered, wide-eyed. "But at this scale... that’s impossible."

"H-he made it to withstand this kind of power?" another murmured, almost in disbelief.

Even the most jaded among them couldn’t help but be impressed. The astonishment was clear on their faces—and among them, Maera’s reaction stood out.

Her sharp eyes had watched Ron closely. She had expected recklessness, or at least a lack of refinement, but what she saw instead was raw power given shape through technique. For the first time, her usually calm face betrayed a flicker of surprise.

Soon after, the cycle continued. More students stepped forward, striking at the dummy with their best techniques. Lightning, ice, earth, wind—all filled the air in a chaotic display. But Zane’s standards didn’t waver. Most were dismissed with a look. A handful received slight acknowledgement.

But that nod... that nod became the prize everyone silently sought.