Suddenly, seeing Nolan frozen in silence, Granfire smirked and sneered internally.
The air around him seemed to shift as he took slow, steady steps around the classroom. Click. Click. Click.
With every stride, his confidence grew, basking in the moment of control.
He moved like a man who had already won.
"Let me ask you something," Granfire said, his voice carrying the calm authority of someone preparing a lecture. "Why are Mana Specialists important? Why do they even exist? What is their purpose?"
He paused, his eyes sweeping across the classroom.
The students remained silent, too stunned to respond.
A few shifted uncomfortably in their seats, unsure whether to answer or to simply endure what was obviously a show of dominance.
"Let me enlighten you," Granfire continued, placing a hand over his chest as though reciting sacred scripture. "A long time ago, far before any of you were born, before even the founding of the Silver Blade Academy, the Archmages of this realm, in their boundless thirst for power, made a grave mistake."
He turned on his heel dramatically and pointed to the far wall, as if painting an image of the past.
"They sought something greater, something beyond this world. In their ambition, they tore open a gate to a higher plane of existence. It was a realm none of them could comprehend, filled with unfiltered, chaotic mana far purer, far more volatile than anything our world had ever known."
The classroom darkened slightly as his voice dipped lower, as though invoking the weight of history itself.
"When the mana of that realm poured into ours, it wasn't a blessing. It was a curse. Magic spiraled out of control. Spells once deemed safe now backfired with deadly precision. Enchantments unravelled, turning against their wielders. The very air became heavy with unstable mana. Trees twisted into howling horrors. Gentle beasts of the wild were transfigured into terrifying monsters. Forests turned into nightmares."
Granfire now paced again, letting the silence stretch.
"Knights who practiced mana-forging techniques found their bodies cracking from within. Mages who meditated on mana cores lost their minds or exploded outright. Temples burned. Towers fell. Cities turned to ruin. The world was falling apart."
He stopped and tapped the blackboard gently.
"And then, from the ruins of that mistake… they rose."
His tone changed—reverent, awed.
"The Mana Specialists."
He looked to the ceiling, as if to give silent thanks.
"They weren't warriors. They weren't kings. They could be… But they were made to be teachers. Guides. Saviors. They didn't conquer the chaos with brute strength. No, they studied it. They understood it. They stabilized it. They found patterns where there was only madness. And with that knowledge, they taught others how to survive."
His voice rose now, fervent and passionate.
"Through painstaking research and sacrifice, they developed techniques to isolate and purify mana. To separate it from the foreign influence of that higher realm. They taught Knights how to anchor their bodies, taught Mages how to bind their minds, taught the people how to live again. Without them—without us—the world would have been lost."
He turned to the class and extended his arms wide.
"That is what it means to be a Mana Specialist. We are not simply teachers. We are architects of stability. Guardians of knowledge. We are the reason civilization stands tall."
Several of the students clapped involuntarily, moved by the weight of his words.
Others nodded, clearly impressed.
One even stood slightly, as if inspired to pledge loyalty on the spot.
Granfire let the applause die before continuing.
"So understand this," he said with narrowed eyes, turning his gaze toward Nolan again. "To be a Mana Specialist… it is not just about holding a title. It is about carrying a responsibility so heavy that only the most capable should bear it. And that… is my most sacred desire."
The class fell silent once again.
Suddenly, a voice cut through the reverence.
"Are you saying I can't teach them?"
Granfire flinched as though someone had jabbed him in the ribs. He turned sharply, only to see Nolan standing now, arms still crossed, his face unreadable, calm in a way that was new. That… unnerved him.
He blinked. What had changed? That wasn't the same broken, frozen man from earlier. There was something—centered—in his posture. A quiet gravity that Granfire hadn't noticed before.
Still, he shook his head and recovered.
"I didn't say that," Granfire replied slowly, watching Nolan carefully. "But let's not pretend. What have you taught? Every student who's been under you has either dropped out, failed, or remained stagnant. There's no growth. No progress. Just… empty time."
"And?" Nolan shrugged. "They didn't pay."
Granfire blinked. "What?"
"They didn't pay," Nolan repeated, eyes steady. "Learning isn't free. If one wishes to grow, to contribute to society, then one must pay. In gold. In service. In sweat. You know what they say, Granfire… a student who gets everything for free learns nothing. Right?"
The class went dead silent.
One student gasped.
"You're saying… you refused to teach them because they didn't pay?" Granfire asked slowly, as if not believing what he'd just heard.
Nolan didn't even blink. "Exactly. Do you see any societal value in freeloaders? I don't."
Granfire's face twitched. A vein bulged on his temple.
The silence was thick with shock. Some students looked appalled. Others didn't know how to react. But Nolan stood there, completely shameless, as though he'd just described the natural order of the world.
Granfire gritted his teeth, taking one slow breath to contain himself.
"Nolan…" he said, voice measured, "your… philosophy is noted. But perhaps it's time someone reminded you what this place is. It's not a merchant's hall. It's a school. These students don't come here to serve your pocket."
"Then they're in the wrong place," Nolan replied bluntly.
Another vein joined the first on Granfire's forehead, pulsing violently.
His lips twitched into something between a snarl and a smile.
He forced himself to breathe again.
But it was too late.
Nolan had already said it.
And Granfire… was about to explode.
His lips twitched as he controlled the rising storm within his stomach. His posture stiffened, but he forced himself to speak with an icy calm.
"So you are not going to teach them?" he asked, his voice deceptively neutral as his gaze shifted toward the rows of silent students. "Is that what I'm hearing?"
Nolan barely glanced at the students. With an indifferent shrug, he replied, "Since they paid, I will not waste their time."
The room fell into a tense hush. Granfire's eye twitched. He could feel the heat climbing up his neck.
"The test tomorrow," Granfire said, voice clipped, "is about the willpower of a knight. It's a randomized test issued by the principal himself. I already trained them for it. I taught them how to strengthen their will, to harden their hearts, to resist despair. But it's not enough. With more time, I can ensure they pass with flying colors."
Nolan leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. His eyes slowly roamed across the room—his stare deliberate, calculated, undisturbed. He didn't speak for a moment.
Then, with a subtle narrowing of his eyes, he said, "What will power? They look like normal children that are easy to frighten."