Since the brothers couldn't quite put their finger on what was wrong with Mr. Xenes, they decided to stay vigilant and keep a close eye on him throughout the day.
Before the actual lessons began, the academy conducted a diagnostic test to determine the power level of every student in the class. The first phase was the Mana Capacity Test. Each student was required to place their hand on a massive crystal orb that displayed a numerical value signifying the depth of their internal mana pools.
For a ten-year-old, a score of 50 was considered average, while 100 indicated someone with high potential. A score of 300 was the absolute maximum potential a child could typically attain—those students were hailed as true prodigies of magic. However, the school's specialized orb was designed to measure up to a ceiling of 999.
The first few students stepped forward, recording modest scores of 58, 53, and 72. When it was Rachel's turn, she walked gracefully toward the orb. She took a deep breath and pressed her palm against the glass. The hall erupted in whispers as the score hit 186. Both the teacher and students cheered in applause as she returned to her seat with a satisfied smile.
Several more students followed, though their results were significantly lower than Rachel's—until Glen stepped up. She placed her hand gently on the orb, and it began to glow far brighter than it had for the others. The numbers climbed rapidly before settling at a staggering 502.
The room fell into a stunned silence. A score that high was usually reserved for B-rank or even A-rank adult mages. Glen had just shattered the school record, becoming the highest-scoring ten-year-old in the academy's history.
Finally, it was the princes' turn. Leon stepped up first. As he placed his hand on the crystal, it didn't just glow—it pulsated violently with a blinding light. Suddenly, a sharp crack echoed through the hall, and the orb shattered into a thousand pieces before it could display a single number.
Total silence gripped the room as everyone stared in utter disbelief. A backup orb was quickly brought in, and Leo stepped forward. But just like his brother, the moment his hand made contact, the second orb exploded under the sheer pressure of his mana.
Their capacity was far beyond what the measuring device could compute. Only a high S-rank or an elite-tier mage possessed enough raw power to overload such an orb.
Without even trying, the "Disaster Princes" had once again become the talk of the school, leaving the faculty and students questioning just what kind of monsters had entered their halls.
The next phase was the Elemental Test. The instructors wanted to see how well each student could actually apply and control that mana through the basic elements.
The next test was designed to measure elemental affinity and control. Four large, humanoid steel targets were placed in the training arena—one for each primary element. Each target was reinforced with an advanced anti-magic barrier, specifically designed to be indestructible so they could be reused for years.
The first student to step forward was Ryu Lansvile. He had scored a 96 on the mana capacity test, the highest in the class excluding Rachel, Glen, and the princes.
Ryu stretched his hand out and began a theatrical chant: "Eternal flames, burn bright: Fireball!" A small flicker of flame, roughly the size of a soccer ball, manifested and drifted toward the target. It dissipated harmlessly against the anti-magic barrier. Ryu beamed with pride as the instructors applauded.
"You did well, Ryu! Truly outstanding," Mrs. Ariel said with a warm smile.
The princes watched in utter dismay. To them, a spell that small shouldn't have required a chant at all—chants were for stabilizing massive amounts of mana, not for soccer-ball-sized sparks.
Ryu moved to the next target for the water test. He took a deep breath and began again: "Water spirit, heed my call: Water Blast!" A sphere of water, similar in size to his previous fireball, splashed uselessly against the steel.
Once again, the teachers sang his praises. The princes were horrified; to their eyes, these spells were painfully insignificant.
Ryu proceeded to the third stand: "Mother Nature, grant me your gifts: Earth Spike!" A few jagged rocks, no bigger than an adult's hand, poked out of the ground near the target. Like the others, it did nothing to the steel, yet he received another round of applause.
Finally, he moved to the wind target: "Oh gusts of wind, direct my flow: Wind Blast!" A small puff of air hit the target. The praises continued.
Other students followed, and their displays were even less impressive and more dramatic than Ryu's. The princes stood in stunned silence until it was Rachel's turn.
Rachel didn't use a long chant. She simply spoke a single word: "Fireball."
A massive sphere of flame, as large as Rachel herself, roared toward the target.
Though it couldn't penetrate the anti-magic barrier, the heat and force caused significant scorching and destruction to the ground around the stand. The teachers were in awe; her power was exceptional for her age. She followed up with "Water Ball," "Earth Spike," and "Air Blast." Each attack was as potent as the first, shaking the area even if the main targets remained standing.
The teachers were truly impressed by Rachel's efficiency, but the atmosphere in the room shifted completely when it was finally Glen's turn to step up.
Glen walked with a delicate grace toward the first target. She didn't raise her hand or strike a dramatic pose; she simply pointed a slender finger toward the steel humanoid and took a slow, measured breath.
"Blow," she muttered.
A tiny, condensed bead of cerulean light manifested at her fingertip and launched with the velocity of a railgun. It didn't just strike the steel; it pierced clean through the center, shattering the reinforced anti-magic shield like glass and leaving a perfectly cauterized hole in the metal.
The instructors stood in paralyzed silence. This wasn't a feat a ten-year-old should be capable of; she was performing at a level far beyond any known prodigy.
The princes finally looked interested, though they remained unimpressed. To them, the mechanics were simple: if the magical density of an attack surpasses the mana density used to weave the anti-magic barrier, the barrier collapses. This was common knowledge for high-class mages, yet seeing a child execute it with such precision was noteworthy.
Glen proceeded to repeat the feat for the remaining three targets. Each subsequent attack—a pressurized water needle, an earthen spike of diamond-like density, and a blade of vacuum air—systematically annihilated the anti-magic barriers.
The faculty was in awe. Glen was more than a genius; she was a statistical anomaly. After a brief, panicked huddle, the staff brought out a fresh set of steel targets. This time, however, they had the academy's senior mages weave an anti-magic barrier one hundred times more potent than the standard version. They were taking no more chances.
Leon stepped forward first. He closed his eyes, centering his mana, but just as he began to manifest the sparks for a fireball, Mrs. Ariel's voice cut through his concentration.
"Please, Prince Leon! Hold back! We cannot have you destroying the academy grounds!"
The words felt like a blow to Leon's very soul. He had been excited to finally unleash a fraction of his true capability, and now he was being told to restrain himself even further. With a heavy, disappointed sigh, he adjusted his internal mana flow, dampening the output until it felt like a mere trickle.
"Blast," he whispered.
A tiny flame, no larger than a tennis ball, flickered into existence. For a microsecond, it looked pathetic—until it made contact.
The result was a literal catastrophe. Upon impact, the "tennis ball" expanded into a hyper-compressed thermal explosion. It didn't just shatter the hundred-fold anti-magic barriers; it vaporized the steel targets, leveled the reinforced school wall, and tore through the dense forest behind the academy. A smoking trench of molten earth and splintered trees stretched for over five thousand feet into the horizon.
"I said hold back!" Mrs. Ariel shrieked, her face pale with horror as she looked at the localized wasteland Leon had just created.
"Believe it or not," Leon replied, his voice tinged with genuine frustration, "I held back significantly. That was barely a spark."
If... if that was him holding back, Mrs. Ariel thought, her knees trembling, what happens when he actually tries? These children aren't just prodigies; they are living disasters. No wonder the kingdom fears them.
"Alright, my turn!" Leo shouted, stepping forward with an eager grin, his hands already beginning to glow with a complex, geometric mana array.
"No! Absolutely not!" Mrs. Ariel countered, waving her arms frantically. "You and your brother both receive perfect scores! We are finished for the day!"
Leo's face instantly fell, his expression turning dull and disappointed. He had spent weeks refining a new "Scientific" fire spell that utilized oxygen-fuel ratios to create blue-white heat, and now he wouldn't even get to see it in action.
Despite receiving the highest possible marks, both princes walked away highly displeased, feeling as though their day of "exciting new spells" had been cut tragically short.
The final phase of the examination consisted of two remaining assessments: a physical combat evaluation and a comprehensive written exam. The faculty moved the students to the Great Martial Hall, a sprawling arena designed to withstand the rigors of noble training. To maximize efficiency, the instructors paired the students against one another. In a move that drew a collective gasp from the room, Glen was matched against Rachel, while the "Disaster Princes" were paired together—the faculty's subtle way of ensuring no other student was accidentally pulverized.
The combat test was designed to measure "Martial Magecraft," the essential ability of a sorcerer to defend themselves when mana runs low or casting time is scarce. One by one, the students stepped into the ring. However, the teachers watched with growing disappointment; the noble children fought with stiff, rehearsed movements, their combat skills paling in comparison to their magical aptitude. That was, until the final two bouts.
The atmosphere shifted when Glen and Rachel entered the circle. Unlike their peers, their movements were fluid and purposeful. Rachel fought with an aggressive, fiery rhythm, while Glen moved with a haunting, surgical precision. Their combat was impeccable for ten-year-olds—a dance of strikes and parries that left the instructors nodding in genuine approval. While Rachel showed the heart of a warrior, Glen appeared slightly more impressive, her every move hinting at a hidden depth of martial mastery.
Then came the long-awaited main event. Many in the hall—students and faculty alike—secretly believed that because the princes possessed such monstrous mana, they must have neglected their physical training. They assumed the boys were "Glass Cannons": all-powerful in magic but weak in flesh.
They couldn't have been more wrong.
The moment the instructor gave the signal to begin, the world seemed to fracture. Both princes took a simultaneous deep breath, and then they vanished. To the naked eye, they were nothing but blurs of golden and silver light. When their fists finally collided in the center of the ring, the impact didn't just make a sound; it generated a shockwave so potent that it physically threw the teachers and students back against the walls.
They didn't stop. Each subsequent clash sent tremors through the Great Hall's foundation. Dust shook from the rafters, and spiderweb cracks began to race across the stone floor and walls. The sound was like thunder trapped in a box.
"Enough! Stop! Please!" the teachers screamed through the chaos, their voices cracking with panic. They desperately signaled the end of the round, terrified that the building would collapse before the princes even broke a sweat.
The two brothers came to a standstill instantly, looking perfectly calm and entirely unruffled. The battle was short-lived, but it left the hall in ruin. Realizing the danger, the academy board made an emergency decree: Leon and Leo were to be excluded from all further physical testing until the academy could construct a specialized, high-density containment room capable of handling their output.
The final test was the written exam—traditionally the quietest part of the day. Each student was tasked with writing a dissertation on their "Basic Understanding of Magic."
Leon and Leo finished first, handing their scripts to Mrs. Ariel with polite bows. She knew the princes were geniuses, but she expected a standard, albeit advanced, explanation of mana theory. She was not prepared for the reality.
That evening, as Principal Newman sat in his office reviewing the day's chaotic reports, Mrs. Ariel barged in without knocking. Her face was pale, and her hands trembled as she clutched the princes' scripts.
"Mr. Newman, you need to see this," she gasped, her voice thick with shock. "It's the princes' papers."
"What about them?" Newman asked, looking up from his desk. "Did they fail to follow the prompt?"
"No... it's different. It's extraordinary," she whispered, sliding the scripts across the mahogany desk.
Principal Newman adjusted his spectacles and began to read. Within seconds, his eyes widened. "What... what am I looking at?" He gripped the edges of the paper, his heart hammering.
The two scripts represented two entirely different, yet equally revolutionary, paradigms of existence.
"The younger prince, Leo... his script is a total breakdown of magic as if it were a mathematical structure," Newman muttered in disbelief. "He treats mana like a series of complex equations—a new beginning for magical theory with infinite potential for calculation. It's a scientific revolution."
Then, he turned to Leon's script. His hands began to shake violently. "But the older one... this isn't theory. This is the true foundation. The way he describes the flow of the soul and the manipulation of the world's breath..."
He swallowed hard, his voice dropping to a terrified whisper. "The magic of the First Age that was thought to be extinct. It's... it's the Lost Art."