Chapter 32

Chapter 32

Since all the examinees had arrived in Backlund, the new student registration was scheduled for just one day. That very night, Evan received his class schedule. Half-reclining on his bed, Evan studied the schedule carefully. There were very few cultural classes, only two per week. Swordsmanship, practical combat, horsemanship, and mounted combat were scheduled daily. Additionally, there were three tactical classes and two firearms usage classes per week. The latter, in particular, was a newly added course this year, available to all grades. Evan couldn't help but think of firearms—guns—and wasn't surprised. The technological development of this world had also reached the point where firearms were making their appearance! Evan involuntarily thought of the extraordinary knowledge he had obtained. Sequence 9: Cartographer didn't seem like a combat-oriented profession. Moreover, he couldn't gather the potion materials immediately, and the money he had was far from enough. To prevent his path as a Beyonder from being halted by such a laughable reason as insufficient funds, Evan, who had intended to sleep, instead sat down on the leather chair in front of the writing desk. He spread out the manuscript paper, picked up his pen, and continued writing *Henry's Adventure*. This novel was planned to be only about fifty thousand words, which in his previous life would be considered a short novella, not even meeting the paywall standard on some websites. It could earn him 75 Silver Keren. This was already a considerable sum—his coming-of-age gift money was only 100 Silver Keren—but it still wasn't enough to purchase the potion materials. Even if he might receive another payment upon later publication, that would take too much time. Evan couldn't help but frown. What a headache!

For the time being, Evan pushed all those worries to the back of his mind. He picked up his newly bought pen and began writing at an astonishing speed. His fingers danced nimbly, the sound of the pen gliding across the paper like a lively piece of music. Evan immersed himself completely in his writing, as if the entire world had shrunk to just him, his pen, and the words flowing forth. Time passed unnoticed as he wrote a full five thousand words at his fastest pace. Only after the final word was written did he let out a long sigh of relief, as if he had completed a significant mission. Then, Evan put down his pen, stretched his somewhat stiff body, and finally went to bed, feeling satisfied.

Rewind to one day earlier.

In the dean's office of the academy, on a long wooden conference table, one hundred student resumes with black-and-white photographs were neatly spread out. Each resume was like a story waiting to be opened, full of unknowns and anticipation.

Seated at the head of the table was an elderly man with white hair and beard. His long white beard was as white as snow, and his slightly narrowed smiling eyes gave him a kindly, grandfatherly vibe. However, his straight posture and the faintly discernible muscles beneath his clothes revealed he was no ordinary old man. His upright stance was like a great tree that had weathered the years yet remained tall and straight, exuding an indomitable strength. Those faintly visible muscles hinted at his past glory and power, inspiring awe.

Standing ramrod straight on either side of the conference table were several men who clearly possessed formidable combat prowess. Their posture was perfectly straight, their gazes firm, and they exuded a powerful aura. They were the class instructors for this year's freshmen, all retired officers who had experienced life and death on the battlefield and held distinguished military achievements. Their faces were etched with the marks of time—the imprints of war. Their eyes revealed a resolute decisiveness, a quality honed on the edge of life and death. They were like a group of silent warriors, ever ready to step onto the battlefield again for their country and people.

At the far end of the long table stood a mature, striking beauty with long flowing hair. Her long, jet-black hair cascaded over her shoulders like a waterfall, radiating a captivating sheen. Her features were picturesque and stunning, each glance seeming to tell a story. She wore a sharp red riding outfit, which, though somewhat out of place among the military uniforms of the others, made her look heroic and spirited. The red riding outfit was like a burning flame, full of vitality and passion. This beauty was the Grade Dean for the first year, Chris Smith. The class instructors were all high-level Knights. Not only were they physically formidable, but their minds were also exceptionally sharp. They could process the intelligence placed before them in the shortest possible time, demonstrating extraordinary capability and competence. Chris, on the other hand, was a beyonder, and photographic memory was one of her most basic abilities. Her keen eyes and intelligent mind set her apart from the crowd.

In mere moments, they had completely memorized the one hundred freshman resumes. Their eyes swiftly scanned each resume like high-speed scanners. Their brains processed vast amounts of information in an instant, giving them a general understanding of this year's freshmen. Each resume was like a small window, allowing them to glimpse young individuals full of hope and potential.

Then, everyone turned their gaze to the elderly man at the head, Constantine Brown, the current dean of the Imperial Knight Academy. Dean Constantine wore a smile, his eyes filled with anticipation and encouragement. Looking at these officers who had recently retired from the military and were about to become class instructors for the new class, he was filled with confidence. The tradition of the Imperial Knight Academy was to hire only officers who had been on the battlefield and experienced life and death, because they deeply understood that only those who had truly faced life-and-death trials in war could better teach students, making them understand the brutality of war and the preciousness of life. Instructors for freshmen were often assigned to officers who had just come off the battlefield, allowing them to impart the latest battlefield experience and tactics to the students, better preparing them for future challenges.

"The old rule applies," Dean Constantine's voice was low and powerful, full of authority. "The freshmen will be divided into four classes, twenty-five students per class. You may choose your students freely. If there is competition for the same freshman, settle it with your fists. Any remaining students will be randomly assigned to classes that haven't reached twenty-five." His gaze swept over the four high-level Knights who still carried the scent of gunpowder about them, his eyes revealing firmness and expectation. He spoke with great seriousness, "My only requirement is that they all advance to Knight or beyonder within one year."

The four high-level Knights couldn't help but change their expressions; they felt a surge of intense pressure. This requirement was undoubtedly a huge challenge. Generally speaking, it was considered barely acceptable if students could reach the Knight level within five years. Although students of the Imperial Knight Academy typically advanced to Knight within one or two years, there had never been such an explicit one-year requirement for Knight promotion before. However, they did not voice any doubts, for they knew the dean's decision was well-considered. They simply looked silently at the resumes of the promising seedlings, their gazes growing sharper. They understood that from this moment on, they would shoulder a significant responsibility: to train these students into excellent Knights or beyonders within a single year.

However, the one speaking was the dean of the Imperial Knight Academy. Moreover, these recently retired officers had already witnessed the power of firearms and understood the dean's good intentions behind this decision, so no one questioned it. Chris, meanwhile, raised a smile of amusement. Her beautiful face showed a hint of playful expression, as if anticipating the exciting scene to come.

Dean Constantine raised an eyebrow. "Then let's begin."

Instantly, a gust of wind appeared over the conference table, so sudden it caught everyone off guard. *Thud! Thud! Thud!* The sounds of fists and feet colliding accompanied the resumes flying into the air, quickly disappearing. The noise was thunderous, heightening the tension. The four high-level Knights sprang into action immediately. Their movements were agile and decisive, like a pack of leopards competing for prey. Their eyes were filled with fighting spirit and determination, every action brimming with power.