Chapter 39: The Archmages’ Judgment

Klein held his teacup, his face utterly devoid of emotion.

“The process ensures fairness.”

“Nonsense!” Horace’s eyes widened, his beard practically bristling with indignation. “Do you truly believe my fairness requires a mere process to guarantee it?”

Lia watched the exchange between these two formidable figures silently from the side, not daring to interject.

Just then, the door was pushed open once more.

This time, a stern-faced middle-aged mage entered.

He wore a simple grey mage robe, yet the emblem on his chest, signifying his eight-ring power, shimmered with an undeniable magical radiance.

With no superfluous expressions on his face, he merely offered a slight nod to Horace and Klein upon entering, a silent greeting.

“Alistair, a member of the Council.”

He introduced himself briefly, his gaze sweeping over Lia like a surgeon’s scalpel, sending an inexplicable chill down her spine.

“I have received instructions from the Council to participate in the joint review of this thesis.”

His arrival instantly froze the atmosphere that had just begun to lighten in the room.

If Laplace was a kind, grandfatherly figure from next door, and Horace an eccentric academic enfant terrible, then Alistair was the quintessential stern, unsmiling dean of discipline, rigid to his very core.

Horace, clearly unimpressed by this uninvited guest, let out a displeased huff and reached out, snatching the thesis directly from Laplace’s hands.

“Everyone is present; let us begin.”

Alistair paid no mind to Horace’s demeanor; he pulled up a chair and sat down with impeccably straight posture.

Laplace, too, sobered his expression, taking a seat on the other side, his countenance now solemn.

These three Archmages, whose mere presence could shake the magical world of the kingdom, thus gathered around the small, circular table.

Klein, along with Lia, retreated to a sofa a short distance away, ceding the main stage entirely to the trio.

Horace unrolled the parchment upon the table; with a subtle flick of his fingers, a projection spell duplicated its contents, casting them clearly before the other two mages.

This allowed them to read at their own accustomed pace.

Absolute silence descended upon the room.

The only sound was the faint rustle of Horace’s fingers as he turned the parchment.

Lia’s heart involuntarily tightened with apprehension.

Time ticked by, moment by agonizing moment.

Laplace’s breathing was the first to change.

He read swiftly; however, as his gaze swept across the second chapter and landed upon the formula that linked the celestial bodies high above with the earth below, his body froze completely.

F=G×(m₁×m₂)/r²

He repeatedly scrutinized the concise yet powerful formula, then turned back to examine the preceding derivation logic, his lips moving silently.

A profound tremor, born from the very foundations of his worldview, caused a fine sheen of cold sweat to break out on his aged face.

He slowly closed his eyes, no longer able to continue reading.

His hands clasped tightly upon his knees, knuckles white from the strain, as he plunged into a deep meditative state.

He had to consciously muster all his mental power to combat the cognitive impact that threatened to tear his very soul asunder.

Almost at the exact same moment, Alistair also halted.

His gaze was fixed on the third chapter, titled “The Free Fall Motion of Terrestrial Objects.”

There, he saw the formula: F=m×g.

Cracks began to appear on his stern countenance.

A visible pallor rapidly spread across his cheeks, and the hand resting on his lap began to tremble uncontrollably.

He abruptly leaned back, slamming against the chair’s backrest with a muffled thud.

His eyes were squeezed shut, his chest heaving violently.

Unlike Laplace’s deliberate harmonization, Alistair’s struggle appeared far more arduous and agonizing; veins pulsed visibly on his temples, as if something alive writhed beneath his skin.

Two Archmages, long renowned for their power and wisdom, had been utterly defeated by merely the first half of the thesis.

Lia observed this scene, a sense of anticipated triumph mingling with an unsettling undercurrent of unease.

Her gaze then shifted to the last remaining person.

Horace.

This Nine-Ring Archmage, the Vice-President of the Theoretical Council, had maintained the exact same posture and expression from beginning to end.

Serious and utterly focused.

He read through universal gravitation without a change in expression.

He perused the rigorous mathematical derivations of celestial mechanics, his composure unruffled.

He even completed the fifth chapter, which detailed an entirely new system concerning work and energy, and the conservation of mechanical energy, yet not a single ripple disturbed his expression.

He turned page after page, as if engrossed in a dry and tedious chronicle of the kingdom.

It was only when he reached the final page, encountering Lia’s concluding remark—”Alas, the remaining blank space on this parchment is simply insufficient for further writing”—that his eyebrow twitched, and he looked up at Lia, a faint smile gracing his lips.

He then proceeded to flip through the entire thesis once more, from start to finish, as if searching for some minute flaw.

Lia’s heart lodged itself in her throat.

‘He’s too strong.’

‘Is this the true power of a Nine-Ring Archmage?’

‘Such a groundbreaking theory, enough to push two Eight-Ring Archmages to the brink of cognitive collapse, yet he accepts it with the ease of drinking water.’

‘Just how profound and unyielding is his knowledge system?’

A profound sense of awe welled up within Lia.

After scrutinizing the thesis four or five times, Horace finally lowered it and lifted his gaze.

Lia, summoning her courage, broke the profound silence of the room.

“Master Horace, is there… any issue with my derivation process?”

Her voice was soft, yet in the oppressive silence of the room, it resonated with startling clarity.

Alistair, still locked in a desperate struggle against the cognitive shock, flinched violently at the sound.

He abruptly opened his eyes, staring at Lia with a look reserved for lunatics.

‘Is this young girl insane?’

‘Has she not witnessed the wretched state both Laplace and I are in?’

‘How dare she, at such a moment, disturb a Nine-Ring Archmage who has just assimilated an entire terrifying theory?’

‘Does she not fear his mental energy spiraling out of control and blowing the entire lounge to smithereens?’

Alistair’s mind reeled; the mental defenses he had painstakingly erected crumbled instantly, a sweet taste rose in his throat, a trickle of blood slowly seeped from the corner of his mouth, and his vision swam with black spots.

Laplace cast a glance at Alistair, a cryptic smile playing on his lips, before once again sinking into meditation.

Lia, however, did not notice him.

Her entire attention was fixed on Horace.

Meanwhile, Klein, seated beside her, slowly brought a hand to his forehead, letting out a sigh so faint it was almost inaudible.

Horace did not immediately answer Lia.

With an expression of utmost solemnity, he gazed intently at the girl before him.

“Regarding the section where the two-body problem is solved using vector differential equations, thereby proving the orbits to be conic sections,” he began slowly, his voice deep and resonant,

“and the calculation of the periodic formula derived from the conservation of energy and angular momentum—both are nothing short of perfect.”

Half of Lia’s anxiety dissipated, and a smile involuntarily bloomed on her face.

“So, the theory itself…”

“From a purely mathematical perspective,” Horace interrupted her, his solemnity deepening further, “it is impeccable, a magnificent work of art.”

Lia was completely reassured.

Unable to contain her curiosity, she voiced the question she most yearned to ask.

“Master, why do you… seem entirely unaffected by the cognitive restructuring? Master Laplace and Master Alistair, they…”

Horace regarded her, his stern face betraying not the slightest ripple of emotion.

He remained silent for a full three seconds.

Then, with a tone as earnest as if discussing the ultimate truths of the universe, he spoke each word distinctly:

“Because the sections concerning physical concepts like gravity, kinetic energy, and potential energy…”

“I didn’t understand a single word.”

A deathly silence enveloped the room.

The smile on Lia’s face froze solid.

Laplace, still deep in meditation, shuddered violently, a suppressed, choked laugh escaping his throat as if he were being strangled.

Alistair, still with blood staining the corner of his mouth, rolled his eyes and went utterly still, seemingly having fallen asleep.

Horace, completely oblivious to the reactions of the others, pointed at the formulas in the thesis and continued to address Lia with his utterly solemn expression:

“I merely treated them as pure mathematical symbols.”

“I simply checked your computational logic.”

Klein’s hand, still resting on his forehead, silently slid down to cover his mouth.

‘He’s barely holding it together.’