Aurelian Academy, Ancient Linguistics classroom.
Dean Mr. Tungus stood at the lectern, teaching the ancient Runic Script of linguistics. Most students on the platform were drowsy, either distracted or secretly occupied with other activities.
Only a handful of students paid serious attention—mostly commoners or minor nobles.
Had this not been Dean Mr. Tungus's class, attendance would have dropped by more than half. The spoiled second and third-generation heirs would never endure the tedium of waiting for class to end.
Dean Mr. Tungus turned around, scanning the room with an impassive gaze as it swept over the inattentive noble heirs. His expression remained unreadable, as though their indifference meant nothing to him.
His eyes settled on the few diligent students seated at the front. A faint smile flickered across his face before vanishing, replaced by the stern demeanor of a strict teacher.
"Ancient Runic has practical applications across many fields. For instance, among the Seven Kingdoms of this land, many ancient laws were written in Runic Script."
"Yet the avenues to learn this language are exceedingly limited."
"Master this subject, and even after leaving the academy, you'll earn the respect of nobles with this skill."
The commoner students at the front brightened at these words, their hearts stirred. For them, noble recognition was already a leap in social standing.
Meanwhile, the noble heirs seated further back scoffed, some even stifling laughter. To them, no matter how well one studied ancient languages, scholars amounted to little.
In truth, most second-generation nobles attending this academy weren't heirs—they'd inherit little land or wealth. Yet few at their age, cushioned by privilege, recognized this reality.
By the time they did, it would be too late—their status would have declined, and opportunities for self-improvement vanished.
The Seven Kingdoms universally practiced primogeniture—the eldest son inherited everything, leaving little for others.
The original Locke had been forced to confront life's harshness prematurely, falling into a trap set by the academy's scheming professors.
As the transmigrator, Locke now stared at his Runic Script textbook and assignments, deep in thought.
For some reason, since crossing over, his mind had grown sharper—as though two souls' worth of intellect combined, granting him vastly superior memory and comprehension compared to both his past life and the original host.
What had seemed impossibly complex to the original Locke—Runic Script with its seemingly arbitrary, bird-like characters—now appeared strikingly simple before him.
In an astonishingly short time, he had memorized most of the Runic Script and its usage, completing the homework assigned by Dean Mr. Tungus.
'If only I had such incredible learning ability in my previous life. Exams would've been a breeze—I'd have been an academic prodigy,' Locke mused, glancing at the synthesis progress of his Synthesis Magic floating in the air before him.
The display showed three minutes remaining until completion.
Dean Mr. Tungus spoke up, "Alright, that concludes today's lesson. Everyone, make sure to finish the homework I've assigned."
"And don't forget to preview the textbook material I've outlined."
"This will help deepen your understanding of Runic Script."
"Now, hand in the assignments I gave last class."
Dean Mr. Tungus walked among the front-row students, lowering his head as he spoke.
Truthfully, these words were only meant for these students.
The Aurelian Academy was a peculiar institution—its tuition fees were exorbitantly high, yet its graduation requirements were laughably simple.
As a result, most students here barely paid attention in class.
Socializing, horseback riding, ball games, and banquets—these were the things that truly mattered to the academy's privileged heirs.
Following routine, Dean Mr. Tungus reached out to collect the homework from the students around him.
Once finished, he turned to leave.
But at that moment, Locke suddenly stood up, holding his Runic Script assignment. "Excuse me, Mr. Tungus."
"I believe you overlooked me. I've also completed the assignment from last class."
Dean Mr. Tungus paused mid-step, then turned to look at the homework in Locke's hand. Instead of taking it, however, he frowned.
Mr. Tungus was an elderly man with salt-and-pepper hair and beard, piercing blue eyes, and ornate noble attire.
"Locke, how long has it been since you last paid attention in class?"
"When was the last time you even submitted homework?"
The dean's implication was clear—he believed Locke couldn't possibly keep up with his teaching pace, making grading his homework pointless.
The commoner and minor noble students nearby immediately shot mocking glances at Locke.
They thought he must have lost his mind.
Many had heard about the conflicts between the Anjou Kingdom and the Frankish Empire and assumed Locke was resorting to desperate, irrational acts in his dire straits.
Even they, who attended every lecture diligently, previewed and reviewed the material religiously, struggled to catch up if they missed even a single class.
Yet Locke, after skipping so many lessons and barely submitting any assignments, had the audacity to turn in homework today.
Locke met Mr. Tungus's gaze, knowing that to break through this deadlock, he needed to capture the linguistics professor's attention.
Fortunately, ever since transmigrating and inheriting the original host's body, his memory and comprehension had inexplicably improved drastically.
This had boosted his learning ability to at least twice what it once was.
Thanks to this, after pulling all-nighters and combing through textbooks relentlessly, he had barely managed to complete the assignment Mr. Tungus had set.
Therefore, Locke insisted, "But Mr. Dean, I really did complete the assignment."
"I suddenly find your course incredibly fascinating. Those ancient languages seem to possess a vitality of their own, infusing my very being as I study them."
Locke gave a small boast about the dean's ancient linguistics course.
Dean Tungus furrowed his brows, his expression shifting slightly. He cast a stern glance at Locke, hesitated for a moment, but ultimately chose to take the assignment Locke handed over.
Seeing this, Locke let out a quiet sigh of relief in his heart.
Dean Tungus flipped through Locke's assignment. At first, he seemed indifferent, but after reading a few pages, he looked up at Locke in surprise before continuing with greater attention.
Locke watched Dean Tungus intently, unsure if his judgment had been correct.
Could this method really secure him the outstanding graduate spot and help him overcome his current predicament?
Time was running out for him.
After finishing his review, Dean Tungus spoke with mild reproach. "The error rate is still quite high."
"Mr. Locke, the quality of your work is not up to par."
Dean Tungus handed the assignment back to Locke, showing no intention of taking it for further grading.
Locke inwardly smiled bitterly. As expected, last-minute cramming wasn't a viable solution.
After all, this was the result of two days of intense self-study.
The next moment, a yellowed notebook was placed before him.
Locke looked up at Dean Tungus. "Mr. Dean, what is this...?"
Dean Tungus replied impassively, "Complete the exercises in this book. Once you're done, come to my office."
With that, he turned and left the classroom without specifying a deadline.
A glimmer of joy flashed in Locke's eyes—his gamble had paid off.
He picked up the specially assigned notebook and quickly exited the classroom.
At that moment, most of the class, including the diligent young nobles and commoners, remained oblivious to what had just transpired.
They merely assumed it was a routine exchange between Locke and the dean, with the latter assigning extra work to 'discipline' Locke. Thus, it drew no particular attention from anyone.
Meanwhile, the Synthetic Magic Cube before Locke displayed a message: "Synthesis complete. Level 2 item synthesized. Proceed to Level 3 item synthesis?"
(End of chapter)