Chapter Eleven: Am I Actually a Warrior?

“Congratulations, Louis.” Rufiard walked over with the air of a gentleman, giving Louis a friendly pat on the back and flashing a sincere smile.

What a shameless scoundrel!

I am utterly shocked by your brazen lack of decorum!

“Impromptu speech,” Louis replied, shaking his head like an absent-minded scholar. “I told you, Rufiard, it was an impromptu speech—read more books, and one day you’ll be as eloquent as I am.”

Rufiard’s face turned ashen; he forgot all the lines he had prepared.

This insufferable bookworm!

Seeing Helen waving at him from across the room, Louis patted Rufiard’s shoulder and tossed him a parting remark, “Keep working hard. Her Highness still has great expectations for you. Heh…”

Click, click, click—a group of apprentices raised their antique magical cameras, snapping away and immortalizing this moment of camaraderie between the two peers, transforming it into a series of animated oil paintings.

Under the flashing lights, Rufiard felt a tightness in his chest and saw stars before his eyes.

Why must you touch upon the most sensitive subjects! Have you no emotional intelligence at all? Did you read yourself into stupidity?

He and Tyrese had prepared for this assessment for so long, only for it to culminate in such a spectacle. The dancing scene would undoubtedly appear in tomorrow’s "Grand Prophet!"

He needed to hurry back and find someone to smooth things over, or else the entire Isbell family would take pride in his antics!

“Your Highness,” a noble approached and whispered in Rufiard’s ear, “We’ve already contacted the publicity department. The car is ready.”

Glancing at Osicris surrounded by professors, and at Louis, who was also being mobbed by them, Rufiard took a deep breath and rubbed his forehead. “Let’s go. To the publicity department—to find my uncle.”

Little rascal! Rufiard shot Louis a fierce glare from afar—what are you pretending for? That spell was written by Osicris, not you! What are you boasting about!

No time today; I must clean up my own mess—but just you wait until next semester!

Now, with Rufiard and Tyrese caught in a scandal, even if they don’t make the front page, their families will have plenty to deal with. It seemed unlikely these two interesting fellows would be seen over the summer.

Next time they met, perhaps everyone would be professors.

Louis by merit; the other two, by connections.

Meanwhile, Helen dragged Louis to the entrance.

Nearby, Osicris was chatting cheerfully with the white-robed sorcerers, and among them was a very peculiar, diminutive old man.

He appeared barely half a person tall, floating in midair, dressed in red robes, sporting a white bushy beard, and puffing on a pipe.

He must be Principal Oliver of Sacred Oak, a Yordle halfling!

This fellow had likely just rushed over for the excitement. He didn’t look at all like a principal, more like a mischievous elder.

Osicris was tugging at Principal Oliver’s robes, acting coquettish—perhaps angling for some position.

It seemed Oliver was a close elder of Osicris.

But the little old man ignored her, puffing on his pipe and watching something with a playful grin.

Following Principal Oliver’s gaze, Louis saw Tyrese grinning foolishly as he shook hands with those around him.

The scene nearly made Louis burst out laughing.

Unfortunately, Tyrese didn’t keep up the act for long; he was intercepted by a curvaceous woman wearing a witch’s hat.

The witch beckoned him over with a finger, and Tyrese obediently walked to her side. She examined his eyes, blew gently twice, and Tyrese promptly fainted.

[Sakura Bell has lifted Tyrese’s ‘Enthrallment.’]

[It seems Tyrese will recover after a nap. But today will be hard to forget. Next time he meets you, he’ll surely cover his face and flee—clearly, he doesn’t have Rufiard’s thick skin.]

“Sakura Bell?” Louis’ expression was strange.

He remembered that peculiar witch was indeed named Sakura Bell.

“Oh, she’s from the Foxfolk. Their names are all odd, but she’s a true grand witch and my sister’s dear friend,” Helen whispered.

“Foxfolk?”

“Yes, foreigners.” Helen tugged Louis towards the door. “Don’t stare—she might play a trick on you.”

“Where are we going?” Louis asked as he walked.

“To the Ministry of Magic’s Academy Office—Special Mysteries Division,” Helen said excitedly in a low voice. “Director Triff just said that although we didn’t pass the assessment, he can offer us temporary positions!”

Helen went over to Osicris and quietly relayed the news. Osicris was busy with the professors, so they would have to wait a while longer. The two of them went to the corridor to wait.

Leaning on the mahogany banister with Helen, Louis gazed at the scene before him, awestruck.

It was his first time seeing the Sacred Oak Academy in all its grandeur—a vast and magnificent magical castle. According to the records, its floor area reached one hundred and twenty thousand square meters, with thirty-six towers among the four branches, and a black lakeside nestled in the gardens.

Now, they stood by the spiral staircase in the western castle wing.

Looking down, the moving staircases and myriad corridors were teeming with eccentric wizards and witches, some barely half a person tall, donning wizard hats and zooming through the halls on magic carpets or brooms.

There were also nobles, Ministry officials, professors, and students emerging from various exam rooms.

Everyone seemed delighted; for the ministers, understaffed departments finally hired excellent scholars. For nobles, having relatives or retainers join prestigious departments was not only a great boon, but a source of pride.

Osicris was especially jubilant—her teacher had finally allowed her to be promoted to Director of Instruction!

At that moment, Louis, watching the lively corridor, saw some narration appear before his eyes.

[You helped Osicris resolve her crisis, and solved your own predicament.]

[You are becoming more integrated into this world…]

[Presence +30]

[Strength +3]

[Experience +100]

[Sacred Oak’s attention…]

Louis eagerly checked his reward record.

One was the “Teacher, I don’t know” reward; he had already seen the “Magic +1,” and there was a certificate—not a dismissal, but a “Temporary Worker Certificate for the Special Mysteries Division,” waiting to be claimed.

There was also “Strength +3” and “Experience +100”—likely special rewards from the Book of Fate for helping Osicris alter the plot (destiny).

Louis suspected the Book of Fate’s energy came from his interventions in this world’s destiny—the more he did, the stronger he became.

His stats now read:

[Louis lv2 (0/100)]

[Strength: 4.9 Dexterity: 1.3 Magic: 4.1]

[Storybook Energy: 1]

This storybook energy seemed to come from “leveling up,” usable for attributes or learning spells.

He considered his current repertoire of spells.

“Dispel Magic lv2 (0/80)”

“Enthrallment lv1 (0/15)”

“Forbidden: Puppet Strings lv0 (0/679)”

He invested in Puppet Strings and felt a sudden clarity.

[You have learned ‘Forbidden: Puppet Strings lv1 (0/20)’]

“This spell is quite peculiar—when used, you can’t employ a wand.”

Louis glanced at his stats, his expression odd.

“I can understand special rewards for helping Osicris, but why does it boost Strength?”

[Because in Osicris’ imagination, you are a mighty warrior who can kill a dragon with a single punch.]

“…”

Louis read on:

[Sacred Oak’s attention—It has recently encountered a minor problem and hopes the traveler can help (requires a certain spell to reach lv4)]

This was likely a minor quest; the specific reward would be revealed once he accepted it from Sacred Oak.

A magic carpet with no rider floated by, and Helen waved at it. The carpet screeched to a halt, spun around, and flew over.

“Sis still needs to talk with the professors. She said we should head to the south wing for lunch—don’t just stand there, let’s go.” Helen tugged at Louis, who was already impatient. She pulled him onto the carpet.