Chapter Twenty-Two: The Witch Mentor

Kevin had miscalculated in yet another regard; Ellie merely expressed her gratitude for saving her life, but harbored no secret affection for him. Still, Kevin refused to give up, believing he had cultivated some measure of goodwill in her heart. If all went as expected, both would be admitted to the same prestigious Martial Arts Academy, where time and opportunity would abound.

“Jason, is this the kind of classless student you produce?” The voice, sharp and mocking, rang out above the chorus of sneers from the others, sounding especially grating. While ridiculing Roden and the students of Class Six was commonplace, to escalate the scorn to the level of their instructor was bold indeed—none had dared do so before.

The speaker was a woman in her fifties, her prominent cheekbones marking her as a fierce matron. She was Donna, the head teacher of Class Five.

In temperament, Donna stood in stark contrast to Jason, the head teacher of Class Six. Donna was notoriously caustic and quick-tempered, fiercely competitive, earning her the nickname “the Old Witch.” The students of Class Six feared her greatly.

Donna was also fiercely protective of her own. Ellie, always her pride, had nearly been killed by Roden; naturally, the Old Witch was furious and seized the chance to mock Jason.

“To teach martial skills, one must first teach martial virtue—this is the most basic principle. Jason, how do you fulfill your duties as head teacher? If you continue like this, how many good students can you produce? I think it’s time you step aside and let someone more capable take over!”

Though Jason was a tolerant man, he still had his pride. To be criticized so directly by the Old Witch in front of colleagues and students was infuriating; his face darkened, but he did not respond.

Donna’s antagonism toward Jason had another cause. The grade director, Bud, was about to retire, and the leading candidates for his successor were Jason and Donna, both known for their outstanding teaching records over the past decade. During several faculty meetings, Donna had overheard from the administration that Jason’s teaching methods were favored, suggesting his chances of promotion were greater than hers.

The Old Witch’s fierce competitiveness could not tolerate this. Though her strict, almost brutal methods produced excellent results—better than Jason’s—the academy seemed to overlook her achievements in favor of Jason for the grade director position. Naturally, she was indignant. The incident with Roden from Class Six provided the perfect excuse for her to make a spectacle, hoping to prove before the academy’s leaders and instructors that she was the best candidate for the role.

Yet her open criticism offended all the teachers from Class Five, for they had also taught Roden and were displeased. Still, they were at fault and dared not retaliate. Besides, none wished to descend into a public shouting match with the Old Witch before the entire grade.

At that moment, a white-bearded old man ascended the dais at the trial arena, and Donna finally fell silent. This man was Agnes, the headmaster of Winston Academy. No matter how volatile her temper, Donna had to respect the headmaster.

Before every monthly assessment, Headmaster Agnes himself would deliver a speech to inspire and motivate.

The trial arena quieted. Agnes cleared his throat and spoke: “Students, the monthly assessment is upon us once more. I believe you are all well prepared. Come, do not be anxious. This is more than a test—it is a stage for performance. Show your classmates the sweat and effort you expended last month. Let everyone witness your spirit of perseverance and growth. Tomorrow will belong to you!”

Agnes’s speech was indeed stirring. The students’ blood boiled, and they responded with a burst of genuine applause.

Roden, too, was excited. Though he had no grand ambitions and had earned little recognition at Winston Academy aside from negative press, even the most insignificant among us yearn for a moment to shine on the stage. Such is the passion of youth.

Satisfied with the effect of his speech, Agnes declared loudly, “Excellent, it seems everyone is full of energy. Go forth, students. I now announce that this month’s assessment is officially underway!”

The students in the trial arena dispersed by class, taking their seats in the surrounding stands. Until their turn for the test arrived, they were mere spectators.

The monthly assessment was comprehensive. Beyond the strength test, there were also tests of agility, martial skills, hidden weapon proficiency, defense, and combat technique—though the final combat test was reserved for students whose spiritual power had reached level four or higher.

Testing began with the first-year students. Class One lined up and entered the trial arena. Under the gaze of thousands, the first-years were understandably nervous, but exposure to such occasions was invaluable for novices.

The assessment started with the strength test. A testing device had been placed in the arena, with several supervising instructors standing nearby. A large screen displayed the profile of the student being tested.

“Class One, William.”

A male student stepped forward to the testing device. Under the scrutiny of thousands, he suppressed his racing heartbeat, took a deep breath, and struck the device hard with his fist.

First-year students, having only begun to practice the Aura Arts, were still laying the foundations. Most had trained less than a year at Winston Academy and were merely level one spiritual warriors—not much stronger than ordinary people. This performance was average.

The big screen flashed a line: “Class One, William, last month’s score, half-month score.”

William exhaled in relief. Not bad—by first-year standards, his progress was acceptable.

The screen showed the next name: “Class One, Louis.” William moved on to the agility testing area, without any comments from the instructors. With thousands to assess, time was precious.

[Since yesterday afternoon, my popularity points have been only a few hundred behind the leader, Yinwei. My eager face is pressed against his indifferent backside. That feeling of being neither here nor there—it’s really frustrating, isn’t it? So, brothers, give me a boost—use your votes to send the Thief to the top. Yinwei, I’m sorry, but you exploded my backside yesterday too. (At this point, the Thief leered and made a vulgar gesture—left thumb and forefinger forming a circle, right index finger poking into it repeatedly.)]