Aurelian Academy, ancient linguistics classroom.
Dean Tongus stood at the podium, lecturing on runic script. Most students were half-asleep, distracted, or quietly doing other things.
Only a few, mostly commoners or lesser nobles, listened attentively.
If this weren’t Dean Tongus’s class, over half the room would be empty.
The indulgent second and third sons of nobility wouldn’t sit patiently, waiting for the bell.
Dean Tongus turned, scanning the room. His gaze passed over the inattentive noble heirs without a ripple, as if he didn’t care.
His eyes settled on the few attentive students in front, a brief smile crossing his face before vanishing, stern as the strictest teachers.
“Runic ancient language has practical value in many fields. Many ancient laws in the seven kingdoms are written in runic script.”
“But opportunities to learn it are scarce.”
The commoner students in front lit up, their eyes sparkling, hearts stirred.
For them, noble respect meant a leap in status.
The noble heirs in the back scoffed, some snickering.
To them, no matter how well one learned ancient languages, a scholar’s prospects were limited.
Though most noble heirs here weren’t destined to inherit much land or wealth, few realized this in their pampered youth.
By the time they did, their status would slip, with no chance to hone skills or improve.
The seven kingdoms followed primogeniture: the eldest son took all, leaving little for others.
The original Locke had faced life’s harshness early, falling into a trap set by a scheming professor. Thıs text ıs hosted at novel·fıre·net
As a transmigrator, Locke stared at his runic textbook and homework, lost in thought.
Since transmigrating, his mind felt sharper, as if he carried the weight of two souls. His memory and comprehension surpassed both his past life and the original Locke.
The runic script, once incomprehensible to the original Locke, now seemed simple.
In a short time, he memorized most runic characters and their usage, completing Dean Tongus’s homework.
“If I had this learning ability in my past life, exams would’ve been a breeze. I’d have been a top scholar,” Locke thought, glancing at the synthesis cube’s progress in his vision.
Three minutes until completion.
Dean Tongus announced, “That’s all for today. Complete the assigned homework.”
“Preview the textbook content to deepen your understanding of runic script.”
“Now, submit last class’s homework.”
He walked among the front-row students, speaking softly.
His words were meant for them alone.
Aurelian Academy was odd: exorbitant fees, yet simple graduation requirements.
Most students barely paid attention, prioritizing socializing, riding, sports, and banquets.
As usual, Dean Tongus collected homework from the nearby students.
After finishing, he turned to leave.
But Locke stood, holding his runic homework, and said, “Sorry, Mr. Tongus.”
“You forgot me. I completed last class’s assignment.”
Dean Tongus paused, turned, and looked at Locke’s homework but didn’t take it, frowning instead.
An old man with white hair and beard, blue eyes, and ornate noble attire, Tongus said, “Locke, how long has it been since you paid attention in class?”
“When was the last time you submitted homework?”
His meaning was clear: Locke couldn’t possibly keep up with his teaching pace, so his homework wasn’t worth grading.
The commoner and lesser noble students smirked, their eyes mocking.
They thought Locke was mad.
They’d heard about Anjou Kingdom and the Frankish Empire, assuming Locke’s actions were desperate.
Even they, diligently attending and reviewing every class, struggled to keep up if they missed one.
Yet Locke, absent for countless classes and barely submitting homework, had turned one in today.
Locke, eyeing Tongus, knew breaking his predicament required catching the linguistics professor’s attention.
Fortunately, since transmigrating, his memory and comprehension had vastly improved.
This allowed him, through sleepless study and textbook scouring, to barely complete Tongus’s assignment.
Locke insisted, “But Dean, I really finished the homework.”
“I find your course fascinating. The ancient languages feel alive, infusing my life as I learn.”
Locke subtly praised the dean’s linguistics course.
Tongus frowned, his expression shifting slightly. He scanned Locke sternly, hesitated, then took the homework.
Locke exhaled in relief.
Tongus flipped through it, initially dismissive, but after a few pages, he glanced at Locke in surprise, then read more closely.
Locke watched, unsure if his gamble was correct.
Could this earn him the Outstanding Graduate quota and solve his crisis?
Time was running out.
After reviewing, Tongus said with mild reproach, “The error rate is still quite high.”
“Mr. Locke, your homework quality isn’t great.”
He handed it back, showing no intent to grade it.
Locke gave a wry smile. Cramming wasn’t enough.
It was, after all, a rushed two-day self-study effort.
Then, a yellowed notebook was placed before him.
Locke looked up at Dean Tongus. “Dean, this is…”
Tongus, expressionless, said, “Complete the problems in it. When you’re done, come to my office.”
He turned and left the classroom without setting a deadline.
Joy flashed in Locke’s eyes. His gamble paid off.
He grabbed the assigned notebook and hurried out.
Most in the classroom, including the diligent lesser nobles and commoners, didn’t realize what had happened.
They assumed it was a routine exchange, the dean assigning extra work to “teach” Locke a lesson, drawing no special attention.
Meanwhile, Locke’s synthesis cube displayed: Synthesis complete. Level 2 item created. Proceed to Level 3 synthesis?