Arcane Heir: History's Strongest Mage

After their unfortunate punishment, Professor Quinn moved on, gathering the class and heading to the far end of the enclosure where four mannequin-like figures stood.

"This is a training dummy," she stated, slapping its back casually.

The action caused the dummy to wobble slightly, its hexagonal, transparent shield shimmering yellow for a brief moment.

"While it may look shoddily made, these training dummies can endure a tier-four spell from an azure mage without much difficulty."

A murmur of conversation broke out among the students. Were they going to practice their spells against the dummies? That seemed the most likely scenario.

"Based on the damage it receives, the shield will radiate, allowing us to see the power of the attack. For instance…" she said, delivering a straight punch while still facing the first-years.

The punch connected swiftly, and the shield glowed a deep yellow in response.

"That attack was on the level of a tier-one spell. Does that make sense?" the professor asked, receiving murmurs of agreement from the class.

"Excellent. Now, separate into four lines. Each of you will have a turn striking the training dummy so I can gauge your attack power," she explained, clapping her hands together. "Oh, and let me remind you—no magic…"

Her tone dropped, leaving a wordless threat hanging in the air.

Most of the class glanced toward Melody—a clear reminder of who had been responsible for their last round of punishment.

Melody lowered her head again, unable to respond.

Michael felt a little bad for her, but he thought this would ultimately benefit her character. Things couldn't always be solved with magic—a fact that was painfully obvious for those born weak or ringless.

Since Melody had come from privilege, this lesson would be valuable. Despite Professor Quinn's harsh, spartan-like punishment, Michael was already quite pleased with the combat class.

"Alright, don't dilly-dally," the professor said, gesturing for everyone to get moving.

She didn't need to ask again. The first-years quickly separated into four lines and took positions in front of the training dummies. Braydon, the most confident in his group, stood at the front of one line.

"Now, I want you to attack the training dummy. Remember, no spells, no mana. There will be consequences if you break the rule," she added, cracking her knuckles menacingly. "And don't think I won't be able to tell…"

The students paled.

Braydon was the first to step up to the training dummy, his chest puffed with confidence. Michael recognized the stance—it was the same one Braydon had taken the night before when they almost got into a fight.

The guy loaded up his right hand from beneath his waist and threw a looping right hook, striking the training dummy square in the jaw.

The hexagonal shield glowed a dull yellow briefly before returning to normal.

"Alright, good. Next up," Professor Quinn nodded, as if she had expected this result.

Hearing the professor "praise" him, Braydon's gaze turned to Michael, a giving him a snide smile as he returned to the back of the line. For some reason, the guy wanted to turn everything into a competition.

But Michael didn't feel like he could lose—not when he was being so openly provoked.

That punch was slow and predictable… Who would even let that hit them? he thought, shaking his head.

While he'd never been in a fight before, Michael at least believed he was better. He watched as the students walked up and struck the training dummy, their attacks barely causing the shield to glow white. There was only one student who exceeded Braydon's strike.

Funnily enough, it was Braydon's forgettable dark-haired lackey who threw a brutal overhand right, causing the shield to glow a deep yellow. The previously stationary training dummy actually moved from the impact—though it was barely more than an inch.

Michael's eyes widened in surprise. If he was judging the shield's color by the power rankings of the Arcana rings, the strike was equivalent to a tier-one spell—a strong one at that.

This surprise made him evaluate the teen more closely. He was of average height, with short-cropped black hair and a forgettable face. Even as the boy walked past to return to the back of the line, Michael found it hard to remember any distinguishing features.

He had no idea whether the kid was a noble or a commoner, nor did he know his name. But the youth had made an impression.

Perhaps it's not just those who stand out in the open that I need to be wary of, Michael thought, his mind working.

"It's your turn, man," Rudy nudged him from behind.

"Ah, thanks."

Now at the front of the line, Michael stood facing the training dummy. He took a few steps toward it, evaluating the mannequin and deciding where the best point to strike would be.

Since he had no martial arts training, Michael knew he had no techniques to use effectively. The strike he was about to throw would be purely based on his strength.

He felt multiple sets of eyes on him, watching to see his results—one of which was Professor Quinn, her eyes glowing with interest.

I definitely can't mobilize my mana, he thought with reservation.

My legs are probably my strongest weapons, though I don't really know the correct way to kick. But I should at least be able to match Braydon if I land squarely.

With his mind made up, Michael stood sideways to the training dummy, keeping his left leg planted and all of his weight on it. After a few moments, he lifted his right leg and swung it around, using all his strength to send a cutting kick toward the mannequin's leg.

The moment it impacted, Michael felt a shock run up from his ankle all the way up his leg. It seemed he'd misjudged the distance, not hitting the dummy with his shin as intended.

He gritted his teeth from the sensation and turned his attention to the color of the shield.

When he saw the dull yellow glow, he let out a sigh of relief.