The entire square fell into dead silence once again, every face etched with disbelief.
The appraisal crystal of Griffin Holt Academy had stood for centuries. It had measured the rank of countless Spirit-Beasts, from trivial common-grade critters to rare soaring falcons and armored battle wolves. It had never once shattered. No beast within the academy’s recorded history had ever possessed an aura violent and ancient enough to overwhelm its judging power.
Yet this palm-sized lizard had done it with a single tap.
The elderly elder stared blankly at the broken shards beneath his feet, his aged hands still trembling from the residual frost that lingered on his skin. Cold, wispy mist curled upward from the crystal fragments, carrying a faint, primordial draconic pressure that made even the surrounding instructors unconsciously take half a step back.
"What kind of spirit aura... is this?" he muttered hoarsely, his voice trembling.
The noble youths who had been mocking Cecil moments ago fell rigid in place, their smug smiles frozen on their faces. The youth whose stone pillar had been covered in frost earlier swallowed hard, cold dread creeping up his spine.
If that trivial-looking lizard could unleash such terrifying power casually... what exactly had they just ridiculed?
But the stunned silence only lasted a few breaths before chaotic chatter burst out like a bursting dam.
"It shattered the appraisal crystal!"
"But it’s still tiny! How can a dragon be this small?"
"Maybe it’s a defective mutated beast? A failed rare-grade hybrid?"
"Or some cursed phantom beast that distorts spiritual detection!"
No one was willing to accept the truth.
Accepting it meant acknowledging that the disgraced son of the fallen Ashford House, the laughingstock of the entire academy, had contracted a creature far beyond the scope of their understanding. It meant all their arrogance, all their scorn, had been nothing but foolish ignorance.
Gwendolyn perched lazily on Cecil’s shoulder, her blue eyes sweeping coldly over the restless crowd. She flicked her tail disdainfully, and another faint wave of frost rippled outward, silencing the noisy murmurs in an instant.
"Lowly mortals," she scoffed softly, only loud enough for Cecil to hear. "Limited eyes, limited strength, limited imagination. They cannot fathom sealed divinity, so they resort to self-deceiving guesses."
Cecil did not reply.
His gaze remained calm, but the golden system panel floating before his eyes burned brighter than ever.
Gwendolyn’s terrifying power was completely suppressed by the ancient seal. Only a tiny fragment of her true aura leaked out, yet it was already enough to crush the academy’s highest-tier appraisal tool.
If the seal were fully lifted...
A sharp, solemn voice suddenly boomed across the entire ritual square, cutting through all disorder.
"Silence."
Dean Grimshaw stepped onto the high platform, his tall figure draped in a black ceremonial robe embroidered with silver runes. His gaze was sharp and icy, sweeping over every student present, carrying the oppressive deterrence of the academy’s highest authority.
The square instantly fell completely quiet.
His gaze finally locked on Cecil standing in the center of the Ritual Spring, lingering on the tiny blue-white lizard on his shoulder for a long moment.
"The appraisal crystal shattering only proves one thing," the dean said indifferently, "that this Spirit-Beast’s rank is unrecognizable by conventional standards. It does not prove it is powerful."
His words pulled the stubborn crowd back to their senses.
"That is right! Unrecognizable does not equal strong!"
"It may just be a strange paranormal beast with unstable aura!"
"A mutated freak is still a freak!"
Relief washed over the crowd. They clung tightly to this excuse, refusing to lower their proud stance.
Dean Grimshaw continued in his cold, unyielding tone.
"The Soul-Echo Ritual is complete. All students will be divided into classes based on Spirit-Beast grades. High-rank Battle-Beasts and Rare-grade beasts qualify for Group A. All unranked, common, and abnormal unidentified beasts are classified as Group B."
He paused, his indifferent eyes landing on Cecil once more.
"Cecil von Ashford. Your Spirit-Beast is unranked and unidentified. You belong to Group B."
No surprise, no favor, no exception.
Even after shattering the appraisal crystal, Cecil was still thrown into the lowest-ranked class, the gathering place for the academy’s trash and outcasts.
Smiles returned to the faces of the noble students, cold and mocking.
Group B.
The same cage that had trapped every worthless commoner and failed contractor in Griffin Holt. The perfect ending for the last descendant of a disgraced house.
Cecil’s expression did not shift in the slightest.
He had expected this.
The world had always judged him with prejudice. It would not change overnight just because his contracted beast had shocked a crowd.
"Understood." He nodded faintly.
Gwendolyn tilted her head, biting the tip of her own tail lazily. "Group B? A boring title. But fine. These trivial mortal classifications mean nothing to me."
The dean’s gaze swept across the square once again, dropping a heavy, chilling announcement that pressed down on every seventeen-year-old freshman.
"The weak have no place in magic."
The words fell like a heavy blade, hanging over every student’s heart.
Elimination. Expulsion. Survival trial.
The joyful atmosphere of the summoning ritual vanished completely, replaced by thick, suffocating pressure.
Cecil raised his hand, gently brushing Gwendolyn’s soft blue scales.
But he held the last Frost Dragon in his arms.
A faint, determined light ignited in Cecil’s quiet eyes.
"I’ll survive," he murmured. "And I’ll keep growing. For the Ashford name... and for you."
Gwendolyn glanced up at him, her cold dragon eyes softening for the blink of an eye, before she returned to her haughty, indifferent look.
"Try not to die before I regain my power, human."