Over the weekend, Zhang Wen locked himself in his office to prepare for his classes.
Calling it “lesson planning” was perhaps a bit generous.
More accurately, he was cramming.
A dozen books were spread across his desk—*The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection*, *Confronting the Faceless*, *Gadding with Ghouls*, *Break with a Banshee*, and a few other alternative titles he had scavenged from Flourish and Blotts.
As Zhang Wen flipped through them, he discovered a serious problem.
The organizational logic of these textbooks was a chaotic mess.
The first-year curriculum covered Spiky Bulbs and Red Caps, the second year jumped straight to Cornish Pixies and Werewolves, and the fifth year finally started teaching the Patronus Charm—there was absolutely no sense of progressive structure.
It was no wonder the students’ proficiency in Defense Against the Dark Arts was so inconsistent.
The textbooks themselves were flawed, and with the professors changing every year, each one taught in a completely different direction.
“This curriculum is a total shambles,” Zhang Wen muttered, closing a book and leaning back in his chair.
Artoria was sitting in an armchair by the window, a cup of tea in her hand.
The Hogwarts house-elves were exceptionally diligent.
Ever since they discovered Artoria’s appetite, the kitchen elves had made her a priority, sending up a round of refreshments every two hours.
Artoria seemed satisfied with this arrangement, though she didn’t say it out loud.
“The Mage’s Association in the Type-Moon universe has its share of problems, but at least their teaching system is complete,” Zhang Wen continued to complain.
“From the basic development of Magic Circuits to advanced Reality Marbles, there’s a clear path of training for every step.”
“Then reorganize it according to your own understanding,” Artoria said, taking a sip of tea.
“I’m not a professional teacher.”
“You weren’t a professional Master either, yet you survived the Holy Grail War.”
Zhang Wen opened his mouth to retort, only to realize he couldn’t argue with that.
Fine.
He reopened the books and began taking notes.
***
Two hours later, Zhang Wen had drafted a syllabus for the second-year students.
His core philosophy was simple—teach defense first, then identification, and finally, counterattacks.
Phase One: Practical training in basic Shield Charms and Disarming Charms.
No theory, just hands-on practice.
Phase Two: Identification of common dark creatures and methods to deal with them.
Textbooks could be used here, but they had to be paired with live demonstrations.
Phase Three: Basic combat training.
Students would engage in simulated duels to cultivate actual response capabilities.
“What do you think?” Zhang Wen handed the outline to Artoria.
Artoria read it through and set down her teacup.
“It lacks physical training.”
“What?”
“No matter how strong your magic is, physical fitness is the foundation,” Artoria said seriously.
“A person who cannot even run will have no chance of escaping when faced with a dark creature.”
Zhang Wen thought about it.
She had a point.
In the original series, the physical fitness of most wizards was indeed worrying.
Aside from a few hard cases like Moody who spent years hunting Dark Wizards, most wizards’ level of physical activity was close to zero.
They relied too heavily on their wands; once they were disarmed, they were basically finished.
“But this is Defense Against the Dark Arts, not physical education,” Zhang Wen said hesitantly.
“In my time, a knight’s training began with physical conditioning,” Artoria’s tone left no room for doubt.
“Swordsmanship, horsemanship, tactics—they were all built upon physical fitness.
Magic should be the same.”
“You want me to make twelve-year-old kids run laps around the Great Lake?”
“You could start with the basics.”
Zhang Wen stared at her for a few seconds, confirming she wasn’t joking.
She definitely wasn’t.
The King of Knights never joked about training.
“…I’ll consider it.”
“I suggest you consider it seriously.”
Zhang Wen wrote a small note in the margin of the syllabus: *Physical Training (TBD).*
He had a feeling this “TBD” would become a “Confirmed” sooner or later.
***
Monday morning, the first period.
The second-year Gryffindors and Slytherins were joined together for the class.
When Zhang Wen entered the classroom, the students were already seated.
Gryffindor was on the left and Slytherin was on the right, a clear, invisible line of demarcation separating them.
Artoria followed him in and stood at the side of the room.
Zhang Wen noticed that most of the students’ eyes fell on Artoria first before turning to him.
Fine, he’d get used to it.
He placed his textbooks on the lectern and scanned the room.
Front row, left side: Hermione Granger.
She already had her textbook, notebook, and three sharpened quills laid out.
Next to her was a round-faced boy, Neville Longbottom, who looked so nervous he was about to slide off his chair.
Second row: Harry Potter and Ron Weasley were sitting side by side.
Harry looked expectant, while Ron’s expression said “I hope this professor isn’t too boring.”
On the right, the Slytherin side: Draco Malfoy sat dead center in the front row, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle like two human sentries.
Malfoy wore his usual look of arrogance, but Zhang Wen noticed a hint of curiosity in his eyes—he likely still remembered the sword strike Artoria had made at the start-of-term feast.
“Put your textbooks away,” Zhang Wen began.
Everyone froze.
Hermione raised her hand.
“Professor Zhang, do we not need our books?”
“Not today,” Zhang Wen said.
“Today’s first lesson has only one topic—tell me, what do you think Defense Against the Dark Arts is?”
The classroom was quiet for a few seconds.
Hermione’s hand shot up even higher.
“Miss Granger.”
“Defense Against the Dark Arts refers to a series of spells, protective measures, and strategies used to resist and counter the Dark Arts,” Hermione said in one breath, sounding as though she were reciting from a textbook.
“It includes, but is not limited to, Shield Charms, Disarming Charms, the Patronus Charm, and other defensive magic, as well as the identification of—”
“That’s enough,” Zhang Wen nodded.
“A very standard textbook answer.
Ten points.”
Hermione smiled slightly.
“But you’re only half right.”
Hermione’s smile froze.
“Miss Granger, if you were walking down a street in Hogsmeade and a Dark Wizard suddenly cast a jinx at you, what would your first reaction be?”
Hermione thought for a moment.
“Raise my wand and cast a Shield Charm.”
“And if your wand isn’t in your hand?”
Hermione opened her mouth but didn’t answer immediately.
Zhang Wen turned to the whole class.
“The first step of true Defense Against the Dark Arts isn’t casting a spell; it’s surviving,” he said.
“Whatever the method—running, hiding, playing dead, throwing something to create a distraction—as long as you are alive, you have a chance to fight back.”
The classroom erupted into whispers.
“Playing dead?” Malfoy’s voice came from the right, laced with mockery.
“That doesn’t sound like something a professor should be teaching.”
Zhang Wen looked at him.
“Mr.
Malfoy, right?”
“Draco Malfoy,” Malfoy said, lifting his chin slightly.
“My father—”
“I didn’t ask who your father was,” Zhang Wen interrupted calmly.
“I’m asking you a question.
If you encountered an Acromantula in the Forbidden Forest and didn’t have your wand, what would you do?”
Malfoy’s face stiffened for a moment.
“I wouldn’t go into the Forbidden Forest,” he said.
“Suppose you were there.”
“It’s also impossible for me to be without my wand.”
“Suppose you were.”
Malfoy went silent.
Crabbe and Goyle looked at each other, presumably waiting for Malfoy to give some cool answer.
“The correct answer is to run,” Zhang Wen said.
“An Acromantula has poor eyesight.
Running at full speed through the woods and changing direction frequently gives you about a forty percent chance of escape.
But if you stand your ground and try to punch out a two-meter-tall spider, your survival rate is near zero.”
The tips of Malfoy’s ears turned slightly red.
Ron whispered something on the Gryffindor side, and Harry suppressed a laugh.
“Therefore, the essence of Defense Against the Dark Arts isn’t ‘defense’ or ‘offense,'” Zhang Wen summarized.
“It is ‘survival.’ All spells and techniques serve a single purpose—to allow you to walk away alive when you encounter danger.”
He paused for a moment.
“Now, everyone please stand up and push the desks and chairs to the walls.”
The students looked at each other in confusion.
“Quickly now,” Zhang Wen clapped his hands.
“We’re going to do an exercise.”
***
Three minutes later, a large open space had been cleared in the center of the classroom.
The students stood in a circle, wondering what would happen next.
“The Disarming Charm.” Zhang Wen held up his wand—Lockhart’s wand.
“*Expelliarmus*.
This is one of the most important spells you will master this year.
Has anyone already learned it?”
No one raised a hand.
Hermione hesitated but kept hers down.
“Excellent, we’ll start from scratch,” Zhang Wen said.
“The incantation is ‘*Expelliarmus*.’ The wand movement is a forward thrust—”
He demonstrated once.
A jet of red light shot from the tip of his wand, hitting a portrait on the wall.
The old wizard in the painting cursed and scrambled away.
Zhang Wen made a mental note—the power was still a bit too high.
“Now, pair up and face each other,” he said.
“One person attacks, the other tries to defend with a Shield Charm.
It’s fine if you don’t know the Shield Charm yet; just get a feel for what it’s like to be attacked.”
“A feel for being attacked?” Neville Longbottom’s voice was trembling.
“Don’t worry, a Disarming Charm won’t cause injury.
At most, it will send your wand flying,” Zhang Wen reassured him.
Neville did not look reassured.
The students began to pair up.
Harry and Ron were a natural pair, while Hermione went with Neville.
Over on the Slytherin side, Malfoy grabbed Goyle as his partner, leaving Crabbe to pair with another Slytherin student.
“Begin.”
The classroom instantly turned into a scene of chaos.
Red light flew everywhere, but eight out of ten shots missed their targets.
Ron’s wand made a strange buzzing sound—Zhang Wen remembered that Ron’s wand was a hand-me-down from his brother and was likely to cause even bigger problems this year.
Hermione was the only one whose wand emitted red light on the first try, though the beam dissipated after traveling only half a meter.
Neville’s wand had no reaction at all.
He shouted “*Expelliarmus*” at Ron three times, but not even a spark came from the tip.
Harry’s performance was unexpected.
He succeeded on his second try—a jet of red light hit Ron’s hand, and Ron’s wand flew up and clattered against the ceiling.
“Well done.” Zhang Wen walked over to Harry.
“Mr.
Potter, have you practiced this before?”
Harry shook his head, but his eyes were bright.
Zhang Wen understood.
Harry had immense natural talent, especially in Defense.
In the original story, he could produce a corporeal Patronus by his third year and was teaching his classmates in Dumbledore’s Army by his fifth year; his teaching ability was better than most adult wizards.
The boy was a true genius; he just hadn’t realized it yet.
“Keep practicing,” Zhang Wen patted him on the shoulder.
“Once you can hit consistently, I’ll teach you the next one.”
Harry nodded and turned back to continue practicing with Ron.
Zhang Wen moved around the room, correcting postures, adjusting stances, and occasionally demonstrating—though he carefully controlled his power during demonstrations to avoid blasting anything else away.
Artoria stood in the corner, observing.
Her gaze lingered on each student for a moment, as if assessing their potential.
Zhang Wen knew what she was thinking.
In her eyes, these children’s combat literacy was essentially zero.
They couldn’t even be compared to Masters in a Holy Grail War; they were inferior to even the most ordinary knight apprentice in Camelot.
But they were only twelve.
There was still time.
***
The bell rang to end the class.
The students stowed their wands and began moving the desks and chairs back to their original positions.
“Homework,” Zhang Wen announced.
“Practice the Disarming Charm twenty times every day.
I will be checking in the next class.”
A chorus of groans erupted.
“One more thing,” Zhang Wen added.
“Starting next week, there will be fifteen minutes of physical training before each class.”
The groaning grew even louder.
“Physical training?” Ron said in disbelief.
“This is Defense Against the Dark Arts, not Quidditch practice!”
“Mr.
Weasley, you were out of breath after only ten minutes of practice with Potter,” Zhang Wen said expressionlessly.
“If that had been a real battle, you would have likely died three times over.”
Ron opened his mouth but couldn’t think of a comeback.
Beside him, Hermione silently added “Physical Training” to her notebook.
The students began to file out of the classroom.
As Harry reached the door, he looked back at Zhang Wen as if he wanted to say something, but ultimately turned and left.
The classroom emptied.
Zhang Wen leaned against the lectern and let out a long breath.
“How does it feel?” Artoria walked over.
“Tiring.” Zhang Wen rubbed his temples.
“Teaching is more exhausting than fighting a Holy Grail War.
At least you don’t have to plan lessons for the Grail War.”
The corner of Artoria’s mouth twitched.
It was very subtle.
If Zhang Wen hadn’t been looking directly at her, he never would have noticed.
“You did well today,” she said.
Zhang Wen was taken aback.
Artoria rarely gave positive evaluations of her own accord.
During the Holy Grail War, her attitude toward Zhang Wen had always been that of a “barely passable Master.” Hearing the words “well done” from her was likely the equivalent of a normal person saying “exceptionally excellent.”
“Thanks,” Zhang Wen said.
“Could you help me demonstrate the Shield Charm in the next class?”
“I can,” Artoria nodded.
“But your physical training regimen needs to be submitted to me for review first.”
“Why?”
“Because if you design it yourself, you will undoubtedly set the intensity too low.”
Zhang Wen thought about his own fitness level.
She was right.
“Fine,” he sighed, resigning himself to his fate.
“You decide.”
Artoria nodded and turned toward the door.
She paused at the threshold.
“There are roasted lamb chops for lunch.”
“How do you know?”
“I asked the kitchen elves.”
Zhang Wen watched her retreating back and suddenly felt that life as a fake professor might not be so bad after all.
At least there were lamb chops for lunch.