Chapter 21: An Entrance Examination with the Flavor of the Times

Shade nodded, noting the doctor’s assessment of the Rhodian cards.

In truth, he did not hold much expectation that the cards in his possession were authentic. Although the late detective’s behavior before his death suggested he was a fanatical collector of Rhodian cards, he was, after all, an ordinary man with a modest middle-class income; it was unlikely he would possess anything so precious.

As for the museum mentioned by the detective before he died, Shade suspected it was likely a black market hub for counterfeit cards. He decided that once he had the time, he would first go to the Association of Diviners for an appraisal, and only after he was fully reassured would he consider visiting the museum.

With the tuition fees settled through a loan from the group, the enrollment process officially began. Shade had assumed the academy would send someone, but the doctor handled the entire procedure.

"Remember, we are correspondence Ring-術士. The academy provides us with knowledge; we satisfy the required credits through study and examinations, and earn practical credits through academy missions. That is the nature of our relationship—somewhat akin to a special employment system. There is no need to pay too much attention to the academy, at least not until you join us in climbing the glaciers of the Far North and entering the academy itself."

The doctor waved his hand dismissively, while Miss Louisa, the novelist, remarked that Shade would come to understand this deeply within a few weeks.

To notify the academy of a new correspondence student, the two formal Ring-術士 utilized a medium associated with a poet-level Relic: "Poet Cohen’s Manuscript."

Poet Cohen had once been a student at St. Byrons Comprehensive College, though that was in the previous era. While the Fifth Era admitted only female spellcasters, the college had accepted a small number of male students for research that did not require supernatural power.

His relic manuscript consisted of over a hundred pages, each capable of transmitting information and small objects to the cover of the manuscript. This was the primary method for St. Byrons to communicate with its correspondence students, as well as to distribute textbooks and collect assignments. The pages belonging to Doctor Schneider’s group were kept by the doctor, the most senior member of the group.

It was a piece of parchment, quite large, roughly the size of an open book. Currently, it was blank and appeared very old; one could even see stray threads fraying at the edges.

"First, your basic information and the tuition fees."

The doctor had Shade use a blue fountain pen to write down details like his address, age, occupation, and personal history on a sheet of stationery, then placed an envelope containing a stack of banknotes onto the manuscript page.

As a light flickered, both the envelope and the information sheet vanished.

After several dozen seconds, a receipt emerged from the manuscript page. It bore the payment amount in both Delerian and Kassenrik, the two languages common to the Old Continent, and even featured the official seal of the academy.

"Truly professional."

The receipt was kept by the doctor for the time being, to be returned once Shade repaid the loan.

"Next is the trust test. The academy needs to verify that a prospective correspondence student is not a cultist or someone with ulterior motives hiding their past. The academy has its own secrets that cannot be easily revealed to outsiders," the doctor said casually.

"How is this tested?"

Shade felt a twinge of anxiety. He did not need to worry about the original owner’s lack of mental faculties, but he was concerned about his identity as a transmigrator.

Before the doctor could answer, Miss Dorothy Louisa spoke up first, a smile on her face.

"How nostalgic. This is the standard procedure—please write an essay of no less than eight hundred words on your thoughts regarding good and evil, order and chaos."

"Hmm?" Shade thought he had misheard.

"This step is also to ensure the applicant is literate. The academy does not accept illiterate students. Shade, I know you aren't very literate, so you can just write it simply," the doctor said kindly.

"But why an essay? I expected some sort of lie-detector questionnaire."

Writing an essay actually relieved Shade; it was the lie-detector tests he feared. If asked about his "past," he would surely run into trouble.

"Lie detectors can always be cheated, but an essay reflects a person’s continuous train of thought and reveals their attitudes and innate nature, even things they might not be aware of themselves. It is more reliable and carries the spirit of the age. Oh, Detective, this isn't the chaotic era of the past; in this age of civilization and steam, entrance exams must also be civilized."

The novelist leaned back on the sofa, seemingly enjoying the sight of someone being forced to write an essay.

Thus, Shade was compelled to take the eight-hundred-word "entrance essay test." He could understand and read the language, but speaking and writing still relied on the knowledge provided by the voice in his head, making it quite strenuous. However, this also confirmed to Doctor Schneider, who was observing the scene, that his background check on the original Shade was accurate.

Good and evil, order and chaos—these were relatively grand themes. Eight hundred words seemed like a lot, but if one were truly serious, one might struggle to finish the introduction.

Operating on the principle of "the less written, the fewer mistakes," Shade divided the essay into four paragraphs: the first for pleasantries, the second for good and evil, the third for order and chaos, and the fourth for a conclusion.

This made the logic much smoother, and Shade was quite adept at writing in this fashion.

While Shade wrote his essay, the doctor was not idle.

St. Byrons' standard enrollment process also included having a group’s Ring-術士 lead the candidate in resolving a mystery-related incident, to judge whether the candidate’s temperament was suited to becoming a Ring-術士.

The morning’s recovery of the "Life Countdown Pocket Watch" sufficed, but a report had to be submitted detailing the candidate’s performance.

So, while Shade wrote his essay, the doctor wrote his report—the latter likely being more troublesome. Miss Louisa, however, was quite pleased, as she was the only one who didn't have to write anything.

As the two men hunched over their writing, she sat there holding her teacup, watching them with an indescribable sense of contentment.

The essay and the report were sent away simultaneously by the manuscript. It took a full half-hour before an official letter of acceptance, bearing Shade’s full name, was delivered. His assessment was marked as "Excellent." Throughout this time, the three had kept talking, with the others filling Shade in on basic knowledge.

"In fact, the entrance assessment only results in 'Excellent' or 'Fail,' unlike the annual evaluations or year-end summaries, which are graded as Excellent, Exceeds Expectations, Pass, Fail, or Terrible," the doctor whispered.

"It’s a little trick of the academy’s to win your favor," the blonde novelist added.

Shade found this amusing, yet it made him realize that the academy was indeed quite formal and not some minor organization.

"Then, for the next step, I will help you officially become a Ring-術士 and push open the Door of the Extraordinary. Only after you have acquired your core rune can we determine which professional college you will join. As for your textbooks and study materials, they will be delivered in three days—the academy needs time to prepare them, after all."