Academy’s Undercover Professor

“What? He says he can reduce casting time?”

“Is that even possible?”

“Isn’t he just bluffing?”

Unlike the first-years who still didn’t know much, the second-years couldn’t believe what they were hearing from Ludger.

Before even diving into the basics in the very first class, he was saying he’d show them how to accelerate spell manifestation?

Of course they were skeptical.

Reducing the casting time of spells had always been one of the most urgent, long-standing challenges for all mages.

In life-or-death combat, a single second can make all the difference.

Especially for mages, who require time to manifest spells, unlike knights who fight and react in real time with their swords. For mages, that delay could be fatal.

Advancements in science had lessened some of the dangers mages once faced, but not eliminated them.

And because mages were expected to be calm and rational thinkers, they were even more obsessed with overcoming such limitations.

So Ludger’s statement wasn’t just something that piqued curiosity—it touched upon a core obsession of every mage.

Sheryl, Flora’s close friend, turned to her and asked cautiously,

“Flora... do you think he’s serious?”

“Hmm. I don’t know. Has there ever been a reliable method of shortening casting time?”

There were certainly known ways to appear to reduce casting time.

One example was scroll magic, where a spell is pre-encoded into a medium and then activated later.

But that came with a fundamental flaw: it was single-use only.

Once a scroll was used, it became useless.

Another method was a spell called [Residual Memory], where a mage could store and recall previously cast spells.

But even that had limitations—it wasn’t something that could be used repeatedly, and the number of spells that could be stored was determined by the mage’s skill level.

“To actually shorten casting time without altering the spell’s structure... that’s practically impossible.”

To reduce casting time in a meaningful way, the fundamental structure of the spell would need to be redesigned.

But even that, by modern understanding, was considered impossible.

The spells in common use today had been refined and perfected by countless generations of legendary mages over thousands of years.

To some, a 3rd-Circle fire spell might seem minor, but behind that spell lay the accumulated work of history’s most brilliant minds.

Even so-called modern geniuses didn’t bother trying to improve these spells any further.

Because they were already perfect.

That conclusion had been reached over a hundred years ago.

Even Flora Lumos acknowledged that.

“And even if you tried to change it—every gain comes at a cost.”

If you speed up spellcasting, then something else must be sacrificed in return.

The power might decrease, the range might shrink, or the precision might drop.

And if you removed components from the spell structure to achieve that speed, could you even call it the same spell anymore?

No.

At that point, it becomes an entirely different spell altogether.

To mages who value tradition and orthodoxy above all else, that would be heresy.

“If he really plans to do something like that to increase casting speed...”

Flora narrowed her eyes.

“Then I’ll be very disappointed, Professor.”

Or rather, she hoped Ludger would resort to something so foolish.

That would make him easier to rip apart.

“Even Her Highness seemed to react the same way.”

The Third Princess, with her golden, silken hair—radiant and beautiful in a different way than Flora—clearly disliked empty bravado and preferred strength built on upright principles.

Her expression, too, had turned cold.

Just as the mood in the lecture hall was about to turn sour—

Ludger clapped his hands, shifting the atmosphere with a single sharp sound.

“That’s enough. No more idle chatter.”

Though the students fell silent, the tension in the room remained unchanged.

Noticing this, Ludger gave a faint, knowing smile.

“You all seem to have a lot of questions. Very well. Before I show you anything, I’ll take a few simple questions.”

Immediately, hands ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) shot into the air.

Ludger pointed to the student who raised his hand first.

“Speak.”

“Second-year Alex Salane. You said you were going to reduce casting time, Professor Ludger... but what exactly does that mean?”

“Reducing casting time means what it sounds like—reducing time. If you’re going to ask, be more precise. Next.”

“Second-year, Dalia. Does reducing casting time mean you’ve modified the spell formula?”

“No. The spell remains unchanged. I’m simply making it faster.”

At that, murmurs rippled through the room.

“No way. Is he serious? Is he really saying he can speed up casting?”

“There’s no way that’s possible. Isn’t that one of those unsolved problems no mage has ever cracked?”

Impossible. That was the general consensus. No one had ever done it.

Flora felt the same. Shortening casting time without altering the structure or improving it? Was he just talking about rote repetition until mastery? She hoped not.

But looking at Ludger’s confident expression irritated her.

“That’s impossible.”

Flora could no longer hold her tongue.

Ludger’s cold gaze landed directly on her, piercing her like a blade. The unspoken look of “And who are you?” stung slightly.

“Flora Lumos,” she introduced herself calmly.

A stir spread through the classroom.

“It’s Flora. Flora’s stepped in.”

“Hah. This teacher’s finished now.”

Even among the students, Flora’s reputation was well known. Even the newly enrolled first-years had heard of her.

The second-year prodigy. The girl who still held the title of “genius” even in a school filled with them.

So when she spoke up and directly challenged Ludger on the first day of class, it was only natural that all eyes would shift to her.

“I don’t recall granting you permission to speak, but... I’ll let it go this time. So tell me—what exactly do you think is impossible?”

“Reducing casting time, of course. Without touching the spell or modifying it in any way, the only method is through muscle memory. Repetition.”

“And why do you believe that’s the only way?”

“Because no one’s ever succeeded. Not even the geniuses recorded in history. Not even high-tier Archmages have pulled it off. So when you say you’ve done it, I find it very hard to believe.”

Even now, the Mage Towers were filled with researchers tirelessly seeking new truths, grinding their minds day after day.

And yet, spell acceleration remained one of the many areas that had stagnated with no progress.

Even if you were an instructor at Seorn Academy, saying you could do it—as a newly appointed teacher, no less—wasn’t just arrogant.

It was borderline blasphemy against the entire magical academic world.

Murmurs spread.

More and more students nodded in agreement with Flora’s opinion.

Not a single one voiced support for Ludger.

The mood in the lecture hall steadily turned hostile toward him.

But Ludger didn’t even blink.

He stood unaffected, as if no external pressure could touch him.

“‘No one has done it,’ you say. An amusing notion. I see it differently. I believe no one has tried to do it.”

“...What?”

“Magic values tradition and history. But at some point, that reverence led to stagnation. Now that science is advancing, magic finds itself under threat.”

“...Are you saying science is superior to magic?”

“Not at all. I’m merely saying that magic, like science, still has room to grow. The idea that ‘there’s nothing left to improve’ is simply false.”

“There’s never been a case of successful improvement.”

“Because no one truly tried.”

“Everyone who did failed.”

“Then I suppose I’ll be the first to succeed.”

“...Are you serious?”

“I’ve no reason to lie in front of all of you, now do I?”

His unflinching confidence left Flora speechless.

Did this man even realize the weight of what he was saying?

“Well then. It seems you don’t fully grasp it yet, so let’s proceed. Flora, was it? Do you know the average casting time required to construct the ritual for [Raging Flame], the spell I’ve written on the magic board?”

“...It depends on the mage. A novice 3rd-Circle mage might need ten seconds. A more experienced caster could manage under five.”

“Correct. But increasing Circle level to boost speed is a shallow method—I don’t support that approach. What I’m referring to is a speed fit for the students sitting in this class.”

“Then no matter how fast, the average would still be five seconds.”

“Are you speaking from personal experience?”

“Yes.”

“Oh? Quite confident, aren’t you. Then... would you care to demonstrate? Right here, on this platform?”

Despite the clear provocation, Flora didn’t flinch.

“Gladly.”

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

With confident steps, Flora descended from the teaching platform and stepped onto the stage. She raised her personal staff and immediately began manifesting the spell [Raging Flame].

The foundation: Manifestation.

The elemental affinity: Fire.

Then followed the components—heating, combustion, compression, expansion, diffusion, and acceleration.

The result that bloomed in the air was a vivid flame-shaped ritual of pure fire magic.

A clean, flawless execution with no wasted movement.

Its speed swept forth like a gust of wind, and the watching students couldn’t help but gasp in awe.

As expected of Seorn’s genius. As expected of the daughter of House Lumos.

With a look that said “How about that?” Flora turned toward Ludger.

Ludger checked the time on the golden pocket watch in his hand.

“Time to completion: 4.78 seconds. Impressive for a second-year. Execution was flawless.”

“It was nothing,” Flora replied with a hint of pride.

“But still too slow.”

Ludger’s cold voice struck her just as she was reveling in the praise.

“...What?”

“The fastest known time for a 3rd-Circle mage casting [Raging Flame] is 4.41 seconds. No one has gone faster. You're still too slow.”

“...If I practice more, I can get faster.”

“I’m saying even 4.41 seconds is slow.”

—Is he serious?

Ludger’s statement was so bold, everyone was left stunned.

Updat𝓮d from freewēbnoveℓ.com.

Rather than explain, Ludger decided to demonstrate exactly why he had said that.

Standing at the center of the platform, Ludger began to focus his mana.

“Watch closely. This is how you use [Raging Flame].”

He lifted his modest wand and pointed toward the air.

Mana flowed from the tip—and began forming a ritual.

But something was off.

Instead of starting with the expected foundational stages of the [Raging Flame] spell—heating and combustion—it simply began with a direct, linear thread of mana with no apparent meaning or structure.

Is he not using [Raging Flame]?

Just as the students began to question it—

The full ritual of [Raging Flame] appeared in the air.

It happened in the blink of an eye.

“...!!!”

The lecture hall filled with a voiceless uproar.

Everyone had seen it. Ludger had deliberately slowed the process so that all could clearly observe his mana control.

The opening wasn't a [Raging Flame] ritual at all.

His method of deploying mana was completely unorthodox.

Yet the result...

Was [Raging Flame].

Perfect. No distortion, no flaws. Exactly as it appeared in textbooks.

How?

There was a beginning and an end—but the middle was missing, as though it had been sliced out.

It was like throwing a rock backward only to have an arrow hit the bullseye in front of you.

And the speed?

One second? No—it wasn’t even 0.3 seconds.

The students couldn’t make sense of it. Their understanding of magic was completely defied.

“You saw it?”

Ludger’s voice rang out—calm, without pride or emotion. As if this outcome was expected. As if it were nothing at all.

“Th-that just now... what was that?”

“For those who missed it, I’ll show it again.”

Ludger dispelled the previous ritual and repeated the process he’d just demonstrated.

This time even more slowly—so that no one could miss it.

The students widened their eyes, desperate not to overlook a single step. They stared, not blinking, at every movement of Ludger’s staff.

Mana poured from the wand’s tip, moving in that same bizarre, alien pattern.

And then once again, [Raging Flame] appeared—complete.

“That’s insane.”

“Is that even possible?”

“I still don’t get it, even after watching it twice.”

It wasn’t an artifact. It wasn’t [Residual Memory]. It wasn’t just fast casting.

No matter how fast a spell is cast, it must follow a process.

But Ludger’s method skipped the process and delivered only the result.

Like drawing a bow, releasing the arrow, and watching it hit the target—only now, the draw and release were skipped, and only the hit remained.

Magic is no different. A spell’s ritual must follow a logical sequence.

But Ludger’s magic broke that rule entirely.

There was no visible flow—yet the effect was there.

“What the hell... how did he...?”

Even Flora, watching from just meters away, couldn’t understand what she had seen.

No—no one would be able to understand that, no matter how skilled they were.

Mystery? Innovation? Revolution?

Words like those spun through her mind.

“Ah... now your eyes have changed.”

Gulp.

The sound of someone swallowing echoed across the silent lecture hall. The students were utterly transfixed, waiting to hear what Ludger would say next.

“The casting time for the [Raging Flame] spell I just used was 0.24 seconds. Clearly far beyond existing records. But naturally, you’re all wondering—how is that possible, when the initial ritual I used wasn’t [Raging Flame] at all?”

Exactly. That was the problem.

He used a completely different ritual—but the result was the same.

That shouldn’t be possible.

“I did use a ritual. More precisely... I used a ritual for a ritual.”

“A ritual... for a ritual?”

“What the hell does that mean?”

The students, each muttering variations of the same question, quickly fell silent again.

“I call this—source code.”