Hell Difficulty Tutorial
Chapter 616 – Four Challenges

During the lesson with Professor Elian, I act exactly the same as before, the only difference being that I closely observe the Professor. Otherwise, none of the students seem particularly interesting, and from what I can see, no one behaves any differently than they did before.

It proceeds the same, ends the same, and I find myself once again in the park, eating the same sandwiches as before. As silly as it is, I even make sure that just as much remains as the first time I met the boy.

Upon seeing me, Ari comes to a stop in front of me, and he stands beside her. A thylarin with three arms, two on the left and one on the right.

“Assistant Professor Gwyn!” I hear her voice.

Still, I ignore it, do not look up, and continue biting into my sandwich. As before, that seems to make the damned impish thylarin even happier, and Ari giggles deviously.

When I glance up from my food at the boy, she introduces him.

“His name is Tyven. He’s a bit shy, but very kind and intelligent. Come on, Tyven, greet Assistant Professor Gwyn,” Ari says, introducing him.

“H-hello, Assistant Professor Gwyn,” Tyven says quietly, his eyes meeting mine for only a moment.

He glances at my hearts and my eyes. I can’t see even the slightest hint of any change.

I know it because I remember that scene very well, and I observed him carefully because of that.

Even the kinetic energy emanated by the twitching of his body is identical.

Ari behaves similarly, too, without any variation. She says the exact same words and gives the same teasing remarks before leaving, after reminding me that we have another lesson with Kays in the sensory deprivation tank in a few days.

I finish my sandwich while sitting there.

Then, I head to the place the students call the “Sweatbox.”

I didn’t think much of it before; it was barely worth mentioning. Now, with a bit more information, I am curious and eager to do some testing.

As is typical of Academy buildings, even this one is grand, and dozens of students are coming and going. It’s shaped like a pyramid made out of white wood, with platforms where trees grow. Even these trees have been carefully shaped to achieve an optimal, pleasant appearance.

At first, I thought all the shapes, parks, and styles of buildings would make the Academy look chaotic, but everything appears to have been carefully planned and arranged, however unlikely that may seem.

“Greetings, Assistant Professor,” a servant behind the table greets me. “What room would you like to use?”

To skip having the same conversation, I reply, "Nothing specific at the moment."

“Understood. Please enjoy your stay.”

He touches the panel in front of him, then nods for me to proceed.

One of these days, I swear I’m going to grab someone by the neck just so I can ask to observe some of the things they do. Curiosity is killing me.

After walking through a hallway lined on both sides with painted carvings depicting, as I have come to learn, great battles from their myths and legends, I reach the main room. The largest room in the pyramid, located exactly at its center.

The space is a large cube, with large screens on each wall displaying a series of rankings and points. These four large screens represent the standings for four popular challenges, exercises, events, sports, or whatever they might be calling them.

In the center is a seating area, complete with trees, statues, and waterfalls. Some students are seated behind the tables, eating desserts and drinking various beverages.

Groups of students fill the room, buzzing with laughter and competition. From time to time, one or two students leave for the side rooms, and when they return, everyone turns to the screens, waiting for the scores to update so they can either congratulate them or mock them.

Some students move through the room accompanied by guards, acting as if they stand well above the others. Yet when they return from the side rooms, they watch the screens just like everyone else.

The activities at the center of their competition are Target Gauntlet, Breakline, Run, and Current.

So far, I have only tested Run. It takes place on a cyclical track dug beneath the pyramid in a tunnel. The objective is… well… to run. You avoid the attacks being thrown your way and jump over obstacles while you do so. Gravity even shifts from time to time with the purpose of disorienting and confusing the participants. The longer you go, the more difficult it becomes. There are no lights either, forcing you to rely solely on your senses, which are then actively disrupted in various ways.

It’s enjoyable, but without any sense of danger, it lacks true excitement. I didn’t even bother to check my score in the previous loop.

"Assistant Professor!" a group of girls calls out, snapping me out of my thoughts. They giggle among themselves, followed by boys and girls trailing behind. They move together like a pack on a hunt.

I begin to suspect my schedule may be wrong, since I didn't see them the last time. Maybe I spent too much time standing around and watching the score screens.

“How can I help you?” I ask.

“What’s your alias on the board? I wanted to check your score,” the one who seems to be their leader asks, and some of the girls in the group giggle.

Their giggling continues, though the reason behind it remains a mystery.

“It’s my first time here,” I answer.

“Want us to show you around? Merielle’s on the leaderboard for Breakline, so you could try it first,” a girl who appears to be their second in command says, pointing at Merielle, who lifts her head proudly.

“Why not. So, what’s Breakline about?” I ask.

Merielle takes over the conversation, leading the small group toward one of the screens.

“There are five tiers of difficulty for each challenge. First is the lowest, and fifth is the highest. The lowest is for new students. Two and three are usually for advanced students. Fourth is for guards and Assistant Professors. Fifth is for professors and powerful guests. If you get 1st spot in any Challenge in your tier, the next time you do a Challenge, you’ll be moved to a higher tier.”

“I see,” I nod. “So you're at the top of tier two with the highest score there,” I say, taking note of her name on the boards.

Then her hypeman jumps in with what feels like a well rehearsed routine, showering her with praise, listing off achievements and qualities with practiced enthusiasm. Most of it blends into the background noise as I filter it out without much thought.

When he finally stops, I ask, “I noticed a name in third place on tier three, Grumpy. Why is there a star next to that name?”

The mood sours immediately.

One of the girls answers while Merielle clenches her teeth.

“That’s a new girl the healers brought here a few days ago. She’s just a brute. On the first day, she reached first place in tier one, the second day in tier two, and third day placed in tier three. She didn't mind publishing it and allowed the personnel to share records of her challenges, so we saw it all. The star next to her name marks people who climb unusually fast,” explains the hype man.

Merielle snorts. “Just a brute, as he said. She doesn’t even act like a healer should. Breakline is about skill and knowledge, not just punching barriers until they break.”

“Quiet, Merielle. Don’t badmouth the healers,” one of the boys whispers, visibly nervous. The others nod, which only makes Merielle snort again and turn away, but she stays quiet.

“So it really is just about breaking barriers?” I ask.

“Yes. The barriers get progressively tougher, and you have to break through as many as you can in five minutes. Any method works.”

“I see. I’ll give it a try then.”

Even though some of them look disappointed, I leave them behind and enter one of the rooms below the Breakline screen.

The door seals tightly behind me. A panel appears next to me in the dim room, lit only by two yellow lights at my sides. The rest of the room ahead is heavily reinforced, equipped with powerful defensive arrays.

I send some mana into the panel, which lights up as I start skimming through the options. Before I can tap on anything, it automatically selects Tier 4 for me. I guess it used my mana signature to recognize me as an Assistant Professor and sorted me in without asking.

The room’s defenses increase immediately. I can sense mana flowing through the building, reinforcing inscriptions and strengthening the barriers.

“Please select your alias.”

The text appears, and I type my alias in.

“Your alias has been confirmed as ‘Noname.’ The challenge will start in 10 seconds.”

That reminds me, I probably should have read the rules. I’m pretty sure there was an option for that on the panel. But I shrug it off, raise my mana, and wait.

A barrier appears, and the mana javelin I create pierces through it.

Another one forms and meets the same end. In quick succession, five more barriers break.

The eighth barrier deflects the javelin, but a line I attached to it lets me pull it back and launch it again, now boosted with kinetic energy and additional compressed mana.

Multiple barriers break in much the same fashion after that, and soon, stronger ones start appearing that I cannot pierce with mana constructs, no matter how much I condense them or increase their force.

It impresses me.

[Empyrean Lance] breaks through one such barrier. Then another. And another.

The lance, with a core of white light pulsing like a star’s heartbeat, continues to obliterate them. It even leaves behind a field that disrupts and weakens them as they are generated.

As I get bored with using the same methods, I switch to my eyes. Reading the frequencies of the barrier, I modify my output and deploy [Eclipse], whose oscillations cause the barriers to shatter.

Gradually, I find myself being forced to use more mana, collect more information, and deal with increasingly intricate defenses.

I quite enjoy it. I even gather a number of useful insights and inspirations from analyzing the barriers, so I often delay breaking them just to observe more.

The last barrier I reach during my allotted time appears to be made of water, pale blue with glowing white droplets suspended within. It’s beautiful. When I hit it with the full force of [Eclipse], it wobbles and stretches like the surface of a bubble on the verge of bursting, but it holds nonetheless.

Impressed, I reach deeper into my mana, modify my frequency, and prepare to hit it again.

Then the timer runs out, and the barrier vanishes. Following, the lights in the room brighten.

Text appears on the panel:

“Your score is 867 points. Congratulations!”

With no reference for how good that is, I simply shrug and read the next message:

“Would you like to use your current alias to register the score?”

And another:

“Would you like to set a delay in registering your score?”

I keep the alias and set a five hour delay. Just in case. It seems to be a surprisingly considerate system.

When I exit the room, the same group of students, apparently with nothing better to do, is still there, now focused on the screen with excitement. I take the opportunity to slip into the crowd and disappear from their view.

Before leaving, I glance back at the screen for Breakline, focusing especially on Tier 4.

1st, 561 pts - Screw you Quentin

2nd, 550 pts - Quentin van Deleric

3rd, 440 pts - Future Champion

Not bad at all.

Out of curiosity, I glance over the remaining screens, searching for familiar names.

I find one in Target Gauntlet.

1st, 1507 pts - Sset

That score is recorded in Tier 4, which includes the Assistant Professors. The second-place score is under 1000 points.

There are other members of Group 4 placed in different challenges as well. It seems they must’ve found this place too and started ruining the fun for the locals.

Min-Jae is 1st in Tier 3 of Target Gauntlet. The twins have high scores in Run, with their aliases just a few points apart. Sophie is already in Tier 5 of Breakline, which means she must have taken 1st place in Tier 4 at least a day ago.

The fact that they barely mentioned this place in the Community makes me think they were worried I might try to outcompete them.

I would never do such a thing. How ridiculous.