The Interview Process

“I have the information, Master Lucian. There are essentially three stages in the professor selection process.”

Lucian’s eyes narrowed slightly as Theodore continued. “First is the written test. Since the New Year, this exam is held every Sunday from 9 a.m. to 12 p.m. The questions change each week. And they are not simple fact regurgitation, but problems that require careful thought. There are six questions in total, arranged by increasing difficulty. According to insider information, you need to solve at least the first three to pass.”

Theodore leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “After that comes the in-person interview. You’ll face a panel of three professors, each of whom will seal a spell inside a Spell Orb. You’ll have one hour to create an anti-spell to dismantle at least one of these sealed spells.”

Lucian nodded slowly, absorbing every detail.

“The third and final stage is a direct meeting with the Grand Chancellor. Just last year, Vivienne Grey—the youngest Archmage in history—assumed that role. No one really knows how she assesses the candidates.”

“A Grey?” Lucian asked, a mix of intrigue in his tone.

“Indeed. Vivienne was an orphan, raised by the old Chancellor. She shunned the limelight until, after his mysterious disappearance, she revealed herself as a prodigy. To be crowned the youngest Archmage ever—holy son of light! Even Magnus the Hero couldn’t have ascended so swiftly.”

“How old is she?” Lucian inquired.

“Best estimates place her at under a century.”

Lucian exhaled a soft, ironic laugh. “And where does that leave me?”

Theo’s gaze turned somber. “Master Lucian, fame and success always come at a price. Some whisper that she might even be one of the True Demons.”

“True Demon or not, an Archmage of her age is nothing short of a wonder,” Lucian mused.

“Sigh. Can’t deny that.” Theo offered a resigned smile. “Rest here for today, Master Lucian. You can take the written test this coming Sunday. Tomorrow’s Saturday—perfect for poring over past exam papers.”

Lucian allowed himself a wry chuckle. “That suits me. I must also upgrade my Mage License; it still reads Formal Mage Lucian Grey.”

“Right, please do upgrade it, Master Lucian—the License is our pride,” Theodore teased.

“But more than that,” Theodore added, his tone turning playful, “we must also upgrade your style.”

“Why? What’s wrong with it?” Lucian looked confused.

Theodore’s eyes softened as he observed Lucian. Clad in the attire of a wandering Mage, Lucian wore worn woolen trousers cinched by a rugged leather belt, knee-high leather boots, and an old, faded grey shirt layered beneath a coarse woolen vest. His long, snowy hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, revealing a slightly angular face, a straight nose, and deep, enigmatic lake-blue eyes that had seen far too much. Standing six feet tall, he carried the weight of time with a humble grace.

Theodore chuckled good-naturedly. “Master Lucian, people don’t dress like wandering mages anymore.”

At that moment, Theodore’s wife, Elinor, stepped forward with a gentle smile. “Come here, Master Lucian—I’ll give you a makeover.”

Within the hour, Lucian emerged transformed. His hair now sported a neat side-and-back fade with a crisp side part, and his once rugged face was clean-shaven. His attire had been replaced by a finely tailored woolen suit and matching trousers, accented by a tasteful tie and polished brown leather shoes.

Theodore clapped his hands in satisfaction. “My old clothes suited you once, but this new look fits you perfectly now.”

Lucian offered a wry, bittersweet laugh. “Even in another world, I can’t escape the clutches of formal wear. It brings back too many corporate memories.”

After exchanging thanks with the couple, Lucian retired upstairs to rest for the night.

The following morning, after a refreshing bath and a light breakfast, Lucian set out for his first destination—the Mages Guild.

This venerable institution, the oldest and largest mage organization on the continent, now found itself fragmented. Its various branches were controlled by the local kings, yet its authority endured, especially as all Mage Licenses were issued under its banner.

Lucian strolled leisurely toward the distant tall spire—the iconic landmark of Highspire, the global headquarters of the Mages Guild.

Highspire, an ancient city at the heart of the continent, had never been claimed by any major power due to it being the global hub of free mages.

At least, thats what was mentioned in the game lore. But after living in this world for so long Lucian has realised that the actual situation is more complex and multifaceted.

This neutrality, however, had allowed Highspire to blossom into a unique global hub.

Emerging from narrow alleys onto the bustling main road, Lucian marveled at the city’s transformation.

Majestic new buildings—about ten stories tall with ornate, Victorian-like decorative motifs—flanked both sides of the wide, multi-lane roads. Elegant carriages pulled by horses and even dinosaur-like beasts dashed past. From a nearby building came the constant hum of a steam engine—not fueled by coal, but powered by mana crystals.

It was already 8 a.m., and the streets teemed with people. Lucian noted that more than half of those he passed were mages, all blending seamlessly into everyday life in accordance with the Mages Guild’s new code of conduct.

After about an hour of walking, he finally reached the base of the towering spire. Streams of people flowed in and out of its vast entrance. Lucian approached the service desk, and after queueing for a few minutes a bright-eyed receptionist greeted him.

“A Grand Mage promotion request!” she exclaimed, startled into prompt efficiency. “Mage Lucian, a Guild Grand Mage will be with you shortly to escort you to the examination center. The fee is 100 Mana Crystals.”

Lucian paid the fee, received a receipt, and showed it to a nearby guard before entering the cozy lounge area.

The lounge was luxurious and tranquil with few guests. A waitress soon served him a steaming cup of tea. As he sipped, Lucian picked up a newspaper left on the tea table—The Magister’s Review.

This newspaper was published by the same organisation behind Theodore. Though it presented itself as a reputable news organization, its true livelihood came from espionage and the sale of information—a case of “hiding in plain sight,” as the saying went.

The front-page headline warned of a Mana Storm only 60 kilometers from Highspire. As its scale was modest, Academy students were dispatched to clear it.

The following pages were filled with accolades for promising students and distinguished professors, interspersed with recruitment ads and various announcements.

Then, Lucian’s eyes landed on news about the upcoming Academy admissions. This year, things were unusual: four of the seven major superpowers were sending their noble heirs to study at Magnus Academy.

Normally, the Academy selected students solely on merit, but this year an extra 200 seats had been added to the overall capacity of the Academy. And these have been reserved for these elite students.

However, this was old news. The current edition of The Magister’s Review stated that many talented noble heirs had declared they would forgo the reserved quota in favor of earning their place on merit—a move that had sent ripples of excitement and concern through Highspire.

“Sounds like trouble,” Lucian murmured, a sigh of resignation escaping him.

In that moment, as the hum of the spire and the distant buzz of the city mingled with the weight of his thoughts, Lucian couldn’t help but wonder if coming here was the right decision.