"What happened? Wasn't I knocked down?" William asked, looking dazed as he stared at Charles, who was sprawled out a few yards away.
"Charles collapsed just before you did, and you were the first to wake up. That makes you the winner," Alan said tonelessly.
"What? But... I still couldn't block those last tracking spells," William countered as they both hurried over to their friend.
Charles, having been revived with a few sips of tonic from Vivian, finally blinked his eyes open. He struggled to sit up, a wry smile crossing his face. "It seems I lost. William, your progress is terrifying."
Charles had accepted the challenge with a fair bit of confidence; he had started training a year before William and had defeated him once before. He hadn't expected the older boy to grow this much in a single term. William's fluid movements, his clever use of Transfiguration, and that final, calculated defensive layer had been remarkably composed.
William shook his head, looking almost embarrassed. "No, I should be the one who lost. I'm two years older than you. You haven't even fully mastered the Protego yet, have you? I've never seen you use it. To fight to total exhaustion even with such an advantage... I can't really call that a victory."
"A win is a win. Don't be wishy-washy," Alan interrupted, sounding unimpressed by their modesty. "By your logic, if you encounter someone younger than you on a battlefield, should you just commit suicide to keep things fair?"
William scratched his head awkwardly. When Alan put it that way, his protest sounded ridiculous.
"Senior Charles, that five-spell combo at the end was incredible! Can you teach me?" Bill chirped, running over to ask the question he'd been burning to ask since the first bolt flew.
At the mention of his signature move, Charles's chest puffed out. "Haha, Alan taught me the theory, but I'm still not great at the steering. Turning a sharp corner is a nightmare."
Guiding a spell required immense endurance and mental focus. It was clear Charles had been practicing in secret to pull off five in a row.
However, seeing Charles preening, Alan delivered a stern kick to his backside. "You know you can't control it, yet you use it recklessly anyway. Is this a duel or a talent show? Rigid thinking, poor situational awareness, and choosing the wrong spell for the moment—is that what I taught you?"
With that, Alan marched them all inside. He spent the next hour reviewing the duel on a blackboard, dissecting every stumble and missed opportunity. The group, who had initially been buzzing from the excitement of the fight, ended up looking thoroughly chastened. Even Bill and Evan lowered their heads nervously.
Seeing their long faces, Alan realized he might be pushing a bit hard. He let out a soft sigh. "Alright, that's enough for today. I see the effort you're putting in, but there's still room for improvement. Starting tomorrow, I'll be increasing the intensity of the drills for everyone—Bill and Evan included. Be ready."
The boys felt a collective sink in their stomachs. They knew Alan's "increased intensity" usually involved a lot of sore muscles. But looking at his serious expression, they could only grit their teeth and nod.
Once they had cleared out, Alan pulled out a tracking board. The names of William and the others were listed prominently, followed by rows of cryptic numerical data.
"The data collection for the standardized basic training is nearly complete. Next, I need to see how they perform under extreme stress. It's a shame magical reserves can't be quantified yet; my accuracy is stuck on estimates."
He had never actually abandoned his research into "magical sensitivity" from his days in the Charms Club; he had simply become more ambitious. He knew how to improve sensitivity through training, but he was still blind when it came to measuring the actual volume of a wizard's power. He intended to write a definitive text once he cracked the code.
"I should consult Professor Flitwick. He might have a perspective I've missed." Alan packed his notes and headed toward the castle.
"Quantification of magical reserves?" Professor Flitwick paused his lesson planning and looked up at Alan from across his desk.
"Exactly." Alan knew the Professor was busy, so he tried to be brief. He explained his theory on how training might expand a wizard's capacity and the difficulty of measuring it.
"A fascinating idea," Flitwick said, leaning back and stroking his chin. "Most people in our world aren't interested in the math of magic; for the vast majority, their power is simply 'enough.' I haven't done much work in this specific area myself." He saw Alan's disappointment and quickly added, "However, I can offer a suggestion on the methodology. To measure a wizard's limit, you need 'monitoring' runes. Have you looked into those?"
"I have," Alan said. "But the manifestation of magic within the body is too subtle for standard runes. The margins of error are massive."
"Then you might need to look into Bloodline Magic," Flitwick suggested after a moment.
"Bloodline Magic?"
"Precisely." Flitwick nodded. "It's a specialized category that focuses on the physical constitution of magical entities. Many old families have researched it, though it's often associated with curses. It's incredibly difficult and requires... live observation." The Professor hesitated, looking at Alan cautiously. "If you want to measure the magic held within a living vessel, Bloodline Magic is the most direct route. But be warned: much of that knowledge is considered dangerous, bordering on the Dark Arts. I wouldn't recommend delving too deeply."
Alan's mind raced. He had seen references to Bloodline Magic in the books he'd "borrowed" from the pure-blood clique. Why hadn't he made the connection sooner?
He looked at Flitwick and spoke with a calm sincerity. "Professor, don't worry. I won't do anything reckless. If I hit a wall or things feel... questionable, I'll come to you immediately. I promise I won't go looking for trouble."