He stepped onto the podium, turned around, and faced the young wizards present.

Those eyes—Duke couldn’t accurately describe those eyes.

They were not as deep as an abyss like Raymond’s, nor filled with overwhelming pressure like any strong person.

They were more like a calm lake reflecting the entire starry sky.

Alfred, Level 5 Mage, Level 6 Arcane Master.

Albert’s student, former teacher of Black Hand Morgan.

Alfred’s voice wasn’t loud, yet it clearly reached everyone’s ears, as if resonating directly from the depths of their souls:

"Everyone."

He paused for a moment, his gaze slowly sweeping across the audience.

"The fact that you could come here from your respective continents and forces means you’ve already proven one thing, talent."

"Talent is a threshold; only those who cross it have the qualification to stand here."

He paused again.

"But talent is not the end, not even—the most important thing on your future path."

The hall was so silent one could hear a pin drop.

"You will stay here for three years. During these three years, you will encounter the topmost knowledge of the Wizard Plane, listen to lectures from various masters, and have the opportunity to peruse the peripheral Chapters of the Book of Truth. You will get to know each other, exchange with each other, and—compete with each other."

His voice continued to be calm, yet like a giant stone cast into a deep pond, it stirred up waves in everyone’s heart.

"But no matter where you go in the future, one thing will not change—"

He paused again, his starlit eyes once more sweeping across the audience.

"You are the fresh blood of the Wizard Plane, the backbone of this plane’s future. You are the flame, the seed, the—hope."

"Hope is not just talent, not just lineage, not just the glory of the clan, or the foundation of the organization."

"Hope is recognizing truly who you are in these three years—recognizing your path, your way, what beliefs you are willing to give everything for."

He was silent for a longer moment.

Then, he nodded slightly.

"Welcome to the Six-Ring Tower."

After Alfred finished speaking, he glanced once more at these young wizards, and then his figure gradually became transparent, dispersed, and vanished without a trace.

Moments later, a middle-aged male wizard entered through the side door of the auditorium.

He appeared to be around fifty years old. Of course, for wizards, appearance never represents true age.

He was tall and upright, his shoulders and back as straight as a sword, his dark gray magic robe neatly tailored, without any excess folds.

The most striking feature was his face, with lines as hard as granite, high cheekbones, a high and sharp nose, with the tip slightly hooked—a classic aquiline nose.

His eyes were light gray, cold, sharp, like two unpolished flints.

He stepped onto the podium, stood firm, his gaze sweeping across the audience like a blade.

No opening remarks.

"My name is Cohen Gray."

His voice was deep, hoarse, like sandpaper scraping against steel.

No embellishments, no pleasantries, straight to the point.

"For the next three years, everything about you—learning, training, tasks, rewards and punishments, retention, etc., will be my responsibility."

He paused for a moment, his gaze sweeping across the audience again, this time lingering longer, as if scrutinizing each face one by one.

"I know who you are."

"You are all geniuses from various places, either from ancient wizard clans with extremely noble bloodlines, or possessing extremely high talent, leading figures in your organizations."

"But here, none of that matters."

His voice suddenly lowered by a degree, but became even colder.

"From now on, you have only two identities, those who follow the rules, and those who don’t."

He raised his hand, and a huge scroll made of pure light unfurled above the podium, dropping to the ground.

The scroll was densely packed with tiny runes, each flowing slowly, emitting a faint golden glow.

"The rules are here."

"Work schedules, courses, assessments, contribution points acquisition and consumption, levels of punishment—all here."

"Within three years, you must memorize every one."

He paused again.

"This is not a suggestion to memorize, it is a must."

Below the podium, someone gently took a breath but quickly stopped.

"I know what you’re thinking."

"’We are geniuses’, ’In our respective organizations, we never had to follow so many rules’, ’Who dares to control me’."

He imitated that arrogant tone, a cold smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Anyone who thinks like that can now turn around, walk out of this auditorium, the door’s that way."

He pointed to the main door, but no one moved.

"Great, now remember these three things I’m about to say."

He raised his hand, putting up his first finger.

"First, no exceptions, no pardons. No ’for the sake of your family’ talk, rules are rules."

The second finger.

"Second, you will receive tasks. Learning tasks, training tasks, combat tasks, etc., must be completed on time and to standard. If you cannot complete them, or are unwilling to complete them—the door’s that way," he pointed to the auditorium door, "leave now, no one will stop you."

The third finger.

"Third, once-a-year major assessment tasks. Fail, and you will be directly expelled, no second chances."

He lowered his hand.

"That’s it, just these three rules."

Silence.

Cohen Gray’s gaze swept across the audience once more, this time, those pale gray eyes carried something else, not a threat, but a colder, more real reminder.

"Now, I want to talk about something more important."

He paused.

"Some of you might think these three years are just about attending lectures, making friends, gaining exposure, and then returning gloriously to inherit the family business."

A cold smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Wrong."

"Some of the tasks you will undertake—combat tasks, exploration tasks, clearing tasks, are extremely dangerous. Injuries, disabilities, and death can occur!"

He bit down hard on the last two words.

"I’m not trying to scare you. I’m telling you the reality."

He paused for a moment, letting the statement sink in, sink into each person’s heart.

"For those afraid of dying."

"For those cherishing life."

"For those who think their lives are precious, without room for error."

He pointed to the door again.

"Leave now, while you still can."

No one moved.

"No one wants to leave?"

Silence.

"Very well."

He withdrew his gaze.

"Since everyone has chosen to stay, let’s get to the main topic now."

He raised his hand, and the giant scroll of light once again unfurled above the podium, dropping to the ground.

This time, the runes on the scroll were no longer static but began flowing slowly, eventually arranging into neat entries.

"Contribution points."

Cohen Gray’s voice returned to that hoarse steadiness, as if stating the most ordinary fact.

"This is your only permit for the three years here. Without contribution points, you can do nothing—cannot attend classes, cannot access information, cannot exchange for materials, cannot use any facilities."

"Each year, you must earn at least one thousand contribution points."

"Failing to do so will result in an automatic fail in the year-end assessment. I’ve already explained what failing means."

On the scroll of light, the first line of entries lit up.

"Ways to obtain contribution points:"

"Attending courses, completing assignments, passing phase tests. Contribution points for each course vary from twenty to two hundred based on difficulty and performance."

The third line lit up.

"Participation in assessments, each year-end assessment itself generates basic contribution points. Passing grants three hundred points, with additional rewards for excellency."

The fourth line lit up.

"Special contributions, such as discovering knowledge errors, improving magic models, providing valuable intelligence, assisting mentor research—as long as it’s useful, you gain contribution points with no limit."

Cohen Gray’s gaze swept across the audience.

"These are the four main ways for you to obtain contribution points. If you wish to stay the full three years, gather at least one thousand points each year. The use of contribution points does not affect the annual cumulative contribution points calculation."