Internet Mage Professor-Chapter 102: Silver Blade City Knight Dance

Nolan slowly removed his feet from the desk and leaned forward, his elbows settling on his knees, fingers laced in front of him. The screen on his desk dimmed as if it too sensed the shift in atmosphere.

He looked at the group still standing awkwardly in the middle of the room—sweaty, uncertain, yet oddly composed in their post-dance stillness.

"What exactly are you all doing?" Nolan asked, his voice level but edged with a hint of curiosity.

Liam stepped forward, glancing briefly at his classmates before clearing his throat. "Sir, it’s the Silver Blade City Dance."

"The what?"

"The Silver Blade City Knight Dance," Emily clarified, standing straight now. "It’s a tradition among our city’s warriors. It’s how knights here demonstrate their discipline, precision, and control."

Nolan raised a brow. "And what’s it for?"

James answered this time, "It’s part of our evaluation for placement into specialized academy classes, sir. Based on how we perform, we’re assigned to a class."

Nolan leaned back again. "Classes, huh? And what makes these classes so special?"

The students exchanged glances, as if silently deciding who should explain. Finally, Alina stepped forward. "Silver Blade Academy doesn’t use normal grading systems. We’re divided into Class F through Class A. Then there’s Class S and the elusive Class S-Prime."

"Sounds like a ranking system."

"It is," she confirmed. "Each class not only comes with different teachers and facilities, but also training grounds, missions, and pay grades. Class F is for the basics. Mostly theoretical. No real combat. But Class D and above get weekly monster patrols, raid missions, and access to real sparring instructors. B-rank gets a seat at public tournaments and direct mentorship from elite warriors."

"And S-rank?" Nolan asked, half-lidded eyes narrowing slightly.

"They represent the pride of Silver Blade City. S-class gets special scroll permissions, frontline artifact testing, and sometimes city-backed sponsorship. Some even get command over small battalions. Status, wealth, recognition... it all comes from your class."

"And S-Prime?" Nolan asked with a scoff.

Alina hesitated. "No one’s been assigned there in years. It’s mostly a myth. Some say it’s for those who reach pinnacle potential without political ties. Untouchables."

Nolan exhaled, rubbing his temple. "So let me get this straight. You all are doing that whole... Knight Dance thing... to maybe get into one of these higher classes?"

"Yes, sir," James said. "If we perform well, we might even get into Class B."

There was a long pause.

Nolan’s brow slowly furrowed. "Only Class B?"

He leaned in, a sharp edge entering his voice. "You’re seriously aiming for B?"

The room fell silent. The students froze, unsure what he meant.

Nolan sneered, shaking his head slowly. "You all disgust me sometimes."

The students blinked in disbelief. Emily’s jaw slightly dropped. "But... Teacher Granfire said it’s better not to overestimate ourselves..."

At that name—Granfire—Nolan flinched. A visible tic pulsed at his temple. His lips twitched into a grimace.

"That bastard again?"

He stood up abruptly, brushing the imaginary dust from his coat as he took two slow steps forward. His voice grew louder, not quite shouting, but amplified with conviction.

"Listen to me—all of you. Engrave this into those stubborn little skulls of yours."

The students straightened unconsciously. Something about his tone demanded attention.

"Never—never—underestimate yourselves. Never settle. Not for ’Class B,’ not for whatever ceiling they told you was ’good enough.’ You’re in this academy. That already means you were chosen out of thousands. You’ve got bones that haven’t shattered yet. Hearts that haven’t broken yet. Minds that still think they’re small just because some crusty old fool told you to be humble!"

He pointed to himself.

"You think Granfire’s advice is valuable? That advice is worth exactly this much—" he pinched the air. "Nothing."

"I don’t train warriors to be average. I don’t invest my time—my attention—on students who dream small and act smaller."

He began pacing now, gesturing with fervor.

"You’re here to be Knights of Silver Blade. Not chorus dancers for bureaucrats. You want training? Real training? Then earn it. Not through performance pageants or ceremonial moves, but by understanding every cell of your body, every inch of your blade, every flaw and strength in your technique."

"You think aiming for Class B is good enough? You should be aiming to skip classes entirely. You should be aiming to become the class they need to build a new rank for. Class F, D, B, S—those are ladders for people with no wings. You," he jabbed a finger at them, "you’re being taught by me. You don’t crawl up ladders. You fly."

There was a silence afterward, heavy and thick like a mist of realization. The students stood stunned, speechless. For a brief moment, it was as if the air itself had changed—charged now with a fierce, golden electricity.

Nolan didn’t notice the way their shoulders subtly straightened, or the fire that had bloomed in their eyes. He just rolled his neck and huffed.

"Alright. Enough inspiration. Back to business."

He looked at them. "How many parts are there to this Silver Blade City Knight Dance?"

Liam spoke this time, his voice steadier. "Three, sir. The first is movement—foundational steps and forms. Second is body dance, where we demonstrate internal flow and coordination. And third is blade dance—the final expression."

Nolan folded his arms. "So you all are done with the first part?"

They nodded almost in unison.

Liam smiled slightly. "Thanks to you, sir."

Nolan made a dismissive gesture. "Whatever. Let’s see this second part then—the body dance."

The students exchanged brief, knowing looks and then moved into formation. The room fell quiet again, the only sound their synchronized steps and the shifting of cloth.

The body dance began.

It was familiar to Nolan, though he wouldn’t admit it. The transitions were smooth—each student channeling their movement inward, shifting weight, rolling shoulders, fluid like water pouring through a sculpted vessel. The rotations of their torso aligned with breath, their limbs weaving in arcs that suggested control, emotion, and readiness.

Each step was connected to the next, and not a single movement was wasted. Even the way they turned their heads carried weight. Their gazes weren’t empty anymore—they were sharp, aware.

And all the while, Nolan watched silently.

His eyes followed the micro-adjustments in balance, the timing of breath to motion, the harmonization between individual and group rhythm.

And he nodded.

Again.

And again.

And again.

So much so that a few of the students tried to suppress their smiles mid-motion, afraid to break formation.

When the final turn was done and their bodies had stilled, Nolan exhaled as though he had just watched a proper demonstration—one he didn’t need to critique right away.

Then, he spoke.

"Did someone already tell you how to perform that part?"

There was a pause.

Then, slowly, several of them nodded.

"Professor Granfire," James said softly.

Nolan’s entire expression stiffened. His jaw clenched.

He clicked his tongue, slowly. "Tch."

"That bastard again?"

The students stood still, unsure whether to laugh or brace themselves for another storm.

Nolan took a step forward, rubbing the bridge of his nose in tired disdain.

Then, he looked up, and with eyes sharper than ever, asked quietly—

"Do you remember how he guided all of you?"