Chapter 55: ASHCROFT’S FINAL ARGUMENT
When he spoke, his voice carried the quiet authority of someone who had spent decades uncovering truths that others preferred to leave buried.
"Gentlemen. Ladies." His words fell into the silence like stones dropped into still water, creating ripples of attention that spread throughout the chamber. "When, precisely, did we begin measuring potential by bloodline rather than ability?"
The question was delivered with such casual precision that it took several moments for its implications to register. Professor Thornwick opened his mouth to respond, but Ashcroft continued before he could speak.
"These assessment results," Ashcroft said, gesturing toward the crystalline display with academic detachment, "indicate that this student achieved what we had previously deemed impossible. The physical examination equipment was destroyed not through crude force but through the application of techniques so advanced that our measurement systems could not comprehend them."
He paused, allowing his words to settle before continuing with the kind of methodical precision that marked him as one of the academy’s most formidable intellects.
"The magical assessment, while placing him ninth overall, required the destruction of both target and scoring apparatus to achieve that ranking as a secondary evaluation, which is ludicrous that he even took that evaluation test! I submit that we are not witnessing mediocrity, but rather capabilities so far beyond our standard measurements that our instruments simply failed."
Professor Thornwick’s face flushed with indignation as he struggled to process what felt like a direct challenge to everything he believed about the natural order. "Ashcroft," he began, his voice carrying the kind of patronizing authority he typically reserved for particularly slow students, "surely you understand the importance of maintaining proper social order. Excellence in technique means nothing without the moral foundation that comes from..."
"Ah yes," Ashcroft interrupted, his voice taking on the kind of cutting precision that made even senior professors shift uncomfortably in their chairs. "Proper social order. Perhaps we should establish separate testing protocols for those of ’inferior’ breeding? Maybe different colored robes to mark them so that our noble students need not risk contamination through proximity?"
The suggestion hung in the air with the weight of academic sarcasm so precisely delivered that it left its targets unable to respond without confirming exactly what Ashcroft was implying about their attitudes.
"How delightfully..." Ashcroft paused, allowing the silence to stretch until the tension became almost unbearable, "... Savage of you, Magnus."