Chapter 391: Outrageous Stitching (Part 2) (Patreon)

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Stark had a very rational attitude towards magic. He believed that it was a power that could be harnessed and if someone devoted their lifetime to studying it and used it to its fullest potential, then that person would still be an admirable scholar.

However, this did not mean that he wanted to learn magic himself. Despite having already witnessed the convenience of magic from Strange and experiencing the power of the magic energy core himself, Stark still believed that it was not an ability that could be systematically learned.

The magic he had come into contact with, which was the kind that Strange used, was filled with too many mystical terms and ambiguous implications. The learning method was not even at the level of guidance through demonstration. Even the master was not responsible for guiding their students through every step of their practice. It was all up to the individual.

Stark preferred to have everything be precise to the extent that they could be precise. He wanted there to be a clear cause and effect and for input and output to have a quantifiable value, rather than just relying on "your aptitude."

Therefore, when he heard the words "magic" and "wand," he knew that he had come to the wrong place.

A school for learning magic? Stark could not imagine it, because in his view, a school was a place for systematically teaching knowledge, and a subject that did not have any systematic educational plan should not be taught in school. It was completely misleading.

Stark stood there for a while lost in thought, while the other students took out their wands. The teacher looked at Stark standing there blankly, shook his head helplessly, cleared his throat, and then lightly tapped the wand in his hand.

A small spark blossomed in front of Stark, bringing him back to reality. He reached into the pocket of his clothes and felt around, then took out a small wooden stick and held it in his hand.

He had discovered this thing since last night, but he had no idea that it was actually a casting tool.

See, this is how magic is. It's really absurd, Stark thought as he looked at the stick in his hand.

But what the teacher taught next was a bit unexpected for him. Stark did not hear any ambiguous terms like "perception," "induction," "communication," "destiny," etc. Instead, he heard the teacher say, "First of all, I want to remind you of your grip on the wand. Some people like to hold the wand with their index finger and thumb, which is what the vast majority of wizards prefer to do, but there are also some people who are more special and like to hold the wand with their index and middle fingers or with their middle and ring fingers. This is also fine, it's up to you."

"But undoubtedly, you need to find a comfortable posture to hold it. What you need to pay attention to when waving the wand is not to swing your arm too much, but to use the skill of your wrist."

"This is also the key point of this class on levitation. The basic casting action is 'a wave and a flick'..."

"First, we'll practice waving the wand, and then we'll add the incantation. Now follow me and do it together, wave, flick, wave...flick..."

Stark turned his head left and right and saw that the others had already started to move. He quickly picked up his wand and followed along.

For a normal 10-year-old child, this action was not too difficult, let alone Stark, who had the wisdom of an adult. He quickly did it well and even received praise from the teacher.

When the teacher said, "Antony did a good job, let him demonstrate it for everyone," Stark nodded reservedly and said, "Thank you, just call me Tony."

He lifted his wrist and waved the wand, drawing a beautiful arc in the air. The teacher applauded, and the others looked at him enviously.

After doing all of this, Tony was stunned again. What was he doing? Why was he competing with these kids? What was the point of all this?

However, it has to be admitted that this is a completely new field for him. Stark's absolute confidence surged again in his heart. He believed that as long as it can be systematically learned, there is absolutely nothing that he cannot learn.

“Next, we're going to talk about the spell part. Follow me and say, 'Wingardium Leviosa!'"

After one class ended, Stark was still waving his wand. He had successfully made feathers float, but he felt he could do better. After the teacher announced the end of class, a classmate pulled him, and he realized it.

Stark suppressed his excitement. When a new field is presented to him, he will study it tirelessly. But obviously, there is still the next class to attend, and more magical things waiting for him to witness.

The teacher for the second class was familiar. He was the male teacher who received them on the day of sorting. He pushed his glasses and said, "I am the professor of Dark Arts Defense class. This is a subject that teaches you how to defend against dangerous dark magic. Let's start the class."

"Dark Arts Defense has a long history. Many evil dark wizards have used powerful dark magic to harm the safety of the wizarding world. Today, I'm going to tell you about a dangerous person I've personally dealt with. He is known as the strongest dark wizard in history..."

The students were all interested and listened attentively. Stark listened to a lot of stories, but unfortunately, he didn't learn any new spells.

After hastily eating lunch in the auditorium, the first class of the afternoon was called Flying Class. Stark was very excited when he heard the name. Of course, he had to learn how to fly when studying magic.

Then, when he saw a row of brooms lying on the ground, he was stunned.

"Now, stretch out your hand and shout 'Up!' at it!"

The students all stretched out their hands and shouted at the broom. Stark hesitated and stood still. He had a bad feeling, but at this moment, the Flying Class teacher's gaze had already swept over. Stark had to slowly stretch out his hand and shout, "Up!"

With a bang, the broom, as if seeing a long-lost relative, directly hit Stark's face, causing him to stagger a few steps and fall to the ground.

The students around him widened their eyes. The Flying Class teacher said, "It looks like we have another talented Quidditch player. Your coordination with the broom is very good."

Stark covered his eyes, grabbed the broom, and stood up. He held the broom in his hand, as if he was pinching the broom's neck, looking up and down at it, and then looked at the Flying Class teacher.

Sure enough, under his gaze, the Flying Class teacher mounted the broom and said, "Now, like this, mount the broom, pedal with your legs..."

Stark covered his eyes again. All of this was too surreal, far beyond his range of knowledge.

If someone in reality told him to believe that a broom can fly, and he had to mount it seriously and pedal with his legs, Stark would definitely punch him.

But in order to make this dream continue, Stark still did as he was told. He had just mounted the broom and hadn't pedaled with his legs, but the broom suddenly shot up with a "whoosh" and lifted him dozens of meters into the air.

Stark tightly grasped the front end of the broomstick. He had to admit that he was a little scared now. Even though he could fly thousands of meters high in his armor, he was still just flesh and blood. And now, even though he was only a few dozen meters up, he was still a human being. If he didn't hold on and fell, he would definitely be smashed into a pulp.

Stark kept struggling with the broomstick in the air, but the broomstick seemed to have a mind of its own. It insisted on going the opposite way from him. Whenever Stark tried to lower it, it would rise instead. The two of them struggled for a long time, and in the end, it was the flight instructor who saved him.

Stark gritted his teeth and stared at the disobedient broomstick. Before the flying lesson was over, he held onto the broomstick and said, "Wait for me at the next flying class!"

The last class of the day was Potions. As soon as Stark walked into the classroom, he saw a figure he was extremely familiar with - it was Schiller in black robes.

Schiller saw Stark come in, widened his eyes, looked him up and down, and showed a somewhat interested smile. Stark stood still and stared at him, but Schiller walked to the front of the classroom and said, "Everyone take your seats and get ready for class."

"As you can see, this class is Potions. It's a subject that's somewhat different from other courses. I particularly like what the previous professor said..."

"You're here to study the precise science and strict craft of potion making."

"This is different from waving a wand and casting spells, and it's different from the magic you're familiar with, but it's equally charming."

Stark felt that the Schiller on stage was different from the Dr. Schiller he usually saw. Apart from looking and sounding a little younger, he also seemed more active. He guessed that this might be a younger version of Schiller.

When Schiller began to teach the method of potion making, Stark's eyes gradually lit up. This was something he was familiar with! There were formulas, recipes, and precise measurements, as well as magical and convenient methods. Wasn't this subject tailor-made for him?

The first Potions class didn't teach anything too complicated, but Stark listened attentively and couldn't wait to try it out himself.

But in the process of actually making the potion, Stark found that it required more of a background in biology and chemistry than mechanical engineering and physics. He rubbed his chin as if he was thinking about something.

That's how the day's classes ended. On the way back to his dorm, Stark was alone, so he had to face the problem of the door knocker alone.

He walked up to the door of the Ravenclaw common room and heard the eagle-headed knocker ask him, "Do you think 40 wedges are enough?"

Hearing this question, Stark squinted at the door knocker, but the door knocker seemed to suddenly lose its vitality and didn't move.

With a "click," the door opened. After Stark walked in, he looked back at the door knocker, but didn't say anything.

It was another quiet night, and he had a good dream.

The first figure to appear on the corridor of the first floor of the Thinker's Tower was Charles. He shook his head and sighed, apparently having encountered a room that wasn't quite suitable for him.

The next figure to appear was Stark. When Charles saw him, he was somewhat surprised and said, "I thought it would be Steve who came back second."

Stark sighed deeply and said, "You'll never believe why I came back here."

Hearing the anger in his tone, Charles curiously asked, "Why?"

"Because of a damn broomstick!"

"I fell off a damn broomstick!!"

Just as he was about to tell Charles about the extremely unsuccessful flying lesson the next day, Steve appeared. He looked exhausted and hoarsely said, "You'll never believe what I've just been through..."

"You have no idea how terrifying the place I just went to is!!"

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Next Chapter>>Chapter 392 Avengers Adventure! (Part 1)