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After two rounds of written exams, the exchange tournament finally moved on to the first stage of the practical section: the Assigned Alchemy Task.
Beauxbatons had designated one of the side halls as the venue for today's competition.
Though it was called a "side hall," within the sprawling palace complex connected to the school, the space was still incredibly vast. It was easily large enough to accommodate six fully equipped alchemy workbenches with plenty of room to spare, ensuring the champions wouldn't crowd one another.
Unlike the previous written exams, the practical round required not only more space but also allowed a number of students to watch the proceedings live.
The audience was mostly made up of older Beauxbatons students. Although Alchemy is introduced early in the curriculum here, the number of wizards with the talent and perseverance to study it deeply remains small.
Madame Maxime sat upright at the judges' table. With her imposing presence dominating the room, the students kept a respectful silence, not daring to whisper. However, their curious gazes couldn't help drifting back and forth among the six competitors.
Of all the champions, Lucien drew the most attention, and the gazes lingered on him the longest.
It wasn't surprising, really. Even though Lucien was tall for his age, standing next to the sixth and seventh-year champions, the age gap was still immediately apparent.
What's more, over the past few days, many Beauxbatons students had noticed this Hogwarts champion occasionally walking with Fleur Delacour.
Given Fleur's reputation at Beauxbatons for being proud and exacting, it was rare to see her coexist peacefully with anyone, let alone choose to spend time with them. Naturally, this sparked a lot of scrutiny and curiosity.
On top of that, quite a few Beauxbatons girls in the audience were simply admiring Lucien's face.
Especially those emerald green eyes of his. Under the hall's lighting, they looked particularly deep, as if they could pull a person's gaze right into them.
The six alchemy stations were prepped and ready.
Once the champions from the three schools took their places, Madame Maxime waved one of her enormous hands.
Instantly, identical sets of ingredients and materials appeared neatly on every workbench.
"The designated project for today's synthesis is—the Micro-Climate Phial," Madame Maxime's booming voice resonated through the hall. "You have been provided with three sets of base materials. If you exhaust them, you may request a restock. The time limit is five hours. Failure to complete the task within the time limit results in immediate disqualification."
She paused briefly, her eyes sweeping over each champion to ensure the rules were understood, before announcing loudly:
"Let the match—begin!"
The moment the words fell, the atmosphere tightened. The champions moved immediately, filling the hall with the clinking of glass and the rustling of materials.
Lucien's hands moved deftly as he began to methodically organize his workspace.
At the same time, information regarding the "Micro-Climate Phial" flashed rapidly through his mind.
This was a high-level alchemy artifact, falling well within the scope of N.E.W.T.-level difficulty. Its function was to regulate and control parameters like temperature and humidity within a confined space, simulating specific natural climates.
It was chosen as the test subject mainly because the quality of the finished product was immediately obvious—one only had to look at how many different climates the final phial could stably and realistically simulate to judge the alchemist's skill level.
This round was essentially a test of the champions' speed in completing complex alchemical transmutations under pressure, as well as the refinement and completeness of the final product.
Five hours seemed lenient, and "unlimited" materials sounded generous.
But any expert knew that "unlimited" was mostly just psychological comfort.
The alchemy process was intricate and time-consuming. A major error halfway through wouldn't just waste precious rare materials; it would burn through time that could never be recovered.
If a competitor failed two or three times in a row, the remaining time would likely be insufficient to produce a high-quality artifact from scratch.
Lucien's gaze settled on a piece of milky-white crystal. Swirls of mist seemed to be trapped inside it; this would serve as the core of the Micro-Climate Phial. He brushed his hand lightly over the crystal's surface, and with a subtle flow of magic from his fingertips, the elemental runes responded with a faint glow.