"What news?"
"It's said to have come from a businessman claiming access to a 'special channel,'" Andre replied, his tone laced with unease. "Recently, rumors like this have spread rapidly among candidate apprentices. These merchants claim they can drastically boost mental strength in a short time."
Ron's heart stirred. "So Locke was tricked?"
"No... it's worse than that."
Andre shook his head gravely. "Those banned drugs can indeed enhance mental strength in the short term, but the cost…"
He didn't finish the sentence, but Ron could already imagine the grotesque mutations—flesh twisted unnaturally and eyeballs pulsating with uncontrolled magic.
"I heard rumors that some wizards are backing these merchants," Andre went on, his expression darkening. "They need a constant supply of experimental subjects. And desperate apprentices make perfect targets."
Ron's expression changed. Was Locke lured in from the start?
Thinking back on what happened to Locke—and the whispered rumors about his "special source" for spiritual catalysts—it all seemed too coincidental. Something wasn't right.
"So, I came to warn you..." Andre's voice took on a tone of rare seriousness. "No matter how tempting it seems, don't accept anything from unknown sources."
"Don't worry. I'm not that naive," Ron replied with a forced smile. "Besides, haven't we already found the right path?"
Andre nodded slightly, visibly relieved.
"Indeed. Even Lord Holt has acknowledged your talent in potions. Your practice of the Coronal Breathing Technique is also progressing well…"
Then he abruptly changed the topic.
"By the way, how are you planning to deal with Mrs. Allen's lesson today? She has a reputation for being extremely strict."
"Well…" Ron glanced at the notes laid out on his desk. "I've reviewed all the sections on simple potions in Basics of Potions."
He picked up a thick notebook brimming with handwritten entries.
"Plus, the hands-on work at the herbal medicine store yesterday gave me fresh insights into several ingredients."
Andre took the notebook and flipped through the pages. His eyes widened in surprise.
"You wrote all this yourself? Even rare herbs are annotated, and you recorded their reactions in such detail..."
Before Ron could reply, a sudden commotion erupted outside. Muffled gasps and urgent whispers echoed through the corridor.
"Another one…" Andre's expression darkened. The poise he normally maintained slipped, his voice roughened with unease.
The two exchanged a glance. Events like this usually meant another apprentice had taken a path of no return.
"Should we check it out?" Ron asked hesitantly.
Andre's fingers fiddled with the edge of his collar—a habit of his when he was indecisive. Eventually, he nodded slowly.
"Let's go. But keep your distance. At times like this, white-robed wizards always show up right on schedule—hungry for test subjects."
They walked toward the end of the corridor, where a group of apprentices had already gathered. Despite the early hour, not a single soul was missing. People here rarely had the luxury of sleeping in.
Unlike Locke's case that morning, this crowd stayed back, forming a wide circle. Fear hung heavy in the air.
Under the dim flicker of a magical crystal lamp, Ron spotted a hunched figure curled in a corner.
The morning light pierced the gloom, casting beams across the girl's face. Or what was left of it.
"It's Emily…" someone whispered.
The name struck Ron like a jolt.
He had seen the Duke's daughter just yesterday afternoon. Though her clothes had been disheveled, she still wore an elegant silk dress and a jeweled necklace—clinging stubbornly to her aristocratic pride, even as a fallen noble now living as someone else's property.
And now...
Emily's face was unrecognizable—her features twisted grotesquely. Her once-delicate figure contorted unnaturally, as though something writhed beneath her skin. Sweat had soaked her expensive silk gown, making it cling to her distorted frame in a disturbing outline.
"I heard she went to Apprentice Marcus's room a few days ago…" a female apprentice murmured.
"Emily wouldn't take this lying down. She always dreamed of becoming a junior apprentice."
"Yes, and thanks to the magic stone fragments she earned... selling herself... she was able to buy the 'Spiritual Catalyst.'"
"Tsk, what a shame. I remember how proud she was when she first arrived. She said she'd rather become a test subject than leave. And now…"
Their whispers died abruptly.
A tall figure cloaked in white robes stepped into view, his footsteps echoing like thunder in the suddenly silent hallway. The mask on his face was expressionless, but his sneer was audible in his voice.
"Another pitiful soul who doesn't know how to survive."
His voice was chilling, utterly devoid of compassion.
"I just happen to need a subject for a new transformation formula."
An invisible wave rippled from his hand, pinning Emily in place mid-transformation. He prepared to take her away like an animal being selected for slaughter.
Her features twisted further as invisible pressure crushed her down. The jewel necklace around her neck dug deep into her swollen skin.
Then—miraculously—she raised her head.
Her bloodshot eyes locked onto the crowd. Those once-sparkling crystal-blue irises were now veined with red like cracked glass, and within them flickered strange, shifting symbols.
"H-help… me…"
Her lips moved, but no sound came—only a gurgling, raspy wheeze escaped her throat.
The white-robed wizard frowned in disgust. From within his robes, he produced a glowing potion.
"Looks like I'll need to quiet you down first..."
"Let's go," Andre muttered, grabbing Ron's arm. "You don't want to see what comes next."
The two turned to leave. But just as they took a few steps, a blood-curdling scream echoed behind them.
The sound tore through the corridor—high-pitched, piercing, yet inhuman. It was layered with guttural roars from something unrecognizable, like the cries of a beast from the depths of the abyss.
Back in their dormitory, Ron sat frozen.
His mind raced, his chest tight. Everything that had happened that day—Locke, and now Emily—was a brutal reminder of the world they lived in.
A world where the strong devour the weak.
"I must become stronger…" he whispered to himself, staring at his system panel.
In this cruel world, strength wasn't a luxury—it was survival. It was the only thing standing between him and becoming meat for the butcher's table.
He opened his notebook again and resumed studying the properties of herbs.
Mrs. Allen's lesson would begin soon. He had no time to falter. He had to be ready.