The steamship carrying Green and his fellow Wizard Apprentices stood out starkly in the harbor—for it was, quite simply, a wreck.
And small wonder: after enduring a battle between a wizard and a nightmare-like giant octopus, it was sheer fortune the vessel had not sunk outright.
As the ship docked, the apprentices all but bolted ashore, gulping down the open air with faces lit in unrestrained relief.
At last, they had escaped that hellish voyage!
But their joy did not go unnoticed. Passing apprentices at the port sneered openly.
"Another pack of bumpkins from some forgotten isle—thinking they'll become wizards the moment they step onto the mainland. Laughable ignorance… hmph."
That speaker had mistaken their relief for excitement at having reached the wizarding continent.
"Master."
A chorus of apprentices bowed toward the Faceless Mask Wizard, who ignored them entirely, addressing only the newly disembarked group in a cool voice:
"Do not wander off."
From afar, a figure came gliding through the air. Moments later, an ancient crone astride a broom hovered before them. Without so much as a glance at Green and the rest, her sharp eyes fixed on the pair standing behind the Faceless Mask—Yunli and Bibilianna.
"Shu-shu… so these two charming little creatures are the ones Lilith's Cottage marked as targets? Indeed… their soul waves are most peculiar."
The wrinkles on her face were deep as the bark of an ancient tree; her gloating cackle revealed a mouthful of blackened, rotten teeth—visibly repulsive. Many from the Bloodsail Alliance instinctively stepped back from her.
Green could not help but wonder—were all wizards so grotesque? And if he became one himself… would he too end up like this?
The thought alone sent a chill crawling up his spine.
His gaze flicked toward Raffie—tall, graceful, and strikingly beautiful—and an involuntary, dreadful image arose: what if she were to take on the crone's visage…?
"Am I beautiful?"
Raffie suddenly turned to him, face expressionless, the question delivered like a cold jest.
For an instant, Green's mind overlapped her features with the old witch's, and guilt made him blurt hastily,
"Uh… y-yes, yes—you're beautiful."
Surprise flickered in her eyes. In the past, Green would have simply turned away in silence at such a provocation.
Perhaps the release from the ship's suffocating oppression had loosened everyone's mood—Raffie herself had not expected to pose such a question.
After a brief pause, she smiled.
"Shall I take that as a confession? Hmph. Still… for having once risked your life to save me, I might just give it proper thought."
With that, she smirked in satisfaction and turned away, leaving Green momentarily at a loss.
He recalled with perfect clarity—back in the Viscount's manor at Bisser City, when this lady of noble birth had thrown down The Olfactory Modifications and Scent Atlas, she had shouted another man's name: "Elon."
Meanwhile, from atop his swirling murder of crows, the Faceless Mask Wizard spoke:
"Enough—don't frighten these little ones further. After more than a month of trials, they already fear the academy greatly."
"Shu-shu… what they think is none of my concern. They cannot enter the Seventh Ring Tower; my interest lies solely in these two."
The old crone beckoned Yunli and Bibilianna forward, then muttered to the Faceless Mask,
"If I'd taken this task from the start, it wouldn't have taken a month."
And with that, she whisked the two away into the distance.
"Hmph! Less than a month? What, does she expect the ship to sprout wings?" Yorkris muttered angrily.
His sister, Yorkliana, tugged at his sleeve in warning, fearing he'd talk himself into trouble.
"Idiot. She meant she'd have abandoned us—or simply killed us all," Raffie said coldly.
Her words chilled Yorkris, Yorkliana, and Green alike. They felt an unspoken gratitude that this particular "task" had not fallen into the crone's hands.
Some even found themselves longing for Wizard Dira by comparison.
If only they could reach Lilith's Cottage Academy intact… surely their fates would take a kinder turn.
About a quarter-hour later, seven or eight apprentices came running up, panting. Spotting the Faceless Mask, they ignored their exhaustion and bowed deeply.
"Enough," he said curtly. "Though the term begins in half a month, this batch requires no special arrangement—take them straight to the Academy and assign quarters. You're in charge."
"Yes, sir."
With that, the Faceless Mask and Solam took flight, the crows above crying in a discordant chorus, filling the sky with an ominous air.
Only after the wizards were gone did the new arrivals release their breath, then lift their eyes to the weary survivors who had come off the ship.
After more than a month of slaughter and sea monster attacks, fewer than three hundred remained.
"Well, well. Looks like you lot aren't as hopeless as the idiots from my year. That master trained you well, didn't he?"
The mocking tone soured whatever hopes the Bloodsail apprentices had been harboring. The Black Tower Academy was clearly no gentler than the voyage that brought them here.
Not all, however, were so hostile. A female apprentice stepped forward.
"Enough. Listen, newcomers—not everyone who enters the Black Tower Academy may call themselves an Wizard Apprentice. Only when you can independently perform three spells may you claim that title. For now, you are merely initiates—or novices."
She paused, then continued:
"Your tasks are twofold—ceaselessly strengthen your mental force, and unremittingly learn new sorceries."
"That's enough, Silia—stop playing the saint," growled a towering, bald-headed apprentice with a scar down his forehead.
"Listen well, newcomers. The Academy forbids killing, yes—but rules are dead things. If you kill without being caught in the act or leaving proof, the Enforcement Squad won't trouble themselves. So if you want to live long—keep your heads down."
His glare swept over them.
"And don't think stepping onto the continent makes you worthy of the title 'wizard.' I've seen plenty of puffed-up islanders before. Hmph! To me, you're just scum from some forgotten speck of rock."
The Bloodsail apprentices said nothing, their cold gazes fixed on him.
In earlier days, such insults might have provoked an outburst. But after a month's relentless culling, the reckless ones were long gone—feeding the sea.
The bald one seemed surprised—no one rose to the bait. Disappointed, irritated, he barked, "Move!"
Eight senior apprentices led the way, the three hundred survivors trailing behind, until they reached the foot of a colossal mountain. It rose sheer into the clouds, its slope near-vertical, black iron chains draped across its face like the sinews of some slumbering giant, exuding a crushing sense of life and oppression.
Night had fallen; only its shadowy outline was visible.
Could the Black Tower Academy truly be perched atop this impossible height?
The rockface was jagged and cruel, overgrown with strange, menacing flora—how could anyone climb it?
"Guh-guuh…"
An owl drifted overhead in the blackness. The bald leader halted, turned, and snarled,
"Listen well—any owl you see in the Academy or its surrounds must not be hindered in any way. If the Enforcement Squad catches you… their punishments are brutal."
The group exchanged puzzled glances at this unexpected warning.
At last they reached the mountain's base. Ancient trees loomed forty to fifty meters tall among the rocks, their age unknowable.
The bald apprentice stepped respectfully before one such tree.
"Please, open the way."
To the newcomers' astonishment, the bark slowly shifted, forming a lifelike human face. Its eyes rolled languidly over them all before the features sank back into the wood.
With a deep rumble, an immense boulder was hoisted aside by black chains, revealing a hidden passageway.
They walked through the mountain for some time before light flared ahead—countless illuminated buildings, and in the farthest distance, a tower of such height it seemed to pierce the heavens, standing in solitary grandeur.
"That… is the Black Tower?"
While the others stared in awe, Green's gaze fell upon an unremarkable grey stone by the tunnel wall, weathered by years.
It bore no ornament—only a line of words carved so deeply they seemed etched into the ages themselves:
"Grant me boundless knowledge, and I shall, with my own being as the fulcrum, move the infinite worlds."