As an intermediate apprentice, Kay was considered a minor powerhouse at Menzoberranzan's Dark Mage Academy. With high-level apprentices and quasi-mages rarely seen by lower-ranked peers, intermediate apprentices stood atop the hierarchy for over 80% of the academy's students.
The unnamed mummified apprentice had left behind a few useful items. Kay barely glanced at two low-grade magical artifacts—their elemental energy had long faded. The real finds were a handful of low-to-mid-tier monster cores (their elemental storage far sturdier than shoddy magical gear) and a thin spellbook tucked close to the corpse's chest, protected from the sand.
Whoever had crafted the apprentice's gear was clearly an amateur—nowhere near the skill of the alchemist who'd made Kay's pale mask, or even Kay himself. Hence, the artifacts were discarded without a second look.
"Introduction to the Cultivation of Magical Plants?" Kay muttered, flipping through the sand-eaten pages. "A plant-element mage… and there's a mid-tier Vine Bind spell model here too." He sighed. "What a waste. Plant mages stand the least chance in a place like this."
No seeds were found—unsurprising, given the corpse's sunken stomach. Kay could only assume the apprentice had eaten them to survive.
He stowed his meager loot in his spatial ring, then resumed his march across the dunes. There was one more prize: a second Elemental Orb, identical to his own. Its heat and dense elemental aura faded slower than even the monster cores—proof of Vice-Dean Martin's craftsmanship. Kay tucked it safely away, recalling Moses' warning. With two orbs now guiding him, he felt closer than ever to finding the others.
On the twelfth day in the sand world, night finally fell. The world's day-night cycle was a mystery—even after dark, a faint, suffocating heat lingered, though it was cool enough to slow his water loss. Night lasted a full day; when the blinding white sun rose again, Kay set off once more.
"Dark magic is harder to cast here," he mused. "Only last night, dark elements felt active. Fire, light, and earth are easier—but even simple spells drain more mana and mental power than in the Underdark. The elemental density is just too low." He frowned. "I wonder how Lina's holding up."
By the sixteenth day, the two Elemental Orbs in his chest burned hotter than ever. Then, he spotted them—two living Dark Mage apprentices, and he knew both.
"Mali, wake up! Don't scare me!" A muffled sob echoed from behind a dune. "I shouldn't have eaten most of our food and water… please, just look at me."
The speaker was a 2-meter-tall brute—dark skin, bulging muscles, a build made for raw strength. At his feet, in a hand-dug hollow, lay a pale, 1.7-meter-tall young apprentice. They were Kay and Lina's neighbors back at the academy—the pair everyone whispered was "close."
Kay had assumed Stanson, the high-level apprentice, had forced Mali into the relationship. Such cruelty was common at the academy. But the way Stanson knelt over Mali, tears mixing with sand, told a different story.
From a distance, Kay used his mask's enhanced vision to see sand and dried blood under Stanson's nails. Mali tried to lift a hand to Stanson's cheek, but his arm fell limp—weakened by hunger and the harsh environment. For an intermediate apprentice to die not by blade or spell, but by thirst? It was cruel irony.
Then, a drop of blood hit the sand.
Stanson had sliced his own wrist with his sharpened nails. Kay remembered Lina mentioning Stanson's rare blood magic— a side effect of being an experiment for an official mage. He'd survived the twisted rituals and gained power; the only flaw was his slow, simple mind.
Scarlet blood dripped into Mali's mouth. Mali's throat bobbed, and a faint light returned to his eyes—then he shook his head, pushing Stanson's arm away. If one of them was to live, it should be Stanson: stronger, a high-level apprentice, more likely to survive.
Kay had planned to ignore them. But Stanson was a high-level apprentice—he'd been in the sand world longer, might know more. Reluctantly, Kay decided to reveal himself—even if it meant sharing his scarce supplies.
He shifted slightly, and a grain of sand crunched.
"Who's there?!" Stanson roared, his voice raw with grief and hope. Grief for Mali's fading life, hope that the stranger might mean food. They hadn't eaten or drunk in three days; Stanson could hold on, but Mali couldn't.
In his hunger-fueled delirium, Stanson's eyes lit up. A living thing meant blood to quench their thirst, flesh to fill their bellies. He'd become a beast—more feral than any high-tier monster.
A scarlet blur streaked toward Kay. Stanson's sense of smell was terrifyingly sharp. As he ran, black claws sprouted from his fingers, his eyes glowing red—too far gone to reason with.
Kay barely had time to explain himself before he was forced to raise his magical staff. Stanson was a high-level apprentice, and even weakened by hunger, he was dangerous.
"Fire Wall!" A wall of flame erupted before Kay, its heat searing the already scorching air. But Stanson didn't slow. A wisp of black energy coated his body; coarse fur sprouted from his skin. He shielded his eyes with one arm and charged straight through the fire.
He emerged on the other side, his face twisted into a狰 grin—only to find Kay gone.
Kay's high-tier Invisibility Cloak had hidden him perfectly. It didn't mask his breath or sound, but against a mindless brute like Stanson, it was enough. The Fire Wall had been a distraction—its smoke and heat bought him time to vanish.
Now, his next spell was ready. "Fire Hand!"
A massive fist of flame materialized, far more destructive than the Fire Wall. Stanson's charge through the flames had left him burned—his arms, legs, and chest were raw with blisters. He wasn't fireproof, just crazed.
The Fire Hand clamped down toward Stanson's unprotected head.
"ROAR!" Stanson howled. Black energy surged again—his head twisted, fangs sprouting from his lips, black furry ears poking through his hair. His hands morphed into large, clawed paws. He raised them just in time, blocking the flame.
The Fire Hand incinerated his fur and singed his skin, but it didn't kill him. When the spell faded, Stanson stood tall—now 2.5 meters, his body covered in burns and old scars, blood oozing from every wound. He looked like a walking corpse.
Kay waited for another charge. Instead, Stanson stumbled, then crashed to the sand.
Blood magic fed on mana and blood. Normally, it made Stanson tougher, more enduring than other mages his rank. But now, he was weak—anemic from feeding Mali his blood. Two bursts of blood magic had drained his last strength.
A smarter mage would have conserved energy, but Stanson was a beast. He'd fought until he couldn't stand.
Kay let out a breath and dropped his invisibility. Moses' gifts had saved him—without the cloak, he'd have been torn apart. He approached Stanson, his Acid Staff in hand. The brute was still breathing, his beady eyes fixed on Kay like a cornered animal.
Kay didn't kill him—yet. The Acid Staff had a cooldown, and Stanson still had answers. He summoned a small fireball in his palm, its warmth a silent threat.
"Why are you here?" Kay asked. "High-level and intermediate apprentices entered the rift at different times. How did you two end up together? And where are the other high-level apprentices? The quasi-mages?" He leaned in. "Tell me, and I might let you live."