The iceball, crackling with cold energy, crashed to the ground with a muffled "boom," leaving a shallow, frost-covered crater on the uneven road outside Ronan's door.
"Don't you know it's forbidden to use magic in town? Have you no sense of public decency?" an old wizard, carrying a bucket, shouted, startled by the sudden commotion. However, upon sensing Ronan's Level 5 apprentice mental energy, his expression changed, and he quickly walked away without another word.
"Oh, I forgot I'm not in the forest anymore," Ronan muttered, realizing his mistake. He smacked his forehead, feeling a mix of annoyance and embarrassment, then crouched to scoop some ice shards from the crater to wash his face.
Back in the treehouse district, he'd grown used to summoning iceballs for water, never needing to queue at a water point with a bucket.
Chewing on ice shards to brush his teeth, Ronan lamented the inconveniences of city living while recalling his progress from the previous night's work.
Of the three storage pouches, he had managed to unravel nearly a third of one.
At this pace, he'd be able to open it by the day after tomorrow at the latest.
This promising pouch was the spoils from his first rescue of Old Wills and the others.
Its original owner was the weakest of the three black robes Ronan had defeated, succumbing to a single energy missile.
Because the original owner's power was the lowest, the pouch was the simplest to crack, with the weakest mental energy imprint.
As Ronan mused over this, he noticed a small figure approaching him.
A sleepy Sherrill, her hair tousled, was rubbing her eyes and yawning as she mumbled, "Master Ronan, Sister Vinicia says breakfast is ready."
Ronan perked up at the news. Having just moved in, he didn't have any food, and he was wondering how to tackle breakfast.
"Got it," Ronan replied, spitting out the ice shards and striding toward Vinicia and the others' place.
As he passed the drowsy Sherrill, he mischievously pressed his cold hand to the back of her neck.
The sudden chill jolted Sherrill awake, and she shrieked, running off.
Basking in the morning sunlight, Ronan felt a wave of contentment.
"It's a brand-new, beautiful day."
Breakfast was a group affair. Mrs. Jolin and Vinicia had prepared delicious pancakes and creamy mushroom soup.
After eating, Ronan discreetly left some magic stones as a contribution to future meals, then returned to his own room.
Three days later, in Ronan's small house, a satisfying "click," like a lock opening, echoed in his mind as the mouth of the black storage pouch in his hand finally opened.
Ronan's face lit up with delight.
"Finally got it open."
He didn't rush to inspect the contents. First, he washed his face with cold water to shake off the fatigue of his near-sleepless three days.
Then, carefully drawing the curtains, he picked up the pouch again in the dim glow of the oil lamp.
As his mental energy seeped in, a peculiar sensation arose.
Ronan "saw" a cubic meter of black space appear before him, jumbled with various items.
He began extracting the contents of the storage pouch one by one.
Soon, Ronan had sorted the items into three piles before him.
One pile contained everyday necessities with little value: dirty clothes, socks, unfinished food, water, a nail clipper, and a silver ear pick—apparently, this black robe valued personal hygiene.
The second pile held items of value.
This included: three intermediate magic stones, forty-two low-level magic stones, a bone ring, a black badge, several wizard books, and a few unidentified potions.
Gazing at this pile, Ronan's heart skipped a beat with excitement.
Jackpot!
Though he had often fantasized about the wealth he might find inside the pouch, experiencing the reality was exhilarating.
This was Ronan's first time owning intermediate magic stones.
Slightly larger than low-level stones, they were also black but with a deeper hue and contained far more energy particles, akin to higher-quality gems.
"Three intermediate stones and forty-two low-level stones. Even with soaring prices, I can now afford potions to boost mental energy."
Ronan examined the intermediate stones under the lamp before carefully storing them away.
The ring was a mid-level artifact, enchanted with a rune Ronan didn't recognize. However, he sensed a swirling mass of negative energy particles within it, unusual for an unactivated artifact.
Curious and puzzled, Ronan touched the ring, and suddenly...
"Valensuna! You wretch!"
A pale, semi-transparent woman in a long dress screamed as she burst from the ring, startling Ronan, making his hair stand on end.
A gust of cold wind blew out the oil lamp, and the woman vanished as she hit the wall.
Seconds later, the sound of a woman's scream and things being thrown echoed from the neighboring house.
Ronan quickly activated the ring's rune. A mysterious suction emanated from it.
Moments later, the ghostly woman re-emerged from the wall, as if pulled by something, and was sucked back into the ring, cursing "Valensuna" with a deep-seated hatred until the last moment.
"A ghost?!"
Ronan relit the oil lamp, his heart pounding.
Ghosts were remnants of souls and energy particles, generally lacking intelligence, driven by a singular obsession.
Who would have thought this seemingly ordinary mid-level ring housed a ghost!
Ronan instinctively picked up the black badge beside the ring for a closer look.
Such badges typically indicated the owner's identity.
The badge's front depicted a black forest, each tree resembling twisted limbs and bones, all growing toward and worshiping a blood moon above.
On the reverse, Ronan read the cryptic and strange inscription.
"Forest of Whispered Death!"
No wonder.
Ronan immediately understood.
Reflecting on it, the three black robes he'd encountered indeed wielded necromantic spells.
"So the force invading Hoddam is called the Forest of Whispered Death..."
Ronan dared not touch the ring again, fearing the unlucky wizard next door might call the academy's enforcement team. He quickly packed his things, preparing to leave town.
Just as he opened the door, the neighbor came rushing out, heavily laden with bags, hastily fleeing toward the city outskirts as if planning an immediate escape.
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