Ronan tucked away the two high-level magic stones Jerome had given him and took a moment to assess his surroundings. He was met with a sea of stunned, bewildered faces.
Having lived on Drop Street for quite some time, Ronan was known to many as a reclusive young wizard. In their eyes, he was perhaps slightly stronger than the average low-level apprentice but certainly not extraordinary.
After all, anyone truly powerful wouldn't be living in a place like Drop Street.
However, the strength Ronan displayed tonight left them utterly speechless.
Two advanced apprentice black-robed wizards, ruthless in their slaughter of lower-level wizards, had attacked Ronan together. Yet, within a few exchanges, Ronan cleanly dispatched one, and the other fled.
That someone so formidable, praised by even the academy's formal wizards and deemed worthy of recruitment, lived on their street was mind-boggling.
Many struggled to process this sudden reversal, feeling as though they were in a bizarre dream.
Until...
The painful groans and cries pulled them back to reality.
"It's a poison spell," Old Wills said, approaching with Vinicia and Sherrill.
Having witnessed Ronan take down an advanced apprentice black robe solo at level five, Old Wills was less shocked by tonight's events and more filled with a profound sense of fear.
"Without a high-level antidote, there's no saving them."
Old Wills looked at the twisted, green-tinged bodies in the street with sympathy and sorrow.
"Poison spell..."
Ronan glanced at the twitching, dying wizards, recalling the green phosphorescent light that had emerged from the second black robe's cloak at the start of the battle. His lips pressed into a tight line.
That spell had a wide range, with the green firelight engulfing half the street and even reaching the neighboring block, where cries could be faintly heard.
Fortunately, few were caught in the spell, only those unlucky enough to be touched by the phosphorescence.
"Don't touch the bodies, or else you'll..."
Old Wills began to warn a couple weeping over their deceased child, but within moments, the couple collapsed, their faces contorted.
The couple was young, and the boy who died first looked about Sherrill's age.
Old Wills sighed heavily, and Ronan covered Sherrill's eyes with his hand.
"Let's go!"
Ronan took a deep breath and quickly decided, "We can't stay here tonight. We'll return when the spell's effects have dissipated tomorrow."
No one objected, and Old Wills went to inform the Jolin couple.
When Ronan's battle with the black robes began, the couple was still packing.
The group hurried towards the Jolin's home.
But before they arrived, they stopped abruptly.
There, in front of the Jolin's small house, knelt a one-armed man in the snow, clutching a cold corpse. Like a grieving beast, he wailed and whimpered, repeatedly murmuring the name "Elsa" until his voice faded into the cold moonlight.
By the second half of the night, the chaos in the town was quelled, and rumors of Hoddam's fall were dispelled.
At dawn, the academy's summons board was updated with a slew of new tasks.
The focus was singular—hunt the black robes!
Bringing the scalp of a Forest of Whispered Death black-robed wizard promised rewards of magic stones, potions, artifacts, and more.
The winter sun hung high, its light a sheer veil without warmth.
Outside Hoddam Academy's gates, where the tall iron gates entwined with ivy stood, the ever-present mist had lifted, revealing a small table.
"Get lost! Trying to pass off some tattered scalps as black robes and expecting an academy entry spot? Do you think we're fools?"
A curly-haired youth with the Hoddam Academy insignia shooed away a middle-aged gray-robed wizard with disdain.
Embarrassed, the wizard gathered his things and left quickly.
"How many have we dealt with today?" a young man lounging nearby asked, yawning as he removed a stylish wizard's hat from his face.
The curly-haired youth shook his head, muttering, "Who knows.
Does the academy really expect these wandering wizards, who haven't even attended a proper spell class, to help turn the tide?
I doubt they can even complete a basic zero-order incantation in front of a black robe."
"They're not expected to be effective fighters, just cannon fodder to fill our ranks," the young man replied. "The Forest of Whispered Death is running low on resources too. We've gone from facing formal members to these wandering black robes, who can't even cast basic corrosive spells. They're no better than the gray robes trying to scam rewards with fake scalps."
Curly hair, intrigued, asked, "Are the formal black robes really that formidable? You hunters talk about them like they're monsters."
The young man with the wizard hat grew serious, saying, "They're far stronger than you think.
To become a formal member of the Forest of Whispered Death, the weakest is a mid-level apprentice wizard. Unlike our peaceful, academically focused academy, their survival rules are brutal. Failure often means death.
Wizards forged in such an environment are inevitably powerful. It usually takes at least two of us to handle one of their black robes."
"That's insane!" Curly hair exclaimed, incredulous.
As they spoke, a shadow fell over their table, drawing their attention.
A tall, lean youth stood before them, his auburn hair and striking features exuding a calm reminiscent of a frozen winter lake.
"I'm here to exchange for a reward."
The youth's voice, tinged with cold, announced.
After dealing with numerous oddballs and scam attempts all morning, Curly hair was uninterested, lazily responding, "Show us the scalps for verification."
The young wizard shook his head, "I have no scalps."
Curly hair chuckled. "Then why are you here?"
He waved dismissively, "Move along, don't cause trouble."
The youth remained silent, placing a hand on the table.
When he withdrew it, three coin-sized black insignias lay there.
"I don't have black-robed scalps, but I do have insignias from the Forest of Whispered Death's members.
Will that suffice?"
He asked, his eyes questioning.
Curly hair stared dumbfounded at the three insignias, each bearing the emblem of the Forest of Whispered Death and a crimson blood moon, before looking at his companion.
The two youths at the table stood simultaneously, all traces of their earlier nonchalance vanished.
"Of course, it will," the young man with the wizard hat said, examining one insignia closely before looking at the gray-robed youth with shock and disbelief. "What do you want to exchange for?"
"Tickets. The fastest tickets out of Hoddam."
The youth replied, each word steady, "Three."
As the handsome gray-robed youth departed, the two remained stunned by the encounter.
"Is that for real?" Curly hair asked, picking up an insignia in disbelief. "Could it be another scam?"
The wizard hat youth, scrutinizing an insignia, replied, "It's real. I recognize the necrotic aura.
Each insignia is unique, signifying formal membership in the Forest of Whispered Death, like our ivy badges. It's impossible to fake."
"So that youth, looking younger than us, single-handedly took down three mid-level apprentice black robes?" Curly hair dropped the insignia, shaking his head. "That's too unbelievable."
Noticing something, the wizard hat youth picked up the largest insignia.
Flipping it over, he noticed a faint gray-white pattern along the edge, his expression freezing in shock.
Sensing his companion's reaction, Curly hair asked, "What's wrong? Is it fake? I'll bring that kid back right now!"
He moved to rush out but was grabbed by the wizard hat youth.
"It's not that."
The youth looked up slowly, his face a mix of awe and disbelief.
He showed Curly hair the insignia, pointing to the pattern. "This insignia bears the bone pattern, not a standard black robe insignia.
It's reserved for the elite members of the Forest of Whispered Death.
That kid... has slain an advanced wizard apprentice black robe."
"What?!"
Curly hair's jaw dropped, his expression frozen in shock.
"Whoosh—"
The massive magical ship, like an ancient whale, broke through the mist and slowly ascended.
The runic array stirred a gale, causing the wizards' robes on deck to flap wildly.
Old Wills' white hair whipped around comically, despite his attempts to tame it with a hood, but his heart was alight with excitement and emotion.
"Hoddam."
He murmured, his eyes sweeping over the town, its streets, the snow-covered wilderness, and forests beyond.
Finally, his gaze settled on a tall figure in a gray robe below.
"Ronan."
Old Wills' eyes held a complex mix of emotions. In his mind, Ronan was still the chubby boy who ran through the forest each morning, yet he had transformed into the young man before him.
"Now I can boast in taverns about trading a few meals for my life and a wizard's ticket worth a fortune."
Old Wills chuckled at himself, glancing at Vinicia and Sherrill beside him.
Sherrill's hair billowed like seaweed in the wind as she clutched her cheeks, trying to peel away a thin film.
Vinicia poured potion over Sherrill, rubbing off blackened scum.
"Stop that!"
Old Wills reached out, holding Vinicia's wrist firmly.
Sherrill's head drooped, her hands stilling.
They resembled mischievous children caught by a parent.
"I..."
Vinicia's face flushed beneath the grime, her chest heaving with unspoken protest.
"I know what you're trying to do."
Old Wills softened, speaking gently, "But remember where we are. Being on the ship doesn't guarantee safety. With Ronan not around, you must be more cautious. Understand, Vinicia?"
Vinicia nodded, her disappointment evident, casting a longing glance at Ronan below, her gaze timid yet unwilling to part.
Sherrill leaned over the railing, mumbling, "Master Ronan... may never know what Sister Vinicia truly looks like... or how Sister Vinicia feels."
Old Wills patted Sherrill's head, speaking softly.
"Not forever. We'll meet Ronan again someday."
As the ship carrying Old Wills, Vinicia, and Sherrill became a speck in the clouds, Ronan turned from the high platform, slowly retracing his steps.
With their departure, Ronan felt a weight lift, a sense of ease and relief washing over him.
The tragic fate of the Jolin couple deeply affected Ronan.
So much so that when the academy issued its new black robe hunting directive, he exchanged three Forest of Whispered Death insignias for tickets, sending Old Wills and the girls away.
Though Old Wills claimed Sherrill was young enough to share a ticket, Ronan secured three for safety.
As for himself, he felt no urgency to leave Hoddam.
The escalating conflict between Hoddam and the Forest of Whispered Death, with the academy urging gray robes to fight, presented an opportunity for Ronan.
A chance to quickly gather the resources needed to become a formal wizard.
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