Halochassis

In the rugged mountain ranges of Codilla District, nearly one hundred and fifty kilometers from Luminous City, stood the most prestigious institution of magical learning in the world—Saint Marian Academy. Perched atop a towering peak that pierced the clouds, the academy overlooked endless valleys and forests that stretched toward the horizon. 

Its white marble towers glittered beneath the sunlight during the day, while at night, magical lanterns illuminated the campus like a constellation suspended above the mountains. Countless legendary mages had once walked its halls, and many of the greatest magical discoveries in history had originated within its sacred classrooms.

Among its most famous graduates was Cattleo vi Examillenia. Unlike ordinary students who spent years mastering the academy’s rigorous curriculum, Cattleo had graduated at the astonishing age of twelve, leaving behind peers many years older than himself. From childhood, he possessed an unparalleled affinity for magic that bordered on the supernatural. While other students spent months learning complex incantations, he mastered them in days. He earned the title of the Silent Warlock because of his extraordinary ability to cast even the most advanced spells without uttering a single word. To the magical community, he was celebrated as a once-in-a-generation genius.

Yet his talents extended far beyond ordinary spellcasting. Even after the defeat of the Demon King a decade ago, Cattleo’s appearance remained unchanged. His youthful face, small frame, and pale features looked exactly as they had forty years earlier. Through forbidden applications of time magic, he had frozen the aging process of his own body, trapping himself permanently at the age of twelve. While countless friends, rivals, and mentors had grown old or passed away, the Silent Warlock remained untouched by time itself. Theoretically, he could continue existing forever.

To the public, Cattleo was admired as one of the heroic Celestial Wardens. Students viewed him as an inspiration, and scholars praised his contributions to magical research. However, beneath the academy’s pristine reputation lurked a secret so horrifying that not even the highest-ranking faculty members knew of its existence.

Deep beneath Saint Marian Academy lay an enormous underground complex concealed behind layers of magical barriers and dimensional locks. The first section contained Cattleo’s forbidden archives, an immense personal library filled with cursed grimoires, banned research journals, and magical knowledge deemed too dangerous for the world. Ancient tomes lined towering shelves that disappeared into darkness. The stale scent of old parchment filled the air, while enchanted candles burned with eerie blue flames that never flickered.

Beyond the library was a second chamber far more sinister than the first.

This was the witchcraft testing ground.

The moment one entered, the atmosphere changed completely. The air felt damp and cold against the skin. The metallic smell of blood mixed with the scent of alchemical chemicals and burnt flesh. Strange magical devices hummed softly in the darkness, while crimson runes pulsed across stone walls like beating hearts. In the center stood a massive glass vat filled with a thick, dark-red substance that slowly churned as if alive.

Around the chamber were rows of prison cells.

Inside them were boys no older than fourteen. Their thin bodies were exposed to the cold air, their wrists and ankles restrained by heavy enchanted chains. Some sat silently with vacant eyes, while others trembled uncontrollably. Many bore scars from previous experiments. The occasional rattle of chains echoed throughout the chamber, accompanied by muffled sobs and desperate prayers.

The Silent Warlock walked calmly between the cells.

His footsteps echoed against the stone floor, measured and emotionless.

One boy immediately recognized him.

Fear flooded the child’s face as he crawled backward until his back slammed against the cell wall.

”Release me! Let me go! Mommy!” the boy screamed, his voice cracking from exhaustion. He pulled desperately against his restraints, causing the chains to clatter loudly. ”Please! I want to go home!”

The chains held firm.

Cattleo stared at him with expressionless eyes.

A silent sigh escaped him.

Noise. He hated noise.

The cries, the begging, the endless screaming—it all irritated him. This was precisely why he rarely socialized with the other Celestial Wardens. Conversations exhausted him. Human emotions annoyed him. He preferred isolation within the quiet sanctuary he had built for himself, surrounded only by books, magical research, and subjects that could not challenge his authority.

Without speaking, he raised a hand.

Faint arcs of blue lightning danced across his fingers, crackling softly in the darkness. The electrical energy illuminated his youthful face with brief flashes of pale light.

The boy’s eyes widened in terror.

”No... please—”

Cattleo placed his hand upon the boy’s head.

Instantly, electricity surged into the child’s skull.

The boy convulsed violently as his body jerked against the restraints. His scream transformed into a distorted shriek as magical currents raced through his nervous system. Veins bulged beneath his skin while sparks erupted around his head. Moments later, a thick crimson sludge began leaking from his eyes, nose, ears, mouth, and every pore of his body. The substance dripped onto the floor with wet splashes before flowing into hidden drains beneath the cell.

Those drains connected directly to the enormous vat at the center of the laboratory.

The crimson fluid slowly joined the swirling mass already contained within.

When Cattleo finally removed his hand, the boy hung limply from his chains. His chest rose and fell weakly, and his eyes had lost much of their awareness.

The Silent Warlock examined him with clinical precision.

This is not good. His blood are no longer optimal as an ingredient.

The realization irritated him.

Cattleo had always pursued perfection. Throughout his existence, he had achieved perfect grades, flawless magical execution, and undefeated records against his rivals. Every experiment, every spell, and every calculation had to meet his impossibly high standards. Imperfection was unacceptable. Failure was intolerable.

The weakened subject before him no longer satisfied the requirements of his research.

Therefore, disposal was necessary.

Cattleo pressed his palm against the boy’s chest. Ancient runes briefly glowed beneath his fingertips. Then he cast an Implosion Spell.

”Ah! AAAAAAGH!”

The boy’s scream echoed throughout the laboratory.

An invisible force erupted inside his body. His internal organs blackened and collapsed as searing magical energy consumed them from within. The destruction spread rapidly through his veins and muscles like wildfire. Bones cracked and crumbled. Skin darkened and split apart as intense heat radiated outward. The smell of burning flesh filled the chamber.

The agony lasted only seconds.

Then the boy’s body disintegrated completely.

Where a living child had stood moments earlier, there remained only a small pile of gray ash drifting across the cold stone floor.

The laboratory fell silent once more.

And for Cattleo vi Examillenia, it was finally peaceful again.

Cattleo stepped onto the cold stone floor and silently cast a simple Gust Spell, the invisible force sweeping the boy’s dry ashes into the drain with a soft hiss. When the last trace of gray dust vanished, he turned without a word and exited the cell, his expression as flat and unreadable as ever.

From there, he crossed the laboratory toward the giant vat at the center of the room, where the collected red life fluid bubbled slowly under a constant heat source. 

Beneath the vat sat a pot kept at exactly ninety-nine degrees Celsius, its contents simmering in a controlled, unnatural rhythm. The entire apparatus was part of his private refinement process: the extracted fluid was filtered, heated, and blended with other ingredients in carefully measured proportions, including standard health and mana potion bases, dragon scales, demonic blood, and other rare substances gathered through questionable means. The room itself thrummed with low magical pressure, and the air carried a sharp mix of metallic scent, medicinal bitterness, and something far more unsettling beneath it.

At the far end of the factory-like chamber, several finished vials rolled along a conveyor belt powered by a glowing magic crystal embedded in the mechanism. Each vial clicked softly against the one before it as they moved in perfect order, their contents shimmering faintly under the dim light. 

Cattleo took one from the line, fitted an injection with practiced precision, and pressed it into his arm. The fluid entered his body in a slow, cold rush, and for him, it was nothing less than a personal fountain of youth.

He had discovered the process through a repulsive but useful hypothesis: that the red fluids in a young boy’s body contained an enormous concentration of life energy. From there, he had refined the extraction method, converting those fluids into mana and shaping them into a highly concentrated source of power. That was the secret behind his seemingly bottomless reserves, the reason he could sustain his Autonomous Spell Cast skill without pause, without fatigue, and without showing the slightest sign of weakness.

Then, suddenly, the alarm sounded.

A sharp chime pierced the laboratory, cutting through the quiet like a blade. Someone was knocking at the door to his secret chamber. Cattleo’s head snapped up, and with a flick of his hand, a floating HUD appeared before him. The face of a young witch materialized in the display, pale and nervous.

“Lord Cattleo, you have a visitor.”

“W-W-W-Who w-w-w-was -i-i-i-it?” Cattleo stammered, his words tripping over one another in the same irritating way they always did when he felt cornered.

“It was Detective Croft, from the Police Department. They want to ask you some questions.”

Cattleo scratched at his arms, a habit that grew worse whenever police or detectives from Empyrea came hiking through these mountains and asking questions. Their presence always made him uneasy. It meant scrutiny. It meant danger. It meant that someone, somewhere, might be too close to the truth.

“I-I-I-I’ll b-b-b-e t-t-there,” he said at last.

He quickly threw the used injection into the trash, snatched up his mage robe, and took his long staff in hand. His fingers tightened around the smooth wood as a bitter thought flashed through his mind.

I swear. If that detective pries even further, I’ll kill her. Even if that stupid runt is Lireina’s best friend.

He moved to the door, opened it just enough to slip through, and closed it behind him immediately. The moment it shut, the entire hidden room was swallowed in darkness, leaving the boys in their cells trapped in a lightless void.

Cattleo walked onward, trying to steady his breathing.

They probably couldn’t have known my secret, didn’t they?

The question repeated itself in his mind like a pulse he could not silence. By the time he reached the academy entrance, the earlier tension in his chest had only grown tighter. Students moved across the courtyard in small groups, their robes brushing against stone paths as they headed to class, their voices blending into a soft, academic murmur. The academy felt calm on the surface, bright and orderly, but Cattleo’s thoughts remained cold and sharp.

The bell rang just as he spotted the detective.

“Good day, Silent Warlock.” Detective Croft removed her hat with polite respect. “I am sorry for intruding your academy once more.”

Then she produced a paper and held it out with measured firmness.

“This is a letter of investigation from the Empyrean Department of Justice. With this authority, we will have to question you about some rumors circulating around this prestigious school.”