High School of Demon Hunting

Chapter 416: Chapter 85: History and Legends of the Terrace_1

It wasn’t until the moon crossed the mid-heaven and began to descend slowly that Matthew finally asked his cousin for leave.

”After you go back, don’t rush to check the materials for training the hunting teams, you can first sort out the spells you’ve mastered since you were little... Remember to prepare several law books.” Sir Friedman gently reminded as he sent his cousin off the terrace, ”For huntsmen, the most reliable power on the hunting ground always lies in your law books.”

Matthew nodded again and again.

”You don’t need to worry about magic potions and alchemical goods, my club has a full set of backup, you can take whenever you want.”

”And the mid-term exam, you also don’t need to pay too much attention... because it accounts for a relatively low weight in the year-end comprehensive evaluation, so most of the professors will choose the in-class testing mode. As long as you complete your daily assignments diligently, it’s not difficult to get an excellent evaluation in the mid-term exam.”

Matthew listened to his cousin’s words absentmindedly, allowing the alchemy puppet to put on him the heavy cloak made of the top layer backskin of a Minotaur, yet his gaze involuntarily slid once more over the railing at the far end of the terrace.

Under the moonlight, the vivid statue of a female demon on the railing seemed to move a little, tilting her head towards the room a bit.

The young vampire couldn’t help but squint his eyes.

The female demon statue returned to its original state as if the previous scene was an illusion.

”Is there really a demon in there?” Matthew eventually couldn’t resist the curiosity in his heart and looked at his cousin, ”I mean, are demons really sealed inside those pillars?”

As soon as the words came out, the young vampire immediately regretted it.

He shouldn’t have mentioned these baseless rumors in front of his cousin.

However, Sir Friedman’s reaction was beyond his expectation.

Following Matthew’s gaze towards the railing, The Duke was slightly stunned and did not immediately scoff at his cousin’s somewhat naive question.

After a moment, the Duke slowly began to speak, saying, ”Maybe there is... maybe there isn’t. Who knows?”

This answer left Matthew wide-eyed.

He couldn’t help but turn his head and look at the terrace under the moonlight.

The vines clinging to the foot of the railing spread out large leaves, shivering in the evening breeze. The shadows of these quivering leaves on the marble floor of the terrace were like demons thrown into hell, struggling in the endless abyss.

”That terrace has existed for a long time since the first Karen moved into this lounge... This room was originally the office of an old professor at Alpha Academy.”

”Then the professor disappeared. It just so happened that at that time the Karen family won the war against the O’Brien-Black Coalition Forces and had the ability to demand a lounge in this castle... so this room eventually fell into our hands.”

”According to some documents I found in the room, the old professor had once received the ’Outstanding Contribution Award’ from the Wizard Alliance to commend his great contributions in the field of new world exploration... According to the brief description on the base of the trophy, the old professor should have captured a complete ’False God Series’ in some new world and successfully brought it into Black Prison.”

”This terrace was ground out bit by bit by fairies in commemoration of the old professor’s brilliant past... The seventy-two pillars around the terrace represent the seventy-two false gods in that false god series.”

”Since they are gods, they naturally have some sort of perception.”

”These pillars, this terrace, and this room, have an unbreakable connection with those seventy-two false gods... so if you think there are elves sealed in these pillars, my answer is, perhaps there are, perhaps there aren’t.”

”Who knows?”

”I always thought that this terrace was built by our Karen family.” Matthew raised an eyebrow, sounding somewhat surprised, ”And the rumor was that the souls of the demons were stuffed into these pillars by people from Karen’s family.”

”You said it yourself, in the rumor.” Sir Friedman handed the Burgundy cup in his hand to the small fairy next to him, then took a wet handkerchief to wipe his mouth and shook his head, ”In this world, seeing is not necessarily believing... let alone rumors? Besides the subjective emotions in the retelling, wizards don’t have much history.”

The Duke’s words were somewhat profound, Matthew didn’t fully understand them all at once.

But that didn’t stop him from continuing this brief dialogue before their parting.

”So there really are gods in the Black Prison!” The young vampire’s eyes sparkled, revealing an emotion that could be called ’longing’.

”Before you officially graduate from The First Academy, don’t think about that place... don’t even mention it.” Sir Friedman rarely warned the young man in front of him in a stern tone, ”That is a real abyss... especially unfriendly for us nocturnal creatures biased towards the Yin property. Perhaps only after surpassing ordinary registered wizards, you can escape the negative influence of that place.”

”At that time, if you are still interested in Black Prison, you can consider applying for a co-defending position at The First Academy.”

...

...

When Sir Friedman was talking about Black Prison, the place most hated by demons, with his cousin.

At the other end of Alpha Castle.

Similarly in a spacious lounge.

Someone also mentioned the name of the Black Prison.

”The people locked up in Black Prison are all big shots.”

”Like those old but immortal demon kings, or idols worshipped by the natives in the new world, as well as some great wizards who overdid the experiments and accidentally turned into witch-demons.”

”And us... we just through the Fishman in the Linzhong Lake Reserve sell some small things... no wizard court would waste precious manpower and resources to nitpick with us young people.”

Speaking was a stout-fat man.

His eyebrows were thick and light, his eyes were small but very black, which made his gaze seem somewhat deep. The two chunks of fat on his cheeks made him seem like he was struggling when he spoke.

Or rather, it gave him a forceful feeling when he spoke.

Mike Gold Cypress Plano never cared if others frowned when they heard him speak, he only cared if they understood his words.

At the moment, he was lazily slumped in the large armchair, holding up his hand and carefully examining the small snake on his wrist under the light of the huge Night Pearl on the wall.

It was a colourful Ouroboros.

One finger wide, it wrapped around his wrist, its head biting its tail, converging above the pulse. With the pulse beating, the snake’s head seemed to tremble in sync.

There were a dozen or so figures, sitting or standing, around Sepulano.