High School of Demon Hunting

Chapter 1271: Chapter 18 Biyue Feiwei

Compared to other corners of Beta Town, the nights in the North District seemed exceptionally dark. Here it was rare to find groups of fireflies settling in. Even the occasional swarm of wild fireflies that flew in from the Silent Forest would quickly be captured by the poor Tricksters and sold to other areas of the town.

Near Jini Cottage, however, it was quite different.

Because of Sister Korma, Gu Diao Street was bustling, and even without the fireflies, many Northern District Wizards were willing to offer their own magic lanterns kept hidden in their homes to add a bit of light to this place of hope in the North District.

But upon leaving Gu Diao Street, the two young Wizards suddenly found themselves stepping in and out of deep shadows.

Fortunately, they were Wizards.

Unfortunately, as a boy, Zheng Qing was unable to exhibit his prowess with his Law book at this critical moment. His Law book was still tied up with his belt, stuffed into the depths of his Grey Cloth Bag.

So in the end, it was Jiang Yu who cast the illumination spell.

”Biyue Feiwei, this day is not minute!”

Jiang Yu held the Law book, chanting the spell. A neat line of slender mushroom plants hopped and bounced out from the Witch’s Law book, their mushroom caps glowing with a golden luminescence.

Like elementary school children scattering after class ends, they instantly broke formation just outside the school gates, swarming and covering the entire dark street in the blink of an eye. Patches of sunlight emerged from these fungal creatures’ heads, bubbling up like Bubbles and floating into the air before bursting with a pop, scattering small pieces of golden light.

One patch of sunlight illuminates a square foot, thousands of patches light up an entire street.

Accustomed to the dim night environment, the North District Tricksters panicked and shrank back into the shadows, like mongrel Vampires encountering sunlight, their eyes bloodshot, uneasily observing the street now filled with sunlight and mushrooms.

The abundant sunlight spurred the growth of these fungi, making them stronger and taller, exhaling sunlight that became bigger and brighter.

Like a greedy ouroboros, these fungal creatures were never satisfied. As long as there was a sufficient flow of Magic Power from the Law book, they dared to break through the night’s cover, illuminating the limitless dark corners.

The young male and female Wizards stepped on the golden fragments of sunlight, smiles on their faces, their steps light.

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Oleg clutched a bottle of Sea Monster Langmu, staggering along from the other end of the street.

He was wearing a ragged grey robe, tall with thick body hair, and his broad chin hidden beneath a bushy beard, looking like a brown bear walking upright from a distance.

This wasn’t meant to mock – on the contrary, Oleg was quite fond of being complimented for resembling a bear – because according to what his grandfather’s grandfather passed down, their Family that had lived in the vast forest west of Fresbeleia had a trace of Slavic Ursi blood, receiving much protection from the great forest.

”Slavic Bear-Men, now that’s the strongest warriors in the Wizard World,” he would often boast to his companions while drunk, spraying them with the stench of alcohol: ”Every Slavic Bear-Man could take on a whole Werewolf tribe alone! No doubt about it!”

As for why Oleg’s lineage ended up in Buji Island, having lost their valuable Slavic werebear heritage and ultimately fallen into lowly North Beita Town, he was not clear on the details. But this did not affect his status as the big brother among the tricksters of the Northern District.

Yes, the big brother.

Although without the werebear heritage, Oleg’s magical talent was inferior, his robust physique and his intimidating appearance, along with the possibly real ”Blessings of the Great Forest,” had earned this young trickster considerable respect in the North District.

He could carry a thousand-pound sack on his back in one go, and unload a fully laden ship within ten minutes; he could wander around the Silent Forest for a whole week with nothing but flint and a wood-chopper; and when magicians were wreaking havoc, he would stand in front of his weaker companions to shield them from harm, even if just a little.

But all this—years of accrued respect—was now in jeopardy in just a couple of days.

”Gurgle, gurgle.”

Oleg tilted his head back and fiercely gulped down a bellyful of Sea Nymph Rum. The spicy alcohol reddened his eyes, and the murky liquid spilled down his unkempt beard, staining his already shabby grey robes.

Sea Nymph Rum was one of the favorite drinks among the tricksters of the Northern District. It was said to be brewed deep in the ocean by the sea demons using the blood of sea demons mixed with aged seaweed—of course, that was a pleasant lie concocted by the unscrupulous liquor merchants of the district. In truth, the legend was only half-correct.

The Sea Nymph Rum did contain aged seaweed, nothing more. It was made from the juice extracted from seaweed, which was then fermented and distilled. But the addition of a rumor like ”the blood of sea demons” lent an air of magic to the drink.

People in the North District had a particular fondness for anything related to magic.

This ensured a steady demand for Sea Nymph Rum in the community. Its flavor was similar to that of Green Bee, favored by the wizards. Oleg had tried Green Bee; he thought the transparent green drink was for babies, too sweet and lacking punch. This perception inexplicably gave him a bit of courage when facing wizards from outside the North District.

But courage was, after all, just courage.

Compared to real magic, the effects of bravery were so feeble.

Albani, that French lad with a head of lovely golden curls, had, because of a spellcasting mark bestowed by Korma the Wise, publicly refused the job arranged by his employer today.

”I am now a wizard and can’t do such menial work,” Albani stood in front of his employer, trying to stand up straight, a frog grasped in his hand, trying to muster more bravery, ”Oleg, hauling this kind of hard labor should be done by the likes of him.”

That was typical Albani behavior.

He liked to cheat and be sneaky, trying to look smart. Every day at work, he’d have an old Law Book tucked into his belt to distinguish himself from the other tricksters. It was said that the book had been passed down in his family for many years, a genuine heirloom.

However, by now, his family had dwindled to just him, and he had never found a true master for the Law Book. Albani had indeed sought out wizards passing through the North District, trying to sell the book. But no wizard was willing to pay more than a couple of silver dimes for it.

This was an insult to Albani’s family—the magician from the banks of the Luwal River would mutter curses under his breath, disappointedly re-tucking the Law Book into his waistband.

Nor had he refrained from trying to transcribe spells onto the Law Book. He had seriously copied every spell he learned in Jini Cottage onto its pages, diligent and thorough. But not a single spell could be cast.

Not until Sister Korma pressed a black curse mark onto his forehead.