High School of Demon Hunting

Chapter 1566: Chapter 310: A Long Night (Part 3)

The Silent Forest at night was far from welcoming, in every sense of the word.

The image on the Shadow Stone shook slightly, allowing the heavy breaths of the patrolmen and the rustling of their footsteps to be heard clearly. Precisely for this reason, it highlighted the forest’s sheer quietness, darkness, and desolation.

The patrol team progressed along a tributary of the Silent River—a tiny Nameless stream—winding down from the mountain. The stream babbled as it flowed through areas sparse with open land, cluttered instead with scattered rocks, dense thickets, and somber ancient trees that veiled the sky, plunging everything into shadowy gloom.

Magical fluctuations, glowing orbs, and vigilant gazes drove the lurking figures deep within the forest to retreat in silence. No Magical Creatures dared to challenge the patrol teams of the First University on Buji Island.

Even though today’s patrol team seemed a bit frail.

Along the way, the Northern District Wizards diligently carried out their duties: freeing rabbits caught in vine traps, repairing magic markers chewed apart by Mice, expelling Red Chain Snakes and Ghouls near school grounds, and most importantly, installing alarm devices at each node where the Black Tide might pass.

These alarm devices were made of pieces of locust wood, fashioned into Talisman boards, and nailed onto the massive tree trunks by the patrolmen. They were used to monitor magical fluctuations and changes in energy flow nearby. If at any moment, the ’magic disturbance’ around that particular tree significantly increased and sustained for a while, surpassing a set threshold, the Talisman board would shatter, notifying the monitors stationed on Gu Diao Street.

Admittedly, this rudimentary alarm system often resulted in false reports. For example, a group of passing Tree Monkey Frogs or two dueling Poisonous Horn Beasts might trigger a maximal alarm on Gu Diao Street. Limited by budget and magical capabilities, however, this was the utmost the Northern District Wizards could achieve.

After all, the First University would never grant access to the core monitoring system of their Array to a group of Wizards who relied on frogs to cast spells.

Suddenly, the image on the Shadow Stone froze.

The patrol captains watching this footage from either side of the hall straightened up in unison, focusing their attention even more. If luck indeed demanded a price, then what they were about to see might just be the shadow of that cost.

A gloved hand appeared within the view of the patrolman wearing the Shadow Stone. The hand swiftly gestured a few signals, instructing the team to maintain silence, spread out their stations, and carefully observe their surroundings.

Soon, the patrol captains in the hall realized what was happening.

In the eerie stillness of the Silent Forest, a faint dripping sound began to echo—a sound entirely distinct from flowing water yet difficult to describe. It was like the sound of melting icicles dripping from the eaves in early Spring but not as crisp, instead carrying a sticky resonance with each drop.

”What a stench!”

One of the patrol members cursed under his breath while covering his nose: ”Has the water God of this stream turned into a Rotting Spirit?”

The gloved hand gestured for silence again, this time emphatically repeating the motion twice. From then on, none of the patrolmen uttered another word, although occasional muffled groans still revealed the torment they were enduring, a fact not lost on the patrol captains observing the footage from the Shadow Stone.

The patrol team halted in place for a few minutes.

The chaotic dripping noises dissipated, leaving complete silence behind. Not even the chirping of Insect Beasts, the rustling of leaves, or the babbling of the stream could be heard anymore. In the darkness, it felt like an enormous mouth had swallowed all sound. A faint glow surfaced on the massive nearby tree trunks, resembling starlight pulled down from the heavens and plastered onto the wood.

The gloved hand signaled again, directing the patrol team to move toward the source of the earlier sound.

The image on the Shadow Stone began trembling again, though only lightly this time, indicating the patrolmen’s heightened caution.

Gradually, the dripping noises returned in the footage. As the distance narrowed, other strange sounds layered over the drips—like the sound of a crowd walking or running together—branches snapping underfoot, squelching steps sinking into muddy pits, splashes in water, and the crackle of bushes and branches parted.

The patrol team grew more cautious, and the Shadow Stone’s footage quivered only faintly after long intervals.

The patrolman wearing the Shadow Stone suddenly pulled out a piece of Parchment and a Feather Pen from his pocket, scribbling quickly under the faint beam of moonlight filtering through the canopy overhead—

”The stench around us is getting worse, smelling like some giant decayed creature.”

”I feel like needles are stabbing into my head, and I occasionally see hazy illusions—something enormous, waving its tentacles, staring at us... but I’m not sure if it’s real.”

”I don’t think delving deeper into this area aligns with the leader’s wishes.”

”I’m sweating cold, trembling uncontrollably, unsure if I can hold on much longer.”

”I suspect my frogs are all dead.”

”If I don’t make it back, I hope someone retrieves this Shadow Stone and informs the Great Sage that we didn’t disgrace the Northern District Wizards...”

The last line ended with an unusually heavily dotted ellipsis, piercing tightly through the thick Parchment. Each word and punctuation mark, including the perforated ellipsis, appeared vividly within the footage recorded by the Shadow Stone.

The patrolman didn’t stop writing because of an attack but because the gloved hand reappeared in the footage, signaling the team to retreat.

This time, however, they didn’t succeed.

The forest abruptly fell silent. All strange noises vanished simultaneously, though this deathly silence lasted merely seconds before a new sound—a droning hum mixed with guttural moans—erupted from all directions.

At the far end of the Sakura Pub’s second-floor hall, a black high-back chair suddenly radiated a streak of orange light. It swept past the long tables on either side, shielding every Northern District Wizard elite from the harm transmitted by the noises within the Shadow Stone footage.

It seemed those were utterances, given the distinct ebb and pitch as well as emotionally charged wording. Yet no one could decipher what was spoken, not even Korma. At best, she could detect the immense malice and profound darkness embedded within those voices.

For the last time, the gloved hand flickered across the Shadow Stone footage.

This time, there were no elaborate gestures—just a forceful wave accompanied by blood-curdling screams in the recording: ”Run! Scatter and escape!”

The sound abruptly cut off as hundreds of black ropes descended into the forest—a rain of tendrils, plump and pulsating as though they bore hooves, yet entirely lacking rigidity. They wriggled ceaselessly in the night, shifting forms.

The footage transmitted sounds of tearing, deep crimson splashing across the screen, tendrils curling up fractured limbs before retreating into the darkness beyond. The patrolman wearing the Shadow Stone sprinted desperately, causing the footage to shake wildly.

In the end, the footage froze upon a shallow pool near a curve in the stream.

The water reflected the visage of the patrolman who carried the Shadow Stone—a young man with lively brown eyes and handsome curls of black hair. Yet at that moment, those lively eyes were filled with terror and despair.

He opened his mouth, seemingly attempting to say something one last time.

High above and out of his view, in the darkness, several pitch-black tendrils descended, slowly closing around his neck.

The footage ended there, abruptly.

Inside the hall.

Korma remained silent, but the captains seated along the long tables on either side stood up in unison, bowing their heads to mourn the brave patrolman and the courageous patrol team.