High School of Demon Hunting

Chapter 1602: Chapter 346: The Monster in the Lake

Hoisting up Lin Guo, the old Fishman who emerged hastily from the depths of the Fishman Tribe beneath the lake, was none other than Professor Garcia.

As a teacher at the First University, and compared to the reclusive and insular relatives at the bottom of the lake, Professor Garcia was much more familiar with the language of communication within the Wizard World and far more meticulous in his thinking. Thus, as soon as the School Guardian Array’s presence manifested over the Fishman Reservation, he immediately returned to the lakebed, fearing that this incident had been caused by some deranged radical Fishmen from the depths.

The outcome, however, left him with mixed feelings.

Fortunate was that the Fishman Tribe beneath the lake was equally in chaos, with no one—neither the tribe elders, priests, nor the young Fishman leaders—knowing what had transpired. All they knew was that a green vine suddenly sprouted amidst the lake water, and the lake surface boiled over in turmoil like a cauldron.

At the very least, the trouble hadn’t been instigated by the Fishmen of the reservation themselves, which allowed Professor Garcia to breathe a heavy sigh of relief.

But, as the saying goes, fortune and misfortune often go hand-in-hand. The Fishmen’s complete ignorance regarding the origins of the green vine both reassured and worried Professor Garcia.

The magical world is as magnificent as it is perilous.

No one knew where the green vine had come from or whether the demon lurking within it had simultaneously infiltrated the tribe. Thus, after conferring with Professor Garcia, the tribe’s elder immediately issued an order. He selected strong, agile, and sharp-minded Fishman guards to scour the surrounding area, ensuring the lakebed’s safety. Concurrently, he summoned all the priests, holding the tribe’s long-worshipped totems, to collectively inspect the site where the green vine had sprouted.

On the lakebed, slick and slippery, and as biting and cold as ever, Professor Garcia struggled to move around, unused to the terrain after so long away from underwater activities. His footing slipped onto smooth pebbles, drawing frequent sidelong glances from the other Fishmen, leaving the old Fishman visibly embarrassed.

He tugged at the wizard robe on his body, which had become extraordinarily heavy after soaking in water, muttering, ”This wizard’s robe is absolutely unsuitable for underwater movement.”

”You’ve lived too long on land; it’s only natural for you to overlook this detail,” said the tribe’s elder, whose scales had nearly all shed away, leaving his body snowy white. Patting Garcia on the back fin in consolation, he wheezed and softly reassured him, ”However, movement in water is natural instinct for us Fishmen. Walk a few more steps, and you’ll regain the sensation.”

These words comforted Professor Garcia greatly.

Though Lin Zhong Lake was vast, the Fishman Tribe had settled here for many years. Guided by the Fishmen well-acquainted with its waters, the group soon reached the site where the green vine had sprouted.

It was far from what Professor Garcia had imagined.

The green vine hadn’t grown out of the lakebed’s mud and sand; instead, it had emerged directly from the cold, dark water at the lake’s center.

In the water’s darkness, devoid of light, the green vine emerged faintly from the shadows where light and dark converged, as though an illusion, winding upwards. The higher it ascended, the brighter the light became. The vine’s initially ethereal form gradually solidified until it pierced the lake’s surface, transforming completely from illusion to reality where the water met the air.

Professor Garcia attempted to strike the green vine with his magic wand while underwater.

The wand’s tip wrapped itself in a glimmer of white radiance, creating a trail of bubbles and rippling currents before easily gliding across the vine. Several other elders of the Fishman Tribe attempted various methods of their own, yet all could only observe the lake’s water flowing through their webbed fingers. The vine simply swayed along with the currents. Ultimately, it was determined by the senior Fishmen that the green vine wasn’t physical but rather a shadow existence somewhere on the boundary between the real and the unreal.

”This is beyond our ability to handle,” said the elder of the Fishman Tribe, his expression heavy as he observed the vine’s phantom swaying with the water’s movements. From the corners of his mouth, two long whiskers extruded small bubbles, saying, ”Magic involving space and dimensions requires the intervention of the university’s Big Wizards... Can you invite Professor Yao?”

He addressed the last words to Professor Garcia.

Professor Garcia fully agreed with the elder’s judgment but had little confidence in being able to invite Professor Yao—or indeed, any Big Wizard—to intervene.

Under normal circumstances, such a request wouldn’t be difficult. Yet as far as Garcia knew, many of First University’s high-tier wizards, including Professor Yao, were currently absent from the institution.

”I can try,” he couldn’t refuse his tribe’s request and could only respond vaguely. He raised his head, staring deeply at the vine swaying slightly with the current, and added, ”...Let’s hope it remains this quiet until the school finishes handling the situation.”

No sooner had his words fallen than the water’s currents stirred violently in the distance.

The elder Fishmen all turned their heads sharply.

Mere moments later, Iseni, the most respected among the younger generation of Fishmen, surged to the elders, carried on a surge of water. In its grasp was a massive bone club.

”A monster has entered the lake,” the young Fishman spoke with a hint of panic in its tone, entirely unlike its usual arrogant demeanor. ”It doesn’t belong to Lin Zhong Lake, nor perhaps even Silent River! I’ve never seen such a creature!”

”What kind of monster?” A Fishman priest gestured to create a bubble, which floated above Iseni’s head.

The bubble shattered with a ”pop,” scattering droplets of starlight that soothed Iseni’s frantically distraught soul.

”It looks like a sheep,” regaining some composure, Iseni wasted no time on embarrassment, wildly gesturing as he described to the elders. ”It has two curled horns, pitch-black all over, with one half ablaze and the other perfectly normal... It seems to have many legs... The flames resemble the Kraken’s tentacles!”

”And its eyes?” Garcia felt his heart skip a beat and immediately pressed further.

The young Fishman hesitated for a moment before murmuring, ”Its eyes... Its eyes should be black. The water was too dark for us to see clearly... but several of my companions lost consciousness instantly when scorched by the flames on the black sheep.”

Professor Garcia leaned against his magic wand like the other tribe elders. Yet, with his other hand hidden within the folds of his robe pocket, his index and middle fingers crossed secretly—a Wizard’s gesture of prayer and blessing. The old Fishman silently hoped their tribe would receive the protection of ancestors and wizards alike.

”Let’s go take a look,” he turned toward the tribe’s elder.

The snow-white old Fishman shook the magic wand in his hand, and the carved carp at its tip trembled uneasily. The metal ring at the fish’s mouth clattered erratically, producing a muffled noise.

”No need for us to go,” he wheezed heavily, swiveling his head toward the direction from which Iseni had approached. ”It’s already coming.”

Professor Garcia glanced at the empty lake waters, hesitating over whether the elder was seeing things.

Yet in the next moment, his eyes widened in horror—beside the green vine, which had been solitary mere seconds prior, now stood the shadowed figure of a black sheep, just as Iseni had described, half-normal, half-ablaze.

The dark red flames burned quietly beneath the lake’s surface, and the fire was cloaked in a dense shadow that leapt and twisted alongside the flames like phantom tentacles.

Just a few moments of staring at the creature were enough for the tribe’s sacred totem, carried on the priests’ backs, to groan ominously and begin cracking apart with an unsettling sound.