Chapter 35 Moonlit Woodland

As the trials came to an end, emissaries from various wizarding factions arrived to escort their apprentices away.

Professor Nina, having only one apprentice under her care, held Lilian's hand and guided her eastward along the misty path.

Lilian hesitated, glancing back at Hutson before whispering something into Professor Nina's ear. The professor nodded, permitting her to turn back.

Hutson watched as Lilian approached him, her footsteps light against the stone path.

"What is it?" he asked.

She smiled softly, then stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him in a warm embrace.

"Promise me you'll write," she murmured, resting her head against his chest. "Don't forget, we're allies. If either of us is in trouble, we help each other."

"I will," Hutson replied, feeling an unexpected warmth bloom within him.

With a final wave, Lilian turned and disappeared into the thick white mist behind Professor Nina.

A voice called from nearby.

"This way."

Larry stood by a flowerbed, arms crossed, waiting patiently. As soon as Hutson had bid his farewell, he turned and strode toward the northern stone path.

Hutson glanced around—everyone else had vanished. Even Dino had slipped away unnoticed.

Larry's silhouette was already beginning to fade into the mist, so Hutson quickened his pace, following him into the swirling fog.

The stone path stretched ahead, much like before, flanked by an ever-present shroud of dense, clinging mist.

Larry walked in silence. Hutson, sensing an air of vigilance, kept his observations to himself.

A sudden rustling from the trees above made him pause. Looking up, he saw three crows perched on a gnarled branch, their dark eyes fixed upon him.

"A new one! A newcomer!" One of the crows croaked, tilting its head.

"A newcomer? Shall we fetch a field mouse as a welcome gift?" asked another.

"Humans don't eat field mice!" the third snapped indignantly. "Caterpillars from the cauliflower patches are their favorite!"

"You're wrong! It's mice!"

"It's caterpillars!"

The argument escalated, their caws growing louder until they turned on each other, pecking and flapping violently. Feathers rained down, littering the ground.

Hutson shook his head and walked on. As he distanced himself, the sounds of their squabbling faded into the mist. Even the fog itself seemed to dampen the senses, muting all but the closest of noises.

After twenty minutes, they reached the end of the stone path.

There was no road beyond—only a thick, ancient forest. The ground was blanketed in golden leaves, and at the center of the clearing sat a rusted metal bucket, dented and worn by time.

Larry crouched beside it, pressing a single finger against its rim. He glanced back at Hutson.

"Come. Put your hand here."

Hutson wasn't sure what to expect, but he did as instructed, mirroring Larry's gesture.

The bucket was filled with rainwater, its surface littered with decaying leaves. Beneath the murky liquid, something squirmed—larvae, wriggling like restless shadows.

Larry whispered a single word:

"Menthos!"

A force surged from the bucket, gripping Hutson's hand in an unyielding pull. At the same time, an immense pressure struck from behind, driving him forward with an unnatural momentum.

The world around him spun violently. Colors blurred. Shapes twisted beyond recognition. A whirlwind of motion swallowed him whole, forcing him to shut his eyes against the chaos.

He had no sense of time in that frenzied spiral.

Then, as suddenly as it began, the motion ceased.

Hutson blinked. When his vision cleared, he found himself standing in a vast plaza.

At its heart stood a towering statue—an imposing figure of a man with flowing curls. He held a thick tome in one hand, the other frozen mid-turn of a page. His gaze was stern, piercing forward into eternity.

Larry regarded the statue with reverence.

"This is Carlos Torran," he said quietly. "The founder of Moonlit Woodland. Three thousand years ago, he built this sanctuary. He was a great wizard."

The plaza, known as Carlos Square, stretched before them, its southern edge fading into the misty forest.

 To the north, an ancient stone bridge loomed—a narrow span of seven hundred meters, arching over a bottomless abyss.

The bridge's railing was adorned with statues spaced every ten meters. Some depicted gargoyles, their wings poised as if ready to take flight. 

Others portrayed knights, shields raised, swords gleaming under an unseen light.

Larry strode forward. "Come. We need to get you registered."

As Hutson stepped onto the bridge, an eerie wind howled through the chasm below.

"High-energy magic detected!"

"High-energy magic detected!"

The AI chip runes of his detection spell flared with repeated warnings. He turned his gaze to the statues—each one radiated immense magical power.

And more disturbingly, he could feel their eyes on him.

"They're watching," he muttered under his breath.

Larry, unfazed, merely nodded. "This is the first line of defense for Moonlit Woodland. Every statue on this bridge is formidable in its own right."

Beyond the bridge lay a sprawling complex of gothic architecture. Towering spires pierced the sky, their blackened stonework a testament to ancient craftsmanship.

Larry led him to a five-story building at the heart of the district.

"This is the Administration Hall," he explained. "Personnel registration, missions, requests—everything runs through here. You'll be visiting often."

Hutson nodded, memorizing the location.

Stepping inside, he was greeted by a soft golden glow.

Above them, grand crystal chandeliers bathed the hall in a warm, ethereal light, their radiance casting gentle reflections across the polished floors.

He had arrived.

The Moonlit Woodland awaited him.

The interior of the hall was vast and bustling with activity. Numerous service counters lined the walls, each manned by wizards immersed in their duties—signing parchment, stamping documents, and sorting records with practiced efficiency. Long queues stretched before these counters, filled with figures draped in robes of varying colors, each awaiting their turn to settle official matters.

Hutson and Larry entered unnoticed, weaving through the crowd until they reached a counter labeled Personnel Affairs.

Behind the desk sat a plump, middle-aged woman with sharp, hawk-like eyes. A brass nameplate at her station bore the name Jennifer.

She barely glanced up as they approached. "What is it?" she asked in a monotone voice, her fingers still busy sorting through a stack of parchment.

"New recruit," Larry stated simply.

Jennifer's gaze flickered toward Hutson, scrutinizing him with an air of practiced indifference. "Do you have a token?"

Without a word, Hutson slipped the silver ring from his finger and placed it on the counter.

Jennifer picked up the ring, turning it over in her thick fingers, inspecting it with a level of care that suggested she had done this a thousand times before.

Then, without warning—she swallowed it whole.

Hutson's expression froze.

Jennifer closed her eyes, tilting her head as if savoring an expensive wine. A moment passed before she gave a satisfied nod. "Mm. Authentic. No issues."

Then, just as casually, she coughed the ring back up and plopped it onto the counter with a wet splat.

Hutson stared at the saliva-coated ring, his stomach twisting in protest. With a deep breath and barely concealed reluctance, he reached forward and retrieved it, wiping it on his sleeve as subtly as possible.

It was in that moment he realized—Jennifer was no ordinary bureaucrat. Beneath her mundane demeanor lurked the presence of a fully-fledged witch. He was wise enough not to offend her.

Business concluded, Jennifer kicked off from the ground, sending her chair screeching backward as she yanked open a drawer. She rummaged through its chaotic contents, muttering under her breath. Parchments, scrolls, ink bottles, and unidentifiable trinkets tumbled about in disarray.

After what felt like an eternity, she emerged victorious, yanking a crinkled, yellowed document from the depths of the clutter.

"Fill this out," she said, slapping the form onto the counter.

Larry handed the document to Hutson, who took it and scanned the title.

"Personnel Registration Form – Moonlit Woodland New Member"

Larry leaned in slightly. "Be careful when you fill it out," he warned. "You don't have to answer every question, but you must not lie. This form is enchanted."

Hutson's fingers tightened slightly around the parchment. Only then did he notice it—the faintest traces of magic woven into the fibers of the paper. The spell was so subtle that it was almost imperceptible, lying dormant beneath the ink like an unseen predator waiting to pounce.

A quill and an inkwell sat beside the counter. Taking them, Hutson dipped the quill and began filling in the form with meticulous care.

The questions were exhaustive.

Name. Age. Gender. Place of birth. Training in meditation techniques? Duration of practice?

Then his eyes landed on a particularly bizarre entry.

"Are you a virgin?"

Hutson paused.

His expression darkened slightly.

What kind of insane bureaucracy was this?