The Black Warlock's Path

"It's nothing urgent, Norris," Andrey steadied his breath, suppressing the turmoil in his heart. "Just ran into a few… old acquaintances."

Norris swept his gaze across the three kneeling figures, a faintly knowing smile forming on his face.

"I assume they're hoping to be taken in by Potion Master Robb as servants, through you?"

Andrey didn't answer, but the subtle expression on his face gave him away.

"As far as I know, Potion Master Robb has just acquired his Alchemy Workshop and is preparing to expand operations."

Norris spoke casually, but the intent behind his words was probing. "This is precisely the kind of moment when helping hands are needed…"

Andrey's mind raced. What Norris said was true, Robb had expressed interest in recruiting assistants.

But they had discussed this already. Their priority was finding non-human races with natural talent, Treefolk, Shellkin, and similar species, who could enhance potion crafting through innate racial traits.

"Potion Master Robb…" The golden-haired youth chose his words carefully, contemplating his response.

"Please, in the name of my father…" Helena's pleading voice rang out again but was cut off by Andrey's raised hand.

He wrestled with himself for a long moment before finally making a decision, a bitter, cold-hearted decision.

"I'm sorry." Andrey heard his own voice, cold and unfamiliar. "Potion Master Robb currently has no plans to accept servants."

Byron's body began to tremble uncontrollably, Helena's eyes shifted from despair to a sour kind of hatred, and Tommen collapsed completely, his eyes lifeless.

"Especially…" Andrey continued, steeling himself under Norris's gaze, "ordinary people without any special skills, who would only consume resources."

His words fell like a knife, severing the trio's final thread of hope.

"I understand." A trace of satisfaction curled at the corner of Norris's mouth as he casually released a wave of invisible psychic force.

It was a concentrated mental interference blast that affected only its targets, an advanced technique taught in higher courses and a basic requirement for joining the Enforcement Squad.

The three provisional apprentices collapsed almost instantly, unconscious. They had no defense against an Intermediate Apprentice's psychic attack. To them, it was like facing an overwhelming natural disaster.

Andrey, standing beside them, remained entirely unaffected.

"Drag these rejects away," Norris instructed the two squad members behind him without looking back. Then he turned to Andrey and said offhandedly: "Don't trouble yourself over this, Your Highness. Their fates were decided long ago."

Andrey nodded silently, watching his former acquaintances being dragged away like garbage.

His hand clenched tightly inside his sleeve.

He knew his decision might lead to their deaths. But in the brutal survival game of the Black Mist Forest, individual will held little sway.

"Your Highness is still too merciful. This is actually the best outcome for them. At least being cast out gives them a sliver of a chance. If they'd been chosen by those people…"

Norris's voice carried a trace of irony, a not-so-subtle reminder:

"Besides, you know exactly who gave you your current standing. Doing less, not more, is the first rule to surviving long-term."

Andrey didn't reply. His attention was drawn to a sudden commotion in the courtyard.

A girl in a violet dress was walking through the crowd, Cynthia.

Others instinctively parted to give her space. As a member of the Wizard Reserve Track, she had priority in choosing new recruits.

Her eyes roamed across the male apprentices like a predator surveying her prey.

"This one's cute…" she said, stroking the cheek of a blond boy with a voice thick and unsettling:

"Soft skin, probably won't break too quickly…"

She pulled a delicate silver chain from a silk pouch at her waist and fastened it around the boy's neck, like leashing a pet.

"Don't worry. Big sis won't hurt you… too much," she whispered in his ear, like a snake licking a poisoned fruit. "At least not at first…"

Andrey felt his stomach churn violently.

Cynthia's "tastes" weren't exactly a secret within the academy, but witnessing her handpick her "toys" in person was still horrifying.

The enforcers ignored it completely. Their only duty was to round up the "unsuitable stock."

Those who weren't chosen by the High Apprentices would be expelled directly into the wilderness beyond the Black Mist Forest.

What awaited them wasn't just cold and hunger, but hunting parties and slavers from non-human factions.

This time of year, those slaver teams were at their most active.

They knew the forest periodically expelled a fresh batch of "raw goods." And these combat-inept apprentices were the most ideal source of slaves.

"Your Highness, we should resume our duties," Norris brought Andrey back to reality. "Do you have any further business?"

Andrey shook his head. He understood this was Norris politely telling him to leave.

This purge didn't need, nor welcome, spectators.

"Then I won't keep you from your work." Andrey nodded, his mind spinning.

As he turned to leave, he cast one last glance at the provisional apprentices.

Those who had been chosen were fortunate, but not lucky. Those left behind looked even more hopeless.

"Your Highness, I believe you're heading the wrong way," Norris suddenly called after him: "As I recall, Potion Master Robb's temporary quarters should be east along the main road. You were going to see him, weren't you?"

"Thanks for the reminder." Andrey forced a smile and quickly left the suffocating scene.

Behind him, cries of despair echoed from the courtyard, but Andrey chose not to look back.

…

Cynthia's tower stood on an open plot in the northern corner of the Black Mist Forest, encircled by thorny vines that formed a natural barrier.

The walls were lined with strange instruments, each shape hinting at bizarre and twisted purposes.

The floor wasn't covered with any ordinary carpet, but with a living tissue that let out faint moans when stepped on.

Today, several unfamiliar faces had joined the tower, new "toys" recently selected from the provisional apprentices.

They were shackled inside cages, their eyes filled with fear and hopelessness.

"Mmm… This batch isn't bad," Cynthia stretched lazily, eyeing her spoils with satisfaction. "They should last a while."

She reached out and caressed the trembling cheek of a blond youth.

"What's your name, little one?"

"T-T-Thomas, Mistress," the boy stammered, trying his best to remain submissive.

"Thomas. What a sweet name." Cynthia smiled dangerously. "You'll go first tonight, okay?"

Without waiting for a response, she gestured for two maids to drag him away and began her twisted, cruel "game."

As Thomas's painful cries began to echo, Cynthia's eyes glowed with eerie violet light.

She pressed against the boy's chest, each movement causing him to shudder violently, accompanied by nearly invisible waves of energy, which Cynthia absorbed effortlessly.

"Too bad the feeling fades so fast…"

Cynthia sighed softly, collecting the pure magic power produced by the emotional fluctuations. She grumbled in frustration:

"The first time's always the most delicious. After that, it takes stronger stimuli to achieve the same effect."

"And that's why you go through a new batch every few months," said Oliver, not even looking up.

"Have you considered something more sustainable? Your current consumption rate is excessive."

"Easy for you to say," Cynthia replied without stopping her actions, her voice full of irritation.

"My talent demands a constant influx of raw emotion. Without a steady supply of magic, how else could I stay ranked in the Wizard Reserve Track?"

Oliver sat by the window in an armchair, holding a freshly removed notice from the academy's public board, Wizard Reserve Rankings.

That newly minted potion master, Robb, though not yet officially entered into the sequence, had already been marked as a "candidate for admission."

"Rankings have gotten tricky lately," Oliver said with concern.

He laid the list flat on the table.

"Hugo is still far in first place. Lewin, Gardner, and Simons are catching up. Especially Lewyn, Grade 4 mental aptitude, he's just twenty points behind me."

"You're always like this, Oliver," Cynthia said lazily, twirling a strand of a boy's hair.

"Overthinking blocks action. We've already chosen this path. Why hesitate now?"

"Observe, analyze, execute. That's my method."

The black-haired youth's voice was cold, metallic.

"With how we advance, every step must be precisely calculated. I won't let myself mutate into something mindless just yet."

Thomas began to weakly struggle, overwhelmed by Cynthia's draining touch.

She frowned in annoyance, stopped, and slipped her robe back over her shoulder, turning to Oliver.

"Let's be clear, we both know our situation," she said sharply. "Yes, we have unique talents. But the orthodox path of spiritforce refinement is closed to us. Our only option now is-"

Oliver finished her sentence, eyes dark: "The path of the Black Warlock."

From inside his robes, he drew a strange black crystal, glowing faintly with malevolent light, and placed it carefully on the table.

Under candlelight, it gleamed ominously, with countless tiny insect-like shapes crawling on its surface, deeply unsettling.

Cynthia's voice grew soft, almost reverent. "You got another one from them?"

Oliver nodded. "It cost plenty, but it was worth it. This crystal is essential for the ritual."

He traced the crystal's surface with a long finger. It pulsed in response to his touch.

"What's interesting," Oliver said, "is that Potion Master Robb, who rose so suddenly, his spiritual aptitude seems similar to ours."

A spark lit in his eyes. "Grade 6, or even worse. But his growth rate is extraordinary."

Cynthia's curiosity was piqued. "You're implying…?"

"Someone like us, with poor aptitude, shouldn't be able to advance that fast without a special method."

Oliver's voice was measured, analytical: "He must've found something similar to what we use, to compensate for his flaws. Maybe… we should bring him in."

He strolled back to the window, gazing out toward the Black Mist Forest.

"Knowledge shared is power multiplied. You were once my rival, Cynthia, and now you're my strongest ally. Isn't that proof?"

Cynthia smiled, recalling the first time she tasted the intoxicating power of the black crystal: "That black crystal… it's hard to resist. The way it turns mental corruption into raw strength, it's ecstasy and agony in one."

"Exactly." Oliver nodded, his face eerily calm, like a frozen mask. "He won't refuse such a shortcut. A few months, or even weeks, could give him the power others spend decades chasing."

He opened an ancient tome and pointed to a passage.

"According to records, those with strong physiques gain a major edge in the mutation process. A powerful body can endure more corruption, increase conversion efficiency, and retain sanity longer."

A glint of regret passed through his eyes.

"Sadly, neither of us has any talent for knightly training. Rumor has it, the first knights and demon slayers were created by black warlocks, designed as ideal 'vessels' for corruption."

"Robb might have it," Cynthia suddenly said, her eyes sharp. "Remember how he killed that mutated Darude? His swordsmanship was impressive."

Oliver thought for a moment, then shook his head.

"Even if he has knight potential, it must be secondary. With his level of alchemical mastery, there's no way he's also fully investing in a combat path. No one has that much time or energy."

"So what will you do?" Cynthia asked, her finger trailing along the trembling neck of the blond boy.

"Approach, test, evaluate," Oliver said with a flawless smile. "If he's suitable, we gain a powerful ally. If not…"

He didn't finish, but his cold eyes said enough.

"Then we proceed as planned. I handle research and creation. You handle materials and testing."

Oliver stared out the window, as if he could see Robb through the mists of the Black Mist Forest.

"As for Robb… I'll find my chance to evaluate him."