Chapter 15: Nystagmus, Flesh and Blood Growth..

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After returning to the dormitory, Ron didn't rest right away. Instead, he immediately began his daily meditation practice.

Ever since changing his class to [Potion Apprentice], his perception of mental power had become noticeably sharper. And today, while training, he seemed to gain a new insight into the concept of "rhythm."

"If the Coronal Breathing Technique is meant to imitate the laws of the sun…"

Ron flipped open his worn copy of Basic Meditation Method, his brow furrowed in thought.

"Then does mental power itself follow its own distinct operating rules?"

He carefully examined the basic rune in the book, composed of three arcing lines. In the past, he'd merely copied it mechanically, never questioning the structure. But now, he suddenly felt that the arcs' arrangement hinted at some hidden rhythm.

With this thought, he began experimenting—tracing the rune in his mind at varying tempos.

[Basic Meditation Begins]

When the first arc took shape within his consciousness, he didn't rush to complete it like before. Instead, he paid close attention to the flow of his mental energy.

To his surprise, whenever a part of the rune resonated with the fluctuations of his mental power, the arc would stabilize completely.

"I see…" Ron murmured as realization struck.

This rune wasn't just a tool to guide spiritual energy. Its very shape mimicked the natural flow of mental power.

[Trigger Special Effect: Spiritual Rhythm – Meditation Efficiency ↑]

[Basic Meditation Experience +5]

[Current Progress: Basic Meditation (Beginner 37/100)]

[Today's practice time has reached the upper limit. It is recommended to rest.]

The experience points he gained were twice his usual rate—clear confirmation that he was on the right track.

Just as Ron was about to continue meditating despite the prompt, a loud noise erupted outside the door.

"Did someone just get promoted?"

He stood up and opened the door, just in time to see a familiar figure sprinting past.

It was Locke, one of the candidates who had arrived at the Black Mist Jungle around the same time as Ron. He was now running toward the testing hall, eyes bright with excitement.

"Looks like another breakthrough," Ron muttered.

Andre, who lived nearby, also stepped out after hearing the commotion.

"This is happening more often lately," Andre noted. "The closer we get to the assessment deadline, the more desperate people become."

Ron understood. As time ticked down, those without hope of success often turned to risky methods—like trying forbidden spells or buying sketchy "special potions."

"Let's go take a look. Any breakthrough is worth learning from."

Andre waited while Ron locked his door. "We might pick up something useful."

The testing hall sat in the center of the dormitory area, housing a special crystal ball used to measure mental strength.

By the time they arrived, a small crowd had already formed. Locke stood at the center, pale-faced but radiant with excitement.

"It's starting," someone whispered.

Locke placed his hand on the crystal ball. Immediately, a dark red mist surged inside it.

Moments later, a glowing symbol began to form within the mist. It flickered, unstable like a faulty lightbulb, but it was clearly visible.

"He passed the threshold!"

Gasps and exclamations spread through the crowd.

It was indeed a surprise. Like Ron, Locke had been a fringe candidate who barely qualified for the sixth-class star standard. Yet here he was—almost three months ahead of schedule—reaching the mental strength requirement for the apprentice assessment.

"What method did he use?" someone whispered.

But Ron noticed something unusual—Andre's expression had turned grim.

"Something's not right…" Andre murmured.

"What is it?" Ron asked softly.

"Look at his pupils," Andre said, half-raising an arm to stop someone from approaching, while stepping backward himself. "They're too dilated. And look at his hands—trembling."

Locke's hands, still touching the crystal ball, were indeed shaking slightly.

"It could be a sign of spiritual energy destabilizing," Andre warned.

As if on cue, Locke suddenly clutched his head and let out a low groan. His once-clear eyes grew foggy, and his mouth twitched uncontrollably.

"Damn!" Andre grabbed Ron's shoulder. "Get back—now!"

Before Ron could move, Locke screamed—high-pitched and chilling. His bloodshot eyes flared as his mental power began to surge wildly.

The air grew heavy. Everyone felt an invisible force pressing down on their chests.

"Those symptoms... banned drugs," Andre muttered through clenched teeth. "He must've used one to boost his spiritual strength."

Inside the crystal ball, the dark red mist thickened, and the glowing symbol began to twist unnaturally—a clear sign of instability.

As the crowd started to retreat, a white-robed figure suddenly appeared in the center of the hall.

"Stand back."

The cold, commanding voice echoed through the chamber.

The white-robed wizard raised his staff. A silver halo expanded outward, forcing everyone back to the edge of the hall, isolating the now-twitching Locke.

"Interesting…" the wizard mused, observing Locke like a curious scientist. "A mental catalyst... and an overdose, judging by the symptoms."

From within his robe, he produced a small crystal bottle filled with an oily, black liquid.

"Perfect chance to test my new formula."

Ron glanced at Andre. His face was a mixture of anger and dread. Clearly, he'd seen scenes like this before.

"Don't watch," Andre warned quietly. "You'll regret it."

But Ron couldn't look away. He had to remember this.

This was the reality of the wizarding world—the strong treated the weak as expendable, their fates determined by the whims of power.

Suddenly, Locke screamed again. The black liquid had been forced into his mouth by invisible hands. His entire body convulsed. Under his skin, something was moving—squirming unnaturally.

The silver halo tightened, locking him in place.

Locke's sanity had vanished. His pupils darted wildly, and strange, ever-shifting geometric patterns danced in his eyes.

"Ah… classic nystagmus," the white-robed wizard commented calmly. "This is what happens when mortals glimpse a reality they shouldn't comprehend."

He strolled casually beside Locke, like a scholar observing a rat in a cage.

"Judging by the response, that catalyst likely used the eyeballs of twisted creatures as its main ingredient."

Just then, Locke's body twitched violently. Under his skin, strange ripples emerged. His right arm began to swell grotesquely, the skin splitting to reveal pulsating, living flesh.

"Flesh hyperplasia," the wizard said with a chuckle. "How fascinating. Two separate alien contaminations at once."

Ron could hardly keep watching, but he forced himself to. The wizard's own eyes, he noticed, were trembling slightly—clearly damaged from prolonged exposure to forbidden knowledge.

Locke's screams no longer sounded human. His entire body was mutating, pieces of it swelling and reforming into unnatural limbs or organs, only to collapse again.

"Stop looking—let's go!" Andre pulled Ron away.

But the images were burned into Ron's mind. The patterns in Locke's eyes, the writhing flesh, the warped space—all of it lingered.

Back at the dormitory, Ron said nothing. He walked in silence, haunted by what he had seen.

The disturbing visions repeated endlessly in his head: Locke's convulsing body, the bizarre changes in his flesh, the horrifying calm of the wizard who watched it all unfold…

"Andre…" Ron finally asked, voice quiet, "have you ever seen symptoms like that—nystagmus, flesh hyperplasia?"

Andre's face darkened.

"Ron, that's not something you should be thinking about right now."