Night fell once again.
Unlike the town of Niailan, which still carried faint traces of life and movement, the surroundings of the White Tower were utterly silent. The lingering abyssal aura had tainted the land, staining vast areas in eerie shades of black and red. Insects and grass alike had withered into grotesque remnants, their fragile forms crumbling beneath the touch of the wind.
As the night deepened, the wind grew stronger. The last traces of life disintegrated into fine dust, carried away into the vast, empty darkness.
The town of Niailan lay beneath a heavy, oppressive sky. The air was thick with dampness, and the howling wind hinted at the imminent arrival of a torrential storm. Townspeople, weary from a long day of labor, ignored their aching shoulders as they hurried to secure their belongings. Experience had taught them well—when such storms arrived, the flimsy rags barely holding their homes together would be of little protection.
Inside the White Tower, Punk was immersed in the study of an official-level alchemical potion when his warding spells alerted him to an approaching visitor.
His newly assigned apprentice had finally arrived.
Her arrival was expected—after all, an apprentice-level mage had no means of escaping the detection of official prophecy spells. Yet Punk felt a faint irritation. The girl had reached town long ago, and still she had taken her time before coming here.
He had no interest in deciphering her hesitation.
His research took priority. The practice of advanced spellcraft and super magic techniques demanded his full attention, and he could only hope this apprentice would prove competent enough to minimize interruptions.
With deliberate care, Punk set aside his tools, placing his half-processed materials onto an energy-isolating tray. Then, without the slightest hint of urgency, he turned and walked toward the door of the White Tower.
Bilan stood before the towering entrance, trembling slightly.
The White Tower loomed above her, its massive doors three times her height. The entire structure appeared to be carved from a single flawless block of white marble, its surface utterly smooth, free from even the smallest crack.
Yet the purity of the stone brought no comfort.
Standing before the entrance, Bilan felt an overwhelming corruption saturating the air, as if an unseen, malevolent force seeped from the very walls. A filthy, oppressive aura blanketed the hill, chilling her even through the roaring wind.
The White Tower did not feel like a sanctuary of knowledge and magic.
It felt like the lair of a monster waiting patiently to devour her.
An inexplicable dread coiled around her heart, urging her to run away.
Then—
BOOM!
The doors burst open with a deafening crash, their impact reverberating through the silent night.
Bilan flinched, stumbling back several steps before cautiously peering inside.
Standing in the doorway was a hooded young man.
His delicate features would have made many girls jealous, yet Bilan's attention was drawn instantly to his eyes.
Beneath the shadow of his hood, azure pupils radiated a frigid, unnatural coldness, as though they could strip the soul from anyone who met their gaze.
Bilan's body stiffened.
Every word she had carefully rehearsed during the journey vanished from her mind.
Under that gaze, her tongue felt heavy, her thoughts slow and muddled.
She could not speak.
Punk frowned slightly.
He had grown accustomed to people no longer commenting on his appearance, yet this animal-like trembling was equally irritating. Was he truly so terrifying that a single glance caused others to shiver like prey?
"You're late. Get inside."
His voice was indifferent—devoid of both warmth and patience.
Still frozen with fear, Bilan hesitated before stepping into the White Tower. She was painfully aware that she was unwelcome here. Her presence alone seemed to irritate the mage before her.
But she had no choice.
With a simple wave of his hand, Punk shut the heavy doors behind her.
He had clearly overestimated how easy it would be to recruit an apprentice.
The widespread fear surrounding his name had become a greater obstacle than he had expected. A more experienced mage would have anticipated this problem—recruiting students while openly aligned with evil was nearly impossible.
The Sandalin Association, a faction of red-robed mages, never bothered with recruitment.
Their solution was far simpler.
They abducted promising apprentices across the land and forced them to enroll.
No amount of knowledge or opportunity would tempt most people to willingly serve a mage with Punk's reputation. Only the desperate, the insane, or the foolish would walk voluntarily into such a situation.
Still, Punk had no interest in dwelling on the matter.
There was work to be done.
Turning toward Bilan, he observed her coldly before speaking in a tone of absolute authority.
"I know your name is Bilan. From today onward, you will address me as 'mentor.' Your daily tasks will include cleaning the White Tower, organizing experimental materials, and disposing of…"
He paused.
His eyes shifted toward a pile of discarded flesh and entrails lying carelessly in the corner.
Bilan followed his gaze.
The dim light barely illuminated the heap, but she instantly recognized what it was.
FLESH.
BONES.
ORGANS.
The pungent odor that had filled the air from the moment she entered—
It was blood.
Her stomach twisted violently. Nausea surged upward, clawing at her throat. She clenched her teeth, desperately suppressing the urge to vomit. Tears gathered in her eyes, yet she did not dare look away.
Some deep instinct screamed within her mind:
ANY SIGN OF WEAKNESS COULD COST HER LIFE.
Punk watched her closely.
He felt mild disappointment.
If she couldn't even endure the sight of a few discarded test subjects, how could she possibly be useful?
Tarland had taken an entire week to deliver her.
And this was the result?
Annoying.
If killing her wouldn't officially brand him as an evil mage, making him an immediate target for lawful factions, he would have disposed of this useless apprentice without hesitation.
Still, apprentices were rare.
And despite his irritation, she could be trained.
Perhaps with time she would become something more than a frightened, trembling liability.
Punk exhaled quietly, dismissing the thought.
It didn't matter.
She would learn.
Without another pause, he continued outlining the rules.
"From today onward, you will do exactly as I say.
You will follow my instructions without question.
You will complete every task I assign without hesitation.
If you fail—"
His gaze drifted once more toward the pile of mutilated remains, before returning to Bilan.
"You will learn the consequences."
Bilan clenched her fists.
Cold sweat soaked her back. Fear gnawed at her chest like a living creature. Yet despite everything, she forced herself to nod.
She had no choice.
For better or worse—
HER FATE WAS NOW BOUND TO THE WHITE TOWER.