Bilan felt as if she had fallen into a fire pit—one that burned hotter the deeper it went.
She had embarked on her long journey to the White Tower full of anticipation, eager to seek knowledge and guidance. Yet the first thing her mentor bestowed upon her was not wisdom, but an extensive list of grueling tasks. As she stood in the small, barren room that had been assigned to her, she remained in a daze. Was this workload meant for a mage's apprentice or a mindless golem?
Even now, disbelief filled her heart. It was hard to accept that an official mage could be so young. Harder still to believe he was so terrifying. And most unbelievable of all—her so-called "room" contained nothing but a bed.
She had heard stories before—tales of instructors treating apprentices as nothing more than slaves. Some were even subjected to twisted experiments, treated as disposable materials. But she had never imagined that she would one day become one of those "unfortunate apprentices." As she processed the reality before her, the only thought filling her mind was that her mentor was a complete lunatic.
After giving Bilan her orders, Punk did not spare her another thought. His focus remained solely on the parchment before him as he waited for the girl to return with new "materials" for his experiments. He had a vague sense that he had overlooked something, but he was too absorbed in his research to care.
A formal mage's mind functioned like a supercomputer, capable of processing vast amounts of information in an instant. With the system's assistance, Punk's mental speed far exceeded that of an ordinary human. He could construct complex official-level spell models in less than a second. Such rapid thought processing allowed him to analyze problems from multiple angles simultaneously, ensuring that he left no gaps in his reasoning.
Once again, he turned his attention to the worn parchment. The words "stable" and "soul fragments" were, by definition, contradictory. A severed soul did not simply become inert—it retained fragmented consciousness and shattered memories. The agony of being cut apart drove the soul into madness, making it violently resist any attempts at stabilization. This was why Punk's previous attempts had resulted in chaotic, unusable soul fragments.
The root of the issue was pain.
The moment a soul was severed or forcibly extracted from its body, it experienced unimaginable suffering. This torment was what drove it to instability. A soul being pulled out could, in rare cases, endure if the creature possessed extraordinary willpower. But a soul that had been cut apart? That was impossible.
Taking a new approach, Punk began to consider an alternative.
Instead of forcibly cutting a soul into pieces, what if the division happened naturally? What if he could coax a soul into splitting of its own accord?
With this fresh perspective, a breakthrough idea emerged. Instead of crude dissection, he could induce the birth of multiple separate consciousnesses within a single soul—similar to the phenomenon known on Earth as multiple personalities. If these personalities could be gradually alienated from one another through magical means, their bonds could be severed entirely, resulting in multiple independent soul fragments.
The more Punk considered the idea, the more feasible it seemed.
Excitement coursed through him.
This approach might finally lead to success. He quickly cleared his experiment platform, eager to proceed with the next round of testing.
But then he realized something.
Why hadn't Bilan returned with the materials yet?
Impatience flared. He cast a simple divination spell.
"…What the hell?"
Punk tossed the freshly enchanted gemstone back onto the table, exhaling slowly to suppress his irritation. He rubbed his temples, already regretting his decision to take in an apprentice. He had a nagging suspicion that the girl had been sent into his life purely to disrupt his work.
What the divination revealed was absurd.
A handful of… bold? No, foolish—slaves had actually managed to escape… with Bilan.
When Punk entered the basement, he found two empty iron cages and a tunnel hastily carved into the earth with crude magic. He could hardly believe the scene before him.
A group of half-starved slaves had successfully kidnapped a mage's apprentice, dug a tunnel using nothing but sharp stones, and fled?
Laughable.
Through further divination, the entire sequence of events became clear. It played out like the plot of some third-rate fairytale—a ridiculous parody of a heroic escape.
A handful of desperate prisoners, knowing they were doomed to become experimental materials, suddenly saw hope. A new apprentice, a girl more beautiful than an angel, had arrived to collect a few of them for "use." And since she lacked the monstrous power of her master, these "brave warriors" had seized their chance.
They had overpowered the young girl, carved a path to freedom, and vanished into the night, intending to expose the "evil mage" to the townsfolk.
A valiant rebellion against oppression?
A touching story of resilience?
No.
It was a pathetic farce.
If any of them had even the slightest knowledge of magic, they would have realized how pointless their escape attempt was. The prophecy spells of an official mage could lay bare their every move with ease.
With a casual wave of his hand, Punk sealed the tunnel. He chuckled softly, shaking his head. He had been careless. Immersed in his research, he had overlooked basic precautions. This oversight was a lesson—a reminder not to make the same mistake again.
Fortunately, this particular blunder was of little consequence.
Capturing those panicked vermin would be no more difficult than brewing a low-tier potion.
Punk stepped out of the basement, already formulating a plan. Since these slaves had demonstrated "a bit of courage and intelligence," perhaps they could serve another purpose. It just so happened that his Flesh Golem, Prototype No. 1, was still in need of some… fine-tuning.
A little entertainment before resuming his research wouldn't hurt.
Who knew?
It might even spark some inspiration.