Mr. F raised a barrier around the room, ensuring that no one could observe or eavesdrop on what was about to happen. The air grew still, charged with the silent tension of a conversation about to turn dark. He turned toward Lord Faust and asked, "I assume you have a prison in your city. What kind of prisoners do you hold, and what are their ranks?"

Faust was taken aback by the question but responded after a brief pause. "We have some bandits and murderers, most of them Rank 4. A few have reached Rank 5," he answered hesitantly, unsure of where the conversation was headed.

Mr. F met Faust's gaze with an intense look. "If you're not willing to go further to save this city, continue as you are. I think I've wasted my time here." Mr. F turned as if to leave, his movements deliberate and slow, leaving a chill in the air.

Faust, realizing the gravity of the situation, quickly spoke again. "Wait! There are two prisoners who have reached Rank 6. Their identities are... delicate." His voice was heavy with the weight of what he was about to reveal.

Mr. F didn't hesitate. "Are they willing to sacrifice their lives for the city's survival?" His tone was cold, as if the lives he was discussing were mere pawns on a chessboard.

Faust hesitated before speaking, "If the city falls, they'll die anyway. So yes, I am prepared to offer them up."

Mr. F gave a nod of approval, a cold satisfaction settling in his eyes. He reached into his robe and produced a scroll with an ancient seal. Faust's eyes widened, and beads of cold sweat began to form on his brow as he recognized the runes etched into the parchment.

"Where did you get that scroll?" Faust asked, his voice trembling slightly.

Emma, standing nearby, looked confused. She had never seen such a scroll and didn't understand why Faust was so shaken by it.

Mr. F explained, his voice calm yet unnerving. "This is a relic from an era long gone. It's a soul contract—a type of magic that can only be created by soul mages."

Emma's confusion deepened, and she glanced toward Faust for an explanation. Faust, still shaken, began to speak. "A soul contract is one of the most powerful and dangerous spells known. It binds two parties in an unbreakable pact, with the terms agreed upon beforehand. If the pact is broken, the violator's soul is destroyed. This spell is also known as 'the Devil's Pact.'"

Emma gasped, realizing the seriousness of what was unfolding. "Soul magic?" she whispered. "I thought all soul mages were eradicated from this continent. How does such a scroll still exist?"

Mr. F repeated calmly, "As I said, it's a relic from a time long passed. I acquired this scroll many years ago for a specific purpose, but I never had the chance to use it." In truth, Mr. F had created the scroll only a few days ago, storing it for just such an occasion.

He continued, his eyes locking onto Faust's. "Here are my terms: Give me both prisoners. Ask no questions. In exchange, I will do everything in my power to protect this city. I have my own methods to regain my former strength."

Faust was suspicious. Could Mr. F be aware of the prisoners' identities? Was this part of some plan to free them? But even if that were true, the soul contract would prevent any deceit. He had no choice.

After a long pause and a deep breath, Faust agreed. "We accept your terms."

Mr. F wasted no time. He channeled a small amount of magic into the scroll, activating it. A pentagram, glowing with ethereal light, appeared on the floor beneath them, inscribed with ancient runes. He spoke the terms aloud, sealing the deal: Faust would hand over the two Rank 6 prisoners without question and without speaking of this to anyone. In return, Mr. F would commit to defending the city.

As the ritual concluded, both Emma and Faust felt a subtle foreign magic settle within them—the unmistakable signature of the soul contract, ready to enforce its terms.

With the contract sealed, Faust led Mr. F through a hidden passageway that descended into the city's deepest dungeons. They arrived at an underground cell, one far removed from the reach of ordinary citizens. Inside, two figures were shackled to the walls with enchanted chains that drained their magic, rendering them powerless.

Mr. F stepped closer, examining the prisoners. Both were women, their robes filthy from years of confinement. One of their garments bore a snowflake symbol that immediately caught Mr. F's attention. It was unmistakable—the emblem of the Ice Shard Sect.

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Now, he understood why Faust had been so hesitant to deal with them. The Ice Shard Sect worshipped a colossal ice golem, which they believed would one day descend and freeze the world. Its members were fanatics, but the real danger lay in the nature of their bond with the golem. Upon joining the sect, they sacrificed a piece of their souls to it, linking them forever. If one member died, the others would know exactly who killed them by reading the final moments in the fragment of the deceased's soul.

Faust, sensing Mr. F's realization, began to explain. "They came to this city years ago and killed a noble. Normally, I would've let them go to avoid provoking the sect, but the noble's brother had considerable influence. I was forced to choose who to anger. In the end, I lied to the brother, saying I had them executed, while I kept them here, hoping they'd die of old age."

Mr. F eyed Faust and the prisoners, understanding that Faust had hoped to simply bury his problem. But the City Lord would be long dead before these women met such a fate. "You've done your part," Mr. F said coldly. "Leave me with them."

Faust didn't hesitate. He quickly left the dungeon, leaving Mr. F alone with the two prisoners.

Mr. F entered the cell. He had barely taken a few steps when one of the women weakly spoke, her voice trembling. "Are you here to kill us? Name your price. I can offer you anything—"

Mr. F cut her off. "Empty words from a woman who is already dead. Save your breath for the god of death, though I doubt you'll ever meet him."

With that, he placed his hand on her head and began channeling his soul magic. The woman screamed, her soul tearing apart as if being ripped into a thousand pieces. Blood poured from her eyes, nose, and mouth as Mr. F extracted her soul, holding it in his hand like a glowing wisp. He stored it in the soul lantern hidden beneath his robe. The soul itself was ordinary, except that it was smaller than most. Clearly, a fragment had already been sacrificed. A thin thread connected it to something else—likely the sect's golem. But with a swift motion, Mr. F severed the thread, cutting off the soul's connection to the others.

The second woman remained silent, unmoving. Though Mr. F could sense she was still alive, it was clear that her will to live had long since faded. He ended her life quickly, adding her soul to the lantern alongside the first.

After burning the bodies, Mr. F left the dungeon. He found it strange, however, that he was still being watched by long-distance magic. At first, he had assumed it was the city monitoring him, but now that he was working with the City Lord, it didn't make sense. Someone else was observing him, and the timing, with the city on the brink of destruction, was suspicious.

Mr. F filed the thought away for later. For now, he would continue protecting himself with magic. But after the beast invasion, he would investigate who had been watching him and why.

…

Mr. F arrived back at his lab, where Albert and Betty were already waiting for him. Both apprentices were filled with nervous anticipation, unsure if Mr. F would indeed stay or disappear, leaving them to face the upcoming danger alone. However, the moment they saw him walk through the door, they breathed a collective sigh of relief.

As Mr. F entered, his mind was already busy strategizing, formulating a plan to withstand the imminent beast invasion. "Betty, Albert, come here," he called out. Without hesitation, both students rushed to him, sensing the urgency of the situation. "I need your help to brew some potions," Mr. F declared.

Both Betty and Albert exchanged puzzled glances. Why was he asking for their assistance in something as basic as potion-making at such a critical moment? Nevertheless, they followed him into the lab, eager to contribute.

Once inside the lab, Mr. F pulled out 20 sets of ingredients for a Rank 1 healing potion. Betty recognized the components immediately, though she couldn't help but wonder why Mr. F was focused on brewing such a low-level potion. "We need to brew as many healing potions as possible," Mr. F explained. "This Rank 1 potion is just a test. Betty, you control the flame at exactly 212 degrees Celsius. Albert, you'll add the reagents when I tell you."

The brewing process went smoothly, and within minutes, Mr. F had successfully crafted several healing potions. He paused momentarily, thinking about the quest assigned by his mysterious system. To his relief, the familiar text appeared before him:

[Quest progress: Brew 500 potions with the help of your apprentices (20/500)]

Mr. F let out a sigh of relief. It was possible. From there, they spent the entire afternoon brewing more potions. They completed 300 Rank 1 potions, followed by 150 Rank 2 potions, and finally moved on to Rank 3 potions, though the higher level potions came with more frequent failures. By the time they wrapped up the day, they had crafted 75 Rank 3 potions, which, despite some failures, was still a significant accomplishment.

The evening had arrived, and Betty and Albert were exhausted from the relentless work. However, Mr. F had one final task for them. "Take these potions to Matilda's office and let her know they're for the city's defense. Then, go and get some rest."

"But what about you, Master?" Albert asked, concern evident in his voice.

"I still have work to do here," Mr. F responded curtly, already shifting his focus back to the lab.

"But Master," Albert persisted, "we should stay and help you with whatever you're working on."

"Albert," Mr. F's voice grew stern. "That was not a suggestion. It was an order. I am still your master. Do you dare question my authority after just three days under my tutelage?"

Albert opened his mouth to explain, but Betty swiftly pulled him away, shaking her head. As they left, Betty whispered to him, "He probably has a special task that we're not meant to know about. Even as his apprentices, there are things we don't have the right to be involved in."

Albert nodded, beginning to understand why his master had sent them away. When they arrived at Matilda's office, she was surprised to see them carrying several crates of healing potions. Though they were only Rank 1 to Rank 3 potions, Matilda knew they would be crucial in helping to protect the city's vulnerable population, and she expressed her gratitude.