A simple "Hand of Fire" spell required about 2 points of mental energy, meaning Grim could theoretically cast it four times in succession. However, this was merely a theoretical calculation. In practice, it was exceedingly difficult to achieve, as mental energy served as the foundation upon which apprentices relied to perform their magic.
The higher one's mental energy, the fuller and more robust their cognitive and magical capacities became. This allowed apprentices to perform at their best, whether pondering complex problems or casting spells. However, as mental energy was gradually depleted, falling below a threshold of 13, the individual would sink into a state of mental fatigue. This condition manifested as dizziness, nausea, and an overwhelming sense of lethargy.
Attempting to cast spells in such a state resulted in dire consequences. A spell that would normally take 5 seconds to complete might now require 10, with a dramatically increased likelihood of failure. For this reason, any seasoned apprentice would always reserve a portion of their mental energy to avoid the debilitating aftermath of total exhaustion.
Grim’s current state clearly indicated that his mental energy had plummeted below 5, plunging him into mental collapse. The only remedy for such a condition was a deep, restorative sleep to replenish his depleted reserves.
Although the chip he relied on was exceedingly useful, it drained his mental energy as it operated. Realizing his precarious state, Grim struggled to his bed and collapsed, sinking into a deep and restless slumber.
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Night fell swiftly.
When the enormous moon hung faintly in the dusky sky, the candlelights within the tower extinguished one by one. The swamp tower, already steeped in an air of cold isolation, became eerily silent.
Unnoticed, a tall, shadowy figure appeared beside Grim’s bed. Leaning forward slightly, it silently observed him.
Despite being deeply asleep, Grim’s rest was far from peaceful due to his excessive mental exhaustion. Even in his dreams, his brows were tightly furrowed, his expression one of torment.
The humanoid figure stood silhouetted against the moonlight, its entire body shrouded in an inexplicable darkness. Its features were obscured, save for a pair of crimson, glowing eyes that gleamed with a terrifying light.
"Blood... I need blood..."
Trembling hands reached toward Grim’s throat but then hesitated, retreating as though held back by an intense inner struggle. Its disjointed murmurs betrayed a chaotic mental state.
Finally, a sliver of clarity emerged, allowing the shadow to overcome its bloodlust. Casting a deep, inscrutable gaze at the oblivious Grim, it turned and slipped out through the narrow window.
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Beyond the window stretched the sheer face of the cyan-stone tower. As a wizard’s stronghold, the tower was imbued with intricate magical formations designed to deter intruders. Yet, eerily, the shadow moved across the tower’s surface like a lizard, avoiding every magical barrier as if it were immune to their effects—something only a wizard apprentice equipped with a magical amulet could achieve.
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The shadow moved with astonishing speed and agility, its actions precise and deliberate. It avoided illuminated chambers and clung to the obscured recesses of the structure, its movements ghostlike. It neither disturbed the air nor made a single sound.
Its intent was unmistakable. After prowling for some time, it paused before a narrow window, listening intently. Satisfied by the steady, unbroken rhythm of breathing within, it carefully slipped inside.
The shadow lingered in the chamber longer this time. When it finally emerged, a faint scent of blood clung to its form. Its successful hunt seemed to bring it a sense of satisfaction. Perching on the windowsill, it glanced upward, catching sight of the moon.
At that moment, the moon broke free from its veil of clouds, bathing the world in its silvery light. The moonlight illuminated the shadow, revealing the face of a young girl. Her features were delicate, her skin flawless, yet her lips bore a chillingly unnatural touch: two sharp, bloodstained fangs.
The girl’s slender tongue flicked over her fangs, savoring the lingering taste of blood. Then, in a blur of movement, she disappeared into the shadows beyond the moon’s reach.
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Grim was awoken the next day by an urgent knocking at his door.
Shaking off the lingering haze of sleep, he opened the door to find three figures standing before him: Apprentice Leader Ankso, and his lackeys, Allen and Fenrir.
Ankso, personally appointed by Master Anderson as the apprentice leader, held a position of considerable authority within the tower. With the strength of a mid-level apprentice and the power to oversee all other apprentices, his commands were to be obeyed without question. Defying him often resulted in dire consequences, as he had the means to manipulate tasks in the tower to the detriment of any who crossed him.
Allen and Fenrir, by contrast, were merely low-level apprentices like Grim. However, their sycophantic behavior had earned them favor with Ankso, granting them access to safer, more favorable tasks in exchange for their unwavering loyalty.
Grim, who preferred solitude and had little patience for social maneuvering, maintained a neutral relationship with the trio. Their unexpected visit left him both confused and wary.
Ankso was a young man in his early twenties with sharp features and an air of confidence that bordered on arrogance. His piercing gaze carried an oppressive intensity, making it clear he was not to be trifled with.
"Grim, something happened in the tower last night. Are you aware of it?"
It was Allen who spoke, his tone brash and accusatory.
"What happened? Was there an incident with a magical experiment?" Grim asked, still trying to piece together what was going on.
"No," Ankso replied coldly. "Someone was murdered—right in their own quarters."
Grim’s shock was evident. The death of an apprentice was not unheard of, but such incidents were typically the result of dangerous tasks or magical mishaps. A deliberate killing was unprecedented, especially given the tower’s strict rules against internecine conflict.
"Who died?" Grim asked.
"Miray," Ankso replied, his sharp gaze scrutinizing Grim’s every reaction.
The name brought a faint frown to Grim’s face. Miray was a young apprentice he barely knew—a boy with a freckled face and a shy demeanor.
"And what do you want from me?" Grim asked cautiously.
"We need to search your room," Ankso declared. "This is standard procedure for all apprentices under suspicion."
Though anger simmered within Grim, he forced himself to remain composed. After a moment’s hesitation, he stepped aside, allowing the group to enter.