His room was already oppressively narrow, barely twenty square meters. Standing at the door, one could take in the entirety of its contents at a glance.

A single bed, a plain yellow desk cluttered with books—one of which lay open, faintly revealing mysterious and arcane symbols. A rickety chair with peeling paint exposed the dark wood beneath.

On a wooden shelf along one side of the room sat an assortment of glass containers, holding partially cultivated exotic plants and peculiar organs of magical creatures.

In the corner by the wall stood an iron-bound wooden chest, accompanied by a trash bin for discarded waste.

Beyond these sparse furnishings, the room held little else.

Allen and Fenrir exchanged disdainful glances.

Though they too were apprentice sorcerers, their living standards far exceeded this pitiful excuse for a dwelling. Their own quarters boasted soft, comfortable beds and decor rivaling the luxury of noble estates. By comparison, this hovel was a disgrace.

Perhaps to assert their dominance, the two apprentices strode into the room and began rummaging with impunity.

The bedcovers were thrown to the floor, books from the desk scattered haphazardly, and an overturned inkwell spilled its contents across the open pages of one volume. The iron-bound chest was pried open, its contents—a meager collection of clothing—dumped onto the ground.

Watching the two lackeys ransack his room like looters, the apprentice leader, Anxos, stood motionless at the door, his expression cold and indifferent, making no attempt to intervene.

Grimm stood at the threshold, his hands clenching and unclenching inside his sleeves, his gaze icy with barely contained hatred.

At last, the search came to an end.

Under the pair’s smug, taunting gazes, Grimm slammed the door shut.

He quickly moved to the overturned chest and rummaged through the disarrayed clothing. After a moment, he could no longer suppress a low curse.

Viper grass, shadow ratweed, black lotus, steel bloom, graveyard moss...

Every single piece of magical material he had painstakingly scavenged from the perilous swamp was gone. There was no need to speculate; Allen and Fenrir had undoubtedly pocketed the items during their so-called "search."

Though tempted to confront them, the thought of Anxos’ sinister and menacing demeanor sent a chill through Grimm’s heart, extinguishing any spark of resistance.

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This was no random search for clues about Mireille’s death. It was a blatant excuse to rob lesser apprentices of their meager resources. Backed by the authority of Anxos, none dared to challenge them. Of course, they would never target the stronger apprentices, focusing instead on the isolated and powerless—like Grimm.

Before long, loud pounding echoed from the neighboring door.

Mireille’s plight was no secret to anyone. Her continued absence had only fueled the curiosity of Anxos, who now sought to verify her condition under the guise of investigation.

Just as Allen’s impatience drove him to kick the door in, it creaked open from within.

A girl in a scarlet gown appeared before them.

“Well, if it isn’t Senior Anxos. I’ve yet to thank you for the task you assigned me last time.”

Her voice was soft and alluring, yet it could not compare to the breathtaking beauty of her features.

She was a vision of perfection—tall and slender, with flawless porcelain skin, a delicately sculpted face, and ruby-red lips curled into a faint, enigmatic smile. But her most striking feature was her eyes: deep crimson, sparkling like the purest gemstones embedded in her exquisite visage.

Her vibrant scarlet gown clung to her figure, leaving no curve to the imagination, and the exposed skin was so dazzlingly fair it seemed almost luminous.

In the bleak, gray gloom of the tower, where apprentices typically wore drab robes, her radiant presence stunned the onlookers into silence.

From the moment they saw her, an inexplicable heat stirred within them, setting their minds ablaze with desire.

Anxos, however, possessed far greater self-control than his companions. While Allen and Fenrir gawked like fools, completely ensnared, Anxos suddenly shook off the spellbinding haze.

“Who are you? State your name!” His expression darkened as he took a wary step back, one hand reaching for the pouch at his waist.

In a tower housing fewer than fifty apprentices, familiarity was inevitable. Anxos prided himself on knowing every inhabitant by heart, but no matter how he searched his memory, he could not place this dazzling girl.

Then it hit him—she had emerged from Mireille’s room.

The timid, stubborn girl from a faraway noble family... Was it possible?

Anxos’ mind raced as the image of the freckled, demure Mireille merged with the bold, striking figure before him. His mouth fell open in disbelief.

“You… You’re Mireille?”

The name seemed to pierce the girl like a dagger. Her charming smile twisted into a grotesque snarl, her petite mouth splitting into a gaping maw of fangs. With a feral leap, she sank her teeth into Anxos’ exposed neck.

In one horrific bite, most of his neck vanished, revealing torn muscles, shattered cartilage, and a spurting crimson geyser that splattered the walls and the scarlet-clad girl herself.

Anxos collapsed against the wall, trembling uncontrollably, even as his hand pulled a scorpion-shaped magical device from his pouch. A fiery beam erupted from it, punching a searing hole through the girl’s abdomen and scorching the corridor wall behind her.

Yet even as he activated a vial of green liquid to stem the horrific injury, Anxos’ body began to shrivel. The undead toxin within him had activated, preserving his life at a terrible cost.

But the girl moved with unholy speed, her wound knitting together as though it had never existed. Her lips curled into a triumphant smile as she loomed over him once more.

Anxos' final thought was of her dripping purple blood: She… she’s not human…

Grimm, peeking through a crack in his door, witnessed everything. Though shocked by the revelation of Mireille's transformation, he felt no pity for Anxos.

Perhaps now, even the tower’s master would take notice of this deadly conflict.