When the crimson-clad girl wiped away the bloodstains from her face and turned around, her delicate, alluring features reappeared before the two wizard apprentices. The sheer intensity of her appearance proved too much for Fenrir, who collapsed dramatically under the visual shock.

The ferocious, ghastly demeanor Mary had displayed moments ago was entirely gone, replaced once more by a tall, graceful young woman with striking beauty. Yet, her scarlet, piercing eyes and the sharp fangs protruding beyond her lips betrayed her true nature.

Half of her fragile figure was drenched in blood, yet her face remained pristinely alluring—a stark visual contradiction that even made Grim, spying cautiously through the crack of the door, shudder with fear.

A fledgling vampire is impervious to physical harm. As long as their attacks cause blood to flow from their enemies, they can draw infinite vitality from fresh blood. This ancient species of immortals, once documented in the tomes of the Wizard Continent, had nearly vanished due to relentless hunts by wizards. Those that survived either retreated into the wilderness or hid within human society, seldom revealing themselves.

Mary’s sudden transformation into a vampire left Grim deeply shaken. Yet beneath his shock, a chilling dread arose toward the mysterious means employed by wizards.

What kind of experiments had Mary endured to transform her from an ordinary human girl into this bloodthirsty, ancient being? Could the strange nocturnal sounds he had occasionally heard have been signs of her mutation?

As Mary, clad in red, stepped toward the trembling Alan, the dim corridor’s wall-mounted torches suddenly flared to life. A sinister figure emerged from the shadows of the stone wall, his voice calm but commanding.

"Cease, my child. The slaughter you’ve wrought today is enough to complete the final step of your evolution. From now on, you must restrain your thirst for blood and return to the path of knowledge."

The figure was a stooped old man, his face lined with deep wrinkles and sagging skin. He wore a pitch-black wizard’s robe and a pointed hat. In his hand was a gnarled staff, its top adorned with a large green crystal from which faint sparks of light emanated, scattering shimmering rays into the air.

This ancient man was none other than the sole master of the wizard’s tower, the great Wizard Anderson.

As for his wizardly rank, Grim could not begin to fathom it with his limited perspective.

Although Grim had anticipated that today’s events might alarm the tower’s master, he had prudently dismissed his elemental vision early. Yet even so, when Wizard Anderson appeared, the overwhelming magical radiation made his eyes sting and water uncontrollably.

Quietly closing the wooden door, Grim retreated into his room, remaining utterly still. He dared not spy further, knowing full well that catching even a glimpse of secrets Wizard Anderson wished to keep hidden could cost him his life.

Outside, separated by a mere wall, a tense standoff continued.

Mary, once again terrifying in appearance, now glared with crimson, beast-like eyes. Her nails grew rapidly, transforming into claws that gleamed with a cold, deadly light.

Having been driven mad by the scent of blood, the newly-turned vampire crouched low, her body pressed against the ground. Moving with astonishing speed along the vertical stone walls like a lizard, her target became clear: Wizard Anderson.

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Mary sprinted along the wall, her powerful legs propelling her with a forceful leap. Her lithe body shot toward Anderson like lightning, her claws outstretched and aimed directly at his heart.

Yet the venerable wizard remained unmoved. A cruel smile played across his face, mingled with an almost eager delight. With a single, deliberate motion of his staff, a vortex of wind materialized, blocking Mary’s trajectory.

"A construct will always be a construct—its bloodthirsty instincts suppressing any semblance of sentience. What a pity," Anderson muttered.

Mary’s lightweight, humanoid frame relied on speed and agility for its attacks, but these traits posed no threat to a wizard of Anderson’s caliber. Her claws, upon entering the wind vortex, were instantly ensnared, rendering her unable to escape.

As the vortex's suction intensified, Mary let out a startled cry as her body was drawn in. Within the swirling winds, she was tossed about violently until she was utterly disoriented.

Under Anderson’s control, the vortex abruptly expelled her, sending her crashing into the stone wall. Though the impact was not particularly forceful, the sound of breaking bones was audible even to Grim, hidden behind the wooden door.

"A mindless fledgling vampire—what use do I have for you? Die."

The wizened wizard raised his withered hand, a pale necromantic flame flickering to life in his palm. Without hesitation, he pressed it toward Mary’s writhing form.

Sensing her imminent demise, Mary’s feral aura abruptly dissipated. Letting out a piercing scream, she frantically recoiled, her eyes now a vivid green, radiating a palpable fear of the necromantic fire.

"Interesting..." Anderson murmured, halting his attack. "Fear of death restoring sentience? A phenomenon worth investigating."

Snuffing out the flame with a snap of his fingers, the wizard conjured several smaller wind vortexes. They bound Mary’s neck, limbs, and joints, leaving her entirely immobilized.

Turning, he glanced at the corpse of Ankos. Mary’s brutal feeding had drained every drop of blood from his body, accelerating its decay. The once-smooth skin now cracked and shriveled like that of a mummified corpse.

"The previous head apprentice is dead. You shall take his place," Anderson declared coldly, pointing at Alan, who was slumped against the wall but still standing.

With that, the torches dimmed once more. By the time their light returned, both the wizard and Mary had vanished from the corridor.

Having narrowly escaped death and unexpectedly been elevated to head apprentice, Alan trembled uncontrollably. His face was a mixture of terror and exhilaration, his pants damp from his ordeal.

Suddenly, as if recalling something, Alan lunged at Ankos’s corpse, frantically rifling through the belongings on his person.

If he was now the head apprentice, then the magical amulet symbolizing that status belonged to him. He needed to secure it immediately.

Searching every possible hiding place—the pouch at his waist, his chest, his boots—Alan eventually found the amulet embedded in the ghastly wound on Ankos’s neck. Raising it high, he let out a wild laugh, oblivious to how deranged he appeared.

On the floor, Fenrir stirred, leaning against the wall to stand. A murderous glint flickered in his hidden gaze as he watched Alan.

Fenrir had been awake all along, feigning unconsciousness to assess the unpredictable situation.

He hadn’t expected his momentary hesitation to cost him the prestigious position of head apprentice. Bitterness and fury boiled within him as he cursed the vampire for sparing Alan.

Still, Fenrir quickly masked his emotions. Rising to his feet, he forced a flattering smile onto his face.

"Senior Alan, you shouldn’t sit on the ground—it’s filthy. Allow me to clean up here."

Fenrir’s interruption snapped Alan back to his senses. Standing, he adjusted his robes and toyed with the amulet, a smug smile of superiority forming on his face.

"This place is your responsibility now. The previous head apprentice had an accident. I must inform the others of this immediately. And don’t forget—the swamp crocodiles need feeding."

His tone dripped with disdain as he delivered the final remark.

"Understood, understood. I’ll handle everything," Fenrir replied, bowing even lower.

Reveling in the intoxicating power he now held, Alan laughed once more, striding confidently down the corridor.

His laughter echoed as he disappeared, leaving the once-bustling corridor to fall silent again.