Lina's tiny frame made her far less composed in bed than one might expect of a high-tier apprentice. Kai's constitution, though not extraordinary, was solid—and at sixteen, he still had years of growth ahead. At his current rate, by twenty-five (when a human's physical prime hits), his constitution might even break 12.
Compared to the burly minotaurs or gifted Underdark subraces, 12 constitution was trivial. But among black mages—most of whom, unlike Jork, cared little for physical training—it was more than enough. Even Lina struggled to keep up with him, let alone other apprentices.
As the grade assessment neared, the usually quiet academy buzzed with activity. Apprentices returned from missions; others, who'd hidden away in dorms or the library, emerged in small groups.
Beyond Lina, Kai had a few "friends" over the years. Lone wolves rarely survived the academy—especially new apprentices, who quickly learned to cling to groups or powerful backers. Kai had many acquaintances, but only two he truly trusted, two who knew his past.
"Hey, Fatty! Long time no see!" Kai called out, waving to a portly apprentice approaching between the academy's buildings.
Barth, "Fatty" to Kai, had arrived at the academy with him a decade earlier. They'd fought side by side, scrambled for food together—bonded through the chaos of their first years. Most of their cohort was dead now; they were among the last left. Ilk, the low-tier apprentice Kai had killed, had another grudge against Barth—Barth had also stolen food from Ilk's younger brother back then.
Barth froze, then his chubby face broke into a grin, and he hurried over with open arms. He hadn't recognized Kai at first—Kai was wearing a white mask.
"Haha, Kai! I heard about what you did these two months! Word is you're a formal mage's apprentice now? Is that the Pale Mask you took from Ilk? A low-tier magic item—let me see!"
Barth was also a low-tier apprentice, but he cared more about gold than meditation or magic. He dabbled in trade, frequenting Menzoberranzan's outer markets (wilder than Black Street, where one dealt with subraces and dark creatures). His shop had the backing of an unnamed black mage—though he'd never been formally taken as a disciple.
Before Kai's trip to the Saltwater Crocodile's lair, he'd bought iron-phosphorus powder and other materials from Barth at a "friend's discount."
Barth's greasy hand clapped Kai's shoulder—his huge belly jiggling so much it made Kai roll his eyes. Barth was only a year older than Kai; how had he gotten so fat in the harsh Underdark? He hadn't been this heavy when they first arrived.
Barth wasn't back for the assessment rewards—his strength ranked near the bottom of low-tier apprentices. He was here for business. For three years, he'd peddled goods to low-tier apprentices during assessments: spell materials, incomplete spell models, anything cheap (a few gold coins at most). Low-tier apprentices had no money, and mid-tier ones scoffed at his shoddy wares. He likely had better items stashed away, but dared not sell them to higher-tier apprentices—fear of being robbed kept him cautious.
Before Barth could ramble on, Kai pulled off his mask and handed it over. "How much gold is this worth?"
Barth's fat fingers flipped the mask over, inspecting it carefully—he knew his trade, having handled low and mid-tier magic items in his shop. "Normally, 120 gold. But if you sell it to me? I'll give you 150."
His answer laid bare the cost of magic items—and how lucrative alchemy was. Kai didn't fully believe him, though. Barth never did anything without profit; he'd easily resell it for more, depending on the buyer's wealth and his own silver tongue. Magic items were so rare in Menzoberranzan that fixed prices didn't exist.
Barth kept turning the mask over, showing no sign of giving it back. Kai smiled and said, "I did take it from Ilk… but I hear it was a gift from a formal mage."
Barth jumped, dropping the mask like it was on fire. Kai caught it, chuckling. Two months ago, he would've reacted the same—terrified of a formal mage's retaliation. But since then, the mage Kaelth (from the plantation) had never come for him. And after spending time with Moxido and Phil, Kai knew his master wouldn't abandon him. A mage attacking Kai would be an insult to Moxido himself.
Kai didn't know Moxido's exact strength, but judging by Vice-Dean Daldaron's and Felena's reactions in the dungeon, Moxido was no weakling among formal mages.
Kai's other trusted friend was Meryl—a 14-year-old girl who'd arrived three years after him and Barth. Her luck and talent made Kai envious: her initial mental power was 13, and by her third year (freshly promoted to low-tier), she'd been taken as a disciple by a formal mage.
Their bond began five years earlier, in a dissection class. Kai had saved her from being dissected by Master Koroslon, speaking up for her out of a rare moment of compassion. For Meryl—new, alone, and vulnerable—it was a lifeline. She'd clung to Kai as an "older brother" ever since. Even after becoming Master Dils' apprentice (Dils was a renowned potion master, rarely seen in public classes), she'd stayed in touch, often discussing magic with Kai after classes.
Meryl had gotten lucky with Dils. She'd been absent for half a year now, likely helping him with experiments or potion-brewing.
Kai cherished these two friendships not just out of loyalty, but survival. In the academy, allies were essential. Meryl had a formal mage mentor and dabbled in potions; Barth had connections and trade skills. Together, they could watch each other's backs.
Kai loved magic—craved the secrets and truths of black magic—but he knew survival came first.
The assessment was held on a large training field behind the academy's biggest classroom. Apprentices often came here to practice new spells; Kai still remembered conjuring his first tiny flame here.
The assessment had no strict rules—formal mages had no patience for red tape. Fewer than four formal mages attended each year; this year, only three showed up.
Over 500 apprentices filed into the field—80% of the academy's total. Most were new or low-tier; around 70 were mid-tier; only a dozen were high-tier. This wasn't everyone—Phil was attending, but Zoro wasn't. Some apprentices were absent for various reasons, and the academy never forced attendance. Assessments were for the strong; the weak were often eliminated in daily life anyway.
The rules were simple: duels on a platform. Apprentices fought freely, no holds barred—life or death. Challenging higher tiers was allowed; winners secured a top-three spot and a high chance of catching a formal mage's eye.
New apprentices, with little magic knowledge and low stats (some couldn't even cast a spell), were ranked by physical combat or their ability to cast a basic spell.
Kai and Barth searched the field but didn't see Meryl. She was probably skipping this year.
"You gonna fight for a rank?" Barth whispered. Kai had put the Pale Mask back on.
He nodded. "Sister Phil said the rewards might be good this year. I should try."
Barth agreed. Word had spread that Kai owned a powerful magic staff (a gift from Moxido), on top of the Pale Mask. With that staff, Kai could even hold his own against mid-tier apprentices.
When the assessment began, the three formal mages took their seats on the highest stand.
"Lot of promising kids this year," one mage muttered, glancing first at the high-tier apprentices, then the mid-tier, and finally the low-tier. He didn't even look at the new apprentices.
When his gaze reached the low-tier section, it lingered on Kai for half a second. He recognized Kai—he'd been one of the two formal mages watching the Black Street brawl two months earlier.
Menzoberranzan's black mages weren't many, but most held roles at the academy. The city offered them shelter; the academy, a place to trade knowledge. In return, these selfish, arrogant mages owed the city and academy a measure of service.
A secret unknown to lower apprentices: Menzoberranzan's lord was the academy's reclusive, powerful grand master. He rarely appeared before apprentices—even formal mages seldom saw him. The academy's daily operations were run by three vice-deans, including Daldaron (who oversaw the owl overseers). The other two vice-deans kept a low profile; one was the mentor of the high-tier apprentice Liliana.
Boom!
A fireball exploded, sending dirt and gravel flying. The low-tier apprentice facing Kai screamed, yelling "I surrender!" as he stumbled out of the ring. His arm was charred and useless—the price of challenging Kai and losing.
The academy knew no "holding back." The constant deaths explained why new children (with 合 mental power) arrived every year, yet the apprentice count never grew.
After Kai stepped onto the platform, no one dared challenge him for a long time. His reputation had already secured him a top-three spot. But the academy always had foolshardy souls—like the apprentice who'd just lost his arm.
What shocked the onlookers was that Kai hadn't used his staff once. He'd won with nothing but masterful fireball techniques—proof of his dominance among low-tier apprentices.
In two months, studying Moxido's scrolls and Phil's private guidance had paid off: faster casting, less mana usage, sharper reflexes. Dueling (not gang-fighting) favored mages who cast faster—and Kai now cast faster than most.
If he returned to the Saltwater Crocodile's lair now, he'd still face danger—but he'd face it far more calmly.
Kai gripped his staff through his robe, letting it replenish his mental power and mana as he scanned for the next challenger. By tradition, a low-tier apprentice who won three duels earned a reward. Last year, Kai had won two and lost one, landing sixth. Not all apprentices were willing to risk their lives for a reward.
Elsewhere on the field, fights raged. The low-tier duels were the least "exciting"—most apprentices knew only one spell (two, if they were lucky). The real spectacle was the mid and high-tier brawls, where colorful mana auras lit up the field. For young apprentices, new to the Underdark, it was a mix of terror (the violence) and awe (the power)—a reminder of why they studied magic.
Power was the driving force for most apprentices. Few truly understood Moxido's talk of "seeking truth" or "magic's essence."
While the field erupted in combat, the three mages on the stand ignored the bloodshed, chatting among themselves. Two talked; the third—a cold-looking man with blue hair—hardly spoke.
"Master Andis," one of the chatting mages finally asked, turning to the blue-haired man, "I heard the vice-deans found a spatial rift in Shadow Vale. Is it true?"
Formal mages had hierarchies, too—strength ruled the Underdark. Andis was one of Menzoberranzan's strongest formal mages, said to be second only to the three vice-deans. The vice-deans were Tier 2 mages; Andis hadn't reached Tier 2, but his reputation meant he was likely at the peak of Tier 1.
Andis' cold eyes flicked to the two mages, then he spoke slowly: "It's true. Vice-Deans Martin and Jonnie are there now. But the rift is small, and we don't know which otherworld it connects to—we haven't decided if it's worth developing."
His words revealed details the other two hadn't known. One mage's face lit up. "I hope it's a demiplane worth exploiting! Menzoberranzan is so poor. If the vice-deans hadn't restricted our movements these years, I would've raided the surface long ago. Those surface magic groups and noble knights are swimming in wealth—just pick off a straggler…"
He rambled, letting slip "black mage talk"—frustrations pent up from years underground. The other mage nodded, though he was more sensible. "We'd have to be careful on the surface. Ordinary mages or knights are fine, but if we a Holy Spire or Knight Order…" His voice trembled with fear—and something else, especially when he said "Holy Spire."
Andis was less amused. He didn't waste time on fantasies, but he shared their curiosity about the rift—why else would he have dug up so much info?
"Do you think the rift leads to a complete plane?" the more sensible mage suddenly asked. His question revealed he wasn't as sensible as he seemed.
A "complete plane" was a world with intact laws and countless creatures—even a tiny one was beyond Menzoberranzan's reach. Only the Holy Spires and Knight Orders of the wizarding world could conquer entire planes, fielding slave armies of hundreds of thousands.
How many formal mages did Menzoberranzan have? Barely 30. To covet a complete plane was delusional
Of course, the black mage hadn't truly meant to conquer an entire complete plane. His real plan, most likely, was to sneak through the spatial rift and plunder the other side.
Creatures of Tier 1 and above stood atop the mortal hierarchy in any plane. The supernatural power they commanded could raze cities and topple kingdoms in the blink of an eye. Black mages, in particular, were thugs whose destructive potential outstripped ordinary mages. They might not rally in legions or summon world-ending magic like the mages of the Holy Spires, but their individual combat prowess was undeniable.
Though his words reeked of greed and irrationality, the moment he fell silent, a flicker of longing and temptation crossed the eyes of both the other mage and Andis.
Yet it remained nothing but fantasy. Complete planes were not so easily stumbled upon. The Holy Spires and Knight Orders of the wizarding world spent every year exploring the stars, but most complete planes had already been claimed by wizard civilization or absorbed into the Wizard Alliance. Finding an undiscovered, virgin complete plane was next to impossible.
Even a resource-rich demiplane would be a stroke of luck for Menzoberranzan's mages. The only fear was that the rift might lead to a worthless, broken plane—leaving them with nothing but empty excitement.
In fact, a broken plane was the most likely outcome. Such planes were the most numerous in the Astral Sea.
As the three mages whispered among themselves, the assessment on the training field was already more than half done. Fights between low-tier and new apprentices had long ended; only a handful of mid-tier and high-tier apprentices remained locked in combat.
The high-tier duels were the most spectacular. The training field, built to withstand apprentice spell practice, was undeniably sturdy—but even so, craters pockmarked the ground from their clashes. Occasionally, elemental ripples flashed across the sky, the aftereffect of high-tier spells colliding with the field's magical barrier.
Since the three overseeing mages were too busy chatting to manage the assessment, seven owl overseers had flown to the field's perimeter to prevent accidents—either to protect bystanders or stop excessive damage to the .
So far, over twenty new apprentices and seven low-tier apprentices had died; two mid-tier apprentices had also fallen. Yet not a single high-tier apprentice had perished, despite their more powerful spells and deadlier attacks—all thanks to the watching owls.
"Andis, I think Lady Jonnie is too lenient with these brats," one mage said suddenly, breaking the silence. "If we followed the apprentice elimination rules of the Black Domain in the Western Isles, we'd toss them all into monster forests or underground corpse dens for trials. Only those who survive—and bring back ten skulls of fellow apprentices or monster cores—deserve rewards. Not this… child's play of 'voluntary challenges.'"
Andis' cold words turned the air even frostier. The other two mages stared in shock. They had become black mages only after being wanted by the Holy Spires, unlike Andis—who seemed to have been a black mage since his apprentice days, and was rumored to hail from the Western Isles.
While they had long stopped valuing human life (having killed countless weak apprentices on a whim), Andis' casual cruelty and obsession with dark laws still made them uneasy.
One mage forced an awkward laugh. "If we really used the Black Domain's rules, less than a tenth of these kids would survive, right?"
"Hmph. What's the point of keeping useless 废 alive?" Andis snorted.
The mage frowned. As a formal mage, he knew enough about the wizarding world—and the Black Domain—to argue. "The Black Domain can afford such harsh rules because the Western Isles have countless islands and continents, supplying an endless stream of apprentice candidates. Even small isles have multiple human kingdoms—their population base is massive. But look at us, in the Underdark… Once glorious, or so the legends say, but now we're stuck in the heart of the Wizard Continent. We're right next to the Beren Empire, one of the top powers in the wizarding world—not to mention the nearby Holy Spires and Knight Orders, which we can't afford to provoke."
Surviving between such powerful forces was no easy feat, especially for black mages—outcasts hated by every Holy Spire and Knight Order. Raiding the surface for people and wealth was profitable, but it came with constant danger.
Having even a few hundred apprentices to keep the academy running was a miracle, thanks to the three vice-deans' efforts. If they copied the Black Domain's rules, the apprentices would die off until only a handful remained—completely contradicting the vice-deans' intentions. These apprentices had their uses…
Andis' eyes sharpened at the 反,frost seeming to form in his pupils. The two mages shivered. Any doubt they'd had about his strength vanished: he was definitely a Peak Tier 1 mage, on the cusp of Tier 2. Only Tier 2 mages, with their elemental true forms, could exude such bone-chilling aura.
Interestingly, Andis had a faint connection to Kai and Lina. Two months earlier, Jork's conflict with Kai on Black Street had stemmed, in part, from Jork's desire to impress Andis at the assessment and become his disciple. Among all mid-tier apprentices at the academy, only Lina—powerful and mentorless at the time—had been his biggest rival.
The apprentices below had no idea what the mages on the stand were discussing. After finishing his own duels, Kai and Barth moved to watch the high-tier fights up close.
"Hey, Kai! Over here!" Phil waved when she spotted Kai—still wearing the Pale Mask—near the high-tier area. Her own duels were already done. With her devastating fire magic and the magic items Moxido and Zoro had given her, she'd secured a top-three spot.
Lina, however, was still fighting—she and Liliana (whom Kai had met once) were vying for the last remaining top-three spot in the high-tier division.
Lina's opponent was an apprentice who controlled a rare necrotic construct. Kai saw echoes of Master Koroslon in him: not only did he command a twisted monster stitched from the bodies and heads of multiple creatures, but he also had four arms—enough to make anyone's skin crawl. Worse, a red, heart-like tumor pulsed on his neck, throbbing as if something was growing inside it.
High-tier apprentices fought on a completely different level than mid or low-tier ones. They mastered dozens of spells and had countless aces up their sleeves. The tumor-wielding apprentice, for example, had his construct as a bodyguard, could fire death rays, and wore a gray cloak that seemed to be a high-quality magic item.
Lina, by contrast, only had two new pieces of gear: her familiar black crystal bracelet and a new black wrist wheel. She'd also learned two new dark magic spells in the past two months—a finger-fired ray and a dark energy orb. For someone who'd been a high-tier apprentice for less than half a year, winning this fight would be an uphill battle.
"Your girlfriend's pretty strong," Phil said with a smile. "She's pushed Mike the Death Hand this far—I thought he'd wrap it up quickly."
High-tier apprentices usually had a good idea of who'd take the top spots before the assessment even began. Mike was one of the academy's strongest high-tier apprentices; with his powerful necromancy and pain-immune construct, he'd been all but guaranteed the last top-three spot. But now, the outcome was far from certain.
Kai was about to respond when his expression suddenly changed—his eyes fixed on the field. Lina had earned the nickname "Madwoman" back in her mid-tier days, and she hadn't mellowed out as a high-tier apprentice.
Mike and his construct fought in perfect sync, alternating between long-range and close-quarters attacks. Beating him with conventional tactics was nearly impossible. But Lina was not one to give up. She began gathering fireballs in one hand and dense dark energy at her crystal necklace with the other—preparing two spells at once.
Mike tensed, ready to counter. But no one—not even the mages on the stand—expected what happened next. Instead of casting the two spells, Lina activated her wrist wheel. In a blur of shadow, she darted straight toward Mike, closing the distance in an instant!
"What?!" More than one apprentice gasped. Even the three mages on the stand turned to watch.
One mage, eager to defuse the tension from Andis' earlier coldness, said, "She's casting two spells at once—no, three, technically. She's using magic items, but her mental refinement and precise mana control are impressive." He sounded genuinely admiring.
He'd noticed Lina's seamless coordination of three abilities. Andis, however—the strongest among them—focused on something else: her counterintuitive choice to close in on Mike. A veteran of countless battles, he knew exactly what happened when a mage was caught at close range.
Mages wielded fearsome elemental power, but their physical fragility was an undeniable truth. Except for rare classes like blood warlocks (who excelled at close combat), most mages relied on magical shields or minions to protect themselves up close.
Mike had his construct, but it was mindless and slow. As for a magical shield? His flustered movements made it clear he hadn't learned one.
Boom!
A massive fireball exploded, followed by nearly twenty smaller, consecutive blasts. Kai recognized the enhanced fireballs—he'd seen Lina use them on Black Street two months earlier. The first fireball toppled Mike's construct; the subsequent ones pinned it down, preventing it from rising. Fire magic, it seemed, was especially effective against the necrotic creature.
In that split second, Lina reached Mike. He fired two death rays in a panic—Lina took one head-on and dodged the other. Before he could cast another spell, she was behind him, her dark energy-glowing hand pressed against his neck… right on the pulsing tumor.
Gasps rippled across the training field. Two of the seven owls swooped down, their eyes fixed on Mike and Lina.
Mike's face flushed crimson, then paled—whether from rage or the side effects of his necromantic modifications. A putrid, corpse-like stench wafted from the joints of his extra arms.
"You think you've won? Go on, kill me!" he snarled. "But I swear— the second you do, my Bone Cloak will drown you in poison, and your corpse will feed my pet!"
True to his word, the gray cloak behind him floated into the air, cutting off all Lina's escape routes. Even the construct, battered by fireballs and oozing sludge, struggled to its feet. Its vitality was astonishing.
But if Lina could be intimidated, she wouldn't be called the "Madwoman." As Mike finished speaking, the dark energy in her hand flared brighter—ready to blast him to shreds.
"Stop!"
Kai's voice rang out from the crowd.