Three entire days Renn had endured inside that dark, damp stone cell.
During those three days, each day brought nothing but a single moldy black crust of bread and a bucket of murky cold water. Bloody clashes broke out every single day over that pitiful scrap of food. No one had died yet, but every boy bore wounds, and the air reeked of despair and brutality.
By playing dead and relying on a sliver of judgment, Renn managed to snatch just enough to stay alive each time—unnoticeable, yet not starving. He had learned to shrink himself into an unremarkable stone: never standing out, never resisting, never giving anyone a reason to target him.
Then, on the morning of the fourth day, the heavy iron door creaked open once more.
This time, it was not the black-robed wizard who stepped inside.
It was a black crow.
"Caw!" The crow circled above their heads, letting out a shrill, piercing cry. Its eyes were blood-red, glinting with a twisted, malicious intelligence. It landed on a protruding rock and spoke in a human voice:
"Useless trash, out! Lord Morton awaits you at the training grounds!"
Its voice was sharp, dripping with unmasked contempt.
No one dared delay. Supporting one another, they stumbled out of the cell.
The light outside remained dim. The interior of the Grey Tower seemed forever shrouded in a layer of gray mist. They descended winding stone steps until they reached a massive underground plaza.
The plaza's floor was paved with hard obsidian, and around it stood several enormous totem poles, carved with all manner of hideous, snarling monsters.
Morton was already waiting there. He sat upon a high-backed stone throne, twirling his skeletal staff in his hand, his gaze as cold as ever.
"It seems you retain a shred of life. You didn't die in that pigsty."
He glanced indifferently at the ragged, emaciated apprentices, his tone neither praise nor scorn.
"Listen well. Wizards are not what you imagine—hiding in the back, muttering a few spells. That is the foolish nonsense bards invent." Morton stood up, his voice suddenly rising. "Great spiritual power requires a strong body to bear it. If your flesh is as fragile as paper, the moment you touch high-rank magic, you will collapse into a pile of rotting meat!"
"So before you learn magic, you must first learn to survive like beasts, to harden yourselves like steel!"
He waved a hand. The black crow immediately swooped down and dropped a roll of parchment.
The parchment unfurled in midair, bearing eighteen twisted, unnatural human poses. Every single one was joint-breaking and illogical; merely looking at them made bones ache.
"This is the Valhalla Body Forging Technique. An ancient warrior secret art from the bitter far north. It will squeeze every last drop of potential from your bodies, strengthening your bones and organs."
Morton spoke coldly. "Now, assume the first pose. Those who cannot hold it properly… or last for one full hourglass…"
He gestured at the drooling Abomination beside him. "…it will be more than happy to 'crack your bones' for you."
Every apprentice shuddered.
The first pose demanded legs wrapped around the neck, hands locked backward around the spine, the body curled into a ball—all while maintaining a specific breathing rhythm.
"Agh—!"
Screams erupted one after another.
To boys who had never known proper training, the pose was nothing short of torture. The cracking of bones echoed across the plaza, making scalps tingle.
Renn gritted his teeth, fighting the agony as he tried to hook his left leg over his head. He felt his ligaments tearing, his hip screaming as if being ripped apart. Cold sweat soaked through his tunic in an instant.
"Unacceptable."
A cold voice sounded beside his ear.
Before Renn could react, searing pain exploded across his back. The Death-Caller Crow had flitted behind him without warning, its sharp beak slamming into his back muscle, tearing out a chunk of flesh.
"Mmph!"
Renn stifled a groan, nearly blacking out from the pain. Blood ran down his spine, staining his tattered linen tunic.
But he did not cry out. He did not beg. He bit his lip until he tasted blood. He knew here, weakness only invited more cruelty.
He took a deep breath, using the clarity pain granted him, and forced his body into the position—barely.
"Hm?"
Morton noticed the commotion, his gaze flicking to Renn. A flicker of faint surprise crossed his face, but it vanished just as quickly, replaced by cold indifference.
Time dragged on. Every second felt like an eternity.
More and more apprentices collapsed, unable to endure. The Abomination dragged them away like dead dogs, beat them brutally, then tossed them back to continue.
Renn's vision began to blur. Everything turned red. All he heard was his own ragged breathing and pounding heart. The wound on his back still bleeding, the pain fading into numbness.
"Hold on… don't fall…"
He repeated it to himself over and over. His only thoughts: survive, rescue Bucky, kill Morton.
At last, Morton called an end.
"That is enough for today. Return tomorrow."
Renn collapsed onto the ground like a pile of mud, not even the strength to wiggle a finger.
Night fell.
Renn was thrown back into the frigid stone cell.
Hunger, pain, cold—three torments that left him barely able to sleep. The wound on his back, left untreated, had swollen and inflamed, burning fiercely.
"If I don't tend to this, I'll die of infection…"
Renn curled up in the corner, his mind fading. In this place without medicine or care, even a small injury could kill.
Just then, a faint scurrying sound reached his ears.
Renn's eyes snapped open alertly. In the dim light, he saw a gray rat scuttling along the base of the wall.
Food.
That was his first thought. Disgusting as it was, rat meat was still meat.
He held his breath, his hand moving like lightning. Before the rat could react, Renn had pinned it, swiftly snapping its neck.
He gripped the warm corpse, ready to clean and eat it—when suddenly, the Bronze Flask inside his tunic radiated a strange, bone-deep cold.
Not the cold of temperature. A chill that pierced straight into the soul.
Somehow, without thinking, Renn did not eat the rat. He lifted his tunic and pressed the small corpse against the surface of the Bronze Flask.
"Hum…"
The spiral patterns on the flask glowed with a faint, dim light. The Ouroboros engraving seemed to come alive, twisting slowly in a full circle.
The next second, something horrifying unfolded before Renn's eyes.
The rat's body melted like snow, shrinking, collapsing, until it turned into a wisp of gray smoke and was sucked into the flask's mouth.
The whole process took less than three seconds. The once-heavy rat was nothing but a dry, empty pelt in his hand.
"What…?"
Renn's eyes widened, his heart hammering.
The flask… it was eating?
Before he could process it, the flask trembled slightly, and a single drop of liquid oozed from its opening.
A drop of bright, blood-red liquid, the size of a bean, yet exuding an alluring, strange fragrance. Not strong, but hook-like, stoking the deepest hunger for life in Renn's body.
Hunger for survival.
Renn's Adam's apple bobbed. Instinct screamed that this was good.
Trembling, he reached out with a finger, scooped up the red drop, and carefully placed it in his mouth.
"Boom!"
The liquid melted on his tongue.
In an instant, a wave of heat exploded from his tongue, rushing down his throat and flooding his body. It was like drinking a bowl of boiling hot soup in the dead of winter, like parched earth finally receiving rain.
Where the heat passed, sore muscles relaxed at once, torn micro-fibers rapidly mending. A tingling, itching sensation spread from his swollen back wound—the sign of healing.
Even more miraculously, the hunger that had tormented him for days vanished completely, in a single breath.
His strength returned. His mind cleared. Even his sight sharpened.
Renn stared in shock at the Bronze Flask in his hand.
This was no ordinary flask. It was a Flesh Furnace!
It devoured flesh and blood, converting it into this miraculous red liquid to nourish its holder!
A storm raged in Renn's chest. He realized he had not found some old trinket—he had found an artifact that could change his fate entirely!
"Red liquid… Let me call you Red Wine."
Renn carefully tucked the flask against his body, feeling its cold metal touch. The wild fervor in his eyes was quickly suppressed.
In the Grey Tower, wild joy drew the same dangerous attention as screaming.
He stuffed the dry rat pelt deep into his tunic, curled back into the shadows, and listened as the sound of dragging heavy bodies faded away outside the cell.
Training would continue tomorrow. The culling would continue.
And all he needed to do… was live a little longer. And collect more Red Wine.