From that night on, a new unit of measurement entered Renn's world — the drop.
In less than a week, he had figured out several unspoken rules of the Grey Tower: the sound of the iron door opening and closing made his stomach clench first; the mold on the black bread always grew on the same corner every day; the crow's voice was forever like sandpaper, grinding away at one's nerves.
Of the original eighteen apprentices, only fourteen remained. Two of the four who had vanished were dragged away by the Abomination after their bones shattered during the Valhalla Body Forging Technique training. Another had suffered a mental breakdown and tried to escape, only to be blinded by that accursed crow and cast into the bottomless abyss.
Those who remained had grown numb and cold, their eyes stripped of light, holding nothing but the will to survive and the terror of death.
On that day, Morton summoned everyone to the laboratory.
It was a chamber filled with bizarre instruments and specimens. Twisted biological organs soaked in giant glass jars, and the air reeked of formalin and sulfur.
"Congratulations."
Morton stood behind the experiment table, swirling a vial of purple potion, a twisted smile on his face. "You have passed the first stage of selection. Your bodies have adapted to the Grey Tower's environment — you are now worthy of Awakening."
"Awakening?"
Torres's eyes lit up, staring greedily at the potion. He thought it was some miraculous liquid that would grant them power.
Morton poured the purple liquid into fourteen small glass tubes and had the Abomination hand one to each person.
"Drink," Morton ordered. "This is the Awakening Elixir. It will awaken the magic pathways within you and set you truly on the path of the wizard. Of course, if your aptitude is lacking… there may be certain… minor side effects."
Renn stared at the tube in his hand. The purple liquid glowed eerily under the light. It carried no medicinal scent, only a faint, sweet stench — much like the venom of some venomous serpent.
His instincts screamed that this was no blessing.
But at the sight of Morton's cold eyes and the Abomination glaring nearby, he knew he had no choice.
"Drink!"
Torres was the first to tilt his head back and swallow. Seeing this, the others gritted their teeth and drank as well.
Renn took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and poured the potion down his throat.
Gulp...
The liquid was icy cold as it slid down his throat. But in the next instant, that cold exploded into scorching fire!
"Agh —!"
Screams exploded throughout the laboratory at once.
Torres clutched his throat and collapsed to his knees, his face purpling, veins bulging wildly. The others fell and writhed as well — some foaming at the mouth, others scratching at their skin as if a million ants were gnawing at their insides.
Renn felt agony unlike anything he had ever known.
The potion rushed down his esophagus into his stomach, then spread rapidly through his limbs. It was not awakening magic. It was devouring. Like a living parasite, it tore greedily at Renn's life force.
His heart hammered violently, then stopped. His blood seemed to freeze.
His vision blurred, and darkness closed in from all sides.
"This… this is… poison…"
A terrible clarity struck Renn. This was no Awakening Elixir. It was a leash — a means to control them.
The sensation of life slipping away was brutally clear, as if his soul was being torn from his body bit by bit.
Was he going to die?
No! Never!
In the last moment before his consciousness plunged into darkness, Renn bit down hard on his tongue. The searing pain yanked back a sliver of awareness. His trembling hand reached into his tunic and found the cold Bronze Flask.
The night before, he had caught a cockroach that had wandered into the cell and converted it into half a drop of Red Wine. He had planned to save it for emergencies — but there was no time to hesitate.
Shielded by his curled posture, he quickly slipped his finger into the flask's opening, scooped up the half-drop of red liquid, and sucked it into his mouth.
Boom!
The instant the half-drop of Red Wine touched his tongue, heat exploded from his throat down to his stomach, as if a piece of burning iron had been shoved into his body. That heat then crashed violently against the cold in his chest — the purple poison coiled there, a cold hand yanking at his life.
He gritted his teeth, keeping his writhing subtle. Everywhere he looked, there were eyes.
Cold and heat tore at each other in his veins. His skin turned freezing then burning in turns. Sweat rolled down his forehead, only to freeze at his browbone. A sweet, coppery stench filled his nose, then blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. Only when he tasted iron did he realize he was bleeding.
"Ugh… agh…"
He growled like a wounded beast, his nails digging deep gouges into the hard stone floor.
The torment lasted a full ten minutes.
Finally, the purple poison seemed to subside. It no longer spread wildly, but burrowed deep into his heart, taking shape as a black curse mark — like a coiled serpent, watching its host with cold indifference.
Soul-Devouring Curse
The pain remained, but the feeling of life draining away was gone.
Renn gasped for air, his chest heaving as if it would split. His clothes were soaked through with sweat, then stuck cold and clammy to his skin, agonizingly uncomfortable.
But he was alive.
"Oh?"
Morton's voice sounded above him.
Renn lifted his head with effort and saw Morton standing over him, surprise glinting in those gray eyes.
"You actually endured? And your mind is still clear?"
Morton knelt down and pressed a skeletal finger to Renn's chest. A wisp of icy magic probed inside.
Renn's heart clenched violently, but he forced his heartbeat steady, hiding any trace of the Red Wine's energy from Morton's detection.
Luckily, the Red Wine's power had fully merged into his flesh. All Morton sensed was a vitality unnaturally fierce for a mortal.
"Strange… mortal physique, yet a life force stronger than a beast's," Morton muttered. "Could it be a mutated constitution?"
He pulled his hand back and stood up, a flicker of interest in his gaze.
"Only with this curse mark planted do your lives truly belong to me. To live, you will depend on my antidote. That is the truest loyalty."
Morton looked down at the apprentices writhing on the floor and announced coldly, "From today onward, you are official apprentices of the Grey Tower. Remember this pain. It will remind you who your master is."
Renn lay on the ground, wiping the blood from his lips. The cold curse mark on his chest felt like a nail, pinning down his every breath.
He pushed his fury back into the darkness, swallowing down the roar that had almost burst from his throat.
In the Grey Tower, hatred shouted aloud died faster. Hatred hidden away… had a chance to grow into a blade.