Hunting High School

It wasn't until the moon passed the MC and began to sink slowly that Matthew finally said goodbye to his cousin.

"When you go back, don't rush to read the training materials of the hunting team. You can sort out the spells you have mastered since you were young... Remember to prepare a few more books." Sir Friedman sent his cousin off the terrace, Gently exhorted: "For hunters, on the hunting ground, the most reliable power always exists in your Dharma books."

Matthew nodded repeatedly.

"Don't worry about magic potions and alchemy supplies. My society has a complete set of backups, and you can take them at any time."

"There is also the midterm exam, and you don't need to pay too much attention to it... because it has a relatively low weight in the comprehensive evaluation at the end of the school year, so most professors will choose the mode of in-class exams. As long as the homework on weekdays is completed carefully, the midterm exam will be awarded. Good reviews are not difficult.”

Matthew absently listened to his cousin's words, and let the alchemy puppet help him put on a thick cloak made of Minotaur head leather, but his gaze involuntarily slid across the fence in front of the distant terrace again.

Under the moonlight, the vivid statue of the banshee on the railing seemed to move, turning her head a little towards the room.

The young vampire couldn't help squinting.

The banshee statue returned to its original state, as if the scene just now was an illusion.

"Is there really a monster inside?" Matthew finally couldn't help the curiosity in his heart, and looked at his cousin: "I mean, are there really monsters sealed inside those railings?"

As soon as the words came out of the mouth, the young vampire immediately regretted it.

He shouldn't have mentioned these baseless nonsense in front of his cousin.

But Sir Friedman's reaction was beyond his expectations.

Jazz looked at the fence following Matthew's gaze, and was taken aback for a moment, but he didn't immediately laugh at his cousin's naive question.

After a while, Jazz spoke slowly and said, "Maybe... maybe not. Who knows?"

This answer made Matthew's eyes widen.

He turned his head involuntarily, looking at the moonlit terrace.

The vines clinging to the foot of the railing spread their broad leaves and trembled in the evening wind. The quivering shadows of these leaves cast on the marble floor of the terrace, like a Devil thrown head by head into The Underworld, struggling in an endless abyss.

"That terrace has existed for a long time since the first Karen entered this lounge... This room was originally the office of an old professor from Alpha College."

"Then the professor disappeared. At that time, the Karen family won the war with the O'Brien-Blaike coalition forces, and they were able to ask for a lounge in this old castle...so this room finally fell into the It's in our hands."

"According to some documents I found in the house, the old professor once won the 'Outstanding Contribution Award' issued by the Wizarding Union in recognition of his great contribution to the exploration of Realm in the New World... According to the brief description on the trophy base Judging from the description, the old professor should have captured a complete 'false pantheon' in a certain new world, and successfully brought it into the black prison."

"This terrace was grinded by the goblins bit by bit to commemorate the former glory of the old professor... The seventy-two railings around the terrace represent the seventy-two false gods in that false god department .”

"Since it is a god, there is naturally some kind of induction."

"There is unbroken karma between these railings, this terrace, and this room, and those seventy-two false gods... So, if you think there are some spirits sealed in the railings, my answer is, maybe there are , maybe not."

"Who knows?"

"I always thought that this terrace was built by our Karen family." Matthew raised his eyebrows, his tone seemed a little surprised: "And it is rumored that people from the Karen family stuffed demon souls into these railings."

"You also said it, it's rumored." Sir Friedman handed the Burgundy cup in his hand to the elf next to him, then took a wet handkerchief, wiped the corners of his mouth, and shook his head: "In this world, seeing None of them are necessarily true... let alone rumors? Leaving aside the subjective emotions when recounting, wizards have no history."

Sir's words were a bit profound, and Matthew didn't fully understand them for a while.

But this did not prevent him from continuing this short parting conversation.

"It turns out that there really are gods in the black prison!" The young vampire's eyes sparkled, revealing some kind of emotion that could be called 'longing'.

"Don't even think about that place until you graduate from the First University... don't even mention it." Sir Friedman warned the young people in front of him in a rare stern tone: "That is a real abyss...for us It is especially unfriendly to creatures under the moon that tend to be yin attributes. Maybe you can get rid of the negative influence of that place only after surpassing ordinary registered wizards."

"At that time, if you are still interested in black prisons, you can consider submitting an application for defense assistance to First University."

...

...

When Sir Friedman and his cousin mentioned the black prison that demons hate most.

At the other end of this Alpha Castle.

Also in a spacious lounge.

Someone also mentioned the name of the black prison.

"The people in the black prison are all big shots."

"For example, those demon kings who are old and not dead, or the idols worshiped by the natives in the new world, and some great wizards who have overdone their experiments and accidentally turned into liches."

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"And we... we just resell some gadgets through the murlocs in Linzhong Lake Reserve... No wizard court will waste precious manpower and material resources to haggle over every ounce with young people like us."

It was a burly Fatty who spoke.

His eyebrows were thick and thin, and his eyes were small, but very dark. This made his eyes look a little dark. Because of the two pieces of fat on his cheeks, he always felt like he was struggling when he spoke.

Or rather, it gave him a powerful vibe when he spoke.

Mike King Soprano never cared whether others would frown when they listened to him, he only cared whether others understood what he said.

At this moment, he slumped lazily in the large armchair, raised his hand, and looked carefully at the small ring-shaped snake on his wrist, looking at the huge Ye Ming pearl on the wall.

It was a colorful ouroboros.

One finger is wide and thin, encircling his wrist, the snake's head bites its tail, and they meet together above the pulse. With the beating of the pulse, the snake's head seemed to tremble, trembling.

Around Soprano, sitting or standing, there are always dozens of figures.