Monster Hunting High School

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

"When you go back, don't rush to read those hunting team training materials. You can first sort out the spells you have mastered since childhood... Remember to prepare a few more magic books." When Sir Friedman saw his cousin off the terrace, Gentle warning: "For hunters, the most reliable power on the hunting ground always exists in your Dharma book."

Matthew nodded repeatedly.

"Don't worry about magic potions and alchemy supplies. My club has a complete set of backups that you can use at any time."

“There is also a midterm exam, so 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 in-class exam mode. As long as you complete your daily homework carefully, you will get the midterm exam. Excellent reviews are not difficult.”

Matthew listened to his cousin's words absentmindedly, and allowed the alchemy doll to help him put on a heavy cloak made of Minotaur head skin, but his eyes involuntarily slid over the fence in front of the distant terrace again.

Under the moonlight, the lifelike banshee statue on the railing seemed to move and tilted its head a little toward the room.

The young vampire couldn't help but narrow his eyes.

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

"Are there really monsters inside?" Matthew finally couldn't help his curiosity and looked at his cousin: "I mean, are there really monsters sealed inside those railings?"

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

He should not mention these baseless nonsense in front of his cousin.

But Sir Friedman's reaction was beyond his expectations.

Jazz followed Matthew's gaze towards the fence and was slightly startled, but did not immediately laugh at his cousin's slightly childish question.

After a moment, Jazz slowly opened his mouth and said, "Maybe...maybe not. Who knows?"

This answer made Matthew's eyes widen.

He turned his head involuntarily and looked at the terrace under the moonlight.

The vines clinging to the foot of the railing spread out their wide leaves and trembled in the evening breeze. The trembling shadows of these leaves were left on the marble floor of the terrace, like demons being thrown into hell, struggling in the endless abyss.

"That terrace has been there for a long time since the first Karen moved into this lounge... This room was originally the office of an old professor at Alpha Academy."

"Later, the professor disappeared. It happened that at that time, the Cullen family won the war with the O'Brien-Black coalition and was able to ask for a rest room in this castle... so this room finally came to an end. It’s in our hands.”

"According to some documents I found in the house, the old professor once received the 'Outstanding Contribution Award' from the Wizards Union in recognition of his great contribution to the exploration of the new world...according to the brief on the base of the trophy Judging from the description, the old professor should have captured an entire 'pseudo-god' in a new world and successfully brought it into the Black Prison."

"This terrace was built bit by bit by the goblins with their fingers in order to commemorate the old professor's former glory... The seventy-two railings around the terrace represent the seventy-two false gods in that false god system. ”

"Since he is a god, he naturally has some kind of reaction."

"These railings, this terrace, and this room have a constant cause and effect with the seventy-two false gods... So, if you think there are any elves sealed in the railings, my answer is, maybe there is. , maybe not."

"Who knows?"

"I always thought that this terrace was built by our Cullen family." Matthew raised his eyebrows and sounded a little surprised: "And there are rumors that it was the Cullen family who stuffed the souls of demons 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, what you see with your eyes It's not necessarily true... let alone rumors? Regardless of the subjective emotions when reporting it, wizards have no history."

Sir's words were somewhat profound, and Matthew did not fully understand them for a moment.

But this did not prevent him from continuing the brief conversation before parting.

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

"Before you actually graduate from the First University, don't think about that place... don't even mention it." Sir Friedman rarely warned the young people in front of him in a stern tone: "That is a real abyss... for us It’s especially unfriendly to creatures under the moon who tend to have Yin attributes. Perhaps you can only get rid of the negative influence of that place by transcending ordinary registered wizards.”

"At that time, if you are still interested in the Black Prison, you may consider submitting an application for defense assistance to First University."

…

…

When Sir Friedman and his cousin mentioned the dark prison that the demons hated most.

On the other side of this alpha castle.

Also in a spacious lounge.

Someone also mentioned the name of the Black Prison.

"The black jail is full of big shots."

"For example, those old and immortal demon kings, or the idols worshiped by the natives in the new world, or the great wizards who went too far in some experiments and accidentally became lichs."

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

The speaker was a fat man with a strong build.

His eyebrows are thick and his eyes are small but dark. This made his eyes look a little dark. Because of the two pieces of fat on his cheeks, he always felt laborious when speaking.

In other words, it gave him a powerful feeling when he spoke.

Mike King Soprano never cared about whether others frowned when they heard him speak. He only cared about whether others understood what he meant.

At this moment, he was lazily slumped in the large armchair, raising his hands, looking at the huge luminous pearl on the wall, and carefully looking at the small ring-shaped snake on his wrist.

It was a colorful ouroboros.

A finger wide and thin, wrapped around his wrist, the snake's head biting its tail, meeting together above the pulse. As the pulse beat, the snake's head seemed to tremble.

Around Seprano, there were dozens of figures sitting or standing.