Chapter Fifty-Seven: The Indifferent Black Castle

Even after he had retreated a fair distance, Mulan’s exhilaration had yet to subside. Sometimes, he wondered if the lingering effects of his body were truly signs of battlefield trauma, making him crave the thrill and danger of such moments.

Without pause, Mulan made straight for his quarters, swiftly found his ammunition box, and, after stuffing several boxes of bullets into his pockets, hurried out again. He was determined to wear the creature down—for it seemed unable to truly harm him. Even if the monster made its way to Digo City, he could always give chase.

His coat was already soaked through by the rain. To move more freely, Mulan shrugged it off, then, feeling the lingering malice in the air, set off at a rapid pace, lightly equipped.

But as Mulan, brimming with anticipation, approached the monster once more, its presence abruptly began to dissipate. When he returned to the spot where their struggle had taken place, he found a figure dressed much like a sorcerer from a film, sealing the lid on a glass jar. At his feet, a mass of mud collapsed in on itself, and at that moment, the heavy rain ceased.

Mulan’s arrival clearly caught the sorcerer’s attention. The man glanced at Mulan, then at the mud on the ground, where spent bullets were visible in several places.

“Was it you who kept it occupied?”

Mulan spun his revolver in his hand before replacing it in the holster at his back. “It was radiating such intense malice. I did what I could, that’s all. Something major seems to have happened at the Black Castle tonight, hasn’t it?”

Though he asked about the Black Castle, Mulan’s gaze never left the small bottle in the sorcerer’s hand. Even in the dim light, he could make out a shadowy figure trapped inside.

The sorcerer looked somewhat resigned. “There was indeed some trouble tonight, but you did well. I believe your name is Mulan, isn’t it? I often see you borrowing books—a diligent young man. I’m surprised that even before you’ve chosen your path, you already possess such remarkable ability. Your willpower and spirit are formidable; it seems you can imbue your bullets with your force.”

“Pity I couldn’t kill the thing, no matter what I did.”

Faced with Mulan’s modesty, the old sorcerer could only force a chuckle. “It was a true Varata demon. Even though it hadn’t fully formed, your achievement is remarkable, young man. Once summoned and created, such a creature is nearly impossible to slay. The best method is to bind it—like so.”

The old sorcerer lifted the jar in his hand. By now, Mulan had drawn closer and could clearly see a winged, shadowy figure inside. Compared to its earlier state as a mass of mud, it now looked almost elegant.

A Varata demon? Demons truly exist in this world?

Mulan watched the demon, which tried to batter at the glass before finally curling up motionless in a corner, his expression grave.

“It seems the siren has left. I wonder what’s become of the library,” the old sorcerer remarked, heading in the direction of the library. Mulan considered for a moment, then followed. There was no need to rush off to sleep. As they walked, they passed many ruined houses, most likely the demon’s handiwork.

Along the way, the old sorcerer explained the demon’s previous state: because the summoning had been incomplete and control lost, the creature instinctively sought to perfect itself, striving to become a full-fledged entity of the surface world. The greatest lure, of course, was the abundant and potent scent of flesh and soul among the Black Castle’s students and candidates.

Listening, Mulan felt a chill settle in his heart. The demon had clearly been the sorcerer’s doing, yet the man spoke with perfect calm, betraying not a hint of guilt for the bloodshed it had caused. He might as well have been discussing arithmetic, as if the deaths of others mattered less than solving a riddle for Mulan.

Before long, they reached the library. The grand building was in shambles inside and out, though its structure remained solid. The doors and windows had been broken by floodwaters, and the outer walls scored by ice, but the foundation stood firm.

After the flood, mud was everywhere, along with shattered planks, and Mulan occasionally glimpsed scraps of clothing.

Inside, every bookshelf had toppled; books lay scattered in the mud or had been swept away by the flood. Even the restricted section’s doors were flung wide, revealing utter chaos within.

“Ah, such precious knowledge lost!” The old sorcerer stooped by a fallen bookshelf, picked up a spellbook, and gently wiped its cover, his anguish plain to see.

Mulan regarded his back coldly. He had never seen this sorcerer before, but it was obvious the man knew him well, even recalling his habit of borrowing books. This person seemed to value knowledge far above human life. Yet when the library was attacked, he had abandoned it and fled—revealing his true nature as a profoundly selfish man, whose love of knowledge was only another form of egotism.

While the old sorcerer inspected his spellbook, Mulan searched for survivors. Slim as the chances were, after such carnage, he did manage to find someone.

A sturdy, gold-plated wooden cabinet had been swept into a corner and jammed there. As Mulan passed, he heard a faint noise inside. With effort, he rolled the cabinet over so its opening faced up.

With a thud, the cabinet turned ninety degrees and its doors burst open from within, a rush of filthy water spilling out as a bedraggled figure tumbled free.

Coughing and retching, the survivor lay on his back, gasping for air, unmoving for some time before opening his eyes to see Mulan standing before him.

“Mr. Jonster, is that you? Did you save me? I nearly suffocated in there…”

Mulan crouched and helped the library’s hall manager to his feet, glancing around—the whole library had been searched.

“It seems you’re the only survivor here.”

The librarian instinctively shuddered, following Mulan’s gaze around the devastated room, torn between terror and the relief of survival.

Just then, a familiar voice rang out from outside the library—Walton’s furious shout echoed through half the Black Castle.

“Can anyone tell me what on earth happened here?”

But after his dinner conversation with Dolly, Mulan doubted the true depth of Walton’s anger. He was not foolish enough to confront Walton directly—Black Castle was no utopia.

The old sorcerer, now standing with a book in hand, seemed to share Mulan’s skepticism. He had faced the siren directly: she had wielded the sacred relic Heart of Deep Blue with astonishing power, a relic brought back by Walton himself and, supposedly, locked away in the sealed chamber.

Yet the old sorcerer said nothing. He doubted even the royal family of Dilga could restrain Walton, so he intended to feign ignorance.

Walton strode into the library, first laying eyes on Mulan supporting the librarian. He nodded at Mulan, then looked toward the reading room, his sharp gaze boring into the old sorcerer.

“Mongli, you allowed the library to be breached? You should know: anywhere else may fall, but this place must never be compromised!”

“Walton, the intruder was a siren—she drew upon power beyond her limits. She outmatched me and knew my weaknesses. I was defeated before I could summon the demon and barely escaped with my life. I am responsible for the breach, but not solely. I must ask—where were you all? Why have you only now returned?”

Walton took several deep breaths to steady himself, then looked outside. “That storm seemed to have a powerful dampening effect. I sensed nothing amiss from the palace, and we were caught off guard. Neither of us can shirk responsibility for this—I will report directly to Her Majesty, the Queen. Ah…”

There was a world of weariness in his sigh as he surveyed the wreckage once more, speaking with resignation.

“It seems the siren’s true target was our knowledge. How much longer can humanity maintain its edge?”