Chapter 82: The Deathly Stillness After Sunset

The new batch of students for the Black Castle would likely arrive after the spring began. Considering the school’s severely limited faculty—and in Mulan’s eyes, even fewer truly qualified professors—the number of students per year was capped at three hundred, favoring quality over quantity.

In truth, it wasn’t that none of the professors cared about educating the students. Some did gradually find a sense of accomplishment in teaching, especially when they encountered outstanding pupils. It was useful to take such students as assistants; they often proved quite helpful.

But putting aside their actual power, there were significant differences in individual teaching abilities. Professors who cared didn’t always teach well, and those who seemed indifferent weren’t necessarily poor teachers. It would take time for the faculty to develop and improve.

Optimistically, the student body at the Black Castle could reach nearly a thousand within two to three years. Each year, two to three hundred would successfully graduate, and every one of them should, by their own abilities or other means, be able to wield some degree of mystical power. A rare few would even begin to touch the extraordinary, with others having the potential to follow. Despite the seemingly impressive numbers, these individuals were meant to form the foundation of an official extraordinary cadre for the vast land of Dilgar, and would certainly extend their influence across the world—their numbers would still fall short.

Even so, if the school could meet these expectations, it would be a tremendous asset to Dilgar. Queen Nishelriel was overjoyed, convinced that Dilgar would gain a clear advantage in this field.

Therefore, at this stage, students who had already laid a foundation in theory didn’t need frequent theory classes. Any problems could usually be discussed and resolved, leaving Mulan with more time for instruction.

After leaving with Hendel, Mulan and he agreed on a meeting time. Both went home to pack their luggage, then met at the train station, each carrying a suitcase.

It was just after three in the afternoon when Mulan arrived a little earlier than Hendel. He had already bought two tickets; their destination was the northern city of Solence. Hendel was about ten minutes late. Upon reaching the platform, he immediately spotted Mulan among the crowd of waiting passengers.

With Hendel’s keen senses, Mulan—who made no attempt to conceal himself—stood out clearly. Hendel wheeled his suitcase over to him.

“Professor, I’m here.”

“Good. Take your ticket. Get off at the second stop. Wait there until two in the afternoon. Mr. Moore’s car will stop there. Once you meet, you’ll continue together.”

Hendel glanced at his ticket. The destination read: Solence—Saint Godfield Station.

“All right, Professor. Let me carry your suitcase for you.”

Mulan shook his head and looked toward the source of the approaching whistle. A black steam locomotive, white vapor billowing from its stack, was drawing near the Digo station.

After watching for a moment, Mulan narrowed his eyes. The train gave him a peculiar feeling—neither good nor bad, but certainly out of the ordinary.

“No need. The train’s here. Let’s get aboard.”

Though the two were in the same carriage, they weren’t seated together. This time, Mulan hadn’t bought a sleeper ticket—not because he didn’t want to, but because this busy route had no sleeping cars, to maximize passenger capacity.

Boarding was, as always, a crowded affair. Mulan, tall and slender, held his suitcase aloft with one hand and squeezed through the throng of passengers, moving sideways down the aisle. After a brief search, he found his window seat—number sixteen—but both seats in his row were already occupied. One man feigned sleep, the other stared out the window.

“Excuse me, that’s my seat,” Mulan said.

The young man behind him, also with a suitcase, quickly spoke up as well: “And you, sir—your seat is mine. You two are in our seats.”

The one pretending to sleep by the window shifted his foot, which Mulan noticed, while the other man merely folded his muscular arms across his chest, ignoring them.

More and more passengers pressed on from behind, their voices growing louder.

“Are you going to move or not? Hurry up!”

“That’s right, don’t block the way!”

“If you don’t have a seat, stand in the front where there’s room.”

Mulan glanced back. The nearest young man looked anxious; behind him, the crowd was clamoring.

Farther down, Hendel had already taken his seat but rose to his feet. Mulan gave him a slight shake of the head, signaling that he would handle this. Then he raised his voice in a commanding tone:

“Quiet!”

His voice drowned out the clamor, creating a ripple effect as uncertain passengers fell silent and turned toward him.

Mulan raised his cane, as swiftly as drawing a sword, and pressed it against the throat of the man by the window, forcing his head up with a gentle but firm push.

“Stop pretending to sleep.”

The silver-tipped cane, though sharply pointed, showed little wear despite years of use. The intricate engravings gleamed, and the man being pressed could only exhale with difficulty, his head pushed back against the seat.

“And you—if this is your seat, show your ticket. I’ll say this once.”

“I’ll move right away,” said the man by the aisle, glancing nervously at his companion before quickly standing and squeezing toward the front.

“M-me too… I’m going…” murmured the window man, relieved as Mulan withdrew his cane. He touched his still-cold neck, snatched up his belongings, and hurried off. Mulan, unconcerned, stepped forward with his suitcase, and the others behind him followed eagerly.

After a few moments of whispered comments, the other passengers resumed their own affairs and the carriage returned to its usual din.

By now, the train was rolling slowly out of the station, its whistle echoing. Mulan leaned against the glass, watching the scenery recede, his eyes flickering thoughtfully.

“My name’s Daniel. Thank you for earlier,” said the young man beside him.

Mulan turned to him with a slight smile. “Think nothing of it. If you don’t defend your rights, those who infringe on them will only push further.”

The young man didn’t introduce himself, understanding Mulan’s reluctance for conversation, and so fell silent.

About two hours after departure, the carriage had quieted. Mulan, who had been resting with his eyes closed, opened them and swept his gaze around, frowning slightly. Then he drew a deck of cards from his coat.

These cards resembled tarot cards with divinatory properties, commonly sold in many shops. But Mulan’s deck was alchemically crafted, with faces painted by his own hand and hidden arrays inscribed by an old sorcerer.

He shuffled the cards, then dealt five face-down on the table before him—the simplest form of divination: the choosing of a card.

“Are you telling fortunes, sir?” the bored young man beside him couldn’t help but ask.

“In a way. Pick one.”

Intrigued, the young man considered, then selected the middle card. Mulan turned it over; the image showed a man with a noose around his neck, anxious and in pain, his feet barely touching the ground. The card’s meaning: “Predicament.”

“Does this mean I’ll fall into trouble?” the youth asked, frowning.

“Perhaps not only you,” Mulan replied.

As he touched the card, a gray hue seemed to spread from its surface, extending to the table, then to the floor, the seats, the windows, the passengers—

The entire carriage was gradually overlaid in this gray tone.

This dual vision—both mental and physical—was visible only to Mulan, a result of his expanded perception through the card, a talent belonging to those with precognitive abilities. At present, Mulan could only achieve this with the aid of the deck, and only in a quiet, stable environment over a fair amount of time.

After about five minutes, the gray had spread to encompass the whole train. The farther from this carriage, the fainter his sense, but he could still vaguely feel the condition of distant things.

He did not immediately sense anything unusual, so he maintained the state, observing as the train rolled on smoothly, undisturbed. He needed more time to be certain.

After a dozen minutes, Mulan’s eyelid twitched. He felt an unusual aura of death—chill and stiff at first, but quickly growing more active. Because the sensation was so magnified, the coldness made his skin prickle, goosebumps rising along his arms.

The aura of death was faint at first, sluggish, but soon began to stir. Overwhelmed by the icy sensation, Mulan withdrew from his perception.

He exhaled softly and turned to look out the window. The sun was just setting.