High School of Demon Hunting

Chapter 1435: Chapter 182: The Apprentice Registrar of Black Prison Castle

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

Footsteps, uneven yet orderly, came from outside the door, approaching from a distance.

Henry Eric’s ears twitched; he crawled up from the desk, rubbed his aching eyes, placed his gold-framed monocle on his nose, and opened the registry in front of him.

Less than a year since graduating from the First University and despite being a registered wizard, his poor grades precluded him from joining renowned hunting teams of the New World or staying on at the university; he ultimately joined the Mage Alliance.

He was then assigned to the Black Prison, becoming a glorious registrar.

Responsible for the registration of visitors and the logging of entries and exits.

He was still on probation.

According to the old-timers in the prison, the job of a registrar was mostly relaxed since apart from the rotational hunting teams, this sunless World rarely received outside visitors.

However, there’s always a ’however’ to contend with.

Ever since Eric became the registrar of the Ancient Castle, the number of visitors to the Black Prison surged dozens of times. Almost every day, tens, even dozens of wizards would arrive—among them, researchers pursuing further studies at the First University, professors, teaching assistants, school staff, famed hunting teams of the New World, and many old-timers from the Moon Council.

Even the seasoned prison guards who had spent a lifetime in the Black Prison had never witnessed such a spectacle.

Clearly, something significant was about to happen in the Black Prison.

What that might be, the staff of the prison had discussed in private. Some said the Xianqin Hunting Group had recently ambushed teams entering the New Century aboard the Mist Ship, capturing four or five team captains who were nearly Great Demons; this might trigger a new war between wizards and demons. Others believed it was because the famous great wizard demon, the Prophet of Death Nun Hepton’s execution day was nearing, and to prevent the Witch Demon King from causing trouble, the Alliance had tightened security at the Black Prison.

The most widely spread and seemingly reliable rumor involved the old tree in the depths of the Black Prison Castle about to flower and bear fruit. It is said that this tree, watered with the blood and flesh of demons, can help demons undergo a transformation of bloodlines.

This was also why the number of crimson eyeballs converging near the Black Prison Castle was increasing.

Although known as a ’prison,’ Black Prison is more accurately described as a ’dark realm,’ a world forever shrouded in night. Without the sun, stars, or any natural creatures able to survive in such an environment.

Wizards enveloped the entire world with a massive magic circle, isolating it from the outside, then threw all captured demons into this world, leaving them to struggle in this hellish wasteland.

Of course, letting these demons run wild in this world did carry certain risks.

To mitigate these incredibly small risks, wizards established many strongholds within the Black Prison, the largest and most central of which is known as the Black Prison Castle.

Henry Eric is one of the registrars at the entrance of the Black Prison Castle.

Because there are multiple entrances to the Black Prison Castle: there’s one that connects to the supreme court holding cells in Danghag, another leading directly to the First University, and one that leads out to the world beyond the Black Prison.

The entrance Eric guards is the smallest, an entrance within the Black Prison itself.

This entrance only receives visitors of registered wizard level or below—having said that, Eric has never seen visitors below the level of registered wizard come to visit this dangerous world.

So this entrance can be considered to be exclusively for registered wizards.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

The footsteps outside grew nearer.

Henry Eric rubbed his swollen face from dozing off on the desk, trying hard to muster a friendly smile. He then looked down at the items arranged on his desk.

In front of the ledger at an angle, his 17th-century Venetian-bound Law book flipped open on its own without any wind, whisper-quiet. The Five Aggregates Exorcism Spell on the title page shimmered with captivating five-colored radiance under the dim candlelight.

Eric glanced at the enchanting colors and tapped the desk with his bent fingers.

Dong Dong Dong.

An old feather pen, like a startled bird, fell in a panic from the pen rack, hopped into the nearby ink bottle to dab some ink, then hovered expectantly in mid-air, as if trying to cover up its momentary neglect with this eager attitude.

Eric paid no attention to the solicitous feather pen.

He cocked his ear, listening intently to the footsteps outside the door.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

The footsteps conveyed a hint of fatigue and a touch of heaviness. It seemed to be a hunting team that had just finished patrolling. Normally, a hunting team should consist of five Hunters, meaning there should be five sets of footsteps.

But now, he only heard four.

The apprentice registrar began to imagine a fierce battle in his mind, a group of grieving hunters, and a hunting team returning to the ancient castle with the remains of their comrade.

The heavier two sets of steps likely belonged to warlocks; the lighter two, to witches.

He didn’t know who the ’dead’ hunter was—Eric tried to squeeze a semblance of sorrow onto his face, which was difficult, so he forced a stern expression—this guessing game was one of the few pleasures for the young apprentice registrars in the monotonous life of the prison.

After speculating, he touched the crystal ball beside the Law book.

The Crystal Ball was silent for a moment before it flickered a dark red. The apprentice registrar’s face showed disappointment. The divination result indicated that his guess was not up to par.

Creak!

The heavy iron door was pushed open from the outside, making an unpleasant noise.

The Door Ring Beast and The Door God on the iron door had grown accustomed to this sound, even enjoying it a bit, but the young warlock new to this place found the noise hard to bear. It was like someone scratching a chalkboard with their nails or scraping glass with a wire, making it easy to drive a wizard mad if heard too often.

He had more than once suggested improvements to the Black Prison management, such as dropping some lubricant on the hinges or engraving two Featherweight Talismans on the iron door, but to no avail.

It was not until later, during a lunch break, when he complained about this to a colleague, an Elder Wizard who had been working at the Black Prison for a long time, laughed and told him that none of the doors in the prison would ever be oiled. The noise was kept intentionally so that everyone who passed through the doors would do so under the gaze of others.

Creak... Tap tap tap tap.

Four figures covered in large cloaks walked in from beyond the iron door, with the heavy shadows of the castle’s exterior still at their feet.

The leader was a tall warlock with a dark red complexion, stocky build, and he seemed to be holding something in his arms, but it was not clearly visible under the cover of the cloak.

Following close behind was a tall witch with her eyes closed, moving with light steps; half a body length behind her was another warlock, slim in stature, with a black divine robe under his cloak and carrying a Longsword.

The apprentice registrar finally understood where he had gone wrong.

Not all wizards with light footsteps were witches; some could also be agile male warlocks.

At the end of the team was a dwarf, bald and wild-bearded, not very tall, but his steps were the heaviest of the group, even heavier than the male warlock in the lead.