High School of Demon Hunting

Chapter 1958: Chapter 179: Undercurrents

When the young wizards of Dormitory 403 were lying on their beds having a chat at night.

In another ancient castle far from the academy, Sir Friedman had just left his lounge alone, silently appearing in the pitch-black corridor.

The powerful vision of a vampire allowed him to see clearly even at night, without the need for any Lighting Spell. This avoided a lot of trouble.

In the strictly regulated Alpha Fortress, the curfew after ten o’clock at night was a rule every student had to follow. So, at this moment, as Friedman walked down the empty and quiet corridor, no students were in sight.

Even so, the Duke still cast a Phantasmic Body Spell on himself to avoid any accidents. He hated accidents now, of any form.

The portraits in the wooden frames on either side of the corridor drooped their eyelids as if they were asleep, but the Duke dared to bet his surname that as soon as there was the slightest noise, these awakened portraits would curse him all night with the most frenzied and vicious voices.

A turn, was a staircase leading to the next floor.

Sir Friedman touched the ruby ring on his finger, feeling the burning sensation between his fingers, slowly closed his eyes, and walked down the stairs.

Descend seven steps.

Reverse up three steps.

Then descend five more steps.

Then reverse up one step.

He had followed this procedure many times over nearly three years, not getting it wrong even with his eyes closed. After finishing the last step, a white mist silently rose below the stairs, submerging several layers of the lowest steps in an instant.

The Duke opened his eyes, staring at the swirling mist for a long time, then laughed at himself and took a thick black robe from the ruby ring.

The robe’s style was old-fashioned, and aside from the broad hood, it had no decorations; the collar, cuffs, etc., even had frayed edges, a look of long inheritance.

In Alpha Fortress, ’historical’ was a very good word, implying ancient, pure, and orthodox. Sir Friedman used to value these concepts greatly, until Augustus’ title was taken by that rude fat man.

Thinking of the name Sepulano made the Duke’s spirits drop significantly, just like the black robe he was slowly putting on, he felt his back being bent little by little.

After donning the robe and a luxurious bat mask, the Duke tucked his gloved hand into his sleeve, stepping slowly down the stairs into the rolling white mist.

Deep in the mist, was an anciently styled Bronze Secret Door.

Hanging on the secret door was a green Ghost Face.

”Good evening, Bat Spirit!” the Ghost Face greeted with a grin, its long tongue licking across its face, making it shine all the brighter: ”...You’re almost the last one again.”

The Duke ignored it.

Walking up to the secret door, he raised his hand and knocked on the Bronze Gate.

Thud, thud, thud.

”...And just as indifferent as always.” The green Ghost Face complained, its tongue flicked onto the leather glove. The ruby on the ring in the glove gave a slight flash, and Sir Friedman lowered his eyelids.

He was quite adept at controlling his emotions in the face of pain now.

The bronze small door quietly opened, revealing a crowded and narrow meeting room behind it. The large oval conference table seemed never to have been moved, with tantalizing fruit platters arrayed along its edges, making mouths water at the sight.

But Friedman couldn’t remember anyone among the seven ever eating anything in the meeting room, not even that greedy pig Beelzebub, who only ate food he brought himself.

That’s not the point.

The point was, in the center of the conference table, in a pot that seemed perpetually dry, today there actually was a fresh green vine. Without any support, the vine persistently climbed upward, the slender yellowish-green tendrils already grasping onto the row of inverted candles on the ceiling, several small yellow flowers were greedily absorbing the energy emanating from the flames.

This act was greatly depleting the magic power of the candles, making the light in the entire meeting room a few shades dimmer than usual.

”Hoho...mia mia...I knew it,” came Beelzebub’s wheezy laughter from behind the conference table, interspersed with the sound of him swallowing something, making it sound exceptionally vague: ”...Everyone stares at that vine for a while upon entering, mia...mia...mia, by the way, Lucifer, you’re late again today.”

”The curfew at Atlas is rather strict.” Sir Friedman replied in a hoarse voice.

A plump pig’s head mask lifted from a platter of pastries on the table, its pitch-black eyes glinting maliciously: ”If I remember correctly...mia...mia...you said last time you were a student of Jiuyou!”

”Oh? Is that so?” The Duke with the bat mask scratched his chin, answering nonchalantly: ”Perhaps I misremembered.”

”Or maybe it’s because you felt it risky working under a Legendary Demon as a bat, fearing you could be eaten anytime, so you slipped away early, right?” Mammon, wearing a Fox Mask, chuckled, interjecting.

This response immediately heightened the tension in the meeting room.

Sir Friedman scrutinized the Fox Mask, habitually speculating on the true identity beneath the mask, and formally warned: ”That’s not a topic for us to discuss...Regarding legendary beings is taboo...The power of any legend is beyond our comprehension. If we anger them, perhaps in the next second, this room, and everyone in it, would turn to nothingness.”

To lend more gravity to the warning, the Duke even slightly straightened his posture, making his hoarse voice sound more convincing within the confines of the narrow meeting room.

”Just a joke.” The Fox Mask let out two dry laughs.

”Such beings should not be joked about.” This time, the one speaking was Samael, wearing a Wolf Head Mask, who also looked at Mammon admonishingly, his suppressed voice seeming to emerge word by word from his throat: ”You’ve never witnessed the scene of multiple legendary beings clashing...The destruction of heaven and earth, the annihilation of the world, will be deeply imprinted in your mind, becoming your eternal nightmare.”

Behind the conference table, the other six demons collectively looked at Samael, their gazes varying from scrutinizing, curious, suspicious, to disdainful.

Sir Friedman was the one scrutinizing Samael with a suspicious gaze.

By the sounds of it, Samael should have seen the scene of multiple legendary beings clashing—which recently only occurred at the Black Prison—this indicated that Samael was likely one of the wizards on the Black Prison Battlefield at the time.

That being said.

But the Duke doubted anyone in this room would so easily reveal any clues related to their true identity. Heaven knows whether this wolf cub was deceiving everyone, using an unfounded clue and a misleading statement to distract others.

In fact, this was one of the few games the Seven Sins’ seven members most enjoyed playing.