A brave man may not live, but he cannot die

Chapter 223 Re-entering the Forbidden Forest (Part 2)

"Unless it is a particularly urgent situation, Lin and I will not show up."

Quinn stood with his hands behind his back, looking every bit like a homeroom teacher: "Although this is our second time entering the Forbidden Forest, our Divination Class is different from the other first-year students. You should treat it as your first Abyss Trial and maintain a cautious mindset."

"You all descended to the third level of the abyss during the first trial. As you three have seen in your daily tests, the improvement in mental quality you gained from the abyss far surpasses that of others. So there's no need to rush. Slow down and adapt to the abyss environment first, and then proceed deeper into the abyss like the other classes."

"Follow the breathing regulation method learned in class, constantly monitor your mental state, bring a compass, stick closely together, with Megan standing in the middle and two boys one in front of and one behind, counting off every five minutes to ensure you don't unconsciously fall behind."

"Understood! One person should be present! One person is present! One person just arrived."

"Can you shut your mouth?!" Quinn, transformed into Eagle Bro, attacked in zero frames, his fingers almost poking Seven's face.

He wished he could sew Seven's mouth shut. If it weren't for the pure and innocent school beauty Celia balancing the public image of the divination class, people would probably just say, "Oh, that Cavendish teacher's brothel runner."

On Saturday morning, Academy time, half an hour before the second Abyss Fall, the Star Ladder Flying Disc landed from the Academy Sky Fortress on the opposite shore of Mirror Lake, and the beacon towers of the Forbidden Forest Outpost, lined up in a row, reappeared before Quinn's eyes.

The academy's castle is equally ancient, but it exudes a majestic and imposing aura. Although it floats in the air far from the human world, no one would doubt that it is the Shield of Human Wisdom, capable of bringing down the Demon King.

But this stone fortress is different. No one knows how many years it has been sitting on the shore of Mirror Lake. Moss gnaws at the texture of the heavy walls, making it dilapidated and desolate, like a scar etched on Mount Eshwell under the bright midday sun.

The mountain wind howled, and the decaying armor standing atop the stone fortress seemed as if it might be blown to pieces at any moment, or as if it might open its eyes beneath its mask at any moment, bleeding, and casting its decaying yet unyielding gaze into the abyss beyond the forbidden forest.

Three months ago, Quinn was just a Sequence Nine who had just embarked on the path of the extraordinary, but now his eyesight is almost able to penetrate the vast gray fog behind the city walls and see the sea of ​​trees that resembles a golden city.

This is not a city wall at all. City walls have gates, but when Quinn was in the air, no matter which way he looked, he could not see the exit of this wall that stretched to the end of space. There were only dilapidated watchtowers and the armor of the Demon King's city. This was a wall facing the abyss, a wall that could only go out and not come in.

The only passable section was that short gap.

Quinn looked around and even glimpsed the interiors of the watchtowers at both ends through the gaps in the city wall—something he couldn't see on his last visit. Thanks to the Assassin's eyes, the watchtowers were unusually dark. He could only vaguely make out a huge niche on the side of the watchtower facing away from the Forbidden Forest. Both watchtowers had one, which seemed to be a statue that all the watchtowers worshipped.

The appearance of a god in Grindelwald is very unusual, and Quinn could not see what kind of god it was; it seemed as if someone had covered it with a cloth to conceal its face.

Quinn glanced again at the armor atop the watchtower, a bizarre premonition rising within him—

Could this be a statue of the Demon King?

The old werewolf, still holding his cane, remained standing there, unchanged from when Quinn last saw him, as if he hadn't moved an inch.

Vice Dean Stephens was not in this group. Quinn was surrounded by students, teachers, and professors, but no one, regardless of seniority, knew the identity of this old werewolf. He had been here decades or even centuries ago, in their student days, with the same cane, in the same spot, as if he were part of the wall that filled the gap in the city.

Only when passing by did some people realize that there was a tall orc blocking their way, while most students passed by without noticing the old werewolf's presence at all. Some of the older professors would bow their heads to greet him, and Quinn's eyes flickered slightly.

Since his return from the Abyss, he had replayed his bizarre journey in his mind countless times, yet he hadn't recalled this orc even once, subconsciously forgetting him.
Is this the effect of that magic wand?
No, that's not right. How much mana is needed to maintain this level of technique indefinitely?
If it's not arcane magic, then it must be supernatural power?

Orcs are slightly more likely to lose control after taking extraordinary potions than humans, but this does not mean there are no high-sequence orc extraordinary individuals, just fewer of them.
He concealed his presence, so much so that even Grindelwald's students, with their exceptional mental strength and intuition, could not notice him, erasing any trace of him from their memories.
Could this be a high-sequence [thief]?!

Just then, the old werewolf suddenly opened his eyes to Quinn.

The murky, gray pupils and the icy gaze seemed to pierce right into his heart. Quinn felt his blood run cold, and his muscles tensed up involuntarily. An ominous premonition pounded in his heart—he had only ever felt this extreme fear when Wangcai was in its silver dragon form, and that was the oppressive feeling of a mythical creature!

In the past, no matter what kind of opponent he encountered, even when facing Ike, who was two sequences ahead of him, or Hermes, his body would instinctively give him the intuition of how to fight—but this time was different, and he had no instinctive reaction at all.

There's no way to run, no chance of winning, no way to escape; there's absolutely no possibility of victory against this "person".

When he passed by last time, the old wolf seemed to have glanced at him, but it didn't have such overwhelming killing intent.

Under his gaze, the terrifying feeling of impending death lasted only a moment before the old wolf looked away.

He didn't close his eyes again, but slowly said, "...It has the scent of a druid."

It was a voice so aged it was almost withered, like an echo that didn't belong to this era.

The professors and teachers around were shocked, as if they had seen a ghost, when they heard the old werewolf actually speak.

Not to mention them, even their teachers and their teachers' teachers had never heard the orc's voice or seen him move.

Although druids do not interact with humans, unlike endangered races such as dwarves, murlocs, or winged orcs, they are not hostile towards humans and will even escort those who trespass into the druid forests out. This friendliness is interpreted by outsiders as perhaps due to the Elf Queen Tiresia—Tiresia lives in the human world, and as a descendant of elves, she is respected by the druids, who also share a close connection to nature, and they emulate her behavior.

Quinn didn't know why he suddenly showed such hostility, but he still pulled a trembling little black bird from the lining of his trench coat and forced a pure, awkward smile:
"Cheese Parrot."

The old werewolf stared at the parrot as if gazing into the abyss at a mortal.

"These are animal friends I invited from the mountains."

Quinn chuckled dryly, pulling at the parrot's wings and manipulating it into various endearing poses: "Old sir, this is my familiar. It understands human speech and is sentient. Come on, say something! Say 'hello, sir, goodbye—'"

Parrot: "Coo-coo. Cluck-cluck."

The old wolf eventually withdrew his gaze, silently closed his eyes again, probably indicating that he would let Quinn and the parrot pass.

Quinn secretly breathed a sigh of relief, bowed slightly, and quickly walked past him.

To everyone's surprise, Old Wolf spoke up again: "Is Servi still alive?"

Quinn paused, then asked uncertainly, "You mean the owner of the Galen Tavern?"

Quinn stood there for a long time, but did not receive an answer from the old wolf. He didn't know whether it was yes or no, and as if he had received a reply, he returned to silence.

After waiting for a while, and seeing that the three students in the class were about to walk away, Quinn finally said, "I'm going to work now. You can come to the divination department to ask me," and followed the group, completely bewildered. Did Old Wolf know the boss?

Selvi looks like a middle-aged man, but he's actually younger than many of the professors here. How could these two know each other?

Quinn might have dismissed any other person as a coincidence of names, but Selvi was no ordinary man. This old werewolf had the air of a reclusive master; could Selvi, whom he mentioned so often, also be a reclusive master?

How did he know I knew Selvi?
With these questions in mind, Quinn led his students to the lookout tower at the front of the Forbidden Forest. The desolate forest, shrouded in a thin mist, resembled an oil painting with a mixture of gold and gray tones. Leaving aside everything in the abyss, the scenery before them was one of the most beautiful landscapes Quinn had ever seen in this other world.

The Demon King's Castle, the starry sky, the first glimpse of Mount Eswell in the wilderness after leaving the forest, the castle floating in the clouds over Mirror Lake, and the train traveling between day and night.
These memorable scenes flashed through Quinn's mind, and he was surprised to find that the world in his memory was becoming clearer and clearer. Perhaps it was a change in mindset, but he felt that life was no longer so oppressive, and he could even find some enjoyment in it.

For example, the girl who ran over to him like a joyful little deer after seeing him.

"Mr. Quinn, Dean Stephens said I'm in great shape!"

Quinn smiled and nodded.

"If you feel unwell, immediately have her take you out of the Forbidden Forest or just commit suicide." He had given the revolver he bought to Celia early in the morning.

"Don't be afraid, we have the Undying Totem. Just pull the trigger; it's faster than casting a spell."

Celia looked at him with displeasure: "Do you think my arcane skills are lacking?"

"You need to work even harder in the future." Quinn explained kindly, as if to the parent of a stupid student, why their child failed.

Celia pouted, left with the words "See you in the office after the trial," and went to chat with Megan.

Quinn glanced at the girl, who was trying to appear energetic and radiant than before, and fell into deep thought.

He was thinking about what Hermes had said to him.

A large number of people had already gathered on this observation platform, far exceeding the scale of the first Abyss Trial for first-year students.

This included many sixth-year students whom Quinn had only seen once on the first day of school. These soon-to-be graduates were generally adults, mostly around twenty-four or twenty-five years old, old enough to take over the podium from their teachers after a change of clothes. In the outside world, this age would only be considered an outsider to arcane arts, and even those from noble families would still need to follow their mentors until they reached thirty. But Grindelwald's graduates were different.

Even Judith, who is not yet twenty, is a first-level arcanist who can recruit apprentices on her own. The certification of a first-level arcanist by the Terran Arcane Association requires rigorous examinations and reviews. The average age of passing is fifty-two, and fewer than a hundred new entrants are made worldwide each year. All one needs is a Grindelwald graduation certificate to obtain the certificate that can be exchanged for a court arcanist job in any kingdom.

These madmen trained by the academy were now fully armed. Unlike the magicians Quinn remembered, they weren't the frail back rowmen in handsome robes wielding scepters. Instead, they embodied the academy's anti-demonic ideology of 'only the living can cast spells' to the extreme. Each one was dressed like a special forces soldier, covered in scrolls and potions of all sizes. Some even sat in golems, rode on the backs of Triceratops familiars, and were guarded by a group of arcane guards like chess pieces.
Quinn couldn't help but wonder if he could beat a sixth-grade student one-on-one.
A sneak attack should be possible, right?

The art style of the academy was quite different more than ten years ago. The students in those graduation photos were all very upright, pursuing mana efficiency and the fluidity of arcane magic, with simple attire as the ideal, and passive defense relying entirely on magic rings and amulets.
How did it turn into "Hehe, I want to live"?

He suddenly remembered something and found Lin in the crowd—the little girl was like a child laborer mixed in with the adults among the sixth graders. When Quinn called out to her, Lin slowly approached, attracting the attention of almost all the sixth graders. This was Lin's relative.

"Lin"

Before Quinn could finish speaking, the little girl gave him a thumbs up—meaning, "Leave it to Lynn." He had successfully bribed the little girl with a Mexican chicken wrap last night, and she would cover up Quinn's escape.

"No," Quinn said in a low voice, "You really don't know any offensive arcane magic at all?"

Lynn answered matter-of-factly, "Harry, he didn't teach it."

"What about offensive magic?"

"...It can't be used." Lin blinked and said calmly, "Lin will protect it."

Quinn could only pat her head as encouragement.

"give it to you."

"Durian pizza, five of them."

".become."

Nene Amamiya's voice came from inside her collar—

"Don't worry, they'll be fine. A thousand years ago, when the academy besieged the Demon King, there were only that many people, and they even made it to the home of the Abyss Transcendents. You still want to figure out how to bypass them and enter the Abyss Layer."

Quinn, carrying a large suitcase, moved slightly away from the crowd and whispered to the parrot hidden under his trench coat, "I'm afraid that what happened last time will happen again and all this stuff will be for nothing."

"How could that be? Last time it was an Abyss Transcendent who caused trouble. It's impossible to be unlucky every time. By the way, your fashion sense is terrible. These pockets are so narrow, they're suffocating me. Could you please wear a shirt with better elasticity?"

Quinn sneered, "You don't need to care about my fashion sense, because I'm not going to be your husband."

A parrot with a question mark.

As before, Dean Stephens gave a brief speech, emphasizing that if you encounter an Abyss Transcendent, you must commit suicide—this was directed at the first-year students. As for the sixth-year students and faculty, the Abyss Transcendent had better pray they never met them.

Then, the gondolas began to launch one by one, with the teachers and sixth graders heading to the second level of the abyss first. The platform's cable cranes and gondola devices looked like they had been overhauled, gleaming with a brand-new and well-maintained shine.

When it was the turn of the fortune-telling team and Quinn and Lynn, Jacob, who was in charge of operating the gondola, flashed Quinn a confident gleam of his white teeth:
"Don't worry, it definitely won't break this time. The R&D department's quality is trustworthy!"

July 18th, Saturday, 10:41 AM, Academy Time, 30 seconds remaining before the second Abyss Fall—

Bang!
With a launch sound, the basket was lifted!

(End of this chapter)