Chapter 15: The Sacred Artifact and the Ouroboros Mark

“Report: Experimental Subject 10086 is deceased. Subject 233 is deceased. Subject 250 is deceased…”

Submerged in water that chilled her to the bone, the young girl felt nothing at all.

Every morning, these were the words that greeted her upon waking: a grim tally of the dead, and the few who had adapted to the ‘Sacred Artifact’s’ frequency, thus surviving.

When, she wondered, would her own death finally come?

***

Shakia slowly opened her eyes, her gaze falling upon the faintly yellowed ceiling of the lounge. Beside her, the vice-president’s face was etched with worry.

“President!”

Only when Shakia sat up from the bed did the heavy burden in the vice-president’s heart finally lift.

After all, her concern for the President extended far beyond mere professional duties; they were truly close friends.

“Luoli, did I… lose?”

Shakia lowered her head, the events of the trial slowly replaying in her mind.

She had lost, and lost decisively. Even accounting for a moment of carelessness, she had still been defeated by a complete failure who couldn’t even use magic.

A wave of humiliation washed over her. As she clenched her hands, the words of that failure echoed in her thoughts.

‘Can fate… truly be broken?’

She didn’t know. This question was simply too difficult for her to answer, plunging Shakia into deep contemplation.

Her own destiny had been predetermined: to live as a host for the ‘Sacred Artifact,’ a weapon of mass destruction.

She was burdened to carry this fate for a lifetime.

For the ‘Sacred Artifact’ was a terrifying power. The kingdom couldn’t fully control it, yet feared its seizure by others.

The resolution, after much deliberation, was to seal the Sacred Artifact within individuals whose frequencies matched, making it ‘vanish’ from the world.

This was the second great legend, often mentioned alongside the Puppets.

Of course, like the Puppet experiments, this particular program had been abolished when the current headmaster took office.

However, if human desires could be so easily discarded, the world would be a simpler place.

According to the intelligence Shakia had gathered, while no new Sacred Artifact hosts had appeared, the Puppets still existed and were active in regions near the kingdom’s borders, teeming with the Corrupted.

The kingdom had not ceased cultivating Puppets; they had merely relocated the operation.

She threw back the blanket covering her, revealing her fair skin. Without the concealing armor, what should have been hidden was now fully exposed.

Moving her long legs, she approached her armor and began to put it on.

“How long have I been asleep?”

“About half an hour, I think.”

Vice-President Luoli fidgeted with her fingers, providing Shakia with an approximate time.

“I see…”

“By the way, President, why do you always wear armor? You have such an impressive figure…”

As she spoke, Luoli pouted her lips, secretly glancing down at her own chest.

Though not flat, it wasn’t particularly ample either. If she had to describe it, it was like an apple held in the palm of one’s hand.

“Being too large isn’t necessarily a good thing.”

Shakia finished donning her armor, running her hands through her hair to tuck it behind the plates.

“Right, that failure… what was their name?”

***

“No way…”

“Is this guy really a failure? He doesn’t seem like one to me.”

“A monster… He’s a physical combat monster.”

The discussions in the audience became a cacophony of varied opinions. Mo Ya found this intertwined noise extremely grating.

He simply turned and walked off the stage.

This outcome was, in fact, inevitable, as the physical capabilities of the Corrupted inherently differed from humans. Mo Ya had simply maximized his physical prowess, without resorting to the use of Corrupted energy.

Slowly ascending the stairs, he saw Akuma’s mouth agape, as if she had just swallowed a durian.

“You… you are a failure, right?”

As expected, Akuma directed these words at him.

“You saw it yourself. I still can’t even condense magic.”

“That’s true… Anyway, congratulations on passing the trial. We have the same instructor, it seems.”

Akuma clapped Mo Ya’s shoulder, appearing quite pleased.

But Mo Ya didn’t share her sentiment. Would that Xiluo Ya truly acknowledge him because of Shakia? As Akuma had said, he was just a failure who couldn’t even gather magic.

For now, he decided, he would simply let things take their course.

With that thought, Mo Ya exited the venue, Akuma jogging to catch up behind him.

It was midday, and the intense sunlight streamed directly onto the exit of the hall. Mo Ya instinctively shielded his eyes.

According to Mo Ya’s plan, he should have taken advantage of the break before theoretical classes resumed to catch up on some much-needed sleep. However, a person blocked his path, interrupting his thoughts.

Their clothes were disheveled, and their hair a tangled mess. Akuma involuntarily cast a disgusted glance.

Mo Ya stopped, looking at the man who clearly had something to say.

“Um… Nice to meet you, I’m Conrad.”

“Conrad… No way… I’d heard this instructor was sloppy, but this is truly beyond expectation.”

Akuma took a few steps back, seemingly wanting to put distance between them.

This peculiar instructor, however, didn’t seem to mind, simply fixing his gaze on Mo Ya.

“You were supposed to be my student, but that’s far too much trouble. Students and all that can go to hell.”

He spoke casually, an undeniable laziness permeating his words. Mo Ya remained unmoved, making no gesture. He merely watched him calmly, his voice a low murmur from his throat.

“Then, is there something you need?”

His direct question genuinely surprised Conrad.

But he quickly composed himself, having already grasped Mo Ya’s personality. Conrad lit a cigarette, took a deep draw, and exhaled smoke rings into the air with a look of contentment. “Actually, it’s nothing much… just…”

The smoke rings still lingered in the air, but the person below had suddenly vanished.

Mo Ya’s nerves instantly tensed, sensing something rapidly approaching him.

‘Is it the instructor? If so, what could be the reason?’

Almost simultaneously with the instructor’s disappearance, Mo Ya raised his right hand to block.

Then, he felt a burning sensation on his hand.

Instructor Conrad had, at some point, seized his right arm, gripping it tightly. Pain radiated from where Mo Ya and the instructor made contact.

Mo Ya quickly shook off Conrad, retreating a few steps and preparing for a confrontation.

“Hey, what in the world…”

Akuma was bewildered by the sudden turn of events. Everything had happened in an instant; even the smoke rings in the air had only just dissipated.

“Relax, I don’t want to fight you.”

Conrad spread his hands, pointing to Mo Ya’s singed arm. “I merely gave you a little help.”

Upon hearing this, Mo Ya did not lower his guard against the man before him.

This man was strong, likely more formidable than all the instructors who had appeared earlier.

Nevertheless, he cast a sidelong glance at his right arm. There, he saw a mark: an emblem resembling an Ouroboros had appeared on his forearm.

“What is this…?”

Conrad merely chuckled, extinguishing the cigarette butt in his hand.

“That? Well, it should help you survive better in this world.”

“This world…”

“Oh my! Time flies, doesn’t it? I have matters to attend to, so I won’t linger.” Conrad raised his arm, making a gesture as if checking a watch, though his wrist was bare.

“Wait!”

Mo Ya was perplexed by the mark on his hand and wanted more information from Conrad.

But the man was no longer there. Just as he had appeared bizarrely, he vanished in an equally strange manner.

“Work hard on condensing your magic, Mo Ya.” These were his final words.