After the fight, nearly everything in the cabaret lay smashed to bits. Glass shards, beer bottles, and broken sofas littered the floor. Everyone else had long fled, leaving only Sherlock standing unscathed, and three groaning men sprawled on the ground.
Mere D Rank Mages—no match for Sherlock, a B Rank Mage, even if a dozen more showed up. She gazed down at them with disdain.
Their magical prowess was pitiful, yet as Mages, they still held absolute power over ordinary people. Recalling recent Mage-related crimes, Sherlock’s slender brows furrowed slightly.
“You mentioned belonging to the Tutankhamun Society earlier. What is this organization? Who leads it? What’s its structure? Tell me everything you know.”
A habitual, innocent smile played on Sherlock’s lips—the gentle facade of a princess. But anyone who’d witnessed her combat skills knew this lovely girl was tougher than any guy.
Yet fools still existed.
“Little sister, wanna let big bro teach you the taste of sex?”
The bearded Tutankhamun member dared to taunt her even now. Truly asking for death.
“Hmm… TV dramas always say bad guys like you need a proper lesson at moments like this.”
Sherlock’s smile turned saccharine sweet.
The other two could only whimper inwardly: *We didn’t say anything! We’re innocent~*
The trio’s screams echoed through the eerily empty underground street.
…
…
Around 3 PM.
On a western street in Hilo, east coast of Atlantis.
An ancient manual-transmission truck screeched to a halt before the grand stone steps of a five-star hotel. Twelve figures piled out.
“This the place?”
Kevin stared up at the seven-story hotel—roughly 200 square meters of glittering luxury. Through the glass doors, crystal chandeliers and lavish interiors were visible. One fixture alone probably cost more than their monthly expenses.
*Plenty more money inside. Rob this place, and we feast for weeks.*
All twelve were pale-skinned teens around eighteen, dressed in punk leather jackets and pants, faces radiating arrogance. Such a group should’ve drawn stares on a busy commercial street. Kevin’s crew had planned for that—using magic to veil themselves. Other Mages might sense it, but speed would save them.
Yet the street stood deathly silent. Not a single pedestrian in sight.
“What’s going on? Is it always this quiet here?” one asked nervously, scanning the empty sidewalks. Nothing seemed amiss.
“Who cares? We’re broke. Without cash, we’ll be back to starving tomorrow. We became Mages to step on ordinary people—why live like trash?”
Barqiang sneered, his ugly grin baring his true nature. The ‘Mage Reagent’ injections had freed him—more euphoric than drugs, granting a godlike sense of limitless power. Banks were too risky; high-level Mage guards made success unlikely.
No hesitation now. The twelve stormed the hotel lobby—and froze.
Patrons who’d been lounging casually surged forward, encircling them completely.
“So you’re the truant students and troublemakers?”
Carol Gandolf, vice president of the Witch Support Club, led thirty-two members in the encirclement.
“Who the hell are you?!”
Shock hit the twelve as they realized all thirty-plus opponents were Mages.
“Who we are doesn’t matter. We’re just good people here to convince truants to return to school.”
*Good people?* the twelve thought desperately. *Why are you grinning like that?*
Simultaneously, similar scenes unfolded elsewhere. Tutankhamun members were cornered by unknown forces—helpless as lambs before slaughter.
…
…
Afternoon magic theory class.
Yan Lingxuan’s Wearable Device chimed. A message from Carol. He smirked.
Since it was a lecture, students sat quietly while the teacher explained Magic Array principles—intermediate-level material. Today marked Lingxuan’s official entry into intermediate studies, though his red tie remained unchanged. The academy hadn’t issued his orange advancement tie yet. He didn’t care much.
Advancing wasn’t hard, especially in beginner magic. Most students progressed within three months. Lingxuan had done it in a week—but compared to prodigies like Lingyue or Yuan Ye Yuta, he was mediocre. Yet Su Fangwen still glared at him like a traitor.
*Good news, probably.*
Lingxuan ducked low behind his desk, unnoticed, and accepted Carol’s call.
As expected: they’d caught four of the five truant students and their punk accomplices. Only one slipped away.
“What about the…福利?” Carol asked eagerly through the screen.
“No problem. Sending it now.”
After hanging up, Lingxuan uploaded ordinary, non-explicit photos of his sister Lingyue to the Witch Support Club’s site. Comments flooded in instantly—members were thrilled.
Lecture forgotten. He already grasped the basics; Lingyue could teach him better later. Win-win.
Staring at the ceiling, he muttered:
“The white-supremacist punk gang ‘Tutankhamun Society’ has 102 members total. With Sherlock’s three captures, 55 are now detained. 47 remain. They’ll likely flee once they hear about this. Doesn’t matter—but Mond hasn’t been caught. More importantly: all 55 captured members are unregistered Mages. When did so many rogue Mages appear? Unnatural. Combined with the headmaster’s odd task and recent Mage crimes… this isn’t simple. Troublesome.”
Feigning illness, Lingxuan left class and Avalon Academy, walking down the main path.
“Better inform the loli headmaster. Guarding 55 Mages is a headache—let her handle it.”
“Only one truant left: Mond. Why so many unregistered Mages? Not my problem.”
“But since they’re Mages… tracking them won’t be hard.”
He addressed his WD: “Alice, can you scan Atlantis’ magic distribution via satellite now?”
“Affirmative. Stand by.”
The WD displayed a weather-map-like overlay of magic density—deep hues marking high-concentration zones. Lingxuan pinpointed a remote area far from downtown. *Likely their hideout.*
In this tech-saturated city under Alice’s surveillance, long-term hiding was impossible. Mond’s group must be in electronic dead zones—abandoned outskirts or derelict old districts.
“Should notify that princess too. Don’t want her blaming me for stealing all the credit. And 47 Mages… weak individually, but dangerous together. Caution needed.”
He messaged Sherlock to propose cooperation.
He’d done his part, yet details nagged at him.
With near-April Council clearance, he could’ve mobilized MP units or Valkyries. But the headmaster’s deliberate involvement of an outsider like him suggested government moles. Hence, using fellow outsiders—the Support Club—was safer.
*Acting this serious… really not like me.*
Another thing troubled him: quotes from captured Tutankhamun members, relayed by Carol.
[“We’re Mages. We belong above ordinary people. What’s power for if not this?”]
[“You registered citizens wouldn’t understand the struggle of non-household migrants in Atlantis.”]
[“Mages should be free. Survival of the fittest is nature’s law.”]
Lingxuan had caught the implications instantly.
“Non-household migrants? And this anti-social rhetoric…”
It mirrored the Waste Law Society’s extremism. A conspiracy lurked beneath—likely the Waste Law Society manipulating Tutankhamun to destabilize Atlantis.
The clincher? The stolen e-currency trail.
B2B e-currency was easily traceable—modern robberies were rare because criminals got caught fast. Yet ‘underground e-currency banks’ existed, laundering illicit funds into untraceable forms. The Waste Law Society used identical methods.
But that wasn’t Lingxuan’s deepest concern.
“Alice,” he said quietly, “find out how ordinary people can become Mages.”
