"How much data have we gathered on the candidates for Project Homunculi?" Evans asked, his tone sharp as he observed the grotesque crystal balls embedded in pulsating flesh. Around him, a group of individuals—clearly mages, given their lean buildspared to the bulkier warriors—worked meticulously in the observationb, their faces illuminated by the glow of various magical screens.


    "Almost all," one of the mages replied, jotting down notes while ncing at a screen. On it, Rn Dastor and a group of mages were shown struggling against a swarm of oversized insects. With no warriors in sight, the mages were at a clear disadvantage, their long-range attacks proving ineffective when the creatures closed the gap. At close range, they were little more than sitting ducks, relying heavily on their mana shields to avoid being overwhelmed.


    "Almost all?" Evans repeated, raising an eyebrow as his gaze shifted to the mage who had spoken.


    The man sighed heavily, clearly frustrated. "Yes, almost all," he admitted. Turning his attention to another screen, where Cassian''s image was disyed, he added, "Some of them are… peculiar. Candidates like this one are causing dys in analyzing their abilities."


    Evans frowned, his curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?"


    The mage gestured at Cassian''s screen, his exasperation evident. "Take him, for example. One of his traits is listed as ''pain immunity.'' What does that even mean? How can a person develop such a thing? It defies logic. And yet, there he is, acting like nothing fazes him, no matter the injuries he takes."


    Evans grinned, his expression a mix of excitement and arrogance. "Well, they''re called geniuses for a reason," he said, his tone dripping with confidence. Leaning back slightly, he allowed a broader smirk to spread across his face. "And soon enough, they''re going to be working for us… whether they realize it or not."


    The mage standing beside him chuckled, rubbing his beardless chin thoughtfully as a mischievous glint appeared in his eyes. "Actually," the mage interjected, "not them exactly." His grin widened as he gestured toward the grotesque setup of crystal balls and fleshy constructs. "We''re not interested in the originals. No, we''re aiming for something better—more talented versions of them."


    "well I know that but.." Evans arched an eyebrow, intrigued. "what you ,mean by more talented versions?"


    The mage nodded, his grin turning almost predatory. "meaning way better they ever can be. With the data we''re collecting, we''ll refine their abilities, strip away their ws, and create perfect beings. No doubts, no rebellion, no limitations. Just pure, unrelenting talent molded to our needs."


    Evans let out a low chuckle, his eyes gleaming with a blend of amusement and malice. "Better than thest batch?" he asked, a wide grin spreading across his face as he followed the mage toward the exit.


    The mage pushed open the heavy door, stepping into a vast chamber filled with eerie machinery and glowing sigils etched into the floor. Without missing a beat, he replied, "Far better," his tone brimming with confidence.


    As Evans and the mage stepped further into the vast chamber, their eyes were drawn to the towering ss tubes lining the walls, eachrge enough to hold a fully grown human. Inside the tubes, figures floated in a transparent, bluish fluid, their eyes closed as if lost in some dreamlike state. Their mouths were obscured by strange, organic devices resembling leech-like creatures, each connected to a thin, pulsing tube that extended to the base of the containers.


    Evans approached one of the tubes, his grin widening as he examined the figure inside. "Impressive," he muttered, his voice echoing faintly in the cavernous space.


    The mage joined him, a look of satisfaction on his face. "They''re not just copies," he said, gesturing toward the tube. "They''re perfected versions. Enhanced strength, heightened mana capacity, and none of the pesky weaknesses their originals possess."


    The mage chuckled, walking further into the chamber as he gestured at the tubes. "Of course, none of this would have been possible without the help of the Artistic Butcher," he said, his voice carrying a note of admiration. "His name might make him sound like some deranged lunatic who enjoys carving people up in a slightly more ptable way, but you''d be surprised. The man is a genius. His intellect and precision are unmatched."


    Evans raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "The Artistic Butcher? I''ve heard rumors, but I always assumed he was just another sadist with a ir for theatrics."


    The mage shook his head, a sly smile on his face. "Not at all. His methods may be unorthodox, but his results are extraordinary. The level of detail he achieves is… astonishing. Take this one, for example." He stopped in front of a tube containing a red-haired boy, almost indistinguishable from Cassian. The resemnce was uncanny, down to the smallest detail.


    "Look closely," the mage continued, gesturing toward the floating figure. "Not just the hair or the face, but every aspect. The length of his limbs, the scars, even the most intimate details—size, shape, growth patterns. The Artistic Butcher ensured that no imperfection was overlooked."


    Evans leaned in, his grin widening as he examined the boy in the tube. "Impressive," he murmured. "So even the... less noticeable features were replicated perfectly?"


    "Precisely," the mage confirmed with a smirk. "It''s not just about creating a functional copy—it''s about making one so perfect that even the original would question their own existence. And yet," he added, tapping the ss lightly, "this one is better in every way. Stronger, faster, more resilient. And, of course,pletely under our control."


    Evans raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Advanced physiological capabilities, you say? So he''s not just some lunatic with a scalpel?"


    The mage smirked as he turned back to Evans, gesturing toward the rows of tubes. "The Artistic Butcher''s work isn''t just about replication—it''s about understanding. His knowledge of the human body, especially those with advanced physiological capabilities like your Circle Warriors or us mages, is unparalleled."


    The mage chuckled, shaking his head. "Far from it. He''s a master anatomist, capable of dissecting not just the physical but the metaphysical aspects of our abilities. He understands how mana circtes through a mage''s core, how a Circle Warrior''s body adapts to endure superhuman strain, and even how those unique traits can be enhanced. His work goes beyond mere biology—it''s an art form."


    Evans stepped back, his expression a mix of awe and amusement. "The Artistic Butcher," he said, almost to himself. "A madman, perhaps, but an indispensable one."


    If Cassian had seen this grotesque disy of floating clones, his sharp mind would have churned with possibilities—each more chilling than thest. The idea of creating perfect replicas of noble children, especially those from prestigious families like his own, wasn''t just disturbing; it was sinister. Why would someone go to such lengths? The reasons were numerous, but a few stood out with stark rity.


    The first possibility Cassian might consider was espionage and infiltration. What better way to dismantle powerful noble families and kingdoms than by recing their heirs with obedient puppets? These clones could walk into noble courts, take their ces, and work from within to destabilize alliances, sow chaos, or leak sensitive information.


    The second, equally unsettling, reason was weaponization. Noble children, particrly those with extraordinary abilities, were valuable not just as heirs but as potential tools of war. If these replicas were stronger, faster, and more durable, they could serve as elite soldiers or assassins, carrying out tasks the originals never would. It wasn''t just about power—it was about wielding that power without resistance.


    But the most likely—and most terrifying—reason of all was discement. The originals weren''t just being studied; they were being made obsolete. If these clones were perfected versions, there would be no need for the originals to exist at all. With their recements ready to assume their identities, the originals could be discarded like broken tools. This wasn''t just a vition of their individuality; it was a systematic erasure of their very existence, ensuring the ones pulling the strings held absolute control over the future.


    Cassian''s mind would reel at the implications. If such a n were already in motion, the test they were enduring wasn''t just a trial of skill—it was a calcted effort to gather the final pieces of data needed toplete this dark project.


    But unfortunately, Cassian wasn''t there to witness the horrifying scene in the chamber, and the likelihood of him ever stumbling upon such a revtion seemed slim. Instead, somewhere far away, he was caught in a different kind of chaos—a desperate encounter with a crowd of examinees.N?v(el)B\\jnn


    These examinees were all running, fleeing from a group of pursuers who were unmistakably other candidates. Yet, what struck Cassian as odd was the air of confusion among the fleeing crowd. No one seemed to know which kingdom their pursuers belonged to. Every group pointed fingers at their rival kingdoms, creating a web of distrust and paranoia.


    Amid the confusion, the violence escted. The pursuers had already killed several of the fleeing examinees. Cassian had seen their bodies, lifeless and discarded, and the shock of it all sent a grim realization through him: this wasn''t just a test anymore—it was a ughter.


    What made it worse was the absence of the examiners. On the first day, the examiners had been present, their presence a reassuring shadow that at least someone was watching. But now, there was no sign of them—no footsteps, no mana signatures, no oversight. It was as if they had vanishedpletely, leaving the examinees to fend for themselves.


    Thisck of oversight raised a chilling question in Cassian''s mind: was this intentional? Was Valtross Academy,plicit in this bloodbath?


    This raised another pressing question in Cassian''s mind: if the academy truly needed these candidates to present them to their powerful families, why were they allowing them to die?


    Continue your journey on empire


    Cassian couldn''t shake the unease gnawing at him. His suspicions about the academy were grim—that they were brainwashing their students, molding them into spies or assassins loyal only to the academy. These students would then be sent back to their families as tools, silently working under the academy''s control.


    But this theory only deepened his confusion. For such a n to work, they would need the candidates alive. The deaths he had witnessed made no sense in that context. Why would the academy orchestrate their demise if they were meant to serve a greater purposeter?


    The contradiction left Cassian unsettled, his thoughts spiraling as he tried to piece together the twisted logic behind the academy''s actions. Whatever the answer was, it only added to the growing darkness surrounding the so-called test.