The Cruel Wizarding World

Tylen did not pause for even a moment, turning toward the second body.

It was a male corpse that had already begun to rot. Its skin had turned an unnatural dark green, and it gave off a nauseating stench.

"Debone it. Take the entire skeleton."

Expressionless, Tylen put on the protective suit stained with old grime, donned his glass goggles, and drew a slender Bone-Cleaving Knife from the tool rack with his right hand. Then he got to work...

With the Slacker Saint Body's blessing, his hands moved so fast they left afterimages, like a meat grinder pushed to its absolute limit.

What had originally been a painstaking task requiring two hours now took only four minutes.

When Tylen stopped, all that remained on the operating table was a stark white skeleton with a few strands of flesh still clinging to it, alongside a mountain of rotten meat.

After putting the rotten meat into the magically reinforced underground cold storage, Tylen began working on the skeleton.

"Next comes cleaning."

Tylen skillfully dismantled the skeleton and submerged it in a bucket of pre-mixed strong acid solution.

This was the most time-consuming step. To thoroughly remove the corpse stench and grease and give the bones an ivory-like texture, they normally had to be scrubbed four times, taking at least an hour and a half.

But with thirty times the efficiency, the stiff-bristled brush in Tylen's hand became a gray whirlwind.

Scrub, rinse, soak, air-dry.

One hour later.

A perfect skeleton, white as jade and entirely odorless, had been born. It even carried a faint scent of citric acid.

"What a pity the acid's soaking reaction doesn't get thirty times the efficiency. Otherwise, why would this take an hour? Ten minutes would have been enough!"

Unlike his predecessor, Tylen did not simply toss the bones into a basket. Instead, he found some copper wire and began the final assembly.

"Mentor Makley is a man who values both efficiency and presentation."

As Tylen arranged the ribs precisely according to anatomical order, he calculated in his head.

"If I give him a pile of scattered bones, he can still cast his spell, but it definitely won't look good!"

"It needs to be orderly, but it also needs to be exquisite."

"This is managing upward—solving the boss's problems before he even brings them up."

He adjusted the skull into a slightly upturned angle, as though the skeleton were paying respects to its soon-to-arrive master.

After finishing everything, Tylen removed his gloves and walked toward the final corpse—the scantily clad prostitute.

Cleaning, changing clothes, and a simple preservation treatment.

Done in two minutes.

Thus, the laborious work that would originally have taken five hours and left an ordinary apprentice with a broken back had been compressed by Tylen into a mere ten minutes.

"Work's done."

Once everything was settled, Tylen quickly cleaned the entire Morgue, finished washing the other tools, and put them all away neatly.

That way, if there was a surprise inspection, he would definitely leave a good impression.

Besides, with the Slacker Saint Body now, everything he did was incredibly fast.

After finishing up, Tylen pushed open the door to the adjoining break room, and the smell of sweat hit him head-on.

Yet to Tylen at that moment, it was the most reassuring scent in the world.

He collapsed onto the hard wooden bed covered in straw, and his consciousness instantly went blank.

He slept deeply, without dreams—there was only pure darkness.

When he opened his eyes again, every bone in his body crackled loudly. The soreness that had accumulated deep in his muscles had vanished, replaced by an unprecedented lightness.

"Morning already?"

Tylen instinctively looked out the window, only to find that it was still pitch-black outside.

He froze for a moment, then pulled out his pocket watch.

21:40

"How is that possible?"

Tylen abruptly sat upright, his pupils shrinking sharply.

He clearly remembered lying down at 9:20.

"I only slept for twenty minutes?"

He clenched his fist, feeling the abundant energy within him. His mind was as clear as if it had just been rinsed with cold water.

This state of complete alertness was definitely not something a short nap could bring.

A startling thought exploded in his mind.

"The Slacker Saint Body's thirtyfold efficiency... includes even my biological clock and physical recovery speed?!"

"As long as I'm alone, twenty minutes of sleep is equivalent to ten hours for an ordinary person!"

Tylen drew a deep breath and suppressed the urge to burst into wild laughter.

This meant that he had gained at least eight extra hours every day out of thin air!

"What a pity... I got the meditation order wrong."

Wizards had three ways to restore their mental power: using items, meditating, or recovering in accordance with the lunar phases.

Under this world's magical laws, mental power came from the soul, and the soul was the domain of the Goddess of the Moon.

A Wizard's mental power had to follow the tides of the moon. Only beneath moonlight at night would it naturally replenish over time.

Unfortunately, the Slacker Saint Body could only affect Tylen himself. It could not affect the lunar phases.

And today, Tylen had meditated first and worked through the Spell Model afterward, leaving him with no means of restoring his mental power.

"But that's fine. I can use this extra time to catch up on my studies."

Tylen lit the oil lamp, picked up the Meditation Atlas, and began reading it voraciously.

When the dull morning bell rang and the first ray of dawn pierced the heavy clouds, illuminating the gloomy Wizard Tower.

Tylen closed the book and rubbed his slightly aching temples.

Over the course of a single night, he had not only memorized the entire Meditation Atlas, but had also worked through half of Basic Potions.

"Time to get something to eat."

He entered the Cleaning Room, scooped up a handful of icy well water, and splashed it over his face.

Through the cracked mirror before him, Tylen seriously examined this body's appearance for the first time.

Black hair, black eyes, and skin with the sickly pallor of someone who had gone too long without sunlight.

His features were fairly regular, but there was always a lingering gloom and timidity between his brows—the kind belonging to a poor child from the lowest class.

He was thin, and the oversized gray-black apprentice robe hanging from his body looked completely empty.

"Ordinary is good."

Tylen pulled a standard fake smile at his reflection, though his eyes were as cold as ice.

"In this man-eating wizarding world, being too handsome or too distinctive often means becoming some perverted Wizard's collectible."

"Being mediocre is the best invisibility cloak."

Seven in the morning.

Tylen locked the Morgue's main doors and headed toward the cafeteria.

The Morgue was located in the northwest corner of the Wizard Tower. This was the so-called Menial Worker District, and it was also the liveliest part of the entire tower.

The moment he stepped outside, a peculiar mixed smell of hay, animal dung, and oil drilled into his nostrils.

Straight ahead stood a huge wooden granary with its doors wide open, packed with bundles of alfalfa. To the left were stables housing horned horses with unicorn bloodlines, the means of transportation for Official Wizards.

On the right was a carriage maintenance area. Several craftsmen in greasy leather aprons were gathered around a black carriage carved with runes, hammering away as sparks flew in every direction.

This place was separated from the world of noble apprentices dressed in silk robes and discussing profound magic by an uncrossable gulf.

But Tylen liked it here.

The cafeteria where he ate was really just a large shed put together by the menial workers.

Most of the craftsmen, stablehands, and menial workers here were in their thirties or forties. They had families, careers, and mature minds.

They all carried their own strange smells—horse dung, fodder, oil... so none of them minded the corpse stench on Tylen.

"Hey! Little Ma, you look pretty good today!"

Just as Tylen sat down with his tray, a burly man in a greasy leather apron across from him greeted him with a grin.

Cole, thirty-two, was a carriage repairman with a family trade.

He had worked at the Wizard Tower for five years. His salary of three hundred Purple Gold Coins per week made him middle class here.

"Work went smoothly yesterday, so I got a good night's sleep."

Tylen replied with a smile. He casually tore off a piece of black bread as hard as stone and soaked it in the thin soup containing a few floating rotten vegetable leaves.

"Brother Cole, when is your fourth child due?"

"Soon! Next month!"

Cole grinned, exposing a mouthful of yellow teeth. His eyes were full of the joy of becoming a father again.

"I'll treat you to a full-month celebration drink then!"

"Young people really are capable!" Perry, the stablehand beside them, teased with a wiggle of his eyebrows, drawing laughter from everyone around them.

That was life for the people at the bottom.

It was rough and exhausting, but at least it had warmth. At least it felt real to be alive.

Breakfast ended quickly amid the joking and banter.

Tylen struggled to swallow the last bite of black bread, which had a sourness like stinking socks, and was about to stand up and leave.

Then, an old and hoarse voice sounded behind him.

"Little Ma... wait."

Tylen turned around and saw a familiar yet unfamiliar face.

Old Jack.

The kind old man who always cheerfully brushed the horses and secretly slipped Tylen a few wild fruits.

At this moment, he looked as though he had aged ten years overnight.

His once-neat gray cloth clothes were covered in bits of straw, and his messy blond hair drooped like dead grass.

His eyes, always filled with smiles, were now bloodshot and frighteningly swollen.

His lips trembled as his hands clutched the corners of his clothes tightly, his knuckles turning white from the force.

"I... my wife passed away last night."

Old Jack's voice choked. Every word seemed forcibly squeezed from his throat, accompanied by broken sobs.

"She... how much could she sell for?"

Tylen stood frozen, feeling as though an invisible hand had gripped his heart fiercely.

He knew Old Jack well.

This stubborn old man and his wife had been childhood sweethearts. They had played in the mud together since they were six.

Then they had married naturally, had three children together, and stayed by each other's side until old age.

With Old Jack's weekly salary of two hundred and fifty Purple Gold Coins for tending horses here,

and his wife's weekly income of two hundred Purple Gold Coins as a skillful seamstress,

their income should have been enough for the old couple to enjoy a stable retirement.

However, last year, Old Jack's third son had entered the Wizard Tower, only to be expelled last month for failing his grades.

After he killed himself in despair, his debt had been transferred to Old Jack.

The pain of losing a son, coupled with a sudden loan of one hundred thousand Purple Gold Coins, had dealt a crushing blow to the old couple.

Tylen had never expected that the kind and cheerful old woman who had once said she would sew him a set of winter clothes would suddenly be gone.

Old Jack had often joked with him before that he and his wife had already saved enough money for their funerals.

That way, not only could they die with dignity, but their children could retain their dignity as well.

After all, according to the teachings of the Church of the Heavenly Father, which the Divine Eagle Empire worshipped, a funeral with soul rites would allow one to become an angel at the Heavenly Father's side.

Those whose souls were not laid to rest could only become wandering ghosts.

Therefore, even though selling a family member's corpse was commonplace, it was still the most undignified choice of last resort.

Unfortunately, all the money they had saved had already gone toward repaying the loan.

Tylen knew very well that Old Jack would never have made such a request unless he had truly been driven into a corner.

Whenever Old Jack had spoken of his wife before, his face had always been filled with a happy, joyful smile.

After more than ten seconds of silence, Tylen took a deep breath and said quietly in an almost cruelly professional tone:

"I need to see... the condition of the body."

"I'll try... to give you a good appraisal..."

Those words seemed to tear apart Old Jack's last shred of dignity and attachment to his wife.

He suddenly covered his face with both hands, crouched on the ground, and burst into loud sobs.

His crying pierced the thin morning mist, making even the rising sun seem especially cold.