It was a standard graduation photo, nothing out of the ordinary. Everyone stood neatly in formation. The smiles of the faceless students, however, were twisted ones formed from scrunched flesh, the sight of which would send chills crawling up oneâs spine.
The girl in the last row only had one eye, half a nose, and half a mouth remaining.
She looked at the lens. The line of her lips was lifted in feigned happiness, yet her eyes contained so much despair it was practically brimming over.
Zong Jiu noticed the girlâs wrists were laced with shocking scars, both new and old. It was immediately apparent they were caused by self-harm.
Combined with the diary obtained before, this photograph was no doubt also a valuable clue.
The white-haired Magicianâs slender fingers slowly stroked the graduation photo.
He didnât say a word, nor did he inform anyone, but silently kept the photo in his pocket.
â
The emergence of faceless students had the whole cohort of B-rank trainees the most on edge theyâve been thus far.
Especially after the system confirmed those who were faceless couldnât return to the trainee dormitories. Now, everyone understands the gravity of this transformation.
In horror instances, even if your mind collapsed, the system would haul the trainee back to the dormitories for forced electroconvulsive therapy as long as one was still breathing.
The systemâs treatment was much more powerful than medical treatment in the real world, especially for insanity. With just a sweep of electricity, those haywire nerves in the brain would all be linked back to normal. Just like the D-rank trainee who was treated after coming out of the punishment instance.
Now, however, when faced with this trainee who had become a faceless person, the system expressly refused to accept it.
This situation was only possible if the trainee was no longer deemed a trainee.
An example of this was in zombie and post-apocalyptic themed horror instances, wherein the system wouldnât allow a trainee to return to the infinite loop if he wasnât injected with the serum in time and completely reduced to being a zombie.
The mutual point therein was the system defined them as having lost their humanity.
Doubtlessly, this was terrifying news, only worsened by the fact no one knew how the faceless trainee came to be.
It was this sole trainee who had turned faceless, with no others to be used in drawing any conclusive similarities. All that could be discerned was a vague list of possible factors such as âpoor academic performanceâ, âseemingly shut outâ, and âburied in his studies day and nightâ.
In just one day, with no more than a quick browse through the teaching material distributed thus far, the faceless trainee skyrocketed from penultimate in his class to first in the year, achieving near-perfect scores in every subject. It wouldnât even be an exaggeration to call it a miracle.
As for the trainee in question, heâd undoubtedly lost his individuality, becoming a âperfect machineâ produced by First High School. Receiving effusive praise from the principal at morning assembly not only for his perfection but also for his loss of personality.
This however was undeniably a blessing to the affected class, because the faceless traineesâ score was twice higher than Van Zhuoâs.
His ascension from the penultimate in the class to the first in the year raised the average score of Class 7 significantly, and Class 7 instantly cruised from the bottom of the nine classes to the middle.
Further, the faceless traineesâ performance was very stable, managing to get consistent scores in two consecutive weekly quizzes. It was impossible for him to underperform.
Gradually, the discussion died down not only in the cohort but also within Class 7.
The faceless trainee had previously been subject to cold treatment and disdain in the class. He also wasnât affiliated to any guild and his strength just barely made the B-rank cut. The only one more familiar with him was Liang Mingde, who had first noticed the abnormality in him, but that was only limited to small chit chat.
Weâre sorry for MTLers or people who like using reading mode, but our translations keep getting stolen by aggregators so weâre going to bring back the copy protection. If you need to MTL please retype the gibberish parts.
Even if something happened to someone like this, no one would truly feel saddened for him, let alone try to find a way to reverse it.
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The trainees were all going crazy from studying.
Not only did they walk with their noses buried in books, but they also slept with their noses buried in books. A day spanned twenty-four hours. Eliminating the time spent asleep, every second was dedicated to cramming.
Even then, what if there still wasnât enough time? Then their only choice was to allow studying to eat into their sleeping hours. Apart from the half-vampires, most trainees had dark eye bags draped under their eyes, turning them into giant pandas.
No longer did anyone care if they were caught by the hostelâs caretaker. Even if they were, all they had to do was get dressed and bring their papers and pens with them to the corridors, working on questions while standing outside in punishment, reluctant to waste a single second.
Of the nine classes in the year, six were still short of 600 marks.
Of these six classes, Class 9 was still nearly fifty marks short of 600.
Only eight days remained until the midterm exam, yet so many classes had yet to meet the standard. The fear and despair these trainees felt were soul-crushing.
If it were a slightly lower-ranked trainee, they wouldâve probably had a mental breakdown.
What was more dreadful was the teaching director actually praised them with a smile at the morning assembly for being promisingâfor not only did a student make the right choice so early, but up till now there wasnât yet a single student who had succumbed to their mind and chosen suicide.
B-rank trainees were veterans who had been through trials and tribulations in the infinite loop, yet at this time, all of them felt that even though there were no supernatural sightings in this instance, it was the scariest and most oppressive instance they had ever been in.
The last weekly quiz before the midterm was tomorrow.
When Zong Jiu returned to the hostel for a shower, heâd inadvertently overheard Class 5âs monitor conversing with another class monitor.
âNot only did Class 7 lose a dead weight, but theyâd also even acquired a heavy hitter who can knock out almost perfect scores. Isnât turning faceless quite neat?â
âIf you ask me, I canât wait for the bottom-feeder trash of our classes to turn as well.â
Zong Jiuâs brows furrowed.
Of the class monitors in room 101, it was Class 5âs monitor who was more radical.
He was not the strongest B-rank trainee overall, but he had the best exam results and was thinking of taking this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to wipe out more of his future competitors.
High-ranking trainees usually consider the long game.
Since only a hundred could debut in the future, this implied the system would either cut trainees down to a hundred in the previous instances or refine the evaluation to rank the top 100 and then obliterate those who didnât make the cut.
Taking that into perspective, all other trainees were competitors. So instead of clashing head-on in the future, why not use this excellent opportunity to make the first move?
Even from the initial proposal to submit blank scripts, Class 5âs monitor showed clear signs of being remiss in his duties.
It was during this time that Class 5âs monitor noticed the white-haired young man who had just come out of the bathroom.
Having washed his hair, Zong Jiuâs long white hair rested loosely on his shoulders, wetting the towel on his shoulders, turning it a slightly darker shade.
He was thin and slender, with no visible fat or bulk, and due to the lack of pigment, his skin was so white it almost appeared to shine.
Perhaps the water was too hot, but his face, which was already beautiful to begin with, was suffused with a beguiling blush. As though a painter had dipped a brush in rouge and swept a wide stroke across, before grudgingly setting down the brush.
Class 5âs monitor stared fixedly at him and only came back to his senses after contempt appeared on Zong Jiuâs face.
As if to cover up his momentary distraction, he muttered viciously, âWhat the hell are you looking at? Am I wrong? Weâre already in the infinite loop, thereâs no point in playing saints.â
It was only after saying this did the class monitor process what he did, instinctively recoiling in his head.
Let alone that the Magician was a newcomer recently on the rise, he was also on close terms with No. 2 Van Zhuo, looked well upon by No. 1, and received a personal invitation from the Night Clan. This guy was most certainly not someone any B-rank would wish to offend.
Zong Jiu coldly said, âI wasnât looking at you, but your yapping is grating on my ears.â
The previous recoil instantly dissipated to nothing. This look of disgust and disdain thoroughly inflamed Class 5âs monitor.
âWho do you think you are? How dare a newcomer be so arrogant? Donât think you can do whatever you want just because you received favour from him.â
In the next second, a poker card crackled through the air with the thump of a book spine on a table surface.
The paper card ripped harshly through the air, unerringly leaving a shallow but long slice of blood on the Class 5âs monitorâs cheek.
A cold, flat male voice befell at the split second it embedded into the wall behind him.
âSo noisy.â
Not far away, Black Shaman, cloaked in black robes, pressed down the book he was reading, his handsome side profile abnormally inhuman under the dim light.
Looking over, that pair of green eyes narrowed, easily reminiscent of the hazy aurora in the cold Arctic. Yet for some reason, it gradually overlapped with an unrelated pair of dark golden irises in Zong Jiuâs mind.
Zong Jiu felt he was truly being a bit paranoid.
Heâd even verified with the Tarot Deck not long ago that Black Shaman wasnât being manipulated by the Devil.
Back when No. 5 Black-Robed Azan was manipulated, the Devil was being a wily old fox and borrowed Lin Guoxingâs body to bait the enemy and pull the pity card. Only then did he manage to implant a puppet string on No. 5.
Whereas in this instance, Black Shaman hadnât received any injury. Furthermore, it had only been a month. No. 1 wasnât so almighty to be able to achieve this step within this short period.
In actuality, the most important reason was Zong Jiu staunchly believed No. 1 wouldnât be so kind as to help him out.
Though he didnât know why the Devil had abruptly abandoned the idea of killing him, he wouldnât be so naive as to think the Devil would never deal a fatal blow to him in the future.
It was annoying, even more so than their I-wonât-rest-easy-unless-you-die spar they had going on previously.
It was painless, but No. 1âs presence lurked like a nagging itch through the day, as though just trying to find ways to make him unhappy. The killing intent was sheathed, yet this behaviour was so obnoxiously like teasing a beloved pet, filled with condescending affection from start to end.
Given Zong Jiuâs pride, it would be absurd for him to stand for it.
The vengeful him had long sworn deep down to put thrashing the Devil on his daily agenda, vowing to make sure No. 1 will experience exactly how it feels to eat his words and be beaten up.
The moment Black Shaman spoke, Class 5âs monitor instantly wussed out and didnât dare to say anything, scuttling out of the room with his tail between his legs.
Zong Jiu lazily dried his hair, only then turning his head to quietly mutter a word of thanks.
To this thanks, No. 8 gave no response.
The inky green gaze swept apathetically over him and fell back on the book in his hand.
This familiar, indifferent gaze assured Zong Jiu there wasnât any need for him to waste another Tarot draw.
Silence was restored to the room, yet strangely, there was no rustling of turning pages.
With his back to Black Shaman, the white-haired Magician was oblivious to the fact heâd overlooked a vital piece of information.
Zhuge An had once told him the soul invasion upon implantation of the Devilâs fifth puppet string didnât transform the victim into a manifestation of the Devil himself. To adhere to reason, those who were completely manipulated could still retain their personality traits. After being manipulated, oneâs personality remained the same as the hostâs but became manipulated by a higher-powered consciousness so no flaws could be exposed by obvious changes in personality.
This was also why No. 1âs ability was so indomitable, because unless the puppets he manipulated slipped up on their own, it would be very difficult for bystanders to notice any peculiarities, let alone the person being manipulated themselves.
Just like Messiah was.
Despite this, whether it was due to being too busy studying lately or a cog in his brain being jammed, Zong Jiu didnât give it more thought.
a/n. Jiu Jiu: No. 1 isnât that almighty to be able to achieve this step so quickly.