Sunlight streamed through the polished glass windows, making the floor of the Soul Research Club reflect the light.
If this were half a month ago, Horn wouldn't have even dared to imagine such a sight.
Back then, even a mouse would have gotten lost in this place, and a cockroach would have turned tail and left.
Now?
It was cleaner than a suite in a five-star hotel.
All the instruments were lined up by size, all the scrolls were categorized by color, and even the trash can in the corner was wiped so clean it could be used as a mirror.
This, of course, was not Horn’s doing.
Nor was it Bell’s.
Bell was slumped in a soft chair by the window, looking like a boneless aristocrat.
He held a cup of freshly brewed black tea in his hand.
Steam rose from the cup.
Beside him, Tia was using a pair of small scissors to trim the leaves of a green plant on the windowsill.
Her movements were gentle and precise.
With every snip, the size of the fallen leaves was astonishingly consistent.
She didn't need to drink tea.
But she liked taking care of Bell.
Or rather, in her underlying logic code, the instruction to "make Bell comfortable" was written with the highest priority.
“Would you like some more tea leaves?”
Tia put down the scissors and turned her head.
Her silver hair flowed in the sunlight, looking as beautiful as a mannequin.
Well, she was a mannequin to begin with.
Bell took a sip of tea.
“No, it’s just right.”
Although Tia couldn't taste it, her tea-brewing skills were impeccable.
The water temperature was controlled at eighty-five degrees, and the steeping time was precise down to the millisecond.
This was the benefit of having Tia as a wife.
The quality of life had skyrocketed.
“Clang!”
A loud crash broke the tranquility.
Bell’s hand jerked, and the tea almost spilled on his pants.
Frowning, he looked toward the other end of the room.
Horn Montfoss was crawling out from a pile of parts, covered in dust.
He was clutching a large object in his arms.
The thing looked like a cannon barrel.
It was pitch black, covered in runes that looked like earthworms, and even had rust in some places.
It was crude.
Ugly.
It radiated an aura of industrial wasteland.
“Which trash heap did you scavenge that from this time?”
Bell put down his teacup, a look of disgust on his face.
“This is a treasure!”
Horn pushed up his crooked glasses and wiped the dust off the barrel with his sleeve.
He wore a look of infatuation.
“This is a relic left behind by the previous president... I mean, a legacy!”
“Supposedly, it was developed to deal with those necromancers who were always coming around to cause trouble.”
Bell raised an eyebrow.
“What does it do?”
“Soul Stripping.”
Horn patted the thick, hard tube.
“With just one shot, it can forcibly shake out any soul attached to an object.”
Bell rolled his eyes.
He slumped back into his chair.
“That’s it?”
“I thought it was some world-shaking invention.”
“For that kind of spell, you can go to a magic shop outside and buy a scroll for five gold coins.”
“And those are instant-cast.”
“It probably takes half an hour just to charge this thing, doesn't it?”
Bell had zero interest in such unnecessarily complicated inventions.
With that kind of time, he’d rather research how to add a taste sensor to Tia.
“Shallow!”
Horn grew anxious.
He rushed over to Bell, clutching the barrel, his face turning bright red.
“A scroll is single-target!”
“It can only be fired at one target!”
“And you have to aim, chant, and factor in the target's mental resistance!”
Horn took a deep breath and pointed to the muzzle.
The complex spiral grooves within it glinted coldly in the sunlight.
“This thing.”
“It’s an area-of-effect type.”
Bell’s hand, holding the cup, froze in mid-air.
The air went silent for two seconds.
“What did you say?”
Bell sat up straight.
His gaze changed.
“Area-of-effect?”
“Yes!”
Horn danced with excitement, like a child showing off a toy to a parent.
“It doesn't fire a mana beam, but a special shockwave!”
“It’s like... like throwing a stone into a pond!”
“The ripples spread out, and any soul within that range—whether you’re hiding inside a rock or tucked away in a mouse hole.”
“Everyone gets hit!”
“Even though the effective radius is only fifty meters right now, and the precision is still poor...”
Bell didn't hear the rest of the words.
He stared at the ugly iron tube.
Only one thought remained in his mind.
Holy crap.
This was like this:
While everyone else was still using sniper rifles to pick off targets one by one,
you suddenly pulled out a grenade.
Soul research was a niche subject precisely because the efficiency was too low and the costs were too high.
Moreover, it required a massive amount of time to prepare.
And you had to wait until the opponent was incapacitated for it to be useful.
The success rate was low,
and the time spent was often worth more than the materials themselves.
But if you had this thing...
One shot.
Every soul within a fifty-meter radius would be vibrated right out of their bodies.
This wasn't a piece of scientific equipment.
This was a harvester!
If this thing were mounted on a minecart and taken to ancient battlefields or ruins...
Bell looked at Horn.
A trace of awe entered his eyes.
Was this the thin line between a genius and a madman?
“Horn.”
Bell stood up and walked to the barrel.
He reached out and touched the crude inscriptions.
They were cold.
Yet he felt a surge of heat rushing through his veins.
“Can this thing be modified?”
“Modified?”
Horn was stunned.
“I want to mount it on...”
“Bang!”
The club door was kicked open.
Interrupting Bell’s commercial grand plan.
The door slammed against the wall, sending dust fluttering down.
Three students in white uniforms walked in.
They wore red armbands on their sleeves.
Embroidered on them was a golden scales pattern.
The Disciplinary Committee.
The leader was a tall male student with slicked-back hair, his chin held higher than his forehead.
As soon as he entered, he covered his nose with a handkerchief.
Even though the place had been cleaned until it was spotless by Tia.
In his eyes, it still looked like a pigsty.
“Soul Research Club?”
The boy scanned the room.
His gaze lingered on the black barrel for a second, showing a hint of disdain.
Finally, it landed on Bell.
“I am the Vice President of the Disciplinary Committee, Gerard.”
His voice was arrogant.
It carried the coldness of someone just performing an official duty.
“We have received a report that your club is suspected of conducting illegal research on dangerous goods and has been occupying academy resources for a long time without any academic output.”
Horn shrank his neck.
Clutching the barrel, he retreated behind Bell.
It was an instinct developed from years of being bullied.
Tia put down her scissors.
Data streams flashed wildly in her blue eyes.
Bell reached out and pressed Tia’s shoulder.
He pulled her back.
“Don't be impulsive,” Bell said in a low voice.
Bell patted his robes and stepped forward.
He wore that standard aristocratic fake smile.
“Mr. Vice President, what can we do for you?”
“Just say it plainly.”
Gerard looked at Bell with disgust.
He had long heard of this "trash" who had been shoved in through family influence.
“Next month is the Academy Festival.”
Gerard pulled a piece of parchment from his coat and tossed it onto the table.
“According to academy regulations, all clubs must display their results at the Academy Festival.”
“The entire faculty and student body will vote.”
“The three clubs with the lowest number of votes will be forcibly disbanded.”
Gerard sneered.
He looked at Horn’s submissive appearance.
“Given your club's track record.”
“If you can't produce something decent this time.”
“There will be no need to wait for the vote.”
“I will personally lead a team here to throw this pile of junk out.”
With that,
Gerard turned to leave.
At the door, he stopped.
He looked back at the black barrel.
“Also.”
“Don't bring out this kind of trash to embarrass yourselves.”
“It’s disgusting to look at.”
The sound of footsteps faded away.
The room fell into a dead silence.
Horn hugged the barrel, his eyes turning red.
This was his hard work.
It was the dying wish of the previous president.
Yet it was trampled upon and called trash.
“Bell...”
Horn’s voice choked up.
“Maybe... let’s just forget it.”
“We can't win against them.”
“The Disciplinary Committee is the Aqua Branch’s territory; they’ve disliked us for a long time...”
Bell didn't speak.
He walked to the table and picked up the parchment.
It was covered in overbearing terms.
Things like "the display content must be positive," "strictly forbidden to involve black magic," "venue rent is at own expense"...
It was clearly designed to finish them off.
Bell smiled.
His smile made Horn feel uneasy.
He turned around.
He looked at the barrel in Horn’s arms, which looked like scrap metal.
Then he looked at Tia, who was standing by, ready to turn into a Gundam and go on a rampage at any moment.
“Forget it?”
Bell picked up the black tea on the table and drained it in one gulp.
“Why should we forget it?”
He walked up to Horn.
He reached out and patted the cold barrel.
It made a crisp metallic sound.
“Senior.”
“You said just now that the effective radius of this thing is only fifty meters?”
Horn nodded blankly.
“Then what if...”
Bell narrowed his eyes.
A dangerous light flickered in his pupils.
“I add a booster pump to it.”
“And swap in a high-purity Mithril core.”
“Can we make the range cover the entire square?”
Rate on N.U.
