The Laws of Werewolf Hunting

Chapter 553 The Boundary of Purity (Part 1)
Bracola is as picturesque as it has always been.

The boys played on the sun-drenched grass outside the cabin, singing, chasing each other, carefree.

"A few more are gone," Donna thought, looking at the smiling faces.

Principal Fatia only summons new students after all the teenagers have lost their qualifications to enter Bracola, so she has never seen a new face here.

When she first entered Brakola, she was inconspicuous among hundreds of people. Now, only a handful remain, and a small hut can accommodate them all. The demons who were asked by Fatia to take care of the children have become idle.

Those who grow up, or those who are deemed no longer pure by Principal Fatia, will be eliminated.

Donna is sixteen years old, and this is her final year. She must learn all the knowledge she desires.

To graduate from Bracora as a wizard, one only needs to pass one test—possessing enough magical power to protect one's memories.

Donna has been working towards this goal ever since she learned that teenagers who leave Bracola will have their memories erased, but she still doesn't dare say that she is fully prepared because she has never personally experienced the power of this magic.

“While you should be decisive when making decisions, you can never have too much preparation beforehand,” Clayton had taught her, and she deeply believed in it, so she rarely rested like her peers. If she relaxed her practice because of laziness, and then found out at the last minute that she was still lacking in ability, then all her efforts of the previous ten years would be wasted.

"Good evening." The boys greeted Donna as she walked toward the cabin, and she nodded in response.

Compared to the past, she is much more sincere now.

Upon entering the cabin, Donna saw some teenagers playing board games. Instead of sitting with them, she went straight to the bookshelves.

Are you nervous about the final hurdle?

A red, sharp-nailed female hand suddenly pressed down on her shoulder. Donna wasn't surprised at all. She turned around and said, "Ms. Margo, you should speak more quietly, or Principal Fatia will be angry."

The red-clad female demon withdrew her hand and leaned against the bookshelf. Dressed in an old-fashioned men's style, she looked like a coachman: "What does it matter? The remaining people don't have much time left anyway. After this spring, half of them will leave."

She acted as if she didn't care, but her voice was noticeably softer.

Bracora has no requirements for the teenagers who qualify to come here, nor does it take the initiative to teach them. Whether they learn magic here depends on whether they read the books on the bookshelves and understand how Bracora works.

But the boys didn't come to this beautiful garden to read; they always chose to play rather than read. And the few children who understood that they would be deprived of their memories of Bracola and all mysticism in the future were forbidden from giving any kind of hint to others.

Fatia disliked monotonous development.

Only children who need magic can access it here; others cannot.

What she wanted to see was innocent children opening their hearts to each other, relaxing without reservation or concealment. They would find pure joy in talking and playing, and even if they couldn't take the memories of their lives here with them, they would still retain a sense of happiness and joy. Fatia believed that this feeling was the greatest treasure the children could gain from this place, and that acting for personal gain was unacceptable.

If Margot's words just now alerted the boys and prevented them from enjoying these last moments, she would be punished.

"What a pity, little Kretsia, I really can't bear to see you leave." The female devil reached out and stroked Donna's hair, revealing a rare kind expression.

Donna accepted her touch calmly: "I thought you hated us—because this is a task that Ms. Fatia forced on you, and you don't actually like taking care of us at all."

"Don't say that. I hate other people, but I like you. You're different from other kids."

Donna was pleased with these words. Under the devil's grasp, she narrowed her eyes, a smile overflowing from the corners of her eyes.

"You're a little worse than the other kids."

Donna stopped laughing.

"Don't take this as a denigration. You're not truly evil; you're just more pragmatic than others, acknowledging the legitimacy of personal desires. But, well, you never know. Ever since you returned to Brakola after visiting your family, I've been able to smell blood on you. You must have tortured others."

She was referring to the torture lessons Clayton had given Donna in Gerva, and Donna immediately tensed up, clutching her skirt nervously with both hands.

"Does Principal Fatia know?"

“Sure enough, but don’t worry, I know everything. She must have known all along.” Margo’s face showed genuine surprise and admiration. “It’s almost impossible to keep it from Fatia in Bracora. If she hasn’t kicked you out, it means you’re still innocent in her eyes.”

Donna breathed a sigh of relief. "I swear I won't hurt good people."

“I wish you wouldn’t make that vow.” Faced with the girl’s confusion, Margo raised his thin, black eyebrows, like a raised guillotine blade drawn on a red curtain: “You’ll see later, good people can sometimes become enemies.”

Her words reminded Donna of something, and she sighed deeply.

"You actually understand now. It seems you have a good uncle who teaches you more than just how to be a lady."

“Let’s change the subject, Professor Margo.” Donna was unwilling to reveal too much about Clayton in Bracora: “My psychic powers have entered the second stage. If you have time, you might want to give me some guidance. Compared to you, this magic book that automatically recommends books is not very reliable.”

"Ha, flattery, I knew you were a little bit worse than the other kids."

"I'm being sincere."

“Yes, yes, this is what comes after flattery!” Donna’s face turned red, but she was helpless against Margo.

Margot the devil loved Donna's embarrassed look. She liked this child not only for the reasons mentioned earlier, but also because Donna was one of the few people who noticed she didn't like children, yet she always respected her because of her unreserved teaching.

After the joke, she patted Donna on the shoulder: "Let's go to the kitchen, Celine has already prepared the soup."

The cook in charge of the kitchen, Serus, is a devil with superb culinary skills.

However, rather than cooking for everyone, it's more accurate to say she cooks for herself, while others take a small portion of her food to enjoy.

"To clarify your next direction, we need to examine your psychic abilities. Tell me, what can you perceive with your psychic awareness?"

Unlike non-wizards' understanding of gnomon, gnomon is not merely a clairvoyant ability; as it grows stronger, it combines with a wizard's talents to observe more layers of the real world. However, wizards themselves cannot initially comprehend these messages; they need training and learning to gradually recognize the true nature of their abilities.

Donna, holding a bowl of soup, sat at the long wooden table, pondering how to describe her strength.

“It is a sound. When I envelop other life forms with my psychic awareness, I hear many whispers in my ears. It seems as if different people are speaking.”

“This is some kind of communication ability, which doesn’t surprise me.” Margo slowly stirred his spoon in his bowl. “The first magic you learned was communicating with animals, and you have a talent for it. Now tell me, what are these voices saying?”

"I can't hear you clearly."

Have you tried to communicate with these voices?

“I tried, but they didn’t react; it seemed to be just,” Donna came up with a suitable description: “a kind of sonic tide, rather than something actually alive.”

Are the sounds emitted by humans and animals the same?

"That's not the case. The whispers of animals are like those of a child just learning to speak, uttering words one by one, short and quick, not continuous, while the whispers of humans are like a long conversation among many people, noisy and continuous."

Margo leaned forward and pressed on, "Is the only difference between animals and humans? Are the voices of children and adults the same?"

“Children’s vocalizations fall somewhere between those of animals and adults. I hear fewer types of whispers, but they are still long conversations.”

Can you hear your own voice in the person you are observing?

"I can't tell."

The devil withdrew his body and began to analyze for his students.

"The voices come from more than one person, so it's not exactly a mind-reading ability. Adults emanate more voices than children, which may be related to the fact that they are exposed to more people. You can try entering a dream, holding a pet, or engaging in gnomon awareness next to someone you know before falling asleep. Dreams block out most of the irrelevant colors and sounds in reality, allowing you to more clearly perceive the whispers you hear through gnomon awareness."

"Alright, drink your soup. Don't forget to eat because you're thinking." Margo tossed the empty bowl to Celus.

Donna's spoon remained still.

"Professor Margo, I have another question."

"I guess it has nothing to do with magic."

"Where has Ms. Fatia been lately? I haven't seen her in a long time."

The female demon was about to answer, but her eyes caught a glimpse of silver light outside the window.

"Let her answer this question herself."

A creature that seemed to belong only in mythology strode proudly into the house. She had pearly white skin and mane, and the silver horn on her head glittered in the sunlight. Her thick muscles clung to her horse-like frame, their curves graceful, captivating the eye even in motion. As she moved, an ethereal elegance emanated from her. Every child who saw her on the road stopped what they were doing to greet her, and she warmly responded to each one.

Fatia, the ancient unicorn, has returned to her territory.

Donna still remembers the shock she felt when she first saw the unicorn. Although Fatia was not human, Donna already regarded her as a kind elder. When she heard her voice in the hall, she subconsciously wanted to stand up to welcome her, but this time she couldn't stand up.

It wasn't until Fatia walked around that she took the initiative to come to the kitchen.

A huge white horse's head poked its head in.

“Ah—Kretecia is here, good day, little witch.” The unicorn’s voice sounded like a young woman’s, surprisingly harmonious.

"Good day, ma'am." Donna realized she was stammering and quickly adjusted her pace: "I want to know how much longer I can stay here?"

"Until you grow up, or become evil."

Fatia's horse head slowly approached, her gentle brown eyes visible on her turned face.

"Kretsia, what are you afraid of?"