High School of Demon Hunting-Chapter 2306 - 527: The Wizard Wearing a Cat Mask

"I’ve never seen anything like it... Never."

"A group of frenzied Da Ya Moss pixies actually tore a Fire Dragon apart... And it was a real Romanian Longhorn Dragon! The flames it breathed melted the stone mill of The Old Egg Family!"

Luni Pette waved his arms around, spitting saliva as he sat in the most noticeable seat at the bar, surrounded by curious listeners, their shining eyes giving him great satisfaction.

"Was it really Da Ya Moss pixies? Are you sure you didn’t see it wrong?" A guest questioned.

"Absolutely impossible!"

Pette slammed his beer mug down heavily on the bar, his face flushing red, whether from alcohol or excitement: "Da Ya Moss pixies are a variant of Cornwall County Pixies; they’re all light blue, with big eyes, not even ten inches tall, and besides flying around causing mischief, they can’t even beat an owl... How could I mistake them!"

"No one doubts you, Pette!"

Another guest quickly interjected: "It’s just that it sounds too unbelievable... A group of pixies tearing apart a dragon? Even the pixies from the First University shouldn’t be that powerful!"

"Perhaps the Romanian Longhorn Dragon is too sluggish, ill-suited to deal with those nimble little bugs."

Someone else analyzed: "Didn’t the Venus Hunting Team fall last year in the third round of the Zeus Cup to a group of Amazon soldier ants? If that Romanian wild dragon were a more agile Swedish Short-Snout, perhaps it wouldn’t have been countered by the pixies."

"How could pixies compare to Amazon soldier ants! One has a danger rating of less than one star, the other exceeds five stars, they’re not even in the same dimension!"

"Even if that Romanian Longhorn Dragon didn’t move, how could a group of Da Ya Moss pixies break through its Scale Armor? I doubt they could even bite through a wild dragon’s eyelid!"

"Pette! Pette!"

A tall, fat warlock squeezed through the noisy crowd to stand in front of Luni Pette, asking loudly: "Pette! This Old Egg you mentioned... Is it the one who runs the dragon hunting ground? ... Two pints of Brown Ale, Tom!"

The bartender behind the bar snapped his fingers, and two mugs clanked and clanged as they flew off the shelf, drifting next to the beer barrel, while the amber liquid gushed into the mugs, frothy and rich.

Luni Pette quietly swallowed his saliva, nodded vigorously: "That’s them!"

"Hoolala..."

The tall, fat warlock laughed, taking the Brown Ale handed by the bartender, shoving one into Luni’s hand and drinking the other himself: "Which year wasn’t The Old Egg Family’s stone mill burned down three or five times by dragon flames... But that wild dragon’s death was strange... They’ve been hunting dragons for generations, isn’t it possible that Romanian wild dragon was drugged before!"

"Absolutely not!"

Luni Pette grabbed a shriveled apple from the fruit plate, took a vicious bite, closing his eyes in comfort as the taste mingled with the salty beer flavor: "Recently, I’ve been helping at The Old Egg Family’s dragon hunting ground, I know all too well which dragon should be killed, which dragon should be kept longer... That Romanian Longhorn Dragon just hatched a few Little Dragons, this is their most fierce and valuable time, Old Aige was still feeding it live cattle, how could he drug it!"

"You never know."

That same tall, fat warlock, raised his Brown Ale and gulped down a few sips, then laughed heartily: "Doesn’t Old Aige always brag about his precious grandson getting into the First University? I heard university tuition is quite expensive, maybe Old Aige needs to kill a few good dragons to pay for his grandson’s tuition..."

"His grandson, is it that kid named vas Eagle?"

"Yes, that’s him, I’ve heard he got into Starry Sky Academy!"

"Whoo... Amazing, the students from Starry Sky Academy are all very strong, maybe after graduation, they can catch some new Magical Creatures from the New World... The future of The Old Egg Family’s dragon hunting ground might depend on his grandson!"

"When I went to the hunting ground to help feed the dragons before, that guy was already dressed in a one-piece Dragon Skin suit, holding a steel brush to scrub wild dragons’ scales... It’s no wonder he got into Starry Sky Academy..."

Tom Hansen lowered his eyelids, standing behind the bar, listening to the patrons gossip about Newcastle’s prodigy who got into the First University, yet his hands didn’t stop, wiping heavy beer mugs with a clean, white linen cloth.

He is the owner of this small bar.

The bar is called ’White Raven’, located in Newcastle, northeastern England—of course, the wizarding Newcastle doesn’t fully overlap with the Newcastle of the Commoners—here, they serve a special kind of light beer named ’Brown’, brewed with specially fermented ingredients and a unique saline mixture, beloved by nearby wizards.

Like most wizarding communities in Europa, Newcastle’s atmosphere is very conservative, with residents stubbornly adhering to old-fashioned lifestyles that have remained unchanged for hundreds of years—candles, newspapers, Wizard Towers, and magic brooms—the electronic signals and the machine roar of the Mortal World have barely affected them, everyone carries on, century after century, maintaining this nearly static world slowly running, each person’s career determined since birth.

For example, Tom Hansen, realized early on he’d inherit the family brewery.

For example, Luni Pette, though his family has been in Newcastle for almost two hundred years, most residents still view him as an outsider, relegated to day laboring for affluent families.

Or the Old Aige mentioned by the patrons, managing the largest dragon hunting ground along England’s northeast coast, annually contributing nearly one-third of London Block’s supply of Dragon bone, Dragon Blood, and Dragon Meat.

Tom despises this unchanging feeling.

He once tried to escape, but his magical Talent was not high enough, failing to receive any university admission letters. So after high school, he eventually returned behind the bar, inheriting the small business founded by his ancestors.

Scrape, scrape.

The middle-aged bartender vigorously polished the beer mugs, listening to patrons discussing the Newcastle genius who got into the First University, his expression like an Ancient Well Without Waves.

Ring, ring.

The doorbell chimed cheerily as a gust of cold wind accompanied the opening wooden door, snapping the bar owner out of his thoughts.

"Welcome, welc..."

He widened his eyes, swallowing the second ’come’, and similarly, the once bustling bar felt as if struck by a Silence Spell, plunging into an unsettling silence.

Because through the door came a group of five wizards cloaked in black, wearing cat face masks.