The uppermost third of Deepblue consisted entirely of Helen Su’s exclusive domain; idlers were forbidden entry. Entry was possible, however, for those willing to try. The magic golems wandering each floor possessed strength equivalent to Level Fifteen warriors and would attack any intruder not recorded in the magic core. As long as one could defeat these golems, then challenge a dozen magisters, and finally overwhelm Helen Su herself, one could freely plunder the legendary mage’s lair. At least, in theory.

  The legendary mage quite liked her sense of space, hence she occupied an enormous area all by herself. At this moment, intermittent screams echoed from one corner of her exclusive zone. In the dim, long corridor, the echoing cries were incessant, enough to make the uninformed shudder with horror. The few who were informed, however, reacted entirely differently.

  Minnie appeared from the end of the corridor, walking briskly. She was still just a young woman, after all. Her hurried steps, tightly pressed lips, slightly furrowed brow, and the way her body seemed tensed, ready to dodge something at any moment, suggested she thoroughly disliked the corridor's gloom and dreariness. But this area's theme was precisely darkness, gloom, and dampness—personally decided by the eternally correct Lady Helen Su, so no one dared voice dissent. Just then, faint screams echoed again through the corridor. Minnie recognized the source, a cold sneer touched her lips, and she spat viciously.

  At the end of the dim area lay a prison section occupying over a thousand square meters, containing more than ten torture chambers of various sizes and functions. In the center of one cell, Randolph was suspended high on a rack, limbs stretched wide, stripped bare. A bare-chested torturer brandished a five-meter-long whip, lashing it down onto Randolph's body again and again. The torturer's knotted muscles glistened with grease, reflecting an unpleasant sheen. The corners of his leather shorts were frayed, stained with large patches of dark brown—blood from who knew what person or creature.

  If one could ignore the violence and gore and observe carefully, one would notice the torturer's extraordinary skill. The long whip traced complex patterns in the air, cracking sharply, then descended with a terrifying whistle onto Randolph’s pale buttocks, leaving vivid red welts across the small area. The welts swelled high but didn't break the skin, maximizing pain without causing excessive injury, allowing the agony to stack exponentially. Standing four meters away, the torturer wielded the five-meter whip, yet the marks left by the whip's tip on Randolph's pale flesh were evenly distributed, filling almost every available space, with only occasional overlaps, none breaking the skin. From afar, it resembled a Fauvist abstract painting—countless chaotic blocks of color and lines within a small frame, yet displaying an indescribable aesthetic beauty. Such skill was truly masterful. If this torturer were outside, he too could be considered a powerhouse.

  Randolph's buttocks were already severely swollen. Tears, snot, and saliva mingled on his face, twisting his handsome features into a complete mess. As an outstanding scion of an ancient noble house, Randolph certainly didn't lack courage or endurance. But many punishments in the dim region were designed for formidable races like Purgatory devils, Abyssal demons, various draconic sub-species, hybrid beastmen, and Polar Greydwarves. Humans, especially mages not known for physical fortitude, were like a bowl of plain water to these masters of torment—tasteless even when consumed. For instance, the torturer whipping Randolph used only the simplest lashing, yet it was enough to shatter his will. It was worth noting that the large cell holding Randolph contained a total of sixteen sets of torture instruments, and the torturer was proficient in using nine of them.

  The whipping ended, but Randolph's convulsions didn't stop; he couldn't even pass out. Intense waves of pain washed over him, without peaks or troughs, without the slightest pause or interruption, constantly battering the dam of his sanity, threatening to plunge him into the abyss of despair at any moment.

  All the injuries were concentrated on the posterior Minnie had warned him to look after, and the immense humiliation nearly drove Randolph mad. Fortunately, he was inherently strong-willed and didn't completely break down even at the end. But when the whipping finished, he no longer had the strength to feel shame; more embarrassing things had happened during the ordeal. He only hoped word of this wouldn't get out. If it reached Helen Su's ears, his position as an apprentice would surely be lost. The thought of life after being kicked out of Deepblue sent a deep chill through Randolph; he didn't even dare imagine how he would manage his future days. The fall from lofty heights to muddy ground was not something everyone could endure. Only now did Randolph finally realize that what set him apart wasn't his looks or talent, but the title of Helen Su's disciple and his family background.

  For a moment, fear and regret consumed Randolph's mind, making him even forget to curse Minnie's ass.

  In one of Helen Su’s favorite leisure halls, an attendant over two meters tall stood hunched over, carrying a huge golden basin on his back. It was piled high with all sorts of fresh, rare fruits. Some were plump and glossy, radiating tempting luster; others were bizarrely shaped and strangely colored. There was an immense variety, many not native to this season, and many products of other planes. In a crystal cup at the very top rested several precious items usually guarded by transcendent magical beasts. This large basin likely held dozens of kilograms of fruit—precisely Helen Su's snack for the day.

  The attendant walked briskly along a gravel path with heavy steps, passed through a grove of trees with brilliant foliage, crossed a vast, lush lawn, and finally spotted several tables and chairs placed by a small lake. Compared to the eye-catching fruit and container, the furniture pieces had simple lines and solid-color decorations, unadorned yet immediately evoking a sense of comfort and relaxation upon sight.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Helen Su was lounging lazily on a soft couch, tossing fruits into her mouth one by one. Beside her rested an identical golden fruit basin, now nearly empty. The attendant set down the fresh basin, took away the old one, and returned the way he came. Though called a leisure hall, this area exceeded a thousand square meters and contained complete ecological and heating systems, making it feel like being in the most comfortable mountain wilderness.

  Five or six Grand Magisters were gathered around Helen Su's couch, reporting on important events from the recent period. Ranked by importance, the recent major issues were: financial balance, Randolph, and Richard.

  One Grand Magister described Deepblue's overall income and expenditure for the winter in concise, rapid language. Before he finished, a large cherry being tossed towards Helen Su's small mouth abruptly froze mid-air. Then, Helen's incomparably bright eyes fixed on the Grand Magister. Pressure like a dragon's might instantly radiated outwards, making all the Grand Magisters present slightly unsteady on their feet.

  "What did you say? We made a loss last season?!"

  This Grand Magister in charge of finances was of a rather unusual race, a mortal enemy of humans: a Polar Greydwarf. Few greydwarves possessed magical talent, and those who could cultivate to the Grand Magister level were even rarer. But the greydwarf propensity for accumulating wealth and meticulousness made them perfectly suited for accounting. He immediately bowed his head slightly, avoiding the legendary mage's direct gaze, and answered cautiously, "Yes! But the loss wasn't large, less than 600,000 Imperial gold coins…"

  Helen immediately cut him off. "That's still a loss! I remember I just robbed several dragons mid-last year and invested some of the spoils into Deepblue's operations. How could there still be a loss? Have you determined the cause?"

  "The cause has been found, but…" the greydwarf magister stammered, seeming hesitant to speak.

  "Speak!" Helen's voice rose again.

  The greydwarf gritted his teeth and forced himself to say, "The reason is… your mood has been very good recently…"

  The cherry resumed its flight, disappearing into the depths of Helen Su's small mouth. The legendary mage furrowed her lovely little brow, pondering with a serious expression. After a moment, she slowly said, "But my mood might be even better for the next while. Let's put this aside for now. Tell me about the next matter!"

  Another human magister immediately stepped forward. "Randolph has been punished according to your instructions. How do you wish to proceed now?"

  "What's your suggestion?" Helen asked lazily, fiddling with a Waterflower Fruit in her hand, seeming somewhat uninterested.

  The human magister said, "His talent is still quite good, rated 'Excellent' overall. Plus, he's the son of Duke Solam of the Sacred Tree Dynasty, and Master Kruss himself once affirmed his talent as a Rune Graft. Therefore, my suggestion is to retain his status as an apprentice."

  The legendary mage snorted. "That Kruss has the nerve to call himself Master? And he even dared to add the prefix 'Saint' to his name! Putting that aside, when has that old fool ever been accurate in judging people! We already have a future Grand Rune Graft; there's no need to cultivate this sort of halfway thing, it's a waste of resources! We lost quite a bit of money last season! Let's do this: stick to the original decision, send Randolph back."

  "But he is, after all, Duke Solam's son…" the human magister reminded carefully. Even in the Sacred Tree Dynasty, teeming with experts, Duke Solam was a figure of considerable importance. The Duke himself held three prominent titles—Dragonslayer, Troll Ender, and Infernal Hunter—and was merely a step away from the legendary realm, potentially crossing over at any moment. If the two sides truly became hostile, it wasn't certain Duke Solam would lose to Helen Su.

  Helen waved her hand impatiently, cutting him off. "Randolph is Solam's son, but Solam doesn't have only one son! Besides Randolph's mother, Solam's other eleven wives will all side with us! How about this: I remember Solam has two other sons with decent talent, they won't embarrass me too much. Let's give them priority for this self-funded apprentice spot. As long as Solam provides half the originally agreed sponsorship fee, he can have the spot."

  "With this sponsorship fee, Deepblue won't be in deficit, right?" Helen turned to the greydwarf, her face already full of anticipation.

  The greydwarf quickly calculated, then frowned. "It can only guarantee the spring season. Because your mood will certainly continue to improve."

  This time, Helen became serious. Her small hand hovered over the fruit basin, forgetting to toss fruit into her mouth. She pondered, struggled, and finally said somewhat painfully, "My mood… this… I can't control it. What now? Those dragons are already quite poor; I just visited each of them last year. Going again now definitely won't yield much. And they keep moving further away; finding them is exhausting…"

  "Perhaps… add another self-funded apprentice spot?" the greydwarf suggested tentatively.

  Before Helen could respond, another elderly magister immediately objected, "Absolutely not! Lady Helen Su's apprentice status is so noble and important, how can it be sold casually? One might be explained as an expedient measure, but adding another? How is that acceptable? If there are too many nominal disciples who don't match the reality, it will seriously damage Her Ladyship's reputation, and Deepblue's reputation!"

  "Reputation is a future concern, but the deficit is right before our eyes! Besides, just being able to become Her Ladyship's apprentice, even merely a self-funded one, will absolutely be fought over by countless geniuses. Can you bear to see our youngest, most beautiful Ladyship unable to rejoice as she pleases? Furthermore, among Her Ladyship's students is a future Grand Rune Graft! Beside this dazzling sun, all other stars will dim," the greydwarf practically hopped as he yelled.

  Helen raised her small hand again. All the magisters fell silent, breathlessly awaiting her decision.

  After wavering multiple times between deficit and reputation, Helen finally made the painful decision: "Let's add one more self-funded apprentice spot!"

  To balance the burden on her conscience, Helen immediately shifted her attention to Richard. "Now, let's see what the future Saint Rune Graft has been up to."

  The financial pressure had instantly elevated little Richard's prospects from Grand Rune Graft to Saint Rune Graft.