After lunch, Noah made his way across the academy grounds towards the beast pen annex.
The sun was still high, glinting off the white stone buildings, but the shadows of the pens themselves were darker, as if the air around them had absorbed a little of the abyss from which their occupants came from.
He adjusted the strap of his satchel on his shoulder and kept walking, his thoughts quiet, and his shadows muttering faintly at the edges of his mind.
This time, the students weren’t heading to the usual classroom. Instead, signs posted along the hall directed them deeper into the annex, into a wing Noah hadn’t seen before.
When he entered, he found a wide, sterile lab lined with stone counters and enchanted lanterns.
Rows of tall cabinets filled with labeled jars stood against the walls, some holding cloudy liquids with organs suspended inside.
The smell was a bit stinging, with sterilizing herbs mixed with something faintly metallic.
Noah took his seat at one of the long tables, placing his quill and parchment in front of him.
Around him, the other Gold-tier students whispered quietly, but he paid them no mind. His eyes wandered to the drain in the center of the floor. He had a feeling it would be put to use.
The sound of boots striking stone silenced the room. Professor Stark entered.
Just as Noah remembered, the professor was a tall man, his body lean and wiry, and his face bearing the faint scars that showed his experience.
His left sleeve was rolled and pinned where the arm ended at the elbow, the scars there sitting pale against his skin.
He carried himself with a soldier’s posture, his single arm enough to command the attention of every student.
"Today," Stark began, "you’re going to learn something useful."
His gaze swept the room, piercing enough to make more than one student squirm.
"We’re not here to talk about beasts in theory. You’ll learn how to handle them in practice. Specifically, how to handle their bodies after they’re dead."
He moved to the side of the room where assistants wheeled in a long stone slab. On it lay the body of a creature Noah had never seen before.
It looked like a cat, but larger, nearly the size of a lion, with thick, mottled fur and long curved fangs protruding past its jaw. Its claws were long, hooked, and faintly glimmering with dried venom.
"This specimen," Stark continued, resting his hand on the creature’s flank, "was taken from an E-rank monolith last week. It’s called a Shade Panther. Abyss-born. Fast, dangerous, and venomous."
He pointed with his scarred arm stump, tracing along its length. "Today we’ll cut it open. You’ll learn which parts to avoid, which parts can be harvested, and why."
He clapped once. "But first, gear."
The students were divided into groups and directed to locker rooms adjoining the lab. The men to the left, the women to the right.
Noah moved with the others into the men’s side. Inside were neat rows of lockers and folded sets of protective clothing. Thick gloves, leather aprons, and enchanted goggles designed to ward against toxic fumes.
Noah ignored the chatter around him, stripping out of his uniform jacket and pulling on the protective gear.
His shadows hissed faintly, mirroring his movements like restless reflections. He tied the apron, adjusted the gloves, and slid the goggles over his eyes. Then, wordlessly, he walked back into the lab.
When the class reconvened, the Shade Panther’s body was already positioned on the central slab.
The assistants had shaved away parts of the fur along its side, exposing pale skin beneath. Scalpels, forceps, and enchanted knives were laid out on trays beside each group’s table.
Professor Stark gestured for them to gather close. "Watch first. Then, you’ll try."
With motions that said he’d done this so many times that it didn’t matter anymore, Stark picked up a long knife and made the first incision along the panther’s belly.
Dark blood oozed out, carried away quickly by the slab’s drainage grooves. He peeled the skin back to reveal the thick muscle beneath.
"First lesson." Stark said, pointing with the tip of the blade. "See this layer of flesh? Harmless. Nothing special. Not worth harvesting. Except maybe as meat."
He cut deeper, exposing slick organs glistening in the lamplight. The smell of blood and something acrid filled the air. A few students gagged. Stark ignored them.
He slid his knife under a dark, swollen sac near the stomach.
"This," he said, "is the venom gland. If you cut into it by mistake, the fumes will melt your lungs. Always remove it carefully first."
Noah leaned forward, his quill scratching across parchment as he noted every word.
The shadows wavered around the edge of his vision, whispering about how fragile flesh was, how easily it could be undone. He shut them out, focusing on Stark’s lesson.
One by one, Stark exposed organs and explained their uses.
The heart of a Shade Panther, he explained, could be used in alchemical brews to strengthen reflexes.
Its eyes contained concentrated mana, valuable to enchanters.
The liver, however, was toxic, infused with abyssal rot, and had to be destroyed.
When Stark was done, he stepped back and gestured to the assistants, who began rolling in additional slabs.
More Shade Panthers, dead, waiting to be cut open.
"Your turn," Stark said flatly. "Do it right, or you’ll regret it."
The students split into smaller groups. Noah took his place at a slab, the knife surprisingly heavy in his gloved hand.
The creature’s dead eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. For a moment, he saw himself in those eyes, bound, powerless, nothing more than a specimen.
His grip tightened.
He pressed the blade into the skin and made the first cut. The flesh parted easily, warm blood spilling across the grooves.
He worked carefully, recalling Stark’s words, peeling the skin back until the organs glistened.
His group hesitated, but Noah didn’t. His shadows were calm now, quiet, as if they too were watching intently.
He exposed the venom gland, cutting carefully around it, lifting it free without spilling a drop. He set it aside in the disposal jar.
"Good." Stark’s gravelly voice rumbled from behind him. "At least one of you’s not squeamish."
Noah said nothing, just kept cutting.
By the time the class ended, the Shade Panther was nothing but a dissected carcass.
Noah’s gloves were slick, his apron stained, but his notes were meticulous.
He had learned. And unlike some of his classmates who gagged and whispered in disgust, Noah only felt more alive.
He was learning valuable lessons he would be using on his enemies.
Knowledge was power. And power was what he’d take.