Chapter 80: Poor Little Sid

Thin, fragmented writing—fine as strands of hair—slowly flowed across the black page. After the final stroke was completed, silence fell.

Sid’s soul no longer asked who Saul was.

Nor did it pose any other questions.

He was gone.

The white characters on the black paper gradually dried and vanished, and the paper itself began to dissolve as if scorched by flame, until not a trace remained.

The diary flew back to Saul’s left shoulder and closed quietly.

“So the diary was actually a family heirloom of Sid’s? What kind of ancestor could create such a prophetic tool?”

Given the diary’s power, Saul leaned more toward the theory that Sid’s family had stumbled upon it by chance. But for various reasons, no one had been able to become its master—thus, they remained unaware of the diary’s true potential.

Still, Sid’s family might be hiding the diary’s origins and other secrets. If the opportunity arose, Saul would consider digging into the matter.

“But the issue with Sid’s grandfather needs more careful planning. I remember Sid touched the diary once before but didn’t activate it, so there must be other conditions required to trigger it.”

As Saul digested the newly acquired information, he glanced at his left hand.

“So the matter of the soul fragment is temporarily resolved… My left hand—this is… a Soul Resin? I think I’ve seen that term somewhere before. Yawn… Let me try to remember…”

Saul yawned, climbed into bed like a sleepy animal, and buried his head under the covers.

He was truly exhausted. Before his thoughts could drift too far, he fell into a deep sleep.

…

Saul opened his eyes before three in the afternoon.

Though he desperately wanted to sleep until noon the next day, he simply didn’t have the guts to skip work.

A corporate slave might be able to quit with a bucket in hand but in a wizard tower, that bucket probably contained your head.

The second floor of the East Tower looked the same as always, though the people had changed.

Senior Byron had left the morgue the day before.

As a Third Rank apprentice, he could no longer remain working in the morgue—it would be a waste of his talents in the eyes of the tower.

Tasks for Third Rank apprentices mostly lay in the outside world, so like the others, Byron would likely be away from the tower for long periods.

Before leaving, Senior Byron had instructed Saul that if Kongsha came asking about whatever Sid was searching for, he should just push everything onto him.

Saul figured Kongsha wouldn’t be stupid enough to offend Byron or lose her carefully planted inside contact in the morgue—over some mysterious object.

Replacing Byron was an unfamiliar Second Rank apprentice. The newcomer must’ve received some briefing from Byron because when he first saw Saul, he even gave him a polite nod.

Today’s work was as thrilling as ever.

Not everyone goes quietly into death.

Saul had to slap a crying female corpse into unconsciousness before he could cut off her ear with a knife.

That ear sprouted wings and tried desperately to fly away, but Saul tied it up with string and stuffed it into a small box to keep it in check.

That night, Saul finally didn’t have any nightmares.

But in a small city one barony away from the Gorsa Wizard Tower…

Someone else wouldn’t be sleeping tonight.

Since marrying her current merchant husband, Madam Hanna had been living the life of a noblewoman.

Especially since her husband was often away on business, the two lived separately and never interfered with each other’s affairs.

The manor they currently lived in had been purchased from an old steward by the merchant husband.

Because the original owners had all died, the manor was bought at a heavily discounted price.

At first, Madam Hanna felt uneasy living in a house where people had died. But after a few days, she realized the estate was actually quite wonderful!

Spacious, elegant, with front and back gardens, and fully furnished with luxurious furniture.

Living here made her feel like a true noblewoman.

But at dusk, the front garden suddenly caved in, revealing a stone coffin underground.

Madam Hanna rushed to get people to take care of it.

Having other dead bodies buried in her home was unsettling.

She wanted the stone coffin removed—then she could go demand compensation from the old steward who sold them the property.

But as they tried to move the coffin, the lid unexpectedly slid open.

A servant, hoping for some buried treasure, opened it completely on his own.

But there was no treasure inside—only a withered corpse.

Everyone was disappointed and just wanted to get rid of the thing.

But then, the corpse inside the stone coffin suddenly reached out and grabbed an old servant standing nearby.

The servant screamed and struggled, but he was no match for the corpse’s strength.

The corpse’s charred black skin began to ripple like it was alive, unfolding layer by layer, stretching out into countless thin tendrils.

The tendrils wrapped the old servant tightly, like a giant python devouring a deer.

Everyone nearby scattered in terror—except for Madam Hanna.

Her legs had gone weak with fear, and no one came to help her.

She tried to run, but her legs refused to obey, and she collapsed to the ground.

Then, a shriveled, dark hand reached out to the tearful and trembling Madam Hanna.

“Which old servant is this?” Hanna thought as she shakily grabbed the strong hand in front of her. “I’ll have to reward him handsomely once I get out of here.”

But as Madam Hanna stood up with its help, she was met with an unfamiliar, aged face.

“No need to panic, madam. That was just a little accident. I’ve simply been hungry for a long time.”

The old man had no hair, dark wrinkled skin, and was skin and bones.

Madam Hanna finally remembered who he was.

Wasn’t he the corpse from the coffin?

He had come back to life and was already noticeably plumper than before!

Knowing she couldn’t outrun him, Madam Hanna broke into cries and begged for mercy.

The sound of her sobbing irritated the old man. The skin on his face rippled with movement, and his eyes fell on her plump, fair chest, showing clear desire.

“Master.”

A voice—equally old—suddenly drew the elder’s attention.

He looked up to see a white-haired man in a black butler’s uniform holding a set of clothes.

The elder smiled.

“Hunter, when I first opened my eyes and saw so many strangers, I thought something had happened to you.”

Butler Hunter calmly stepped forward, handed him the clothes, and helped restrain the struggling Madam Hanna.

“Old Hunter? Old Hunter!” Madam Hanna recognized the former steward who had sold them the estate. “Please help me, help me!”

One of her arms was locked tightly in Hunter’s grip. She finally realized this old man was frighteningly strong too.

But neither the eerie elder nor the butler paid her any mind.

“I figured you’d be starving when you awoke, Master. These people are snacks I prepared for you,” said Hunter respectfully, delivering a chillingly cruel statement.

The elder laughed. “Hahaha, they’re all edible?”

“I’ve checked—no one with important connections. Please enjoy, Master.”

The elder was thrilled. He grabbed the nearly unconscious Madam Hanna and lifted her to his face.

He didn’t open his mouth but from his face to his abdomen, the charred black skin split open from the center, revealing blood-red inner layers.

In one “bite,” he devoured half of Madam Hanna’s body.

…

Having just awoken from the stone coffin, the old man took some time to enjoy his feast. Now, the entire manor was silent, and the elder—once a desiccated corpse—had returned to the form of a lean, ordinary old man. Only his skin remained dark, tinged with crimson, too unsettling to look at directly.

Dressed in the robe brought by Butler Hunter, the elder rubbed his century egg-like bald head.

“Looks like it’ll take a few days for my hair to grow back. I must look ridiculous right now, huh?” he asked casually.

“You are always the epitome of grace, Master,” Hunter replied respectfully.

The two strolled deeper into the manor.

“Master has finally awoken. Did you find the diary?”

“There was a complication. It seems someone else stole the diary. Little Sid tried to take it back and was killed.”

“Oh, poor young master,” Butler Hunter bowed again, though there was not a hint of grief on his face.

“Yes… my poor grandson. He was my last living blood relative.”

The dark-skinned elder was none other than Sid’s grandfather—Ralph.

The last surviving member of the Bloodthorn family.

But the old man quickly cheered up again. “Still, the boy proved useful. Before he died, he found the diary and triggered the mark I left on him. His spirit will continue to cling to the killer. All I have to do is find them in person and I’ll know who holds the diary.”

(End of Chapter)

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