Chapter 91: Go Back

The gardener once said that the Soul-Devouring Mire lived in an abandoned laboratory, which meant it was likely a creature bred or modified by a wizard in the past.

And someone had fallen down there before Saul. Judging by the gardener’s tone, no one had died from it.

So, the Soul-Devouring Mire probably wasn’t an especially aggressive creature.

Saul was willing to try the method the tendril had recommended for two reasons: first, it seemed sensitive to souls, so it might have an innate intuition toward soul resin materials; second, he had no other leads at the moment.

He rewrote his formulas and adjusted his combinations.

Saul took out the alternative ingredients he’d found and swapped in the reagent rolled up by the seaweed dumpling.

Of course, before he tested it, he had the diary verify the goods.

By now, Saul was already very practiced in mixing this potion. It didn’t take long before he saw the underwater vortex.

“Doesn’t seem all that different.” Saul held the test tube in one hand and picked up his pen with the other, continuing to record the reaction.

“Next…” Once the reagent had fully reacted, Saul brought out a small piece of refined plastic bone and slowly poured the new reagent over it.

The plastic bone softened again, and Saul prodded it gently with a glass stirring rod.

“Softer now.” Saul finally noticed a slight difference in the result. “But its properties don’t seem to have changed much.”

He tilted his head and noticed that the root of the black tendril had somehow snuck back behind his neck again, its tip waving beside his cheek.

It occasionally floated near the diary, as if it could vaguely sense something; other times, it weaved through the materials on Saul’s table, looking like it was about to tie itself into a knot.

“Back.” Saul gave a low command.

The black tendril immediately retracted beside his cheek—surprisingly obedient and docile.

“The diary has no reaction to the softened plastic bone. Seems this step can’t yet be called soul resin.”

Saul’s left hand had gained the diary’s recognition and the not-so-flattering name “soul resin” only after absorbing Sid’s soul fragment.

“Maybe what’s missing… is the soul fragment as a catalyst…”

Saul jotted his theory into his notes.

“But where do I get soul fragments?” he muttered. The books mentioned that ordinary people’s souls dispersed very quickly. Normally, only apprentices with sufficient mental strength could produce relatively stable mental fragments. Unless ordinary people experienced corruption or extremely intense mental fluctuations, their souls were unlikely to linger long—so soul fragments were rare.

Even working in the morgue, Saul rarely came across them.

And even if he did, chances were they’d be snatched up in the first or second morgue rooms.

But he couldn’t give up the plastic bone material just for the sake of a soul fragment.

“Am I really going to have to buy them?”

His wallet was drying up at an alarming rate. Saul frowned with worry. Once he burned through the spoils he’d collected, could he really scrape by on just his monthly credits?

…

“Tower Master, Ralph of the Bloodthorn family has come to visit you.” A blond-haired, blue-eyed male Second-Rank apprentice stood at the doorway of the lounge and bowed deeply to the man inside—Gorsa.

This was the eighteenth floor of the Wizard Tower. From the eighteenth to the twenty-first floors, all belonged solely to Tower Master Gorsa.

There was a grand reception room on the eighteenth floor, luxuriously decorated.

Everything the kings and nobles sought and loved could be found there.

But that was only for entertaining ordinary guests.

Beside the main reception room was a small, unassuming lounge.

This was where the Tower Master usually met with mentors and apprentices.

There were no typical tables or chairs—only couches wrapped in soft cotton and a thick plush carpet that swallowed the sound of footsteps.

The walls of the lounge were lined with flower racks, upon which bloomed the very companion flowers Saul had once chosen.

At the moment, the companion flowers were swaying in perfect unison—like they were dancing, or craning their necks to sing.

On the outer wall were two nearly floor-to-ceiling rectangular windows. The frosted glass let in sunlight that was faintly dim.

The master of the entire Wizard Tower, Gorsa, sat on the widest couch in the lounge. His entire body was wrapped in a huge dark red cloak, with only a sliver of pink jaw showing beneath the hood.

Standing across from him was an old, hunched man with graying hair and a wrinkled face.

He was respectful, though visibly lacking in spirit.

It was none other than Saul’s official mentor—Kaz.

The two were in the middle of a conversation when the apprentice messenger interrupted.

Gorsa turned to the apprentice. “The Bloodthorn family?”

The apprentice bowed even lower. “He is from the family of Sid, a Second-Rank apprentice in the tower.”

Kaz recalled it at the apprentice’s prompt.

“Ralph of the Bloodthorn family? Didn’t he die? I remember the burial was rather hasty.”

“Oh, right,” Gorsa suddenly grew interested and turned to Kaz. “The Bloodthorn family’s body modification magic was quite interesting. Shame it didn’t align with our research. Otherwise, he would’ve made a decent mentor here.”

Kaz gave an awkward smile and softly reminded Gorsa, “Tower Master, Sid was the apprentice killed by Saul. And Sid was Ralph’s grandson.”

“Oh? So what’s Ralph coming for?”

This question was directed at the apprentice messenger.

Still bowed, the apprentice answered immediately, “Ralph wishes to retrieve his grandson’s corpse.”

“Heh.” Gorsa let out a soft laugh. “Ralph’s a dark-attribute wizard himself—how could he possibly think any corpse would be left? Should we just grab some random bone from underground and hand it over?”

Kaz: “…”

“Just kidding.” Seeing Kaz’s expression, Gorsa knew what he was thinking. “He is, after all, a proper First-Rank wizard. We can’t be that rude.”

Kaz realized that whatever the Tower Master took seriously, he’d better take seriously too. So he offered, “Perhaps he wants to find out who the killer is.”

After all, that was the apprentice you originally had your eye on!

“Good point.” Gorsa nodded.

Then, without warning—he vanished.

Kaz inhaled sharply. The cold breath slipped through his teeth, making his entire jaw ache.

Something told him the Tower Master wasn’t going to do anything good!

Seeing the apprentice still bowing stiffly, Kaz waved him away.

Then he walked over to one of the frosted windows and gently wiped it with his hand, revealing the outside scene.

At close range and extremely clear.

As expected, the Tower Master had already appeared before Ralph, who was waiting outside.

…

Ralph had just stepped out of his carriage.

Dressed in black noble robes, he stood solemnly before the entrance of the Wizard Tower, wearing a look of grief.

He didn’t expect to see Gorsa so easily.

After all, the man was a Second-Rank wizard—powerful, respected, with real status. It wouldn’t be strange if someone like Ralph, a First-Rank wizard with little backing, had to wait half a day just to get a word in.

But what Ralph didn’t expect was that not even five minutes after sending his message, a figure suddenly appeared before him.

Ralph had never seen Gorsa, but he instantly recognized him.

Teleportation!

No wonder Gorsa was considered one of the top Second-Rank wizards in the entire wizarding world. He could already touch on spatial magic—a domain typically reserved for Fourth-Rank wizards.

Jealousy surged within Ralph like madness. He became even more determined to retrieve the Diary of a Dead Wizard.

He was certain that once he activated the diary, he could use the knowledge within to ascend to the Fourth Rank!

By then, neither Gorsa nor the family behind him would be able to do anything but lick Ralph’s boots!

“I know why you’re here,” Gorsa said gently, despite being wrapped entirely in his cloak—his tone as soft as a comforting whisper. “Since you’ve joined the Wizard Tower, even in death, the body belongs to me. Go back.”

Ralph knew things wouldn’t go smoothly, but he couldn’t give up. Even learning the killer’s identity would be enough—he could lie in wait to ambush them.

But negotiations required back-and-forth. So Ralph first made a more outrageous request.

“I understand, my lord. It is Sid’s honor to have contributed to your research. But I hope to personally take revenge. In return, I’m willing to offer the Bloodthorn family’s secret body modification techniques.”

“Hmm…” Gorsa seemed to consider it.

Was it working?

The corners of Ralph’s mouth began to twitch tighter with anticipation.

But the next moment, Gorsa raised a hand, revealing a pale pink palm.

“Go back. Did you hear me?”

Ralph felt a wave of deep humiliation, but he stifled his rage, trying to appear even more humble. “Honorable Lord Gorsa…”

A blinding white light suddenly burst from Gorsa’s palm.

“What—” Ralph had only enough time to think before he felt his entire body ignite.

No pain—but he was burning.

Behind him, the old butler Hunt, who had silently held the horse reins, watched in shock as his master’s body, after the white flash, twisted and lumped like hair caught in open flame.

An aged head fell with a “thud” onto two upright legs.

The three parts rolled into one.

(End of Chapter)

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