When Saul noticed that no matter what material he picked up, the hardcover book would only show a single word—“Death”—he knew it.
He had reached the limit.
Not the book’s limit, but the cauldron’s.
Even with the naked eye, he could clearly see the thick, sticky violet slurry occasionally bubble, churning up a few vaguely familiar organs that quickly sank back down again.
Like a drowning man struggling endlessly, only to succumb beneath the surface and become a mess of bones and sludge.
With a somber expression, Saul grabbed the handle of the cauldron and dumped its contents into the large corpse bin.
The bin provided by the Wizard Tower was quite the marvel.
No matter how much a corpse might twitch or thrash, the moment it was tossed inside, it went as quiet as a lamb.
Saul watched as the concoction began to react with the “guests” in the bin, forming some sort of indescribable chemical reaction. Before the smoke could spread, he quickly slammed the lid shut.
He straightened up and looked at the mildly twitching container, shaking his head with a sigh.“As expected, with my current meager knowledge of wizardry, trying to succeed through dumb luck was a long shot.”
“Or maybe... maybe anything involving olfactory modification is just beyond my understanding for now. Should I try a different direction?”
He turned to look at the remaining materials on the lab bench, estimating he still had enough left to ruin a few more attempts.
In the corner of the workbench lay a book filled with pages of handwritten notes.
Written in Saul’s former life’s language, it catalogued the countless ways to die mentioned by the hardcover book during experimentation.
Saul carefully analyzed and categorized each recorded cause of death to reverse engineer the traits of the materials used—and their potential effects in potion-making.
He refined his direction through constant deduction and summary.
It was a classic case of working backward from the result to uncover the process.
A method no other wizard would even dare to imagine.
Flick!
The sound of candle lighting interrupted Saul’s train of thought.
He sighed, rolled up his sleeves again, and shook himself back into focus.
As painful as it was to have a stroke of inspiration interrupted, customers meant one thing—an ongoing supply of experimental materials.
Research was often dull and monotonous, especially when you didn’t understand the fundamentals of what you were doing.
After five long days of monotony, Saul finally welcomed a new guest on the sixth—a First Rank apprentice.
This one wasn’t a new student. Saul had never seen him before and had no idea how he’d died so suddenly, his eyes wide with helpless terror as they stared upward.
That upward gaze nearly pushed the whole iris beneath the upper lid.
Like something above had caught all his attention.
The body was incomplete. The senior, Hayden, who handled the prior step of the process, was usually meticulous.
Which meant Saul’s harvest this time was lacking.
After checking and finding little of use, Saul had to make do with the head.
He stored the harvested organs in a box of just the right size.
Then, using the pale yellow leather Kongsha had given him, he wrapped the whole box and set it aside.
As for the rest of the guests, into the corpse bin it went.
When it came time to clock out, Saul stood at the doorway, nervously peeking out with the tightly wrapped box in his arms.
This was the first time he’d taken a corpse out of the morgue.
Even with Kongsha’s guarantee, he was still on edge.
Rules at the Wizard Tower didn’t always matter—so long as no one found out.
Someone like Kongsha, with her strength, wouldn’t need to scavenge corpses to get her hands on a First Rank apprentice’s brain.
She could create a few herself any time she wanted.
Yet, she had gone to great lengths to plant Saul in the morgue, just for one brain a month.
Clearly, the Tower valued its apprentices.
Sneaking off a few was one thing. But do it too much... and the price would be too much.
If I can’t smuggle the material out, I’ll just leave it in the morgue for Kongsha to collect later. The servants never touch anything outside the workstation anyway, he reassured himself. Always have a fallback before you fail.
Clutching the box, Saul quietly stepped out of the morgue.
To avoid running into any senior colleagues or students, he had deliberately waited until nearly eight to leave.
The hallway lights were dimmer now than in the afternoon. Even the flickering candle flames seemed to be urging him to hurry.
At the end of the hallway, Saul spotted a hulking figure slumped against the wall like a corpse.
He stepped forward.
The man’s nose twitched.
Saul instinctively hugged the box closer, ready to flee.
The man turned his face toward Saul, nostrils flaring again.
Silence.
Saul could hear his own breathing.
Then, the man moved.
Using one hand to brace himself, he slowly stood.
Though “stood” might not be the right word—it was more like he rose while keeping his head low, shoulders hunched, careful not to bump his skull on the ceiling.
Even though blind, the man walked straight toward Saul’s position.
This is bad.
Saul backed up until his back pressed against the cold stone wall. A numbing sensation crept into his gut.
Busted.
Why didn’t the book warn me? If getting caught wasn’t fatal, maybe... maybe I could avoid punishment by returning the stuff now?
He glanced at the crimson door not far away, considering whether to just put the box back.
Maybe they’d go easy on him.
But then the man changed direction.
Just as Saul lifted one foot, he hesitated and set it back down.
The man squeezed into the morgue, stopping precisely at the workstation and dragging out the corpse bin from underneath.
The heavy container looked like a foam prop in his hand.
Without bumping into anything, the giant smoothly exited the morgue.
Right turn.
Saul stood there silently, watching the man walk into the pitch-dark hallway, holding the bin like it was nothing.
His heavy footsteps echoed... then faded away.
Time to go.
He was in the clear.
Snapping out of it, Saul realized it was late and bolted with the box in his arms.
The East Tower was dangerous for a First Rank apprentice—especially someone like him, who only knew two weak Tier-0 spells and had little means of self-defense.
The closest path between the East and West Towers was on the fifth floor.
As he ran, something started to feel off.
He only needed to circle three times to get from the second to the fifth floor...
But hadn’t he been running for a long time without turning?
Unease crept into his chest, but he didn’t dare stop.
His head felt heavy. His balance was off. He was on the verge of toppling over.
It felt like something had emerged from the crown of his head—growing into a swaying mass that threw off his center of gravity.
Saul tried to look up but froze.
He thought of that apprentice from earlier.
The one whose eyes had strained upward as if to glimpse something on top of his own head.
Saul skidded to a halt.
And as he stopped, something swung quickly in front of his face.
A smooth forehead, a glimpse of eyes, something dangling down—then snapping back up from tension.
What the hell is on my head?
Of course, the Wizard Tower had no love for him.
While others might “walk by the river without getting wet,” he was the kind who’d fall in first thing.
His mental talent had given him the means to survive... but also placed him on the edge of death.
He slowly lifted one hand.
Fingers passed his brow—but stopped midair.
What if I actually touch something?
He withdrew his hand.
Keeping his head still, he glanced at the hardcover book.
Can you respond to something?
No response.
The tension drained from him.
No reaction from the book. Nice~
Still clutching the box, even though he suspected the culprit was inside it, Saul didn’t loosen his grip.
He walked steadily to the wall and calculated the distance.
“Nice to meet you!”
With clenched teeth and fury in his voice, he gave a sudden ninety-degree bow toward the wall.
His figure blurred into motion.
Thunk!
Something slammed hard into the wall.
Splaaat—
Followed by the unmistakable sound of something wet shattering.
Saul stood upright again, cold liquid dripping down his head.
It felt like someone had squirted shampoo directly onto his scalp.
Freezing.
Slowly trickling down.
Expression blank, he wiped a thick smear from his forehead to keep the slime out of his eyes.
“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”
(End of Chapter)