Tars eventually agreed to the succubus lady's proposal. He felt that even if the performance failed, he likely wouldn't be the one to lose his life. In exchange, he secured a simplified map of the castle, drawn by the hand of the unique succubus scholar herself. He planned to make a few attempts of his own alongside her scheme.

  Compared to the succubus, he seemed to possess a much greater degree of freedom to roam. However, he still needed to verify that for himself.

  Naturally, the beautiful scholar could not remain in the Young Master's bedroom; the old butler appeared at the perfect moment to escort her away.

  Tars prayed for her, hoping that with today's changes, she might be allowed to return to her own room tonight instead of being trapped in the classroom. In the succubus's words, Tars's arrival was like a stone cast into a lake, forcing the dusty, crippled castle to drag its broken legs into motion once more.

  Before she left, he asked her about the powerful "City Lord" she had mentioned.

  The succubus only knew that the Lord had entrusted the castle and the Young Master to Butler Ezel. Logically, the City Lord should have arrived shortly after they reached the Abyss. Ezel's final order had been to wait at the arrival point for his master's appearance.

  The castle's arrival in the Abyss had been sudden, and many retainers and servants had been left behind. Upon reaching the Abyss, most of the remaining servants fell ill and never recovered. Butler Ezel, following the Lord's instructions, sealed the castle to wait. Driven by trust and adoration for the City Lord, the inhabitants remained hopeful—including the succubus, who had only served him for two years. That wait had lasted over three hundred years.

  During her two years in the castle, the scholar had little contact with Ezel. But after the lockdown began, she noticed him becoming increasingly erratic. One day, out of nowhere, Ezel notified her to prepare for lessons, leading to the scene where she first met Tars. In those early days, servants still brought her delicious meals. Ezel simply told her to wait there for the Young Master. She spent day after day in fury; gradually, the servants stopped coming. Eventually, a friendly servant told her that many of them had died.

  The butler waited for a City Lord who would likely never come, while she was trapped in a classroom, waiting for a Young Master she would seemingly never see.

  Reflecting on this, Tars felt a sudden sense of insignificance. He felt that they were all tiny, existing in some silent, forgotten corner of the world where bizarre events unfolded. To those involved, these events felt like epic shifts in fate, yet they remained unheard, for they were too small for the world to hear their cries.

  He unfolded the map the succubus had drawn. In his hand, he held an exquisite hardwood pen, naturally designed to absorb ink for writing.

  When the succubus gave it to him, she said it was a specialty of their planar world. There used to be a garden in front of the castle planted with these dwarf trees. On the side near the study and library, one could open a window and snap off a small branch. If one wasn't afraid of the trouble, a craftsman could be commissioned to carve beautiful patterns into the wood.

  He studied the map, hardwood pen in one hand, while the other occasionally scratched at the fine new hairs growing on the back of his neck. If he hadn't already cast Fetid Skin, he would have truly believed someone was standing behind him, playfully messing with his hair.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Suddenly, a sharp itch flared up. He instinctively reached back with both hands to scratch. The hardwood pen slipped, accidentally drawing a circle on the map.

  He blinked and didn't look at the map immediately; instead, he whipped his head around. Behind him was empty space, and the uncleaned floor showed no strange tracks in the dust. But he knew something was there—or had been just a moment ago. The moment the pen fell, the strange itch vanished.

  "Are you still there?" He tried to sense his surroundings with mental energy. Given his Fetid Skin, he could tell there was no malice; moreover, it seemed quite a struggle for the entity to influence him at all.

  Taking a deep breath, he looked at the map. The circle drawn by the falling pen had perfectly encompassed a place he had already intended to visit: the castle’s library.

  When the succubus explained the map, she mentioned that in their planar world, nobles were obsessed with building these "inverted" castles. The higher the status, the lower the room. Rooms for special purposes, like libraries, were located in the "upper" sections near the surface. This meant he would have to climb many levels.

  "Do you want me to go there?" he asked, looking around, but again received no response.

  Tars stopped overthinking and performed a quick meditation to steady his nerves before lying down to rest. Knowing an invisible person might be in the room was a bit of a hurdle for sleep, but fortunately, Fetid Skin remained dormant. He used the Black Book as a pillow and lay on the floor. Since there might be someone else in the room—likely the real Young Master—he didn't want to touch the bed, and it was too filthy to use without cleaning anyway.

  I wonder if Old Golden-Tooth is doing alright, he thought. He had wanted to see if the elder's injuries healed as quickly as the Big-Dumb-Humper's. Old Golden-Tooth had assumed Dragon-Vein kobolds lacked such abilities, but that was because he didn't know the black fruit had been soaked in unique exotic dragon blood. Such regenerative power was invaluable for low-tier combatants like Dragon-Vein kobolds who fought with brute simplicity.

  Tars drifted off into a messy sleep. When he woke, his face was covered in dust; he had unknowingly rolled out of his cleaned patch. Outside, the butler's knocking sounded.

  "Young Master, breakfast is prepared. Shall I bring it to your room?"

  Tars immediately agreed. He didn't want to go back to the dining hall to face whatever mud-pie was on the menu today.

  Today was his first official day playing "house" with the two centenarians. He also needed to discuss the details of yesterday's interrupted conversation with the succubus scholar. Most importantly, he had to test the library to see if the butler would stop him.

  Soon, the butler returned with a dining cart, leaving with a polite wish for Tars to enjoy his breakfast in a pleasant mood. Tars gently lifted the golden dish cover. As expected: more mud.

  He dumped it into a corner of the room, and a slip of paper fell out from under the cover. It was written in a hurried, scrawled Abyssal:

  I know you are not him, but I cannot control myself. My mind is a mess. Perhaps for a day, or two, or three... I have moments of clarity, but my memories of the past and present tangle together. When I saw the strong servants fall one by one, even walking toward death, I knew: this is the Abyss's curse upon the descendants of the Forsaken. Wizard from another land, please grant my request. Take the Young Master to your world. I think he can live there. It is the last thing I can do for him...

  Please forgive my disorganized words. I am currently lucid and only know that I must do this, so I hurried to write it here in hopes you would see it. I have heard that wizards are learned, so I chose the Abyssal tongue. I am inextricably linked to this castle now; perhaps I am already dead. The castle's core power protects the Young Master deep within the Library, rather than the bottom levels where most nobles keep their treasures—this was the City Lord's wisdom.

  Master Wizard, if you have doubts, find a succubus I have kept protected. I partitioned the castle's power days ago to isolate her in the Young Master's classroom; she should still be there. I hope that in my confusion, I ordered the servants to look after her.

  The moment we left home and reached the Abyss, I suspected the City Lord would never come.