"You are already dead?" Tars asked.

  The youth nodded with a smile.

  "I died a very long time ago. Old Ezel knows it, too, but then he forgets," the youth said with a touch of helplessness. "I don't like the way he is now. When he was young, he was my father's closest friend. But he couldn't keep up with my father's footsteps; his talent was poor. It was only with my father's help that he reached the level he did and gained a few more years of life. When I was born, he became the butler of this castle to look after me—a natural weakling who could never touch transcendent power..."

  Tars listened in silence, not interrupting. It seemed this young man also had a deep desire to be heard.

  Thud! Thud! Thud!

  A series of knocks sounded at the door. The steady, unchanging rhythm announced the visitor's identity.

  "Young Master, I have brought your dinner to your room."

  Tars felt a flash of tension at the old butler's voice, but seeing the calm expression on the youth beside him, he relaxed. He quickly moved the bed back into place and went to open the door. The youth followed right by his side.

  "Young Master, please enjoy your dinner in a pleasant mood."

  The familiar dining cart was slowly pushed in by the old butler.

  "He used to say that often. My father said he'd grown old and wasn't as humorous as before, but he only looks elderly; my father was actually the older one," the youth suddenly spoke, giving Tars a start. "Father said that during their old adventures, Ezel was a lively man who would sing loudly during rests, let out foul farts right in Father's face, and sometimes get punched by the captain for causing trouble with his flighty personality."

  Tars quickly realized that even as they stood shoulder-to-shoulder, the real Young Master's voice and presence had no effect on the old butler.

  "With his strength, he should actually be able to see me..."

  The youth and Tars watched together as Butler Ezel's receding figure vanished, and the door closed with the groan of its hinges.

  "Actually, I died shortly after the castle arrived in the Abyss. On the day I truly died, he looked at me—me in this state, of course, not the corpse. Just then, a servant outside called his name. He turned his head to say a few words, and when he turned back, he could no longer see me. He completely forgot that I had passed away."

  The handsome youth smiled, seemingly accustomed to the butler's "blindness."

  "You should know that I want to leave this place," Tars said.

  "Yes, and that is exactly what I want to ask of you. We will both get what we desire, and everyone will be quite happy," the youth said composedly.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Tars adopted an attentive posture, his eyes shining as if looking at a golden key that could unlock any door. The youth seemed satisfied with Tars's cooperative attitude.

  "Please bring my body out. Not out of the castle, but just to the inner gate. Use magical flames to burn my corpse," the youth instructed.

  "That's it?" Tars wrinkled his nose to hold the monocle in place, expressing doubt. Truthfully, he was afraid of being played, so he discreetly cast Fetid Skin before asking again.

  "I will handle the rest. Over the years, I have used the castle to accumulate some power," the youth said as his form began to blur. "You only need to do this. I will definitely get you out. Trust me; the House of Iron never breaks a promise."

  Tars nodded quickly, watching the youth fade into nothingness.

  "I must go. Take this tooth; once you reach the Library, you will find my body. I cannot appear here for too long, but as long as you hold this tooth, I can manifest near you."

  The youth vanished completely.

  Tars held the tooth, sensing no malice. Suddenly, a problem occurred to him: why did it have to be magical flames? He didn't know any spells that could produce fire yet.

  He pulled out the Mind-Core Potion, thought for a moment, and put it back. He had another tool to speed up his spell learning. He tapped into his Abyssal Bedroom space and pulled out another storage pouch—the one belonging to the wizard apprentice he had killed. That fellow had been quite proficient in the Fireball spell; he had likely solidified it in a spell slot, as a casual wave of his hand had once given Tars his closest brush with death.

  Aside from meditation and good food, mastering new spells was Tars's favorite activity.

  He didn't rely solely on the apprentice's notes. Instead, he prioritized the orthodox, fundamental version taught in standard books. According to the apprentice's notes, his modified Fireball was designed to burst cleanly upon impact, making it less effective at actually igniting a target.

  On one hand, he had a modified spell from a fifth-level apprentice—complete with insights and research processes—and on the other, the most stable, basic version refined by countless predecessors, designed to be cast successfully even by the mentally unstable. Comparing the two was fascinating, and his progress was nearly as fast as if he had taken the potion. Of course, taking the potion as well would have been a much more luxurious version of the story.

  His previous plan of "balancing work and rest" was broken once again.

  When hungry, he ate grubs; when tired, he activated Spirit Boil, supplementing it with regular meditation. In this dust-filled room, he transformed into a greedy fish feasting on magical knowledge—though he was still far from having an ocean of his own. Only the appearance of the old butler could force him to pause his swim.

  Even under the succubus's inquisitive gaze, he continued to study spells silently. He only told her selective bits about the Young Master. He was, after all, a cautious kobold.

  "If that's the case, it will be very difficult for you to reach the Library," the succubus said lazily, leaning her elbow on the table. "Since Old Ezel is intentionally ignoring him, he will subconsciously prevent anyone else from seeing him or knowing of the Young Master's death. Naturally, he won't let anyone near the Library."

  Tars opened his eyes at her words.

  "I have a plan, but I need that silver potion you received the other day. I assume you haven't used it yet, since you were only faking being unwell," she said.

  "Do you not want to leave here anymore?" Tars swung his short legs, looking at her. The bottle had no mental notes on it; he had planned to ask the half-man what it was once he got back.

  "Of course I do," the succubus said languidly. "That’s why I need the potion—to get us closer to success."

  Tars didn't waste any more words and handed over the potion. The succubus accepted it with delight, stuffing it into her storage ring immediately as if afraid he would regret it. Notably, the succubus had been able to return to her own room to sleep these past few days. Tars guessed her newfound capabilities were a result of the changes his arrival had triggered.

  "If we get out, will you invite me to visit your world, my Lord Wizard?" the succubus added.