Rumble!

  In an instant, the entire castle shuddered, shaking violently.

  Tars had just opened his door and immediately reached out to brace himself against the wall. Is this the "method" she talked about? he wondered. He tried to open his spatial door, but his efforts were met with yet another failure.

  The rumbling showed no sign of stopping. He glanced left and right, still seeing no sign of Butler Ezel. Recalling the simplified map, he began empowering his spell models; Bull's Strength and Lightfoot were cast in succession, their enchantments settling over him. Spirit Boil sharpened his mind, clearing away the last lingering fog of sleep. Ready, he pushed off the wall and shot forward like an arrow from a bow.

  According to the Young Master, the map drawn by the succubus scholar was incomplete. This was not the deepest level of the castle; to reach the Library, he had to climb seven levels. Many areas had collapsed due to decay, and the succubus's knowledge reflected the castle's layout from a hundred years ago.

  "Ridiculous nobles..." Tars grumbled inwardly as he sprinted through the tremors.

  The entrance and exit for each floor were on opposite ends, forcing him to run in circles to climb level by level. He wondered how much time these aristocrats wasted just moving around. According to the succubus, the more noble the inhabitant, the lower they lived. The City Lord would be at the very bottom, followed by his children on the penultimate floor.

  As he ran, he hesitated over whether to swap out Bull's Strength from his first Sigil—his temporary spell slot—to pre-load a Fireball. This would allow for an instant cast. However, the Black Book's tip stated that to maximize the success rate of a One-Ring composite spell, one should not swap spells haphazardly. Tars wanted to take it to the extreme: keeping the same spell in the slot from the very moment of its creation.

  Level after level, he counted them off, continually amazed by the castle's sheer scale. The upper floors were even larger in area, and despite the many collapsed zones, he managed to find clear paths. Between complaints, he paused again to try opening his spatial door. Still nothing.

  Two levels left, he chanted to himself, pushing his speed to the limit.

  Suddenly, the tremors stopped.

  A profound silence reclaimed the castle, leaving only the sound of skittering pebbles and the occasional clatter of crystal lamp decorations falling in the corridors. Tars hesitated for a heartbeat but did not slow down; instead, he gritted his teeth and forced a final burst of speed. His joints let out ominous creaks.

  "Young Master, what are you doing?"

  The butler's silhouette appeared at the corner, right before the ascending staircase. Beyond this point, only one floor remained before the Library.

  Butler Ezel was as composed as ever, but his appearance was no longer perfect. An arm was missing from his shoulder, his clothes were shredded in several places, and he had lost a shoe. None of this affected his posture; his back remained as straight as a spear.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  "Young Master, there is no need for concern. Please return to your room and rest."

  The butler stood at the junction. Seeing that Tars showed no intention of advancing, Ezel began to walk toward him, step by step.

  "A few lowly demons wandered into the castle's perimeter. They possessed some strength but no intellect; I have already dealt with them. Do not worry, Young Master. The castle is sturdy. If I had not feared disturbing your rest, those demons could have spent their entire lives trying to breach the barrier without success."

  Old Ezel continued to draw near. Tars looked at the space beside him and slowly walked forward to meet him.

  "I want to give you the protective charm my father left for me, Ezel."

  He looked at the butler and quietly cast the Zero-Ring spell Fetid Skin. He no longer cared about provoking the man; he only wanted to sense Ezel's intent. To his relief, the butler harbored no malice toward his "fake" master, which allowed Tars to be even bolder.

  As he walked, Tars began unwrapping the cloth strip from his wrist. He realized that perhaps he didn't need to burn a corpse after all. The rigid butler looked dazed, seemingly caught off guard by the "Young Master's" gesture. Tars had noticed that after the battle, the injured butler seemed somewhat sluggish.

  Bolstering his courage, Tars took the butler's hand, as if leading a familiar elder. He snapped the cloth strip—taken from the dead wizard apprentice's robe—tight around Ezel's wrist. He positioned it so the Young Master's tooth pressed directly against the wound on the side of Ezel's arm. It was seeing that wound that gave Tars this idea.

  Butler Ezel's body seemed to have no blood flowing within it; even at the stump of his arm, not a single drop of fresh blood escaped.

  Tars decided to strike from two directions. He suddenly leaped past the butler's side and sprinted up the stairs.

  "I'll leave the rest to you!" he shouted without looking back.

  Before he had untied the cloth, the ghost of the Young Master had appeared at his side. Tars had changed his plan on the fly to give the two "old men" a surprise. Indeed, the Young Master was also hundreds of years old. By forcing this sudden reunion, he hoped to create the ultimate distraction.

  He charged upward and finally saw the doors to the Library. They were made of stone, imposing and thick, matching the castle's heavy walls perfectly. He held up his arm; a small fragment of the tooth was wedged into the toughened surface of his Mage Armor. He had snapped it off using Bull's Strength, remembering the Young Master's instruction that holding the tooth would guide him to the body.

  He pushed the doors open. The walls were lined with high-grade crystal lamps. Facing him was a portrait of a tall, heroic man in a strange set of blue armor. His face was similar to the Young Master's, but his aura made the boy look like a pale imitation.

  The City Lord, I assume, he thought.

  The Library was larger than he had imagined. Following the mystical guidance of the tooth fragment, he walked deeper into the stacks. Many of the lamps were broken, and it grew darker as he progressed, though the dimness was no obstacle for a kobold's eyes.

  At the very back, the bookshelves were arranged in concentric circles like a labyrinth. Judging by the marks on the floor, these shelves had once been capable of moving on their own. In the center of the circle, a dark, gaping staircase led downward.

  Tars reached the edge of the stairs and suddenly froze.

  A memory of the half-man's words flashed through his mind: as an outsider from another world, he would "feel" it if he drew near an Abyssal Altar. It was an unmistakable sensation. Now, he finally understood that indescribable feeling firsthand.

  There was an Abyssal Altar down there.

  Was the castle sent here through a sacrifice? he wondered.

  But that made no sense—it would be a suicidal act of madness. If it was a sacrifice, there had to be an object, a receiver. And why was the Young Master's corpse in such a place? Holding the half-face of the half-man in his hand as if it were a shield of courage, Tars began to descend the steps into the dark.