Diary of a Dead Wizard

“Mental form,” Haywood kept both hands hidden beneath his cloak. There was a steady pulse emanating from the back of his head, but before it could even graze Saul’s mental radiation, he cautiously withdrew it.

“Your mental strength is powerful, yes, but don’t forget to rest. A wizard isn’t a machine, after all.”

“Understood. Thank you.” Saul didn’t know how Haywood had discerned the state of his mental form, but considering how strange the man’s eyes were, he wasn’t surprised he could pull it off.

“You haven’t read that book I gave you yet, have you?”

He was referring to the book about the Nightmare Butterfly.

Before Saul could answer, Haywood continued on his own, “Well, I suppose it’s too early for you to study it anyway. Let me remind you again. You’re holding onto a cocoon. You must constantly monitor the integrity of its seal.”

By the time he finished speaking, the two of them had reached the bronze gate.

With both hands empty, Haywood naturally stepped forward to push the door open.

But the moment Saul saw the hands that stretched out from beneath the cloak, his eyes tightened sharply.

Completely different from what they’d been yesterday!

Thick, razor-sharp nails scraped across the bronze doors with a high-pitched screech.

Only one door of the bronze pair opened, and Haywood was the first to walk through, never bothering to explain the condition of his hands.

“Maybe he didn’t look pale yesterday because of the events that happened…” Saul instinctively felt that Haywood’s hands weren’t the result of some body modification experiment.

More like… temporary grafts for short-term use.

But what situation would require someone to sever their original arms?

An accident in an experiment? Or… A punishment?

For some reason, an image of Gorsa’s gentle silver eyes suddenly surged into Saul’s mind, sending a chill down his spine.

The cart rattled along the sloping path of the East Tower, and before long, he arrived outside Mentor Anze’s quarters.

This seemed to be Saul’s first time receiving a task that led him to Anze.

Which really showed how lazy Mentor Anze usually was!

He stopped the cart and stepped up to knock on the door.

But before his hand could touch it, the door automatically slid open sideways—

Just like an elevator.

Saul pushed the cart inside and was greeted by a narrow corridor—barely wide enough to accommodate the cart.

On either side of the passage were small rooms. Each room had a large pane of glass on its door, allowing one to clearly see inside.

To Saul’s surprise, nearly every room contained two or three apprentices.

As he continued forward, he realized that Anze’s large chamber had been subdivided into more than twenty small rooms—

Meaning there were at least forty people working here.

No wonder Lokai was so desperate to recruit new apprentices. Otherwise, there wouldn’t be enough for Anze to order around.

Saul pushed the cart all the way to the end of the hallway.

There stood the only room without a window.

“This must be Mentor Anze’s room,” Saul thought, preparing to knock—when someone came out.

He looked up—

It was Kujin.

The burly man… was crying?!

Saul suddenly felt a little uneasy.

No matter how lazy Anze might be, he was still a dangerous and terrifying true wizard.

Whether Gorsa looked down on them or not—that was Gorsa’s business.

“But I mustn’t forget my own place just because I’ve spent more time with the Tower Master.”

Kujin noticed Saul just then. He quickly wiped the tears from his face and, without a word, squeezed past the cart and hurried away—

Looking like he was fleeing in disgrace.

“Enter.”

Just as Saul turned back to watch Kujin leave, a weak voice came from inside.

He quickly faced forward, cleared his throat, and pushed the cart inside.

Although the mentor’s room was quite large, after being carved up into a corridor and twenty-plus chambers, this leftover space now felt quite cramped.

Anze was half-reclining on a lounge chair, eyes half-closed.

“Leave the cart outside.”

Saul was still parsing whether that meant to leave the cart and bring in the materials, or to leave both the cart and materials outside and just go in himself—

But someone else made the decision for him.

An apprentice came out from a nearby room and began unloading the materials from the cart.

“Well, that means I’m going in alone. Guess this task wasn’t just about collecting ingredients.”

Saul straightened up, composed his expression to show a mix of fear and vigilance, and stepped into Anze’s room.

Hearing Saul’s approaching footsteps, Anze finally lifted his eyelids slightly. “Come here.”

Saul walked up to him, and the man immediately grabbed his hand.

“Having fun researching souls?”

Saul looked at the hand Anze had seized and nodded repeatedly.

Suddenly, Anze’s other hand reached out. His fingernails extended like blades, and with a swift slash, he sliced off Saul’s pinky.

The pain was instant and immense, striking straight into his brain like a lightning bolt.

Veins bulged on Saul’s forehead, but he clenched his teeth and bore it. He didn’t frown, didn’t scream.

Anze lifted the severed finger and held it under the dim candlelight above.

The twitching pinky spasmed in his hand—More faithfully expressing the pain than Saul’s face had.

Then Anze placed the finger in his palm, and the blood from the cut began to seep into his skin.

Soon, a patch of his palm turned gray.

But before the gray could spread further, the skin in Anze’s palm began to rot away, regenerate, and finally heal, leaving behind a fresh layer of healthy skin.

By now, the severed finger had calmed significantly, looking more like a wilted old leaf.

Anze slowly brought the finger closer to Saul’s hand.

Then something miraculous happened.

As the stump and finger drew near, the gray skin on both began sprouting tiny tendrils—

Like lovers who had been cruelly separated, reaching desperately for each other.

“Interesting.” Anze finally smiled and gently released it.

Pop!

The finger snapped back onto Saul’s hand like a magnet.

Saul calmly retrieved his hand and, without a flicker of emotion, twisted the reattached finger with a “crack” to correct its orientation.

Anze shut his eyes again, folding his hands over his chest, looking peaceful as if already lying in a grave.

“No wonder the Tower Master took a liking to you. Being able to study with such enjoyment is a rare luxury,” he muttered, then glanced sideways at Saul. “You’re a lucky one. Let’s hope that luck doesn’t turn to misfortune.”

Saul let go of his hand. His left hand now looked completely fine, with no sign that it had just lost a finger.

“Mentor Anze, when you say misfortune, do you mean—?”

“The price one must pay for today’s privileges, naturally,” Anze chuckled again. “Like raising chickens and ducks—some people do it just to eat them.”

His words were already a very obvious provocation.

Just as Gorsa had said, Anze’s hatred toward him was now completely unrestrained.

But so what? 

Wasn’t Anze still obediently completing every task Gorsa assigned?

Of course, Saul had no intention of mocking him. After all, his own future might turn out even worse than Anze’s.

How far he could go in the end would still depend on his own judgment and effort.

No matter what, strength was essential.

Without strength, even the best backing and rarest tools meant nothing.

Pushing the now-empty cart out of Anze’s quarters, Saul checked the time—it was only 6:15.

Exceptionally efficient.

He quickly ran toward Byron’s dormitory.

The rattling of the cart startled some apprentices ahead, but when they saw it was Saul, they all moved aside.

Finally, the front of the cart bumped into Byron’s dorm door, leaving a small dent in the wooden surface.

“Senior! Are you in there?”

Still breathless from the sprint, venting his stress from Anze’s, Saul banged on the door while rotating his sore neck.

Luckily, Byron really was in the room.

He opened the door and, upon seeing Saul, didn’t greet him at once.

Instead, he silently turned to stare at the obvious dent in his door.

Byron: “Hmm?”

(End of Chapter)