Saul lowered his head and stared at the diary, still not fully recovered from the death he had just experienced.

“What just happened? Could it be that the golden page’s function is resurrection?”

The Dead Wizard’s Diary… capable of resurrecting a wizard—

That… kind of makes sense?

Just as Saul was inspecting the diary, a carriage brushed past his arm.

Saul looked up, and the moment he saw the passing cart, his pupils shrank sharply!

A plainly dressed farmer was driving a flatbed wagon piled high with straw. Sticking out from the top of the pile was a pitchfork.

“Whoa!!” The farmer pulled the reins and halted the cart. He turned around and apologized to Saul, “Sorry, young man, I was lost in thought and nearly hit you.”

Saul stared at the farmer. He didn’t say a word. He simply raised a hand, then brought it down.

A black shadow blade silently formed behind the farmer and in one swift stroke, cleaved his head clean off.

The farmer had been sitting. His head rolled from his shoulders and hit the ground, while a fountain of blood sprayed from his neck, quickly splattering the straw behind him.

“It’s not resurrection—it’s a reset.”

Saul walked forward cautiously and examined the farmer’s corpse.

Dead. Very dead.

“Why wasn’t he afraid of my spell the first time? Does Dark Spirit Blade actually work in this illusion-like space?”

Saul had ambushed the farmer. If the sneak attack had been blocked by some mysterious power, it would’ve meant the farmer never even noticed it had happened.

But to Saul’s surprise, the Dark Spirit Blade worked perfectly, cleanly severing the man’s neck.

After confirming the farmer was indeed dead, Saul walked to the back of the straw pile and pulled out the pitchfork.

“Who dares commit murder in front of us?!”

Two burly men appeared at the village entrance, seemingly out of nowhere.

They were dressed a bit better than the farmer, with short swords at their waists and sturdy boots on their feet.

They looked like village guards.

Both men had drawn their swords and were sprinting toward Saul.

Saul casually flicked his wrist, and the Dark Spirit Blade split into two, shooting toward the guards.

Meanwhile, Saul used the pitchfork to lift the straw, searching for the body of the “brother” who had once lain beside him.

But after turning the whole strawstack upside down, he found no corpse—not even a severed head!

[Herman: Strange. Where’s the corpse of that red-haired boy?]

[An: Master! Look over there!]

Saul turned his head.

The two guards—were both completely unharmed!

It was as if the Dark Spirit Blade had never struck them. They were now only fifty meters away.

The spell… had failed again!

Saul immediately turned, pitchfork in hand, and braced himself.

One of the guards suddenly threw his short sword at Saul.

It was a reckless move. He had no backup weapon and threw away his only iron blade.

“But his aim… isn’t bad.”

Watching the blade sail toward him, Saul raised the pitchfork to deflect it.

But the moment metal met metal, the pitchfork was sliced cleanly in half like tofu!

Saul failed to block it. He instantly tried to retreat but the next second, the sword accelerated midair and in the blink of an eye, pierced through his abdomen—blade and hilt!

“Can’t block it… can’t dodge it…”

The stabbing pain engulfed Saul, and he immediately lost control of his body.

He collapsed to the ground, limp and helpless. But this time—he wasn’t dead. Not yet.

The two guards rushed up.

“He killed Uncle John!” one of them said, grief-stricken.

“Someone this vicious… maybe he’s responsible for Little Claude’s disappearance too.”

“I say he’s definitely the one who killed Little Claude!”

“Yeah! Let’s lock him in the cellar and wait for the village chief to decide!”

“But the chief is so soft-hearted—what if he spares him?”

The other guard suddenly slashed Saul’s neck.

“Don’t worry. Now, even if the chief gets soft, he won’t be able to spare him. We’ve finally found the one who killed Little Claude. The village can stop living in fear.”

“So ruthless,” Saul thought, unable to move, enduring the pain in silence.

With his willpower, he could’ve taken three more stabs and still stood back up.

But in this strange place, just one wound sent him into a near-death state. All he could do was blink.

[Agu worried: Could this be some kind of worldside where death always triggers a rewind?]

[An, unimpressed: Then this worldside must be really bored—wasting all that energy!]

The two guards hauled the cart back, now carrying both the dead farmer and the dying Saul.

Once again, Saul shared the flatbed ride with the farmer.

But this time, the diary only gave a warning after they reached the cellar near the village entrance.

[You are about to die from blood loss.]

Here it comes.

The death warning.

The two guards unceremoniously threw Saul into the cellar, slamming him hard against the ground.

Then they locked the cellar door and disappeared.

Saul figured they went to get the village chief, but they’d surely stall, ensuring Saul would be dead before the “soft-hearted” chief arrived.

And he was indeed dying fast.

With his vision going black from blood loss, he weakly turned his head—

And saw a pair of wide, staring eyes.

They belonged to someone hiding inside a large wooden crate.

The head was upside-down, only the eyes and a tuft of red hair beneath them were visible.

Red hair?!

Saul widened his eyes, trying to get a clearer look. The person’s nose was obscured by the crate lid.

But even with only part of the face showing, Saul was convinced—

It was the red-haired, big-nosed “Little Claude” the farmer had said had gone missing days ago.

Had the boy been hiding here all along?

No… that can’t be right.

Saul’s mind was foggy, and thoughts crawled slowly.

“If it’s this angle… then Little Claude must be… curled up headfirst in the box… or maybe it’s just… a head…”

Darkness swallowed Saul’s vision once more.

[You have died.]

…

Saul opened his eyes again, finding himself outside the village.

[Herman: Master, the rules here are too twisted. Let’s turn around and leave immediately.]

Saul looked back. As expected, there was no Marsh or carriage behind him.

“No. The moment I stepped into a certain boundary, escape was no longer an option.”

He wasn’t panicked. Instead, he immediately summoned the diary and flipped to the golden page.

He was now certain the diary would save him but—he didn’t know what each rescue cost.

If he had already died twice…

Did that mean he had used up two golden pages?

Saul grimaced in pain at the thought.

But fortunately, the price wasn’t so high.

Only the first golden page had changed.

The image had shifted—from Saul dead in the straw pile to Saul dead in the cellar.

In the drawing, even in death, he was staring at the crate in the cellar corner.

Saul closed the diary and nodded slightly to himself.

“So it’s not this bizarre village that rewinds time—it’s the diary. But that still doesn’t explain… why the corpse in the straw pile ended up in the cellar the second time.”

[An: Also, here’s something odd. At first, they all said Little Claude had gone missing. But suddenly, they started insisting he was dead—and believed it completely!]

[Agu, finally peeking out from behind the book where An had been blocking his view:…Right, I was going to say that too. And the farmer’s strength was different between the two encounters. That could be due to some rule. Master, you need to be careful.]

Saul nodded. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that too. Why can’t I attack them? Is it that I have to ambush them?”

He had ambushed the farmer the second time.

But—it didn’t feel that simple.

Just then, another flatbed cart brushed past his arm…

—

Poor Saul. It’s been a long time since he’s been this miserable.

(End of Chapter)

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