The interior of the Wizard Tower remained dim, not illuminated despite the arrival of its new master.

Saul raised his hand, and an orange fireball appeared in his palm.

Though he could perceive the tower’s layout through fluctuations in mental force, visual recognition remained indispensable.

Especially in the former Wizard Tower of Gorsa, fire had once symbolized safety.

First floor of the White Wizard Tower.

Empty.

There wasn’t even a staircase leading to the second floor.

But the moment Saul became aware of this, an arched doorway appeared directly ahead of him.

Beyond the arch, faintly illuminated by the fireball, were a few steps spiraling upward.

Holding the fireball aloft, Saul approached the arch and found that the stairway extended both upward and downward.

The ascending path was easily lit by the fireball, while the descending path was quickly swallowed by thick darkness just a few meters in.

Light itself seemed unable to penetrate.

Saul immediately thought of the dark corridor between the first and second floors of the previous Wizard Tower, the one that stripped away one’s sense of space.

“Should I go to the bedroom first, or the storeroom?” Saul paused at the stairwell.

He still didn’t know where the black iron coffin—the source of the entire Wizard Tower—was located. Only by finding it could he truly take control of the tower.

Just as Saul was about to take the next step…

“Tap… tap… tap…”

Steady footsteps echoed from below.

Saul turned his head and saw a sunken face emerging from the darkness.

A gaunt face appeared first, followed by a long neck and a tall, lanky, and disproportionate body.

When he first emerged, the man was nearly two meters tall, but as his eyes landed on Saul and continued to ascend, his height began to shrink bit by bit.

The shrinking was bizarre—Saul could clearly see the man’s arms and legs folding inward like machinery, accompanied by faint click-clack sounds.

When the man reached the fifth step below Saul, his height had already shrunk to just slightly taller than Saul.

Saul himself wasn’t particularly tall at the moment—perhaps due to prematurely overtaxing his bones through sorcery. He stood at only 1.7 meters.

The man before him now appeared to be about 1.74 meters tall.

Once the man began shrinking from two meters down, Saul finally recognized him.

“Steward?” he asked, surprised—then realization dawned.

So the steward of the Wizard Tower, like the librarian and the gardener outside, wasn’t human after all.

Back when Gorsa’s Wizard Tower collapsed, the gardener had been taken away by Mentor Kaz. After all, Saul was traveling alone and didn’t need anyone tending a garden.

The steward, however, had never reappeared. Saul thought he had slipped away in the chaos or died in some corner.

He hadn’t expected the steward to have remained inside the black iron coffin all along.

“It’s been a while, Lord Saul. Please allow me to address you as ‘Master of the Tower,’” the steward said with a graceful chest-saluting bow. Only after receiving Saul’s assent did he straighten.

“There are no other stewards in the tower now. You may call me Hope—or grant me a new name if you wish.”

To ask the master to bestow a new name meant Saul now had absolute control over him.

Hope was the tower’s steward in title only. In truth, he was still a servant of the Wizard Tower.

Saul chuckled lightly. “So your name is Hope. I’d always just called you ‘steward’ and never even knew your name. It’s a good name, and I imagine you’re used to it.”

He wasn’t particularly interested in naming people. Confirming Hope’s identity, Saul turned his gaze again to the darkness below.

“So the black iron coffin is down there? Are there others inside as well?”

“Yes, Master of the Tower,” said Hope, stepping slightly aside to clear the narrow stairway.

His movement seemed to open a path.

Two more faces emerged from the darkness.

Saul knew these two all too well.

The middle-aged librarian and the elderly one.

“Master of the Tower…” The middle-aged man still cowered, not daring to meet Saul’s gaze.

“Master of the Tower,” the elderly one said respectfully, though his eyes were filled with complex emotion.

At the same time, a third voice “sounded” in Saul’s mind.

Agu: Master of the Tower.

Saul sighed lightly. “Now that the Wizard Tower has reawakened, it’s time to restore you fully.”

He extended his hands forward, and from each palm stretched two semi-transparent, gray tentacles.

The elderly librarian accepted it calmly. The middle-aged one was clearly frightened but made no attempt to evade.

As the other two parts of Agu’s soul were drawn into the diary, the black page that belonged to him began to change.

The once ragged edges smoothed out, and the coarse paper turned supple like silk.

However, even with his soul reassembled, Agu—no, the Faceless One Gustav—remained silent. The page didn’t even move, lying quietly within the diary.

“Seems Agu needs some time to complete the soul fusion. Yes… after such a long separation, reintegration of memories and consciousness will take a while.”

Saul paid the diary no further mind and looked once again into the darkness.

“Ahem,” Hope cleared his throat. “What remains are scattered soul fragments. You are… familiar with them, Master of the Tower.”

Soul fragments?

Saul crossed his arms. “I see. Then don’t let them out for now.”

What else could those soul fragments be?

Weren’t they those eyeballs, mouths, and noodle-like arms?

Yeah… those guys were definitely not fit to come out.

Better for him to go in and take a look.

Saul lowered his arms and stepped into the darkness.

Hope followed, staying one step behind him.

—

While Saul explored the new Wizard Tower, the Old Witch outside had already grown impatient.

“What’s that brat doing in there? He better not have gone in to sleep and left me out here!”

Nearby, Marsh was still planting mushrooms. He was nearly down to plucking out the ones growing on his own body. Only the most exuberant one wobbling atop his head remained untouched.

With nothing to do and nowhere to go, the Old Witch wanted to take a walk outside. But when she reached the lakeside, she found the vine raft that had once floated on the water had vanished.

“Saul said we had to take a boat to get to the island, but didn’t say it was required to leave it. I can try—no reason to take his word on everything. What if he’s wrong?”

Truth was, the Old Witch didn’t completely trust Saul. She had considerable confidence in her own power, believing that even if she encountered a rule-based hazard, she’d find a way to circumvent it.

“Tell your master I’m heading out onto the lake to take a look.”

Not waiting for Marsh to respond, the Old Witch rose into the mist.

—

Another hour passed, and the gray fog above the lake grew dim.

Night was falling. Saul finally emerged from the Wizard Tower.

Through the haze, he could vaguely make out Marsh, but there was no sign of the Old Witch’s mental presence.

He walked over to Marsh, who promptly rose and bowed.

“Where’s the Old Witch?”

“My lord, she said she went out to have a look around.”

Upon hearing the Old Witch had left on her own, Saul wasn’t too pleased. He walked to the lake’s edge, but the fog was too thick—he couldn’t see where she’d gone.

Saul narrowed his eyes and activated the semi-immersive meditation technique.

The world before him instantly became much clearer.

Not far from the island, he saw a petite figure circling aimlessly in the sky.

“Looks like my earlier guess was right. Two rules have already been confirmed. One: don’t look directly into the lake. Two: entering or leaving the island requires a boat.”

Watching the Old Witch flit about like a headless fly in the fog, Saul smirked. “Little Algae, reassemble the raft and bring that nuisance back.”

“No need to rush. Wait for her to call for help before you head out.”

Saul cast one last glance at the Old Witch, then turned and led Marsh back to the Wizard Tower.

(End of Chapter)

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