Chapter 37: Farewell, Take Care

When Saul realized that no matter what material he picked up, the leather-bound book would only reveal the word "death," he knew—he had reached the limit.

Not the book’s limit, but the crucible’s.

Even with the naked eye, he could clearly see the thick, viscous purple slurry bubbling occasionally, with vaguely familiar organs surfacing for a moment before sinking back down.

Like a drowning man struggling desperately, only to be swallowed by the depths, reduced to a heap of skeletal sludge.

Saul picked up the handle of the crucible, his face solemn, and poured its contents into the large corpse-storage box.

The large box provided by the wizard tower was truly magical.

No matter how much a corpse struggled, the moment it was tossed in, it would fall completely silent.

Saul watched as the liquid began reacting with the "guest" inside the box. Before the fumes could spread, he quickly sealed the lid shut.

Watching the slight tremors of the box, Saul sighed.

"As expected, with my current meager wizardry knowledge, succeeding in one lucky strike is too much to ask."

"Or perhaps modifications related to the sense of smell exceed my current understanding. Should I try another approach?"

Turning back to his workbench, he assessed the remaining materials, calculating how many more experiments he could attempt.

In the corner of the lab table sat a book filled with pages of handwritten notes.

Using the language of his previous life, Saul had meticulously recorded all the possible ways to die that the leather-bound book had mentioned during his experiments.

By analyzing these deaths, he could reverse-engineer the properties of each experimental material and deduce their potential effects in potions.

Through repeated trial and error, he refined his experimental direction.

This was a classic case of deriving the process from a known result—

An approach no other wizard would dare attempt.

A soft "hiss" interrupted Saul’s thoughts as the candelabra flared to life.

He sighed, rolled up his sleeves, and forced himself to refocus.

Having one's train of thought disrupted by work was painful, but guests meant a steady supply of experimental materials.

Research was often dull and tedious, especially when the principles behind it remained elusive.

Saul endured five days of monotony before, on the sixth day, a new guest arrived—a first-level apprentice.

This was not a fresh recruit but someone he had never seen before. Who knew how they had met an untimely demise?

Only their lifeless eyes remained, filled with terror and helplessness, gazing upward.

Their pupils, rolled so far back that they were almost swallowed by the upper eyelids, as if something above had captured their attention.

The corpse was incomplete. Hayden, the senior responsible for the previous process, was generally diligent in his work—

Which meant Saul's harvest was proportionally reduced.

After a Saul check the corpse. He found little of interest and could only focus on the head.

The extracted organs were placed in a suitably sized box.

Then, wrapping the entire box in the pale yellow leather given by Senior Sister Kongsha, Saul set it aside.

As for the rest of the "guest," it was sent into the large disposal box.

At the end of his shift, Saul cradled the securely wrapped box, peeking cautiously out the door.

This was his first time taking a body part out of the morgue.

Even with Kongsha’s assurance, he couldn't help but feel anxious.

The wizard tower’s rules weren’t always rigid—

As long as you ensured no one discovered your actions.

Given Kongsha’s strength, if she truly wanted a first-level apprentice’s brain, she wouldn’t need to scavenge from corpses.

She could easily make a few herself.

Yet, she had gone to such lengths to place Saul in the morgue, all for a single brain each month.

This showed how much the wizard tower valued its apprentices.

Killing one or two might go unnoticed.

Too many, though, and the price would be steep.

"If I can’t get the materials out, I’ll just leave them in the morgue and let Kongsha pick them up herself. The cleaning servants never touch anything outside the tool table."

Even before failing, Saul had already devised a backup plan.

Carefully, he stepped out, timing his departure for just before eight o’clock to avoid running into the senior apprentices in the adjacent rooms.

The hallway lights had dimmed from their afternoon brightness, and the occasional flicker of the candle flames seemed to urge him to hurry.

As Saul reached the corridor’s end, he saw a hulking figure slumped in the corner, as still as a corpse.

Saul took a step forward.

The man’s nose twitched.

Saul instinctively tightened his grip on the box, ready to turn back at a moment’s notice.

The man’s face turned toward Saul’s direction. His nostrils flared.

Silence.

Saul could hear his own breathing.

The man suddenly moved, pressing one hand against the ground to push himself up.

No—"standing" wasn't the right word.

He hunched forward, deliberately lowering his head as if afraid of hitting the ceiling.

Though blind, he moved unerringly toward Saul.

Shit.

Saul clutched the yellow-wrapped box and backed up slowly until his spine pressed against the cold stone wall.

A tingling sensation spread through his back, seeping inward to his organs.

Am I caught?

No warning from the leather-bound book? If caught, it wouldn’t be fatal. This is my first offense—if I put the materials back in the morgue, I might even escape punishment entirely.

Saul glanced at the crimson door beside him, debating whether to retreat.

But then, the man suddenly shifted direction.

Saul hesitated, his raised heel lowering back to the ground.

The man slowly entered the morgue.

Saul turned his head just in time to see the massive figure squeeze through the doorway and stop precisely beside the tool table.

He reached down and pulled out the large disposal box.

Despite its weight, the man lifted it effortlessly.

Then, without disturbing anything else in the room, he squeezed back through the door.

He turned right.

Saul watched in silence as the man carried the box into the darkness of the corridor.

Heavy footsteps echoed—

Then faded into nothingness.

Saul snapped back to his senses. I need to leave. Now.

Safe.

He had made it through safely.

Realizing it was getting late, he clutched his bundle tightly and sprinted away.

The shortest path between the East and West Towers was on the fifth floor.

As he ran, something felt… off.

From the second floor to the fifth should only require three turns.

But hadn’t he been running for too long without turning?

A deep unease crept up his spine.

Yet, he dared not stop.

His head felt heavy. His balance was off, as if he might topple at any moment.

It feels like… something is growing out of my skull?

A chilling realization struck him.

His mind flashed to the first-level apprentice from earlier—

The one whose pupils had rolled back unnaturally, staring desperately at their own forehead.

Saul halted abruptly.

At that instant, something flickered past his vision.

A forehead—smooth and pale, with a trace of eyebrows—dipped into view from above, then snapped back up.

What the hell is on my head?

Indeed, the wizard tower held no goodwill toward him.

Others could walk along the river without getting wet.

He? He would always fall in.

His soul talent granted him a survival edge—

But also ensured he was never far from disaster.

Saul raised a trembling hand above his brow—then froze.

What if I actually feel something?

His hand slowly lowered.

Without moving his head, he flicked his eyes toward the leather-bound book.

Can I fight it?

The book remained silent.

Relief washed over him.

No reaction, huh?

Clutching the wrapped head tightly, Saul inched toward the wall, calculating the distance.

Then—

"Nice to meet you! Take care!"

With gritted teeth, he bowed sharply at a ninety-degree angle toward the wall.

A shadow streaked through the air.

BANG!

Something slammed violently into the stone.

CRACK!

Something shattered.

Saul straightened, feeling a cold, viscous liquid oozing down his head.

It felt like shampoo dripping straight from the bottle.

Chilled.

Sluggish.

Dripping downward.

Expressionless, he wiped a hand across his forehead—just in case any got in his eyes.

"Farewell. Take care.”

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