Chapter 176: You Guys Are Even More Ruthless

Seeing Ferguson take another step forward, with killing intent now visible in his eyes, Saul quickly turned back and pushed the bronze door open a crack.

“Senior, no need to get angry. I still need to study this candle a bit more—wouldn’t want to cause trouble for either of us. Besides, even if this deal falls through, we can still discuss other materials, right?”

The enraged Ferguson suddenly calmed down.

The candle’s unexpected function had distracted him from his original purpose.

The candle was merely bait to control Saul. What he truly needed to stay alive was still inside the second warehouse.

“Then give me back the magic crystals!” Ferguson extended his hand with a cold expression.

“Sure, I’ll go get them right now.” Saul smiled, turned his head… and then froze completely.

Ferguson saw that Saul had agreed verbally but remained standing still, and a wave of irritation surged through him again.

Five hundred magic crystals wasn’t enough to bankrupt a Level-3 apprentice, but it wasn’t pocket change either. If Saul dared to cheat him, Ferguson would block the door and beat him half to death if needed to get it back.

He urged Saul once more—but Saul didn’t move an inch.

Ferguson walked up, shaking his arm threateningly. “If not, then give me the candle!”

But just as the words left his mouth, Ferguson—who had been boiling with rage—finally noticed something strange.

Through the crack in the bronze doors that Saul had pushed open, dazzling colors spilled out like ripples on a watery surface, ever-shifting and mesmerizing.

“This is what the inside of the bronze door looks like? I don’t think Kujin ever mentioned this.”

Ferguson wasn’t a warehouse keeper, after all. Kujin wouldn’t tell him everything.

So he didn’t notice the truly terrifying part—Saul’s hand was clearly on the right door panel, but both sides of the bronze door had been pushed open at once!

Saul dared not move.

Instructor Katz had only explained the rules to him once, but Saul remembered every word.

When opening the first metal door, you may only open either the left or right panel. If both doors open at the same time, you must stand completely still until the door closes.

So when Saul saw that both doors were opening inward, he immediately froze—rigid, unmoving.

Even when Ferguson stepped in and snatched the red candle from his hands, Saul didn’t react at all.

Like a statue.

Ferguson sensed something was wrong but couldn’t put his finger on it.

“I’m taking the candle. Next time we trade, I’ll…”

Saul stared blankly at Ferguson.

Ferguson stood in front of him, holding the red candle, his lips still moving.

But he didn’t notice—his lips were slowing, his voice growing muffled.

From Saul’s perspective, inside the bronze doors now fully opened, long, slender white arms began to emerge.

Each hand had long, drooping fingers—soft and slimy like noodles boiled for hours.

Yet they were incredibly strong, curling tightly around Ferguson’s body in several loops, slowly dragging him inward.

Ferguson remained unaware, his mouth still moving.

Noodle-like fingers snaked into his mouth, nostrils, and ears…

Saul couldn’t hear a word Ferguson was saying.

He watched in horror as the man was wrapped like a mummy in white “noodles,” those arms dragging him inch by inch into a door crack barely the width of a fist.

And Ferguson remained oblivious—right up until his face was swallowed by the door, his wide eyes still locked onto Saul, seemingly waiting for a response.

But he would never get it.

After consuming Ferguson, the interior of the bronze door churned with iridescent waves like a stormy sea. Saul felt like he was standing on a beach, hearing crashing waves overturning boats.

As he stood frozen, waiting for the doors to close, more of those white noodle-like fingers reached out again.

A cold sweat burst from every pore, gathering and sliding down, taking more sweat with it.

Pale fingers dragged along the floor, walls, and ceiling—tapping, patting, groping…

They were searching for leftover scraps of food.

One finger touched Saul’s ankle, then crept up his shin.

The motion was identical to how they had dragged Ferguson away.

Saul could already imagine being restrained, crushed like slime, and pulled into that narrow gap.

He wanted to run—but his diary had warned him: move, and you'll become dough for kneading.

So he didn’t even blink. His pupils stopped trembling. He stood stiff as a corpse.

Pretending to be one of the nearby dead.

Finally, the noodle fingers slowly retreated—reluctantly slinking back into the door.

Only then did the swirling colors within settle, and the bronze door began to close.

Saul’s eyes stayed locked on the gap until both sides sealed completely.

As the doors shut tight, Saul collapsed to the ground, completely drained.

“Huff… huff… huff…” He gasped for air, brushed aside sweat-soaked hair, and slowly pushed himself up.

He turned around—and saw the corridor crowded with corpses.

Each one faced the direction where Ferguson had disappeared. Their expressionless faces now wore eerie smiles.

So delicious. So delicious…

Saul stumbled two steps back until his heel knocked against the door. He quickly checked—it was sealed tight, not even a sliver open.

He finally breathed a sigh of relief.

Ferguson, dragged into that door, was almost certainly dead.

This needed to be reported to Instructor Katz.

But before that, Saul had another problem to solve.

“You guys…” Saul looked at the corpses still facing the door. “When are you going back?”

Earlier in Warehouse Two, they’d been drawn to the red candle, but had returned to their places once the candle was extinguished.

But now the candle had entered that colorful world beyond the bronze door—and the door was shut. So why were they still out here?

He waited, exchanging stares with these frightening creatures who only pretended to be obedient.

They didn’t move.

Every corpse had a number. They were critical inventory—Saul couldn’t leave them outside.

Seeing that they weren’t budging, Saul sighed.

He cautiously pushed the bronze door open again. This time, only the right side moved, revealing a normal room—no colorful waves.

Saul turned back to the horde and pleaded, “The door’s open. Can you go back now?”

…

On this day, May 4th, Year 316, the disappearance of Level-3 Ferguson had not yet caused a stir among the apprentices.

On this day, a newly promoted Level-2 apprentice named Saul spent hours dragging nearly a hundred stiff, heavy corpses back from the East Tower’s first-floor corridor to Warehouse Two.

He had considered using Mage Hand—but like Ferguson, the magic forming the hand was instantly drained upon contact with the corpses. Only physical effort could move them.

After placing the final corpse, Saul grabbed the warehouse logbook and, face expressionless, verified each corpse's number. Once he confirmed none were missing, he slammed the book back onto the desk.

He pushed a large crate from under a discarded candelabrum to the front of the horde and sat down with a thud, gasping for breath, scanning their lifeless forms.

“I get it now,” Saul muttered, arms trembling from exhaustion. “Aside from the corpses of actual wizards, all of you ran outside to watch the show, didn’t you?”

These corpses had a terrifying reputation, but Saul had handled them nearly a hundred times and felt no awe at the moment.

“You wanted red candles? I still have a few. Did you really have to go that far just to chase them out of the warehouse?”

Saul wanted to smack each one of them on the head. But remembering how they acted after Ferguson vanished, he chickened out.

So he could only mutter under his breath:

“Fine, go out if you want—but why not come back after? You weren’t just trying to mess with me, were you?”

(End of Chapter)

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