Luge's eyes widened in disbelief. He immediately cast Boiling Spirit upon himself and concentrated his focus to try opening the spatial door once again.
After all, this was something he practiced every day. Even if he hadn't made dramatic progress, he was at least thoroughly proficient.
A dark-red little hole appeared. He glanced at it; it was barely larger than a fist, and even that was the result of his utmost effort.
*Thump, thump, thump!*
"Young Master, I am coming in! Please forgive my rudeness."
The voice outside the door spoke with exquisite politeness, but to Luge's ears, it sounded like a death-knell incantation.
In his desperation, he fished out the half-face and shook it vigorously in his hand.
Yet whether through spoken pleas or frantic shaking, Half-Man's half-face gave no response whatsoever. In the end, Luge had no choice but to put it away in frustration.
*Creak—*
The door pushed open slowly, stirring a slight breeze that blew half of the aged quilt on the bed into dust.
"Young Master."
An elderly man in black formal attire appeared in the doorway.
Luge stared motionless at the figure by the door, watching for any movement he might make, ten thousand gruesome ways for a kobold to die flashing through his mind.
"Young Master, how could you be dressed like this?"
As the old man spoke, he clapped his hands. As if manipulated by an invisible set of hands, the wardrobe in the corner swung open door by door. Only one opened normally; the rest sagged and fell to the floor after swinging wide. Fortunately, they revealed the row of clothes hanging inside, which meant they had fulfilled their purpose.
The clothes drifted through the air toward him. Luge didn't dare move a muscle, watching helplessly as the garments attempted to slip onto his body one after another. Unfortunately, they disintegrated as fast as they slipped on. In the end, only a few tattered scraps of fabric hung from his frame.
"Young Master, please follow me."
The old man bowed with gentle courtesy, rising seamlessly into an elegant guiding gesture before leading the way out. His movements were sharp and practiced, yet entirely unhurried.
Luge glanced at the window behind him. Weighing his options rationally, he turned and followed.
The corridor outside was not pitch-black. Alternating crystals embedded every few paces along both walls cast a milky-white glow. He looked left and right in curiosity; like the furnishings in the bedroom, quite a few of these unknown crystals were already broken.
The old man walked dead center down the corridor, straight and proper. Every step was measured to perfection, his posture upright and his stride even.
After studying the crystals on both sides, Luge examined the walls and the path underfoot. He even bent down quickly to touch the stone blocks—they were neatly shaped and uniform in size, their edges smoothed to a soft polish by the passage of ages.
Judging the whole from this glimpse, the size of the corridor alone suggested just how enormous the structure must be.
The elderly guide was thin and frail in appearance, but his movements were crisp and vigorous. His descending footsteps produced a steady, rhythmic tap throughout the corridor.
All along the way, it was just the two of them. In every room they passed and every junction they crossed, not another soul was to be seen.
"We have arrived, Young Master."
The old man led him around a corner and pushed open a door.
"Please apply yourself."
The old man murmured these words slowly in a hushed tone, then stepped back half a pace to make way.
Luge looked into the spacious room beyond, then glanced at the old man beside him. This was the first time he had looked so closely at the terrifying elder who had unnerved him the entire walk here.
Sensing his gaze, the old man lowered his head slightly, tilting his neck at an angle that conveyed humility without appearing groveling.
Luge had been trying to soothe his own frantic little heart.
Yet when he caught sight of the old man's eyes—completely devoid of any whites—his little heart gave one or two sharp twitches anyway, making it clear that it refused to be comforted.
Luge stepped into the room, feeling the door slowly click shut behind him.
This chamber was three times the size of the bedroom before. It held three empty sets of desks and chairs, as well as a solitary figure standing in wait.
He hesitated. Listening to the old man's footsteps fading outside, he reached behind his back to grab the doorknob.
He pushed twice, then pulled twice, but the door refused to budge.
He struggled to steady himself for a moment, then cautiously stepped forward.
This room was laid with a carpet that had been preserved remarkably well, showing no sign of crumbling at a touch.
As he walked, his gaze drifted toward the far side of the room, fixing on the figure facing away from him. The chamber was not particularly bright, but it was illuminated by magical crystals—these emitted a warm tone, though some were likewise functional while others were dead.
All these sights, none of which had any place in the Abyss, filled him with immense curiosity alongside his dread.
A few paces away, he stopped. The meager warm light cast a sallow, waxy sheen over the waiting figure.
Unease gnawed at him. He was already this close, yet the person still showed no reaction.
It was even more nerve-racking than the overbearing elderly guide.
He hesitated over whether to utter a few clumsy words in Abyssal.
After waiting a moment, he plucked up his courage and pressed forward—first two paces, then two more.
Suddenly noticing something, he took a wide step to the side to view the thin figure from another angle. To his shock, it was actually a standing desiccated corpse. Its shriveled frame was so withered that its gender was unrecognizable, and its clothes had fused into a single crust with its flesh.
Suddenly, the mummy twitched, though the movement appeared agonizingly strained.
"You are late, my dear student."
The mummy was so agitated that a fissure tore open along its jaw and cheek, but the actual words were broadcast through mental power.
"Late by three full centuries—!"
The mummified teacher seemed consumed by resentment, grievance, and boundless humiliation. Her mental power trembled as it radiated intricate waves of emotion, all stewing together into a tempest of indignation.
Feeling even more wronged than she was, Luge retreated frantically until he ducked behind a desk.
There were no windows here, let alone any decent cover.
He couldn't get a word in edgewise, nor did he have any idea what to do. All he could do was quickly reinforce his Demonskin to keep from giving himself away.
*If I manage to get back alive, I'm definitely going to demand more compensation from Half-Man,* he thought.
At the same time, he tried once more to open a spatial door, but it still refused to take shape.
The ancient corpse's chaotic mental fluctuations persisted for a while before gradually subsiding.
Silence reigned for quite some time, without another sound.
Luge cautiously poked his head out.
To his dismay, the shriveled teacher had already turned around, staring straight at his hiding place in absolute silence.
An inexplicable, drawn-out standoff ensued.
Though her eyeballs were completely shriveled and her eye sockets sunken, Luge knew she was looking right at him, scrutinizing him with great care.
"You possess intelligence, don't you? Tell me quickly—tell me you are a clever creature!" Though the corpse sounded urgent, the manic frenzy from earlier had dissipated. Once calmed, the voice resembled that of a cool, clear woman.
"I believe my mind is sound enough," Luge replied in Abyssal.
The other party seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, and a faint flicker of delight rippled through her mental fluctuations.
"You have finally come!"
The ancient corpse, which had only just settled down, burst into a sudden fit of wild laughter before regaining her composure once more.
"Forgive me, but you must understand—that old bastard has gone mad! He trapped me here for three hundred years, three whole centuries, just to wait for a student who never existed! For three hundred years I have not stepped out of this room. Usually, I could only rely on special techniques to force myself into deep slumber, dulling my soul to minimize consumption, and above all to keep from going completely insane!"
As the corpse spoke, she lifted an arm, but only a shower of desiccated flakes drifted down.
"Did you... also end up here by mistake?" Luge asked.
"Clever little imp of strange appearance, you will help me, won't you?" the corpse said. "Let us work together and get out of here."
Chapter 52