"You're already dead?" Luge asked.
The youth nodded with a smile.
"I died a very long time ago. Among the nobility, they call it 'passing on.' Old Izel knew it too, but then he forgot." The youth seemed rather helpless. "I don't like the way he is now. In his youth, he was my father's dearest friend, but he couldn't keep up with my father's stride. His talent was poor; only with my father's help did he reach the tier he eventually attained, earning himself some more years of life. Then I was born, and he became the butler of this castle to look after a naturally frail weakling like me, who couldn't touch supernatural power..."
Luge listened in silence without interrupting, sensing that this young man also had a deep desire to confide in someone.
Knock, knock, knock!
A knock sounded at the door, its steady, unchanging rhythm announcing the visitor's identity.
"Young Master, I have brought dinner to your room."
The old butler's voice from outside made Luge tense for a moment, but seeing the youth's calm demeanor beside him, he relaxed again. Quickly returning the bed to its place, he went to open the door.
The youth followed right beside him.
"Young Master, please maintain a cheerful mood and enjoy your dinner."
The familiar dining cart was slowly pushed inside by the old butler.
"He used to say that back then too. Father said that as he grew older, he lost his former wit. But he only looks old; my father was actually the older one. Father said that during their past expeditions, Izel was a lively man who would sing at the top of his lungs during breaks, fart foully right in Father's face, and occasionally get disciplined with the captain's fists for stirring up trouble with his unruly antics."
The youth spoke up suddenly, giving Luge quite a fright.
Yet he soon realized that even as they brushed past each other, even as the youth—the true young master—stood right next to the old butler and spoke, it produced no reaction whatsoever.
"Given his strength, he could actually see me..."
Together, the youth and Luge watched the departing figure of Butler Izel until the door swung shut with a creak of its hinges.
"In truth, I died not long after following the castle into the Abyss. On the day I actually died, he glanced at me—of course, I mean me in this state, not that corpse. At that moment, a servant outside called his name. He turned around, spoke a couple of words, and by the time he turned back, he could no longer see me. On top of that, he completely forgot that I was dead."
The handsome youth smiled, seemingly long accustomed to the old butler turning a blind eye.
"You must know that I want to leave this place," Luge said.
"Yes, and that is precisely what I wish to ask of you. We will both obtain what we desire, and everyone will be very pleased," the handsome youth said with composure.
Luge put on an attentive posture, his eyes gleaming as if gazing at a golden key capable of unlocking the gate.
The youth appeared equally pleased with Luge's cooperative attitude.
"Please bring my corpse out. You don't have to leave the castle—just burn my body with magical flame at the castle's inner gate," the youth said.
"Just that?" Luge wrinkled his nose and adjusted his monocle.
To be honest, he feared being played for a fool, so after quietly casting the Fetid Skin spell, he deliberately questioned him again.
"I will handle the rest. Over all these years, I have gathered some power using the castle," the youth said, his form beginning to blur. "You only need to do this. I will definitely get you out. Trust me, the Iron Family never breaks a promise."
Luge nodded hastily, watching the youth gradually fade away.
"I must go. Take this tooth; once you reach the library, you will be able to find my corpse. I cannot remain here for too long. As long as you hold this tooth, I can appear near you."
The youth vanished completely.
Holding the tooth, Luge felt no malice from it.
A question suddenly crossed his mind: why did it have to be magical flame? He didn't know any spell capable of producing fire yet.
Taking out the Clear Mind Potion, he pondered for a moment, then put it back.
He had another sharp tool to accelerate his spell learning. Reaching into his Abyssal bedroom space, he retrieved another storage pouch containing the notebooks of the apprentice wizard who had died by his hand. That fellow had been exceptionally proficient in Fire Bolt, and had likely solidified Fire Bolt into a spell slot; with a casual wave of his hand, he had once given Luge his closest brush with death.
Attempting to master new spells was his favorite pastime aside from meditation and delicious food.
He did not rely entirely on the apprentice's notebooks; instead, he continued to focus primarily on the most basic version taught in orthodox texts. According to what was written in the apprentice's notes, the Fire Bolt he mastered had been slightly modified: upon hitting an enemy, it exploded cleanly and crisply, which was not conducive to setting the target ablaze.
One was a modified spell crafted by a rank-five apprentice after drawing from numerous sources, complete with insights and research on the modification process; the other was the most foundational, stable version, refined by countless predecessors, which was unlikely to fail even if cast while mentally deranged. Comparing the two, he read with great relish, and for a time, his rate of progress was no slower than if he had drunk a Clear Mind Potion.
Of course, drinking the potion at the same time would be an even more luxurious proposition.
The balanced study plan he had devised earlier—alternating between work and rest—was once again abandoned.
Eating worms when hungry, casting Boiling Spirit when exhausted, and pairing it with regular meditation to recover, he turned into a greedy fish feeding on magical knowledge within this dust-laden room—though, sadly, an ocean of his own was still far beyond his reach.
Only the old butler's appearances could temporarily halt his deep dive.
Even under the succubus's probing gaze, he continued studying spells in silence.
As for the young master's affairs, he chose to share only select details with her.
He was, after all, a gentle kobold.
"If that's the case, it will be very difficult for you to reach the library," the succubus said lazily, propping her elbow on the corner of the table and glancing at him. "Since Old Izel deliberately ignores him, he would also subconsciously prevent others from seeing him, preventing anyone else from discovering the young master's death. Naturally, that means he won't let anyone near the library either."
Luge opened his eyes at her words.
"I have a way, but I'll need the silver potion you got that day. I imagine you haven't used it yet—after all, you were only pretending to feel unwell that day," she said.
"Don't you want to leave this place anymore?"
Luge swung his legs and looked at her. There had been no mental inscription on that bottle, and he had planned to consult Half-Man upon his return to ask what on earth it was.
"Of course I do," the succubus replied indolently. "That is precisely why I need that potion—to bring us closer to success."
Luge wasted no more words and handed the potion over. The succubus took it with delight and shoved it straight into her storage ring, as if afraid he might change his mind.
It was worth noting that over the past few days, the succubus had been able to return to her own room to rest.
Luge guessed that whatever she was capable of doing had unfolded during these past few days as well; change brought opportunity.
"If we get out, will you invite me to visit your world, my lord wizard?" the succubus asked.
Chapter 58