Grammar and a Full Stop

"I'll come visit you in the Abyss," Luge said. "Boring." The succubus scholar traced circles on the desk with her finger, looking as though her good mood from successfully extorting the potion had been thoroughly ruined by him. Luge, meanwhile, estimated how much more time he needed based on his current progress with Fire Bolt. As for the apprentice's derivation notes on Fire Bolt, while they had certainly helped him, he had also noticed an intriguing phenomenon. He was merely consulting the notes as a reference to cross-check and speed up his learning, and was still studying the basic manual. Yet the tiny elements that formed the spell and constructed its model seemed almost alive; once he observed and grasped them, they clung to him, subtly influencing his basic Fire Bolt without his conscious input. Fortunately, it was a beneficial influence. "You could adapt to life in the Abyss and enjoy a much vaster world there. You might even meet more succubi," Luge said. "Though, of course, they probably won't be as learned as you." "Boring." The succubus scholar seemed far less eager to see this homeland she had never known than she had claimed earlier. Seeing Luge sit in a daze, ignoring her completely, she actually stood up, walked off into the distance, and began speaking Abyssal. Right then and there, she started lecturing to her sole, inattentive student. It was the first real lesson she had given in the several centuries since coming to this castle. Being able to understand and write it did not mean one truly knew Abyssal. She spoke eloquently of its grammar, its various taboos, and the culture unique to the planar world's nobility—things of no practical use, yet essential nuances in polite conversation to avoid causing offense. Luge listened halfheartedly, turning his body toward the lecturing succubus in a show of cooperation. Each time Luge worked through a node, he would catch a segment of her lecture and marvel to himself. When a world vanished, it wasn't just the creatures that ran and leaped across its lands that perished—its culture died too, along with other strange, obscure things. Treating the bizarre knowledge as a diversion, he listened for a while before immersing himself in the spell once more. When he opened his eyes again, the succubus was still lecturing, as if she had gotten carried away. She had already moved on to how the sages of the planar world had traced the origins of Abyssal, and hypotheses that the language originated from the very first strange sound produced by the twisted collisions when the Abyss was formed. The lesson's scheduled time ended, but even when Old Butler Izel knocked on the door and Luge followed him out, the succubus scholar had not stopped. As the classroom door slowly closed behind them until only a sliver remained, Luge could still hear the occasional rustle of her footsteps inside and the steady cadence of her lecture. He returned to his room, meditated to recover, and then resumed studying the spell. He had bound the tooth tightly to the skin of his wrist with a strip of cloth so that if the young master suddenly appeared, their communication would not be delayed. Before leaving the classroom, he had calculated the time and arranged the moment to strike with the succubus. Although she had been lecturing nonstop without pausing for even a second, he knew she had definitely heard what he said. What he needed to do now was ensure he mastered Fire Bolt before the appointed time. Thinking of the young master who was always skipping class, Luge decided to try his luck with the old butler tomorrow to buy himself more time. With someone nearby, he could never fully concentrate anyway. Dinner was once again served in his room. "Oh? Is this how wizards practice?" The handsome youth emerged from the tooth and settled beside him. "That's hardly the way a noble should speak. Perhaps you really ought to attend an Abyssal class," Luge said, recalling some of the planar world's fussy noble etiquette the succubus scholar had mentioned. "Of course I know those rules. Ever since I was a child, I spoke with utmost propriety to everyone around me—perfect reverence, a perfect aristocrat. Right now, I'm just showing my relaxed side to an honored guest from another realm," the handsome youth said with a smile. "Do you think I'll make it to the library without a hitch?" Luge sat on the floor, pondering the spell while sparing a bit of attention to chat with him. "I've already given that Abyssal teacher a little help, a bit of guidance—though she hasn't seen me, of course," the youth said, sounding quite pleased with himself. "So she'll assist you and lend a hand." The handsome youth spoke of things he found amusing, even picturing the scene of his corpse being incinerated before the castle's inner gate. "In my homeland, there is a rule never to pry into the names of guests from other realms, which is why I haven't asked for yours. Please don't mistake it for arrogance or rudeness," the youth said. In truth, all Luge wanted was to break the old butler's suppression of his spatial door. He had never truly pinned his hopes of escape entirely on the young master's or the succubus's plans. He didn't need to leave through the main entrance; after all, the castle had been sealed before, and he had still managed to get in. As long as he dealt with the old butler, he would be fine. "Could you teach me a trick or two for skipping class?" Luge asked. "Easy!" The youth was well-versed in the craft. "If it's just once or twice, you only need to play on Old Izel's concern for you. It works every time, and he won't report it to my father either." As the youth explained, Luge nodded. Looking at the dust in the room and watching the handsome youth walk back and forth without leaving a trace, it felt as though their conversation was pushing everything here toward another round of destruction. Yet both of them were in high spirits, talking and laughing. Luge closed his eyes and returned to deducing the spell, not even noticing when the youth departed. Another night passed in tireless study. When the door was knocked upon again, the excuse he had prepared never had a chance to be used. "Young Master, your Abyssal teacher is feeling somewhat unwell today. I'm afraid lessons must be paused for the day." The old butler stopped beside his cart and delivered the news that would bring agony to any good student. "I understand." Luge nodded. He was only a sliver away from fully mastering Fire Bolt. Watching the old butler walk away, he did not rush to shut the door. He took in his surroundings, feeling the weight of this real yet bizarre experience, and resolved to do everything he could to bring it to a full stop. If the young master's confident corpse-burning plan failed, he would try his luck with the Demon's Dice. Half-Man was probably on the other side thinking he was already dead, perhaps wanting to beat his chest and stomp his feet in frustration, only to find his limbs immobilized, left with nothing but regret for not giving him more powerful treasures. Still, looking back—from the Demonskin disguise, the spellcasting materials, and the Abyssal primer, to the potent healing potion and the pocket space that allowed him to advance or retreat at will—Half-Man had planned things quite thoroughly to ensure he could run the errand safely and get the job done. Against ordinary troublesome demons, he would have been able to cope. No one could have anticipated a situation like this. Before dinner arrived, he finally mastered Fire Bolt. He leaned against the wall for a brief nap. When he woke, he waited and waited, but the old butler's knock never came. He couldn't have mistaken the time; Luge had absolute confidence in his own empty-stomach clock.