Chapter 208: Kismet

The moment Gorsa’s hand landed on Saul’s shoulder, Saul felt himself sinking.

It was a strange sensation, like passing through a curtain of water or like popping a bubble.

As he crossed that thin membrane, Saul vaguely saw countless eyes watching him and Gorsa.

Those eyes were densely packed, one right next to the other. The pupils were as tiny as pinpricks, and as Saul sank deeper, their gaze shifted with him.

The moment Saul made eye contact with those eyes, an inexplicable fear and unease gripped him. It felt like someone was repeatedly punching his heart—suffocating and oppressive.

Then, everything went dark and light again. When he came to, he was back in the second storage room.

That eerie feeling of being watched had vanished.

In front of him were the familiar ranks of corpses. Behind him, the towering shelves.

“Was that teleportation just now? Why could I perceive the process of spatial transition this time when I never could before?”

He didn’t have time to dwell on it. Gorsa was already speaking.

“Tell me what happened at Ralph Estate.”

Saul paused to gather his thoughts and organize his words.

“After entering the estate, I encountered a strange man. He had a terrifying ability—he could manipulate people’s consciousness or memories…”

Saul briefly recounted his entire experience at the estate, focusing especially on Victor’s abilities and behavior. He downplayed the difficulty of concocting the antidote and omitted Morden’s assistance.

As expected, after hearing Saul’s account, Gorsa’s first question was about Victor’s oddity.

“You said he played the harp?” Gorsa tapped his temple lightly with a finger wrapped in pink. “What kind of harp was it?”

Saul froze. He had no idea how to answer that.

He tried to recall it carefully but couldn’t remember what the harp even looked like.

“Maybe it wasn’t a harp,” Gorsa said, his tone unusually serious. “Victor… he always talked about ‘fate,’ spoke in strange patterns, and didn’t like to kill with his own hands… I think I know who he is.”

Huh? Does the Tower Master know him?

“His name is Kismet. He’s not from the Western Continent. Back in my homeland, many had seen this wizard. Hah—there was a rumor at the time: wherever he appeared, catastrophic mass deaths would follow. That’s why some called him the Harbinger of Death.”

“The Harbinger of Death!” Saul was truly stunned this time.

Victor—no, Kismet’s—title immediately brought to mind the Dead Wizard’s diary.

Why had Kismet hidden his identity and gone to Ralph Estate in secret? And that golden page that saved him from the soul storm—could it have something to do with Kismet’s arrangements?

Saul clenched his fingers tightly, his knuckles trembling and making a faint clicking sound.

Gorsa happened to fall silent at that moment, so the clicking became very audible.

“Scared?” Gorsa chuckled softly.

But Saul took a deep breath and slowly calmed down.

“Yes,” he admitted his intense fear without hesitation.

It was the unease from facing an enemy with unknown power and purpose. He also worried about the possible connection between Victor and that golden page.

If it were just Sid, a Second Rank apprentice, Saul could seek help to deal with him. But if a Second Rank wizard also knew of the diary…

Saul didn’t know whether he could protect the secret, nor if Kismet might be able to find it by following some subtle clues.

And now that the golden page seemed to have merged into the diary, Saul didn’t dare check it right away—he was constantly under the eyes of powerful wizards.

His anxiety made his heart pound restlessly.

“You don’t need to worry too much. I’ll send someone to investigate. In the meantime, stay in the Wizard Tower and don’t take on any field missions.”

“Yes.” Saul nodded quickly, then hesitated. “Tower Master… how powerful is a Second Rank wizard, really?”

He asked cautiously, unsure if the Tower Master would avoid the question or think he wasn’t ready for it.

Seeing the nervous apprentice, Gorsa gave a soft laugh.

He snapped his fingers, and two single-seater sofas appeared behind them.

They looked extremely soft—like they could swallow a person whole.

“If you want to talk about this, I suggest you sit down first,” Gorsa said and took a seat.

Only, his movements were stiff. His arms and legs were rigidly positioned, making him look nothing like someone enjoying a comfy chair.

Saul gripped the armrest and slowly sat down. He sank into the sofa instantly, overwhelmed by its comfort—like he’d never want to stand up again.

“This sofa is filled with materials that help stabilize mental strength. I can leave one for you. If you ever feel like you’re about to go insane, you can sit down and reflect on your life.” Gorsa’s tone was light, but the content was chilling.

“…Okay.”

Saul mimicked Gorsa’s posture, placing his hands on the armrests and resting his feet on the footstool below.

But he couldn’t relax in front of the Tower Master.

Suddenly, he felt like he wasn’t lying on a soft sofa but in a coffin lined with thick padding.

“Looks like you’re ready. Then let me give you a brief rundown of the wizard hierarchy.”

Gorsa’s voice turned calm and steady, like a lullaby.

“I didn’t talk about this before because I didn’t want you all fantasizing about high-tier powers while still weak. That would lead you astray, blinding you to your own growth.”

“But since you’ve been interacting with people beyond your level, it’s better if I give you a basic overview. That way, when you encounter a powerful enemy, at least you can try to prepare.”

“Prepare?” Saul repeated.

He looked at the Tower Master, struggling to imagine how knowing their strength could possibly help him prepare.

Gorsa slowly raised one finger and waved it slightly.

“See if you can call for help, flee, or fight to the death. Or, if it comes down to it, at least prepare a quick way to die—preferably one that destroys your soul entirely.”

Saul pressed his lips shut.

He’d never thought of preparing a clean death for himself, like a suicide warrior.

“No need to feel ashamed or discouraged. I’ve prepared a way out for myself, too. I don’t want to be some grunt for someone else after I’m dead.”

Even the Tower Master had a self-destruction method?

Does that mean the more powerful a wizard is, the more they fear death?

But, Tower Master, you’re saying this while facing a room full of corpses—doesn’t that make you feel guilty?

Saul sneaked a glance at the diary on his left shoulder, then quickly looked away.

He thought of Morden, whose consciousness had been shattered in the soul storm, and of Bill and the others, still working for him after death.

“Maybe I could make a deal with Diary Bro. If I die, he could store my consciousness inside the diary. Besides the fact that it’d get a little hazy and I’d grow dumb, it wouldn’t be such a bad way to go.”

“…Wait. Hazy consciousness?” A thought flashed through Saul’s mind, connecting the diary’s power and Victor’s methods.

He slowly clenched his teeth until pain and the metallic taste of blood rose from his gums.

Was it just a coincidence?

Victor’s abilities felt eerily similar to the diary’s in some ways.

So, was there a deeper connection between them?

(End of Chapter)

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