Chapter 257: Misty Figures

Saul had never realized just how lively his workplace truly was.

He lay pressed against the wall, his face nearly flattened to the crevice, eyes bulging out from the strain of trying to see through it.

What he saw inside the second storeroom left him frozen.

It was packed with people.

But these weren’t like the standing corpses—they were transparent, even less stable than Morden and the others’ soul forms on the mental realm. Their bodies drifted and flickered like mist, barely holding the shape of limbs and heads.

They stood on the floor, lay between the shelves, hid inside boxes, and clung to the ceiling.

These misty figures swayed their heads side to side, and although their facial features couldn’t be seen, they seemed to be searching for something.

“They’re looking for me,” The realization made Saul’s right eyeball twitch and dart around restlessly, trying to count every misty figure in the room.

Since arriving at the Wizard Tower, whether in the dormitories, the corpse chamber, or now the second storeroom, he had always acted cautiously.

Even while sleeping, he took care not to reveal the existence of the diary.

He’d even gone so far as to occasionally write real entries in it, just so he could naturally mention diary-related terms if needed.

Because Saul had never felt safe in the Wizard Tower.

Now, he had finally found the source of that constant unease that clung to him.

Just as Gorsa had said—

There were no wraiths in the tower, but it was full of all kinds of spiritual entities.

Fragments, resentful spirits, wandering souls without awareness.

Rather than a Wizard Tower, it might be more fitting to call it a prison for souls.

Every facility here seemed designed to imprison souls and spirits.

The so-called labs, dormitories, and other structures were all later modifications—accommodations for the living.

“Can these souls actually see me? And if they can… would they report what I’ve done to Gorsa?”

A chill crawled down Saul’s spine, followed by a burning heat—as if someone had filled his bones with ice, then doused them with boiling water.

White mist swirled before his eyes, obscuring the truth.

“If Gorsa can access all the information within the tower, then no matter what Mentor Anze, Mentor Rum, or anyone else tries to do… he already knows everything.”

“If someone wanted to do something in secret, they’d have to be even more subtle—or act outside the tower entirely.”

A sudden thought struck him—those few times he’d moved around the Wizard Tower in soul form…

Had the tower master known all along?

He hadn’t bothered to disguise or reshape his soul’s appearance at the time.

Then… Did Gorsa already know that his soul and body belonged to different people?

Would he connect it to world-crossing travel?

Or just assume he was a wandering soul that had taken over someone else’s body?

Either way, whether Gorsa knew or not—whatever he thought of it—he had never once brought it up with Saul.

“Maybe he’s hiding it on purpose… or maybe… he simply doesn’t care.”

Saul couldn’t discern any differences or patterns among the misty figures. He couldn’t tell whether they could communicate with people, nor could he gain any information from them.

He instinctively leaned back, but found there was barely any space to move.

Forcing his hand up, he rubbed at his aching eyelid—his right eye burned slightly, likely from pressing too hard during the peek.

He touched the skin and could feel an obvious dent where he’d applied pressure.

“Let’s see if I can still get out easily.” Saul stretched a finger through the crevice the same way he had entered.

The world spun again, and just like that, he slipped out effortlessly.

The moment he was out, he turned back to look at the wall.

The crack was just as narrow and inconspicuous as before. If you didn’t know it was there, you’d never notice it.

He turned his head and deliberately noted the current time—choosing to forget, selectively, that a misty figure still dangled beneath the blue hourglass clock.

Then, he re-entered the crevice to test how long he could hide inside at a time.

Half a month later…

Using Mentor Kaz’s help to find a substitute, Saul took a full month off.

This time, he was heading out secretly to Grind Sail Town.

To keep up appearances, he registered his destination in the records as Borderfall City—over a day’s travel from Grind Sail Town.

He even made sure to request that the same coachman with the mushroom on his head drive the carriage for him.

This trip, Saul wasn’t just checking whether any of the Grinding Sound Fruit was still in stock—he also wanted to find seeds and figure out how to cultivate them.

After successfully constructing the mental realm last time, Saul realized that turning the diary into a locator would likely require multiple rounds of experimentation.

Even if he succeeded, he could still use the mental realm to replenish the soul energy of the consciousness stored within the diary.

That way, his black pages would no longer be single-use.

When Saul returned to the Wizard Tower again, wrapped in a gray cloak, he arrived just in time to see a single-passenger carriage waiting at the main road.

The coachman stood beside it, the small mushroom on his head bouncing up and down.

From a distance, it didn’t look like it was being blown by the wind—it looked like it was jumping on its own.

When the coachman saw Saul, he bowed respectfully.

“An honor to drive you again, Lord Saul.”

“This time, we might also pass by Black Castle Forest. Are you up for it?” Saul lifted his chin slightly, eyeing the hyperactive mushroom on the coachman’s head.

“It’s no trouble at all, my lord. Thank you for your concern. In fact, this mushroom’s brought me quite a few advantages. At the very least, no one dares compete with me for your assignments.”

The coachman didn’t mind in the slightest. To make it easier for Saul to observe, he even bent down to give him a better view.

“You haven’t absorbed that mushroom yet?”

“It hasn’t shrunk in quite a while,” the coachman murmured, gently touching it. “But I’ve gotten used to it.”

His expression was tender—as if he were stroking a child instead of some strange mushroom.

Saul squinted at the mushroom.

In his semi-immersive vision, the mushroom’s activity level was extremely high—it didn’t behave like a normal plant at all. Its vitality was more akin to that of an animal.

But the coachman showed no signs of mental disturbance. The two of them seemed to have reached a kind of symbiotic balance.

Still, sharing a body with a mushroom… What might that mean for the coachman’s future? Saul couldn’t say.

“If you want, I could help you get rid of it.”

The coachman touched his head thoughtfully, then bowed to Saul,  “Thank you, my lord. But there’s no need. This mushroom has given me strength. Maybe I can be of more help to you with it.”

“That’s really how you see it… then so be it.” Saul didn’t push the matter.

Everyone made their own choices.

Just like when he chose to become a wizard’s apprentice—he accepted the risk of sudden death at any time.

The coachman chose to keep the mushroom that gave him strength—he would have to accept the danger that came with it, too.

As long as it didn’t affect him directly, Saul had no intention of interfering with a grown man’s decisions.

That concluded the topic of the mushroom.

The coachman opened the carriage door for Saul, and after he was seated, the coachman climbed onto the front bench.

“My lord, shall we depart for Borderfall City?”

“Let’s go,” Saul replied, leaning back into the seat.

He had packed a number of tools and materials for this trip. He had also deliberately left some items in the Wizard Tower—such as the red-eyed doll the tower master had given him.

That doll was both protection and surveillance. Yura seemed able to observe what happened around Saul through it.

But Yura and Gorsa didn’t seem to be completely aligned.

That murky, unspoken tension made Saul decide, after careful thought, to leave the doll behind.

The journey from the Wizard Tower to Borderfall City by carriage would take just over six days.

On the morning of the fifth day, the coachman drove through a sparse forest, breathing in the crisp, cool air.

He loved mornings. The dewdrops always made his mushroom feel refreshed.

Suddenly, a firm voice rang out from the carriage behind him, “Take the turn at the upcoming fork.”

The coachman froze. That route didn’t lead to Borderfall City.

But then he remembered where the alternate path led—

He said nothing and quietly pulled the reins, guiding the carriage onto the smaller road.

(End of Chapter)

If you find any errors ( Ads popup, ads redirect, broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.