Tars actually wanted to ask how long it took other wizard apprentices to learn a non-attuned Zero-Ring spell. Karyu's diary focused almost exclusively on his own experiences, offering too few examples for comparison. Furthermore, Karyu was a firm believer in his own genius; his confusion stemmed from the profound mysteries of magic and his own uncompromisingly high standards.

  Recalling the description of the Elixir of Awakened Meditation in the diary, Tars realized the half-man might be even more formidable than he had imagined. The side effects of that elixir were not easily neutralized. A mental power potion usable by apprentices without any drawbacks would be worth a fortune.

  The half-man probably doesn't care about the measly mana stones of a wizard apprentice, Tars thought. His storage pouch must be overflowing with treasures and mountains of stones. Unlike his own pouch, which became cramped after stuffing in just a few grubs.

  Since he hadn't managed to give the grubs away, he had no choice but to bring them back. As for whether the fat meat-grubs were stinky, he didn't much care. What he found interesting was that the half-man could smell them at all. Did that mean the half-man was still a living, breathing human? Yet, his nose didn't seem particularly sharp; he had expressed curiosity about the smell only after sitting up. Tars truly wanted to climb up the side of that boulder and see exactly what was going on with the half-man's missing brain.

  Strictly speaking, the half-man—just like him—had transcended the boundaries of normality. In the eyes of ordinary people, they were both monsters. Yet, a powerful wizard like the half-man, even if terrifying or missing half a head, likely wouldn't be stopped from entering those bright, spacious Cave-Cities.

  So, I just need to find a way and work hard to become a wizard, he mused. Strength was the path to respect and a license for unhindered passage. Perhaps by the time he became that powerful, he wouldn't even care about living in a Cave-City.

  He took a savage bite out of a meat-grub, sending juices flying, and continued walking. Lost in thought, he unconsciously arrived at a familiar junction he hadn't visited in ages: the hot springs. A short walk further in, and he could already feel the warmth. He hadn't expected the path he took to lead here.

  Looking at the half-eaten grub in his hand, he decided to treat himself before burying his head back in his studies. He had plenty more in his pouch; he would cook a batch of "roast" grubs to take back to Aiskin. She would be thrilled.

  He tucked away the half-eaten snack and crept forward cautiously. Subterranean beasts usually avoided this place, but nothing in life was certain. There might be some exotic beast with peculiar tastes. Despite his love for cooked food, he rarely dared to come here. It wasn't just warm; it was a sweltering, misty heat, like a natural steamer. The cavern held over a hundred vents of varying sizes that cycled through temperature peaks. Even at its coolest, it was no place for a normal person to linger.

  He entered the cave and found a vent about as thick as his waist—perfect for safety and efficiency. One by one, the grubs changed color, emitting a peculiar, savory aroma. He wondered what powerful wizards ate; surely they enjoyed delicacies a commoner wouldn't see in a lifetime.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  Splash! Splat-splat!

  The hair on Tars's neck stood on end. Despite the sweltering heat, a chill ran down his spine. The sound was close—right behind him, coming from the direction of one of the larger vents. Normally, kobolds and lizardmen avoided this place by instinct; liking warmth didn't mean wanting to be boiled alive.

  He slowly turned his head. A pair of eyes met his through the twisting steam. They were very close.

  Mimicking the kobolds of his tribe, he let out a frantic shriek and bolted for the exit, though he didn't forget to snatch the last half-cooked grub as he rose.

  Wait... that point-ear is a woman!

  During their first encounter, he had only noticed the beauty of the figure, unable to distinguish gender. He still couldn't see clearly now, as the steam only shifted briefly with her movements and most of her body remained submerged. But this elf was a monster in her own right—soaking in water that he wouldn't even dare boil a grub in for too long. He had been crouching there cooking for a while; she must have submerged long before he arrived.

  He hoped she would see him as just a stupid little kobold and not bother giving chase. Live and let live. Otherwise, he wasn't someone to be trifled with either; it was an honest mistake, and he wouldn't pay her a single grub in compensation.

  He had chosen a spot near the cave entrance for a reason. In a few strides, he could see the tunnel beyond the mist.

  "Take one more step, and prepare to see the inside of a beast's stomach—and its exit," a voice rang out, cold as a chisel against his ear. The threat was as creative as it was gruesome. "I'll keep you conscious, soak you in a petrification draught, and feed you to the slowest-digesting beast I can find. If you survive, I'll feed you to it again... until there is nothing left of you to emerge."

  As she spoke, she stepped out of the mist. Tars watched as she approached, seemingly in no hurry to dress herself. He stared back, his short legs shuffling slowly toward the exit.

  "Relax. I have no interest in you," she said, stopping a few paces away. Pale steam swirled around her cool, dark silhouette.

  Tars immediately dropped to his knees, throwing his hands up and letting out a string of gibberish in the kobold tongue—mostly frantic worship of the "Great Holy Lord" and pleas for mercy.

  "Trying to annoy me won't do you any good," she said in the Underground Common Tongue, cutting off his acting mid-shriek. "I have never heard of a kobold who wears a storage pouch at his waist."

  Tars went silent. He dusted off his knees and stood up, waiting for her verdict.

  "How fascinating..." The charcoal-skinned elf crossed her arms, walking in circles around him. "I've heard of madmen experimenting on themselves, attempting bloodline fusions that no one else would touch. But I never imagined... someone would turn themselves into a kobold! What a bold creature you are."

  She began to appraise him like a piece of art. "A miracle!" she exclaimed. "What do you plan to do next? Reverse-engineer the Dragon-kin until you're a pure-blooded dragon? That's a difficult path to tread..."

  She finally stopped circling but continued to scan him up and down.

  "Beautiful lady," Tars finally snapped, his patience exhausted. "You might consider putting some clothes on first—it's more elegant. I may be a little kobold, but I am an elegant gentleman. Please do not ignore me."

  He had realized by now that this woman wasn't part of some slave-hunting party as Old Gold-Tooth had described. She was a genuine wizard. As for how strong she was—a full wizard or just a high-level apprentice—he lacked the experience to tell. But he was certain of one thing: her eyes weren't as sharp as the half-man's. The half-man had known instantly that he wasn't a "modified" kobold.