The bonfire crackled intermittently, its dancing flames casting a chaotic play of light and shadow across their faces.

  Tars kept his mind fixed on the location of his inheritance, yet his feet led him toward the fire. A flicker of spiritual intuition—shimmering like the frantic beating of his small heart—warned him that the muscular man was tracking his every move. He had deactivated Fetid Skin the moment the friendly man uttered his first word; sometimes malice isn't immediately fatal, but the trouble it stirs can spiral in unexpected directions.

  He sat down on the far side of the fire.

  "My thanks to you."

  He remembered a rule from Karyu's diary: low-level apprentices must maintain absolute respect toward seniors, especially those at the Peak.

  "Actually, that fellow might not have had malicious intent," Baont said. "Besides, he knew that with me in the group, things wouldn't have gone that way, so he likely wouldn't have tried anything."

  Tars was struck by how earnest this Peak apprentice seemed. To speak so much to a low-level learner was rare; according to Karyu, most apprentices grew reclusive over time, and veterans were notoriously difficult to deal with.

  "I didn't do it to help you, so don't thank me," Baont continued. "I only did it because I despise him and wanted him out of my sight. If anything, your appearance helped me; I should thank you for giving me an excuse. I actually wanted to provoke a sharper argument so I could find a reason to beat him senseless."

  As he spoke, Baont tossed something over. Tars reached out and caught it—it was a large mana stone.

  Crack! Pop!

  The fire flared violently, nearly dying out before swaying back to life. A figure stepped out from the flames—the man who had been playing with the fire earlier.

  "Hm? Where did he go?" the fire-user asked. He was holding a large beast leg, likely from some unfortunate subterranean creature. It looked succulent and fatty.

  Baont simply shrugged in response to the question.

  The fire-user's expression shifted to one of understanding. He began prepping the meat, muttering as he worked. "Did you use Ghost Sound when you told me to go fetch the meat? When I said 'Fine,' what did that fellow hear?"

  He kept his head down, his emotions stable as if he had already guessed the truth. "Little fellow, remember: do not be fooled by this big guy's appearance. He is a strange one. 'Strange' is the most accurate description for him—not quite wicked, but not exactly good either."

  Baont shrugged again. "He heard 'Fine' as well, though the preceding sentence was different. I didn't dare tamper with your words; I only modified my own. You know I'm not skilled at those subtleties, so it was exhausting work—especially trying to hide the mana fluctuations. It's just that the man was too irritating."

  As the meat roasted, fat dripped into the embers. The two men fell into a comfortable rhythm, alternating between silence and brief conversation. Tars watched them, sensing the atmosphere had softened. He felt it was time to leave.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  "Gentlemen, thank you for your kindness. I believe I should be going," he said calmly as he stood up. In reality, his heart was racing. Sitting with two powerful wizard apprentices felt more nerve-wracking than facing two formidable subterranean beasts.

  Instantly, he felt his presence locked down again. It was as if his every movement were enveloped by a pair of invisible, massive hands; if the hands moved even a fraction slower than he did, they would brush against his fur.

  "You can't leave yet," the fire-user said.

  Under the man's careful turning, the beast leg began to emit a heavenly aroma, seasoned with various spices Tars didn't recognize. The scent was leagues beyond anything he had tasted in years; the boiled grubs in his storage pouch suddenly seemed utterly unappealing. The fragrance made his mouth water involuntarily.

  However, the saliva Tars swallowed was mostly due to tension, like a criminal awaiting sentencing. If he were guilty of anything, then in his limited understanding of the Underworld, his weakness was his crime.

  "This was prepared for three. Wasting it would be poor form; we must maintain reverence for the creatures of the Underworld," the fire-user said, carving the meat. He produced a clean plate adorned with golden patterns—a sight that made Tars daze. As he took the plate, he had a fleeting, bizarre sensation of being back in a civilized world.

  Tars tried to eat with elegance, but it was impossible. Between the hunger and the dual pressure of fear and relief, the lure of the meal was irresistible. His kobold senses of smell and taste finally found their purpose; he had worried they would atrophy from years of eating slimy grubs.

  "See, Baont? This little fellow's appetite is the best praise for my cooking." The fire-user seemed genuinely pleased.

  Baont didn't look up, eating his portion while occasionally glancing at a crystal-like orb. "Those troublesome giant bugs should truly be dead by now. I just wonder where that little insect-person has hidden," Baont remarked.

  The fire-user remained calm, slicing another large portion for Tars. "This mission is unusual. I'll wait three more days. If there's no clear result, I'm giving up and leaving," he said.

  "Hmph!" Baont let out a cold snort.

  "Wizard Niteli's rewards aren't easy to claim," the fire-user continued. "He put those items up specifically to lure Peak apprentices desperate for advancement. Failure in the first stage was inevitable. Some Peak apprentices probably even acted in secret to help that little insect-person escape, giving him more room to run so he could follow his spiritual guidance to find that city." He paused, his tone shifting. "Were you among them? Complaining now only makes you look foolish and incompetent."

  "Hmph! The reward for simply catching the bug is only something a 'little fellow' like this would care about," Baont countered.

  Tars stood up once more. The meal was finished, and he truly felt he had stayed too long. Their talk of the "little insect-person" made him feel like he was sitting on needles; he was terrified they might have a spell to detect his connection to the "cry-baby" insect. Furthermore, they were speaking the Underworld Common Tongue, and he was terrified the nursery pouch at his waist might vibrate and draw their attention.

  "Thank you both for the hospitality. This was the most delicious meal I have had in a long time." He kept his voice steady and bowed politely.

  This time, he wasn't stopped.

  He cursed the fact that he didn't have a flashy, magical way to depart. Walking away step by step was agonizingly tense; he nearly tripped over his own feet.

  "Wait."

  Baont suddenly stood up, staring at his crystal orb. The fire-user remained unhurried.

  "If it's the insect-person, I'll go," the fire-user said. "But if it's that snake again, that's your private business. Perhaps you should take the little fellow with you. A low-level apprentice could be useful against a wounded snake. Also, stop giving him mana stones. What someone like him needs most is spell knowledge—even the most basic kind. Apprentices from the 'test subject' background are all the same."

  The fire-user's words made Tars pause mid-step.

  "I know you can kill that snake easily," the man added, "but your goal now is to capture it."