Tars widened his eyes in disbelief. He immediately cast Spirit Boil on himself, focusing his mental energy for another attempt to open the spatial door.

  He practiced this every single day; while he couldn't claim massive leaps in power, he was undeniably proficient. Yet this time, only a dark red hole the size of a fist appeared—the absolute limit of his desperate effort.

  Thud! Thud! Thud!

  "Young Master, I am coming in. Please forgive my intrusion," the voice outside spoke with impeccable politeness. To Tars, it sounded like a death-dealing incantation.

  In his panic, he pulled out the "half-face" and shook it violently in his hand. But whether he tried verbal communication or frantic shaking, the half-man's face remained utterly unresponsive. He was forced to tuck it away, chagrined.

  Creak—

  The door swung open slowly, stirring a breeze that caused half of the aged, brittle quilt on the bed to crumble into dust.

  "Young Master."

  An elderly man dressed in a black formal suit appeared at the doorway. Tars stared unblinkingly at the figure, watching for any sudden move, a thousand ways for a kobold to die flashing through his mind.

  "Young Master, how can you be dressed like this?"

  The old man clapped his hands. The wardrobe in the corner of the room seemed to be manipulated by invisible hands. Most of the doors collapsed and fell to the floor, but one remained functional, revealing a row of clothes inside.

  The garments floated toward him. Tars dared not move, watching as the clothes attempted to drape themselves over his body. Unfortunately, they disintegrated as they touched him; in the end, he was left draped in nothing but a few tattered rags.

  "Young Master, please follow me."

  The old man bowed gracefully. He straightened up, gesturing with a fluid, elegant motion of his arm to lead the way, then walked out. His movements were precise and efficient, yet devoid of any haste. Tars looked at the window behind him, weighed his options rationally, and decided to follow.

  The corridor outside was not pitch black. Every few paces, the walls were set with alternating crystals that emitted a milky white glow. He looked around curiously; like everything in the bedroom, many of these nameless crystals were cracked or dead.

  The old man walked dead-center in the hallway, his posture perfect, his back straight, and his stride rhythmic. Tars, after examining the crystals, turned his attention to the walls and the floor. He even bent down quickly to touch the stones—they were uniform in size, their edges polished smooth by the passage of ages. Judging by the scale of the corridor, he could only imagine the sheer magnitude of this entire structure.

  The guide was thin, but his movements were sharp and powerful. His footsteps echoed with a crisp, regular cadence throughout the hall. They were the only two present; they passed room after room and several junctions, but encountered no other soul.

  "We have arrived, Young Master."

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  The old man led him to a corner and pushed open a door.

  "Please, pay close attention."

  The old man spoke softly, then stepped back half a pace to make room. Tars looked at the spacious room behind the door, then at the old man—it was the first time he had looked closely at the guide who had terrified him the whole way.

  Sensing his gaze, the old man lowered his head slightly, his neck tilting at an angle that conveyed humility without appearing unsightly. Tars tried to soothe his racing heart, but when he saw the old man's eyes—which had no whites—his heart gave a few extra thumps, flatly refusing to be comforted.

  Tars stepped into the room, sensing the door close slowly behind him. This room was three times the size of the bedroom, containing three sets of empty desks and chairs, and a single, lonely figure standing and waiting.

  He hesitated, listening to the old man's footsteps fade in the hallway, and reached back to grab the doorknob. He pushed and pulled, but it wouldn't budge. He forced himself to stay calm for a moment and carefully stepped forward.

  This room was carpeted, and the rug had been preserved well without crumbling. As he walked, his eyes darted toward the figure with its back turned to him. The room wasn't particularly bright, illuminated by more of those magical crystals, though these cast a warm light. Some were functioning; others were dark. These scenes, which had no business being in the Abyss, filled him with both terror and immense curiosity.

  He stopped a few paces away. The dim, warm light cast a sallow hue over the waiting figure. He felt apprehensive; despite his proximity, the person remained motionless. This was even more nerve-wracking than the overbearing guide.

  He debated whether to speak a few words of broken Abyssal. After a moment, he summoned his courage and moved closer—two steps, then another two.

  Suddenly, he noticed something and lunged a large step to the side. Looking from a different angle at the thin figure, he saw that it was actually a standing mummified corpse. The withered body was so desiccated that its gender was indistinguishable, and its clothes had fused with the skin.

  Suddenly, the mummy twitched, though the movement seemed agonizingly difficult.

  "You are late, my dear student."

  The mummy was so agitated that a crack tore open across its jaw and cheek, but the actual words were broadcast via mental energy.

  "Late by exactly three hundred years—"

  The mummy-teacher seemed filled with resentment, grievance, and endless humiliation. Its mental energy trembled, broadcasting a complex wave of emotions that brewed into a storm of indignation.

  Tars, feeling even more aggrieved, backed away until he hid behind a desk. There were no windows here, and certainly no decent cover. He couldn't get a word in and had no idea what to do, so he simply cast Mage Armor to keep himself from being exposed.

  If I make it back alive, I'm definitely asking the half-man for extra compensation, he thought. He tried to open the spatial door again, but it still wouldn't form.

  The mummy's chaotic mental fluctuations continued for a while before gradually subsiding. Silence followed. Tars tried to poke his head out. To his surprise, the withered teacher had already turned around and was staring silently and directly at his hiding spot.

  The silent stare-down lasted for an unnerving amount of time. Though the eyes were shriveled and the sockets sunken, Tars knew the creature was looking at him—scrutinizing him.

  "You are intelligent, aren't you? Quick, tell me. Tell me you are a clever fellow." Though the mummy urged him, its tone was no longer manic. Having calmed down, its voice sounded like a cold, female one.

  "I think my brain works well enough," Tars replied in Abyssal.

  The other seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, and its mental fluctuations rippled with a hint of joy.

  "I have finally waited long enough for you!"

  The mummy, which had just calmed down, suddenly burst into a fit of wild laughter before regaining its composure.

  "Apologies, but you should be able to understand. That old fellow has gone mad. He has trapped me here for three hundred years—three hundred whole years—just to wait for a student who didn't exist. I haven't left this room in three centuries. I've only been able to survive by using special methods to fall into a deep slumber, quieting my soul to reduce consumption and, more importantly, to keep myself from going completely insane!"

  The mummy tried to raise its arm, but only a few flakes of skin fell off.

  "Were you... also trapped here by mistake?" Tars asked.

  "Clever little imp of a strange shape, you will help me, won't you?" the mummy said.

  "Let us cooperate and leave this place together."