The castle, having returned to its state of equilibrium, felt like a silent tomb.

  Tars crept through the dim corridor, descending the stairs. He felt like a villain from a cliché horror story destined for a gruesome end—an entity already possessed of a strange appearance, now hunched over, clutching a severed human face in his hand.

  "Big brother, if you're awake, don't worry about scaring me. Just open your eyes. You've seen much more than I have; your knowledge is vast, unlike a slow-witted little kobold like me whose wisdom isn't even as long as his tail," Tars whispered, giving the half-face a small shake.

  It was colder here than in the rest of the castle. The stone steps beneath his feet felt unrefined, purposefully retaining a primitive roughness, as if leading toward a savage and ancient path. He listened to the rhythm of his own footsteps until he reached the end of the road.

  An unimaginably crude and makeshift altar appeared before him.

  The materials composing this altar looked as if they had been scavenged from a heap of refuse: various bones, scraps of clothing, and even books. Dark, crimson stains marked the corners, and broken pieces of a wardrobe were scattered about.

  Tars pinched the tooth fragment between two fingers and began walking circles around the Abyssal altar. Where is the corpse I'm supposed to take? he wondered.

  "Over here..."

  The handsome youth emerged from the shadows, appearing to be in a relatively good mood. Tars looked back toward the stairs; there was no sign of the butler, nor the sound of approaching footsteps.

  "Why is there an Abyssal altar here?"

  "Oh? This? I wanted to possess transcendent power, like Ezel and my father, so I could go out and explore the world. So, I secretly gathered materials and hid down here to build this. My Abyssal became so fluent because of this project; I read an enormous number of books. At the time, I thought it was feasible. Theoretically, I do have some demon blood in me," the youth said with a shrug. "Father and Ezel actually knew what I was doing; they just let me have my way. After all, the entire castle was under their control."

  "Besides, I couldn't change anything. Even trying to communicate with the Great Abyss couldn't save a failure like me. I've been different since birth—always weak, always ill, always incurable. But I got used to it."

  The youth's figure flickered, and a floorboard lifted automatically.

  "I used to hide in here to play when I was a child. Ezel would pretend not to know, letting the maids search in a panic. He knew I liked to prank them. He'd only come to bring me back when dinner time arrived. Sometimes, I'd already be fast asleep inside."

  In a hidden compartment beside the altar lay a shriveled corpse. Looking at the dessicated thing curled up with its knees to its chest, it was hard to imagine it had once possessed such a handsome form.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Tars circled the corpse twice. He found that since becoming a kobold, he had developed a habit of circling things to observe them.

  "You... were you locked down here because you caused some trouble? Is that why you couldn't attend lessons? It seems you might have been a good student after all, and didn't skip class on purpose."

  As he spoke, Tars produced a short spear and used it to hoist the dried remains.

  "You want me to burn it. So, what's inside? Or is there something about this body that restricts you?" He swung the spear, sweeping the mummy past his side.

  The youth, as expected, retreated well in advance. Tars brought the shriveled thing close to his eyes. Upon closer inspection, he could see fine lines and various unknown characters etched into the skin, as if the corpse were wearing a brocade garment made of script.

  He had a few guesses, but they didn't matter. Tars wasn't here to play detective. He didn't need to understand every detail. He simply used the spear to dump the body onto the Abyssal altar. The altar was a crude, low-level piece of junk to begin with, and after sitting here for three hundred years, it looked entirely non-functional.

  "Visitor from another land, you needn't be so tense. I harbor no malice toward you, only a few white lies," the youth said. "I am not an evil person, or my stern father would have killed me long ago. Burn it. As I said before, we will both get what we want. You are a wizard; I know your kind uses powerful contracts. I can sign one with you to prove my sincerity."

  In truth, Tars very much wanted to use a contract, but he simply didn't know how to cast one.

  "I don't care if you're telling the truth or not. I just want to leave safely," Tars paused. "And it's hard for a sane person to keep believing the words of a liar..."

  His mind raced. Since this shriveled corpse was the key, he might as well follow the local customs and be a bit "playful," much like the Demon Dice.

  He feigned an exit, taking large strides toward the stairs. The youth initially stayed put, but seeing that Tars had no intention of stopping, he flickered and blocked the stone steps.

  "Father locked me here for the sake of family glory. But my homeland, that world—it's gone. What use is family glory now? Old Ezel only knows how to follow Father's orders, but Father is dead. He is no longer Ezel..."

  The youth did not get angry; he continued to speak in his calm, composed manner.

  Tars recalled the note. Butler Ezel had written a plea for him to save the Young Master. But now, the stories told by the two were in direct conflict. Perhaps the note was a forgery by the boy, or perhaps it was a half-truth. It was also possible that at some point three hundred years ago, the butler had changed his mind and decided to free the lad.

  But Tars had no patience left for these entanglements, for words he couldn't verify, or for the affairs of another world. He was just a little kobold who didn't even own a pair of pants.

  He spun around suddenly and hurled the half-face onto the decrepit altar.

  Tricking a kobold never ended well. He would leave everything to fate.

  This abrupt move cut the youth's speech short. The boy stared in bewilderment at the nonsensical act, while the silent altar left Tars speechless for a moment. For a brief time, both of them stood in silence, staring at the pile of junk.

  Suddenly, space warped.

  A dim, swirling light began to churn in a small radius atop the altar. The ruined Abyssal altar seemed to wake from a three-hundred-year slumber, snapping into vibrant life. The youth cried out and lunged past Tars toward the altar, but he didn't dare touch the mummy. He could only circle the crude structure in a frenzy.

  "You! What did you throw onto it?! You damned wizard!"

  Seeing the altar truly come to life, the Young Master abandoned all pretense and dove toward its center.

  Zip!

  An old, slightly worn boot appeared, toppling over on the altar.