Tars approached the great boulder step by step, scanning the surroundings. He looked left and right but saw no sign of the shriveled corpse.

  Just as he was wondering where it had gone, a burly figure rushed out from a side passage, followed by several tall lizardmen. The figure streaked past, but upon seeing Tars, the lizardmen shrieked and lunged toward him.

  Thump! One lizardman was sent flying. The burly figure doubled back and skidded to a halt in front of Tars.

  "It;s you?" Bahunt said, looking him up and down.

  The remaining lizardmen shifted restlessly, but they eventually stood disciplined behind Bahunt.

  "Do you speak kobold?" Bahunt asked in a low voice, his eyes lighting up as if struck by a sudden thought.

  Tars shook his head.

  He chose to tell a small lie; everyone already assumed he was a kobold modified by some inhumane mentor, so it was perfectly natural for him not to know the native tongue. He had no desire to get entangled in the high-stakes affairs of wizard apprentices. Judging by Bahunt's aggressive posture, whatever was happening wasn't good.

  If they were sitting down to share insights on spellcasting, Tars would have been willing to participate, but he felt that was nothing more than a pipe dream.

  Without a word, Bahunt turned and left. The lizardmen scrambled to follow, and the one who had been knocked down finally picked himself up and scurried after them.

  Tars hurried to the great boulder. He looked around the ground once more, and when he looked up, the half-man was standing right before him.

  "I have been waiting for you for a long time."

  The half-man was still in that state where he couldn't blink his eyes or move his mouth. Tars looked at his now-complete head and wondered if he should change the man's nickname.

  Just as the thought crossed his mind, the half-man slowly stood up. Under Tars's watchful gaze, he stretched his limbs and leaped down from the boulder. As he landed, he shed his illusory state completely, appearing like a normal human being.

  "I must thank you for the little gift you sent. It allowed me to escape that state one step sooner," the half-man said.

  Well, his mouth and eyes still don't move when he talks, so he's not quite a "normal" person yet, Tars thought.

  "You mean that shriveled thing?" he asked.

  "Yes. That was the corpse of a Child of the World. Moreover, a child whose world likely no longer exists. To others, it is no different from a common cadaver, but to me, it has its uses."

  The half-man rolled his shoulders and flexed his hands, seemingly relishing the ability to move again.

  "What exactly is a Child of the World? A child of the planet?" Tars asked, looking up.

  "A tragic soul. They rarely appear when a world is flourishing, and even if they do, they are often bound by it. They are most commonly born when a world is decaying, yet they are usually powerless to turn the tide. The most sorrowful are those born when a world is on the brink of collapse; the world's decline affects them, making them far weaker than a typical Child of the World. They rarely grow up, plagued by illness from birth—much like the world they inhabit. Their fate is sealed from the start; it is as if they were born solely to witness the final curtain call of their home."

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  As the half-man spoke, his form flickered, turning slightly illusory again.

  "After a world is destroyed," Tars watched him closely, "does everything disappear?"

  "Of course not. If you are strong enough, you can endure it, though you will face many restrictions and inconveniences afterward," the half-man noted Tars's strange expression and added, "I know what you’re thinking. I am a native of these warrens; of that, you can be certain."

  Tars blinked.

  "Work hard. Strive to become a powerful wizard, and you will see more things—very, very interesting things."

  The half-man produced a vial of deep crimson liquid and held it out.

  "What is this?" Tars had already guessed, but he didn't reach for it.

  "A Dragon Blood Potion. It is your payment, and a thank-you for that unexpected gift," the half-man said, seemingly curious about Tars's hesitation. "Just one small vial is equivalent to bathing in a pool of dragon blood. It is enough for you to successfully transform into a Dragon-Vein kobold. After that, you won't have to worry about your lifespan for a very long time, and you can focus on your wizard training."

  "Um, about that..." Tars cracked open his spatial door just enough to let a scent waft out. "I already have dragon blood—a whole pit of it, from a powerful variant dragon. What I actually want is the pure kind... I read in a diary once that pure essence is much better."

  The half-man fell silent, seemingly faced with a minor dilemma.

  "Such things are usually the pursuit of Bloodline wizards. It is good that you think this way; maintaining one's self on the path to power is a quality every wizard should possess. It seems your ambitions are grand," the half-man mused. "While a slight influence on one's personality may seem negligible, and a wizard's willpower is sufficient to suppress it, when you look back from far down the road, every 'negligible' detail has an impact on the path."

  The half-man tucked the potion away. "I will find a way. It should be possible. I will come find you when it is done." With that, he turned and walked away into the distance without looking back.

  Tars opened his mouth to speak but watched the figure disappear at the end of the tunnel, then looked back at the now-empty boulder.

  Fine then, he thought. Now I can go back and meditate in peace.

  No one shall disturb the Great Kobold Wizard, he thought playfully as he began his journey home. Maybe I should take a nap first. These last few days have been exhausting.

  The fact that the half-man could suddenly walk and jump was unexpected. Simply sending a face that originally belonged to him back from the Abyss via sacrifice had worked wonders, though Tars didn't understand the mechanics of it. It also meant their unspoken employment contract was over—at least, he wouldn't be running errands for a while.

  Besides Aiskin and Big-Dumb-Humper, the little fellow in the nurturing bag was also due for a dragon blood bath. At that thought, he opened his spatial door right there in the middle of the path.

  "Hey little guy, did you miss me? Your dragon blood feast is here." Tars took out the nurturing bag and dug a new, separate small pit in his space, carving out a private blood pool for his "bug brother."

  The nurturing bag vibrated in his hand.

  "I know you're smart, but once you bathe in dragon blood, anything could happen. So we have to complete the contract first. Only then can I give you a dragon blood bath and let you soak," Tars said, pulling out the Contract Stone he had taken from Bahunt.

  At the same time, he pulled out the Black Book, flipping to the section on the Familiar Contract within the Sigil Meditation Method.

  As for whether the "Clever Bug" would refuse and leave him, he never even considered it. He believed the creature was smart; if it did refuse, well, it would just become an extra course for dinner.

  He turned the bag upside down, and an object that looked like a cross between an insect egg and a giant eggshell tumbled out. It was nearly half as big as Tars himself.

  It landed steadily in the pit—which was clearly a bit too small.

  He paused his movements and set down the Black Book. While stroking the shell to respond to the eagerness within, he leaned in for a closer look. He noticed that this egg-like object shared certain characteristics—like specific patterns—with the dead eggs he had found back in the nest of the Gray-Long-Neck Lord.