Following the methods described in the book, Tars began the process of leaving his mystical imprint upon the eggshell. He pressed his hand against the surface, clutching the Contract Stone—which bore an identical imprint—between his palm and the shell.

  He reached out with his mystical mark to communicate. As he constructed a simple ritual rune within his mental space, it felt as if a door had swung open through the physical contact. He sensed a familiar, jubilant soul vibrating on the other side. He reached out to soothe it, waiting until its emotions stabilized before sending the Familiar Contract rune and a newly generated mystical mark through that ethereal connection. A companion contract relied entirely on mutual consent; the slightest resistance would result in failure.

  When the rune and mark finally passed through that non-existent door, the difficulty of maintaining the link spiked. However, the jubilant soul offered no resistance—the greatest guarantee of success. In fact, the soul even "tiptoed" forward, proactively enveloping the rune and mark. The contract was completed in an instant.

  Tars smiled, tossing the Contract Stone in his palm. The creature's mental strength was already quite formidable; he hadn't expected the bonding to go so smoothly.

  "Don't be in such a hurry. Even after you hatch, you can live in the dragon blood pit if you like..."

  He began expanding the area, widening the egg's pit by two more circles. Then, he brought over a supply of clean dragon blood and began pouring it directly over the top. The eggshell was instantly dyed crimson as the blood soaked in.

  The egg was actively absorbing it. It shuddered like a thirsty, foolish child who hadn't seen water in ten thousand years.

  Tars watched with a grin, unafraid of overfeeding it. He simply used his empty storage bags to shuttle dragon blood onto the shell. The small pit seemed impossible to fill at first; the blood vanished before it could even reach the bottom. Only after two full bags did the absorption rate slow enough for a pool to finally accumulate at the base.

  He watched for a while longer until the absorption slowed to a crawl. After topping off the pit with a bit more blood, he stepped out of the Abyssal Bedroom space.

  With a high-quality familiar secured and the promise of pure dragon blood from the half-man on the horizon, his mood was excellent. He pulled out a water-skin of Cry-Mushroom Wine and drank as he walked, stuffing a piece of roasted meat into his mouth.

  Unfortunately, he knew that happiness was a fleeting thing. He didn't want to be just a simple, happy little kobold. He didn't want to live in a cave for the rest of his life, playing king of the hill, even if it meant having other kobolds to massage his legs. That was Old Golden-Tooth's idea of paradise, not his—not now, and not ever.

  Still, one had to enjoy the present. He took another long swig of the mushroom wine. He wanted to become a powerful wizard, the kind of wizard who could prevent tragedies from ever happening to him again.

  Passing a suitable spot, he found a shallow depression in the ground. He stopped, took out the remains of the succubus scholar, and arranged them in the pit. He looked at the shards silently for a moment before performing a simple burial, finishing by pouring a final mouthful of wine over the spot. Who would guess that a special succubus was buried in this ordinary little corner? A guest from another world, no less. It felt almost comical—a learned succubus. What a strange thing to have encountered.

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  He took another drink and turned to walk back. Since one fellow was already soaking, he might as well complete the Dragon-Vein transformation for Aiskin and Big-Dumb-Humper today.

  The sweet liquid went down gulp after gulp. Feeling a sudden lightheadedness, he tucked the water-skin away and quickly cast Spirit Boil on himself to sharpen his focus.

  As he walked, he noticed some kobolds bowing to him. He didn't need to guess; Old Golden-Tooth had clearly been bored and busy with his propaganda again. He found Aiskin and Big-Dumb-Humper and led them to a secluded spot.

  "Listen to me, and everything will be fine. Soon, you'll both be much smarter," Tars said, opening his spatial door. "Don't be afraid. Don't panic."

  The two kobolds nodded nervously. Aiskin was visibly frightened, but her trust in Tars kept her still. Under his guidance, she summoned the courage to step through the invisible portal. As for Big-Dumb-Humper, he was more afraid of Tars than anything else, making him even more obedient than Aiskin.

  Tars prepared two pits, one large and one small. He expanded the one Old Golden-Tooth had used for Big-Dumb-Humper and dug a fresh one for Aiskin. He allocated the dragon blood and had the two kobolds lie down inside. He made sure to reserve a portion of blood for himself and the molting familiar, just in case something went wrong with the half-man's side.

  Soon, the occupants of all three pits had grown quiet. He watched from a distance for a while before beginning his own meditation.

  He still had a highly compatible spell to learn, which he had prioritized above everything else except his core meditation. This was the Zero-Ring spell he had received from Bahunt: Demonic Body. Although Bahunt didn't think much of it, Tars had come to trust his sense of compatibility and the subtle guidance of his spiritual intuition.

  Since the compatibility was high, he was determined to learn it, even planning to make it the occupant of his temporary spell slot once his third Sigil manifested.

  After three rounds of meditation, he prepared to give Demonic Body its first speed-read. He heard a stirring from the direction of Big-Dumb-Humper and Aiskin—their progress was notably faster than Old Golden-Tooth's had been. He glanced at the two twitching figures in their deep sleep, then looked back down at his book.

  It was a fascinating spell. It seemed comprehensive, yet as Bahunt had said, it was "comprehensively weak."

  Demonic Body, Zero-Ring Spell.

  A minor spell created through the modification of demonic flesh. The creator's initial vision was grand, and the spell holds enough value to be recorded. However, as a recorder, I must say this: even if I am docked two mana stones for it, I will insist on leaving this note.

  The value of this spell lies more in comparison and inspiration—it is an excellent reference for those wishing to modify similar spells. If an apprentice truly wishes to learn it or solidify it into a precious Zero-Ring slot, I must warn them: unless your spiritual intuition is twisting your neck to force you to look at it, do not do it. Do not trap your career in a dead end. Treasure your Zero-Ring slots.

  This spell grants the caster some resistance to most toxins based on demonic traits, but it is not strong. It can cause the caster's physique to become more robust in a few heartbeats, but it is inferior to Bull's Strength (and you'll waste a set of clothes unless you dress loosely). It can dull the caster's sense of pain, but they will still feel it. It makes the caster more durable, but it is far inferior to Mage Armor. Furthermore, Demonic Body has an additional casting restriction: it requires an object with a demonic aura as a catalyst, yet the type of material has no impact on the spell's effectiveness—another way in which it is inferior to Mage Armor.

  The more Tars read, the more amused he became. He read the entire introduction through the recorder's mockery and sarcasm. He could almost imagine that this helpful recorder had a story of his own—perhaps he had obsessed over a similar spell in his youth, only to be left with eternal regrets.