Diary of a Dead Wizard

Chapter 85: Live Up to Your Name

The little tendril blob landed on Saul’s left shoulder. Every tendril on it reached upward, twisting and trembling like it was having a seizure.

“What is this thing?”

As Saul muttered to himself, the diary that had been quietly floating by his left shoulder glided in front of him with practiced ease.

[August 26th, Year 314 of the Lunar Calendar, Clear Skies]

Looks like you've discovered another secret space beneath the Wizard Tower.

No one knows how many secrets lie buried here.

Beneath your feet is the Soul-Devouring Mire that’s existed for who knows how long.

Right now, the core consciousness of the mire is dancing on your shoulder.

It’s clear—it really, really likes you.

Soul-Devouring Mire? Core consciousness?

Diary, you’re off-topic again. You realize that, right?

“This little tendril blob likes me?” Saul muttered.

Just then, the blob suddenly leapt from Saul’s left shoulder, hurling itself into the air. Judging by the trajectory—it was aiming straight at the diary!

Whoosh—

The tendril blob missed, tumbling off the edge of the platform and straight into the sludge.

Saul: “…”

“Diary, are you sure this core consciousness likes me? Not you?”

The diary didn’t respond, merely floated back to his left shoulder.

But its behavior just now made Saul a little uneasy.

Could that tendril blob actually sense the diary’s presence? Otherwise, why would it rush wherever the diary went?

“It’s called the Soul-Devouring Mire, so its essence shouldn’t be that blob—it should be the whole sludge pit. Why can the sludge sense the diary?”

“Even the Tower Master has never noticed my left shoulder.”

This realization made Saul tense up.

If anyone else—like Sid—were to discover the diary in his body, Saul would never know a moment of peace again.

A death prophecy—what a powerful golden finger in this world. Worth dying for, literally.

“Did it pull me down here just for the diary?” Saul’s face darkened.

He was no longer in a rush to escape.

He carefully observed the entire mire, wondering if there was a way to destroy all of it.

Or at least get rid of that core consciousness.

“Would Scorching Breath work? If there are corpses buried here, there might be flammable gases trapped underneath. I’ll have to be careful not to blow myself up.”

As Saul pondered, the tendril blob that had fallen down clambered back up the platform.

It crawled to Saul’s feet, shook off some mud, then began curling its tendrils, bouncing toward Saul again.

Saul stretched out his left hand and threw a punch, trying to knock it away.

But the moment his fist connected with the blob, it extended countless black tendrils that wrapped around his wrist, latching onto him tightly.

That punch ended up hitting nothing. Saul quickly adjusted his stance and drove another fist hard into the ground.

But just as his punch was about to land on the stone, his movement halted—abruptly.

The blob hadn’t dodged or tried to escape at all. It even nuzzled against his left hand, looking like it really liked his left hand in particular.

Saul stared at his hand—now practically wearing a black boxing glove made of tendril—and thought, Is it not sensing the diary?

The Diary of a Dead Wizard—its origins unknown, but clearly extraordinary. Saul believed it was at least at the level of a Third Rank True mage.

The Tower Master Gorsa was an experienced Second Rank mage. There shouldn’t be any being stronger than Third Rank hidden under the tower.

And this Soul-Devouring Mire obviously served as a dump for bodies and fragmented souls…

Fragmented souls?

Saul looked at his left hand—the hand the diary had identified as capable of temporarily storing soul fragments: a soul resin.

Could the tendril blob be sensing the residual soul aura in his hand?

Then maybe it pounced at the diary not because it sensed the diary itself, but because it detected the soul fragment inside?

After all, when Sid was shattered by the electric chair, a shadowy fragment had entered the diary.

That shadow had to be a very special part of Sid’s soul. Otherwise, the diary wouldn’t have absorbed it so readily.

But that fragment was gone now.

Saul couldn’t be sure what exactly the blob had sensed.

While Saul mulled this over, the tendril blob kept nuzzling against his hand non-stop.

“Had enough licking me yet?”

Snapping out of it, Saul grumpily tried to peel the black blob off his left hand.

But it was stubborn—remove it from one side, it latched back on from another.

Panting, Saul finally gave up trying to pull it off.

“Hah… Are you clinging to me because you want to leave with me?”

Saul decided to leave first and figure out what to do with it later.

But the moment he said that, the blob froze in place.

It didn’t move again but it also didn’t let go of his hand.

“…So do you want to come with me or not?” Saul was now intrigued and started teasing the blob.

Glorp… glorp… POP! Glorp… POP!

Suddenly, the sludge surrounding the platform began to churn. Huge gas bubbles rose and burst.

Thick black tendrils as thick as thighs emerged from the sludge, stretching desperately toward the platform, but stopping short—afraid to climb up—whipping violently around the base.

WHIP!

SLAP!

The ferocity of the lashes seemed like they wanted to tear Saul to pieces.

Saul immediately realized he’d said the wrong thing.

With a forceful yank, he pulled the blob off his hand with ease this time.

“Hey now, I never said I was really taking you with me. If you’re gonna throw a fit over it, then stay here.”

The tendril blob seemed to understand him. It trudged to the edge of the platform, looking back three times with every step, then finally leapt back down.

It really did look like a kid dragged home from school by a scolding parent.

But even after it returned to the mire, the disturbance didn’t subside.

It was like the parents themselves were now angry, arms on hips, warning Saul with deadly seriousness.

The tendrils kept thrashing at the muck, and soon, something even more horrifying surfaced before Saul.

Pale human faces emerged from the sludge. Their expressions were twisted, eyes glaring at Saul, mouths opening and closing—pleading? Cursing?

There was no sound, yet Saul’s ears buzzed painfully.

Even when he covered them, the strange soundwaves persisted.

Saul had no time to worry about anything else. He turned and stacked two lab tables together, climbing up in haste.

But he forgot he was only twelve. Even on two tables, he couldn’t reach the ceiling.

He tried leaping, caught some soil overhead with one hand—but couldn’t pull himself up and fell back down, the tables wobbling dangerously.

Huff!

The ringing in his ears grew heavier. Saul crouched in pain, clutching his head. He barely managed to stand again but couldn’t jump anymore.

Just as he was about to fall off the table, a shriveled, yellowed hand suddenly broke through the dirt above and grabbed his arm—yanking him out of the underground world.

Saul finally saw daylight again.

“Ptoo! Ptoo!” He spat dirt from his mouth, eyes still shut, thanking his rescuer profusely, “Thank you, thank you—I really thought I was done for.”

His rescuer was the gardener. The skin on his hands was as yellow as his face.

The gardener’s face bore the same radiant smile, though his movements were noticeably stiff.

“No need to be afraid. That’s just one of the Wizard Tower’s old labs. It’s been abandoned a long time,” the gardener explained warmly. “The Wizard reinforced it, but once in a while, an apprentice still falls through.”

Saul felt unwell—like a bad omen had taken root in him.

(End of Chapter)