Ferguson stepped forward again, his eyes already filled with killing intent. Saul quickly reached back and pushed the door open just a crack.
"No need to get angry, Senior. I still need to study this candle a bit more, just to avoid any trouble for either of us. Besides, even if this deal falls through, we can still talk about other materials, right?"
Ferguson, who had been on the verge of going berserk, suddenly cald down.
The candle’s unexpected function had made him montarily forget his original purpose.
The candle was rely bait to control Saul. What he truly needed to save his life was still inside the second storage room.
“Then give back the Magic Crystals!” Ferguson stretched out a hand expressionlessly.
“Alright, I’ll go get them now.” Saul smiled, turned his head and froze on the spot, completely motionless.
Ferguson saw Saul agree verbally but stand there unmoving, and he imdiately felt like he was being toyed with again.
Five hundred Magic Crystals weren’t crippling for a Third Rank apprentice, but it wasn’t a small amount either. If Saul dared to steal them, Ferguson would block the door and beat him half to death if he had to.
Ferguson urged him, but Saul still didn’t move.
He strode forward and shook his arm threateningly. “If not, then give the candle!”
As soon as he spoke, the nearly furious Ferguson finally noticed sothing was off.
Through the crack in the bronze door Saul had pushed open, a multicolored light glowed within.
The shimring hues rippled like water, dazzling and srizing.
“The inside of the bronze door looks like this? I don’t rember Kujin ever ntioning it.”
Ferguson wasn’t the warehouse manager, after all, and Kujin wouldn’t have told him everything.
So he failed to notice one critical detail: Saul’s hand had only pushed on the right side of the bronze door, but both panels of the door had opened inward—at the sa ti.
Saul dared not move.
Though ntor Kaz had only explained the rules to him once, he rembered every single one clearly.
When opening the first tal door, only the left or right panel could be pushed open—never both. If both sides were opened simultaneously, one must imdiately freeze in place until the door closed again.
So the mont Saul turned and saw both doors opening inward, he instantly froze and didn’t dare move a muscle.
Even when Ferguson moved in and snatched the red candle from his hand, Saul remained motionless.
Like a statue.
Ferguson also felt that sothing was off, but couldn’t quite put his finger on what.
“I’m taking the candle. Next ti we trade… I… will… go…”
Saul stared blankly at Ferguson in front of him.
Ferguson stood there, holding the red candle in his hand, his lips still moving.
But he didn’t realize that his lips were moving slower and slower, his voice growing increasingly muffled.
From Saul’s perspective, inside the now-open bronze door, slender white arms extended out.
Each of those arms had long, noodle-like fingers—soft and limp, like pasta that had been boiled for hours.
Yet they were firm and strong, wrapping around Ferguson’s body again and again, slowly pulling him into the door.
Ferguson remained completely unaware, still mouthing words.
The noodle-like fingers slid into his mouth, his nostrils, his ears…
Saul couldn’t hear a word of it.
Watching Ferguson gradually mummified by the “noodles,” Saul didn’t dare move, only his eyes trembling slightly. He shifted his gaze toward the edge of his vision and vaguely saw Ferguson’s body going limp, being slowly and relentlessly squeezed through a door crack barely wide enough for a fist.
And through it all, Ferguson remained unaware. Even as his face disappeared behind the door, his eyes still stared at Saul—seemingly waiting for a response.
But he would never get one.
After devouring Ferguson, the colors inside the bronze door surged and roiled like crashing waves. Saul felt as if he stood on a beach, hearing a tidal wave capsizing a ship.
Even as he stiffly waited for the door to close, those soft, noodle-like fingers reached out once more.
A cold sweat instantly oozed from his pores, the droplets growing and sliding down his body, dragging more sweat with them.
Pale fingers crawled along the floor, the walls, the ceiling—tapping, slapping, groping…
They were searching for any leftovers.
So of the fingers brushed Saul’s ankle, then started climbing up his calf.
The motion was exactly the sa as when they’d devoured Ferguson.
Saul could already envision his fate—bound and twisted like sli, forcefully squeezed through the narrow door crack.
He wanted to run, but his diary had warned him—if he moved now, he truly would beco dough, kneaded at will.
So he didn’t even blink, not even a tremor in his pupils. He stood completely rigid, imagining himself as just another corpse nearby.
Finally, the noodle-like fingers slowly withdrew, reluctantly retreating back behind the bronze door.
Only then did the swirling colors inside begin to subside. The doors began to close.
Saul’s eyes stayed fixed on the narrowing gap until the bronze doors shut completely.
Once the doors sealed tight, he collapsed to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.
Huff, huff, huff… He gasped violently, brushing back his sweat-soaked hair before pushing himself up from the floor.
He turned around—and saw the crowd of corpses crowded in the corridor.
All of them were facing the direction where Ferguson had vanished, their long emotionless faces now twisted into eerie grins.
So tasty, so tasty…
Saul backed away a few steps, stopping only when his heels knocked against the door behind him.
Still tense with fear, he quickly turned to check and confird the bronze door was shut tight—no sign of it opening again. He let out a deep breath of relief.
Ferguson had been pulled into the door—his chances of survival were grim.
This had to be reported to ntor Kaz.
But first, there was sothing else Saul needed to deal with.
“You guys…” Saul looked at the group of corpses still facing the bronze door. “When are you going back?”
Back in the second warehouse, the corpses had also been lured by the red candle, but once the candle extinguished, they would automatically return to their places.
But now the candle had entered that multicolored world behind the bronze door, which had since closed. So why were these corpses still outside?
Saul waited a while, locked in a staring contest with the spooky, still figures.
They still didn’t move.
Each corpse had a serial number—they were valuable warehouse assets. He couldn’t just let them loiter outside.
Seeing that they weren’t moving, Saul sighed heavily.
He cautiously pushed the bronze door again. This ti, only the right panel opened, revealing a normal room—no swirling colors.
Saul looked back at the corpses and asked with a hint of pleading, “The door’s open. Can you go back now?”
…
That day, on May 4th, Year 316, the disappearance of Third Rank apprentice Ferguson hadn’t yet stirred any rumors among the apprentices.
That day, a newly promoted Second Rank apprentice nad Saul spent several grueling hours dragging nearly a hundred stiff, heavy corpses from the East Tower’s corridor back into the second warehouse.
He’d thought about using Mage Hand—but like with Ferguson, the magic composing it was instantly drained the mont it touched the corpses. Only physical contact could move them.
After setting down the final corpse, Saul grabbed the warehouse manual and coldly checked every serial number one by one. Once he confird none were missing, he slamd the manual onto the desk.
Then he shoved the big crate beneath the discarded candle stand right in front of the corpse crowd, plopped down onto it, and caught his breath, sweeping his gaze across their standing figures.
“I’ve figured it out,” Saul muttered, arms trembling with exhaustion. “Aside from the corpses of the True Wizards, the rest of you all ran outside to watch the show, didn’t you?”
These corpses might’ve had a fearso reputation, but after hundreds of close encounters, Saul didn’t feel much awe anymore.
“If it’s red candles you want, I’ve still got a few. Was it really necessary to go through all that trouble just to run outside?”
He wanted to knock on their heads one by one—but recalling their behavior after Ferguson vanished, he chickened out.
All he could do was grumble, “Fine, so you went out. But why can’t you co back on your own? Were you trying to tire out?”
(End of Chapter)
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