The once perfectly smooth orb in his hand now bore a prominent crack. Wisps of a strange substance drifted from the fissure, swirling out and retracting, though a small portion dissipated entirely with each cycle. To his senses, this ethereal matter felt as though it were composed of the other's mental energy, yet with a subtle, fundamental difference.

  "What have you done?" the orb demanded.

  "Does clutching you like a precious treasure count?" Tars replied, realizing this was likely a grave problem for his captive. Though he didn't know exactly what the entity had planned, he knew it wasn't benevolent, and he took pleasure in its burgeoning panic.

  "Stink! Why are you so stinky?!" the orb suddenly shrieked. "Wait... how can I still smell?"

  As the entity's mental ripples fluctuated violently with confusion, Tars snapped his arm forward, hurlng the orb away. He didn't stop to watch; he immediately sprinted in the opposite direction to put distance between them. He had sensed the cracks in the orb widening at an alarming rate.

  The orb struck the stone wall with a sharp clack, but despite the impact, it didn't shatter into shards. It bounced a few times and rolled to a stop on the ground, where it began to spiderweb and split apart from within. A scream erupted from the orb—whether from the physical fracturing or the psychological collapse caused by the overwhelming stench of Fetid Skin, it was hard to tell.

  A grey shadow lunged out from the remains.

  "You could have just walked away, but now I have no choice but to settle for you," the shadow hissed. Its voice was far calmer now than it had been inside the orb. It transformed into a streak of grey light and pounced toward Tars.

  Tars chuckled, glancing back occasionally as he used his mental perception to track the pursuit. He had already established a head start. The shadow was moving significantly faster than him, but he calculated he could play this game of cat-and-mouse for a while yet.

  The moment the entity mentioned the smell, Tars's panic evaporated. He sprinted at full throttle, using the mental map in his head to veer toward the wizard's fallen location. His goal was to kill two birds with one stone—loot the corpse without wasting a single drop of stamina on a detour.

  "You dare—how dare you—!"

  After a stretch of the chase, the shadow seemed to realize his intent. Its rage flared, and its speed increased by another third.

  "Oh? You recognize where we're going? Is that your own corpse up ahead? Hahaha!" The kobold laughed with villainous glee, looking for all the world like the aggressor. He noticed that the entity, having been reduced to this state, seemed to have lost its mental faculties. It was a boiling pot of violent emotions that even mental suppression couldn't hide—an easy target for provocation.

  "Agh! The stench! How is this possible? What is this smell... A foolish decision! Is this the spell you researched after turning yourself into a kobold?!"

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  The gap closed gradually, but both were slowing down. Finally, Tars saw his destination.

  High on the cavern wall, a corpse was crudely embedded into the stone. Black blood had flowed down the rock face and congealed, looking like a deep, dark doorway. The body wore a simple black robe with a patterned border around the hood, which sat firmly over the head, obscuring the face. The most striking feature was a clean horizontal gash across the waist—evidently the fatal blow.

  "Even as a crude kobold, I can appreciate the aesthetic. An unrefined air of art... you died so artistically," Tars called back, clapping his hands twice. He noticed the shadow was beginning to flag and felt it deserved some mocking encouragement.

  The grey shadow flickered but did not lunge. "We can cooperate," it said, ending the futile chase.

  Tars ignored it, stopping only once he had put a significant distance between them again. He knew the shadow was reaching its limit. The entity stood in the distance, watching him; throughout the pursuit, it had been slowly dissipating into the air.

  "You came for that, didn't you? I know things about that city. I can even help you wipe the Sigil off the storage pouch—it's not like I can use it right now anyway," the shadow said, wavering but refusing to come any closer.

  "I can tear it open myself," Tars replied. He paced back and forth, seemingly at random, but his steps took him diagonally forward until the shadow was once again within the aura of Fetid Skin.

  The shadow shivered and retreated silently.

  "I perceive you are a low-level apprentice. At most, a third-level wizard apprentice daring to touch a task from Wizard Niteli... you are a brave gambler, not a mindless one. You must be short on mana stones and spell resources. If you force open a storage pouch, you'll lose half the contents if you're lucky. If you're not, ninety percent will be cast into the void." The shadow spoke with newfound composure, trying to regain the upper hand.

  "I'm a man of simple needs," Tars countered.

  He remained on high alert, bracing for a final, desperate strike. He wouldn't touch a "cooperation" deal with a ten-foot pole. His caution stemmed from a profound awareness of his own ignorance. Even if a magical contract were placed before him, he wouldn't know if it had been tampered with or if a lethal trap lay hidden in the fine print. He didn't understand the Underworld or the depths of magical knowledge, but he understood that he only had one life.

  The shadow swayed in silence, looking like a candle flame about to go out.

  "A hand... just let me stay in the palm of your hand. That is my final concession. You can wrap me in your mental energy—or even a foot. Just take me back to the Wizard Tower, and I will give you another reward." The shadow finally lost its cool.

  Tars simply shook his head, his eyes already drifting toward the nearby tunnel entrance.

  Suddenly, a blue-white ray erupted from his hand! It tore through the shadow, creating a hollow void in its center, though the form wavered and slowly knit itself back together.

  "As I thought." He had suspected that against such a strange foe, his current repertoire might be ineffective.

  The shadow suddenly lunged with more speed than ever before, flying like an arrow released from a bow. Tars felt a concentrated malice he had never encountered—nothing like the simple, primal savagery of a lizardman or a kobold. This malice, stirred by mental energy, radiated intense emotional fluctuations that made his skin crawl. It was a mountain of rage and despair, a well of regret, and a boundless, infinite hate.

  It was this very intensity that caused the arrow-like shadow to ignite in mid-air. Grey flames flickered violently, scattering ghostly sparks.

  Tars cautiously retreated. The shadow never reached the spot where he had been standing; it crumbled into ash in mid-flight, leaving behind a single, pale-grey translucent crystal on the ground.

  The cooperation that never began was officially over.

  Tars waited for a long time, ensuring there was no further reaction before he dared to approach. Although the inheritance process had been unpleasant, he intended to keep his word. Once he finished scavenging, he would give the remains a proper burial.