A grand feast came to an end.

  Whether it was dinner, breakfast, or lunch, Tars couldn't be sure, but it had been immensely satisfying. He reclined against the black book, legs crossed, his small feet wiggling slightly before pausing. He plucked a thin blade of grass from the edge of his skirt and used it to pick his teeth, continuing to swing his grimy feet.

  He had outperformed himself this meal, devouring a full half of a fat grub. He had been trying to eat and sleep as much as possible to grow taller and stronger, but the cycle of "eat to sleep" and "sleep to eat" was rarely smooth—until he scavenged this precious book. He suspected the black covers on both sides were crafted from some kind of insect shell.

  Suddenly, a rhythmic patter of footsteps echoed through the interconnected tunnels. Tars sat up slowly, reaching for his trusty staff. His post-meal tranquility had been abruptly cut short. The footsteps weren't chaotic; they fell like a hurried drumbeat, indicating a single person in a state of great urgency.

  He held his breath, pricked up his notched ears, and pressed his back against the cave wall. Gradually, however, he relaxed. As if confirming his suspicion, a familiar voice rang out.

  "Brother Tars! I knew you'd be here. Have you eaten your fill?"

  The figure stopped before him—a kobold girl likewise clad in a grass skirt. Though a kobold, for all intents and purposes, she was a maiden, and one significantly taller than him at that.

  "Aiskin, I told you, you don't need to run when you come to see me." He looked at her with a hint of annoyance. It was startling; he was, after all, a high-strung little kobold who frequently shed fur due to insomnia.

  "Oh... it is because... of happiness!" Aiskin’s speech was clunky. Her jumbled sentences and inverted word order often made listening an exhausting task for Tars. This was even after much practice talking with him; in the past, her attempts to express herself were so frustrating she looked ready to pluck the fur from her own head.

  Even so, she was a fellow oddity among the kobolds. He had once wondered if she, too, hailed from another world. Unfortunately, reality proved he had overthought it; Aiskin only acted remotely human when she was with him. Her other side was defined by the typical cruelty and bloodlust of her kind.

  "We have a Master! A powerful, strong, and wise Master! The Holy Lord Gray-Long-Neck!" Aiskin was so excited she was nearly incoherent. She paused for a moment to organize her thoughts. "The Master wants to see all the kobolds now. All of them! Brother Tars, let’s go together to welcome the Holy Lord..."

  Tars stared at the ecstatic girl, unable to process the news immediately. His mouth hung open in a silent, frozen stare. Ah, I see. I’m still not a 'qualified' kobold after all, because I haven't truly begun to think like one, he thought.

  The difference wasn't about shedding fur or lice; it was fundamental—a matter of mindset and logic. He just wanted to eat well, sleep well, and overcome his physical weakness. He had no desire to go out and find a "Master." Even if the tribe had acquired one, he had no intention of showing up for a mass gathering; he preferred to remain a loner.

  Aiskin clearly felt differently. She had come to drag him to the meeting, running all the way to share this joy with her only friend—the only kobold she could actually talk to. Her happiness was genuine.

  Their group of kobolds was quite large, but by racial standards, they were merely a small tribe. To be precise, they were a group of outcasts who had fled here to multiply and survive after losing a tribal conflict. Legend spoke of powerful kobold clans that served great dragons—creatures whose fiery breath could melt stone. Those kobolds were taller, possessed thick, powerful tails, and were covered in dragon-like scales rather than patchy fur. These tales were etched into the mind of every kobold from birth.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  By contrast, they were exiled losers with no mines to even call their own.

  "Right now?" Tars asked. His curiosity, at least, tempted him to take a look.

  Aiskin nodded vigorously, looking truly delighted. Serving a Master meant that, in exchange for protection, the kobolds had to hunt and offer food. That was the basic rule.

  "What does this Holy Lord look like? He won't swallow us in one gulp, will he?" Tars stroked the fur on his chin and tilted his head toward Aiskin, trying to plant a seed of caution. He believed she possessed a capacity for thought beyond other kobolds, currently buried under her excitement.

  When a weak kobold tribe "served" a Master, it was usually just a slightly smarter or stronger subterranean beast; the "protection" they gained was mostly psychological. They’d had a Holy Lord before—a "powerful" master who was allegedly poked to death by a group of lizardmen with short spears. Tars hadn't seen it happen, but he remembered the master was called Black-Long-Hair, or perhaps Holy Lord Black-Tooth.

  "Maybe I should like him as much as you do, but usually, by the time I get around to it, we’ve already moved on to a new one," he said.

  Aiskin fell into thought. Tars watched her quietly, his head still tilted. Suddenly, she pressed something into his hand and walked away in silence. Unlike her hurried arrival, she moved slowly now. Once her silhouette had completely vanished into the darkness, Tars looked down at the object.

  It was a smooth, well-proportioned piece of insect shell—likely a gift she had prepared for him.

  This small interlude was the spice of his life. He set the shell aside, finding the perfect, most beautiful spot for it. It happened to be the exact right size; with a slight adjustment of the angle, it fit flawlessly. The simple act of carefully placing it felt as significant as completing a monumental task.

  Tars studied it, raising an eyebrow. After a moment of daze, he returned to his routine: the pre-sleep ritual he had performed countless times. He opened the thick, black-covered Sleep Manual.

  With just one look, his heart grew still. Stiller than it had ever been.

  In that instant, he became the center of the universe, as if he were the only thing existing in this pitch-black world. The words and patterns he had stared at a thousand times began to twist as usual, but this time they faded away into nothingness. When he came to his senses, he felt as though he were rising. The distance between him and the pages hadn't changed, but a strange perspective seemed to emerge from the crown of his head, ascending.

  A faint, obscure light flickered from the book. The sensation of floating vanished instantly, and his consciousness crashed back down. At the same time, he opened his eyes, which he hadn't realized were closed.

  In the moment before his eyes opened, he saw a tranquil space—a vast, calm sea.

  "Sigil Meditation," Tars murmured. He ran his scarred, stained hand gently over the black book's cover. He finally recognized the words on it. After that flash of light, he had received a legacy; he didn't just recognize the script, he could suddenly speak and write it.

  "Catacomb Common? Wait... it seems it won't help me sleep anymore. In fact, I probably won't have time to sleep ever again..."

  He bared his teeth in a wide, joyous grin, devoid of any regret. His eyes were wide and round, almost glowing. He pulled out a small, rectangular object—a white, stone-like item he had found with the book. He had never known its purpose, but he had kept it safe nonetheless. Now, he understood.

  The object looked like white jade and featured ten small dots, each representing a standard unit of mental power. It was a testing tool for wizard apprentices. By successfully practicing the Sigil Meditation from the black book, one could become an apprentice.

  Though he didn't yet understand what a "wizard apprentice" truly was, he knew this was his chance. He followed the instructions in his mind, gripping one end of the white stone and concentrating. The stone emitted a soft, faint white light, but not a single dot lit up. This meant he had not yet reached the mental power standard of a Level 1 apprentice.

  He opened the black book and began to read carefully from the very first page.

  The mental space, also known as the meditation space—those who successfully open it and behold the Sea of Mental Power are ready to practice meditation. However, the shock of opening the space is mentally exhausting, and one should rest for at least a day before the first attempt.

  He read the description of the meditation space and the sea over and over; comparing it to his own experience, it was undoubtedly correct. He was ready.

  However, there was one discrepancy: he didn't feel tired at all. In fact, he was incredibly alert. He could start practicing right now.