Diary of a Dead Wizard-Chapter 197: Conditions

Saul glanced worriedly back toward the entrance of the basement.

"Just to be safe, I can only stay here for half an hour at most. After that, whether it’s digging a tunnel or finding another way out, I can’t let myself get stuck in this place any longer."

If Victor wasn’t just an ordinary apprentice, if he wasn’t even an apprentice at all, then even Ralph, who had turned into a human-faced worm, might not have been able to defeat him.

Saul’s moves just now to divert the trouble to someone else, it's not certain who will be harmed in the end.

“So, you’ve probably realized by now—I’m not a true wizard. How do you expect me to help your master find release? And why would I take such a risk?” As Saul spoke, he began rummaging through the little compartment without the slightest courtesy.

He wasn’t particularly obsessed with the idea of giving Ralph a release. But he had a hunch—if Hunter was trying to strike a deal with nothing but a severed head, he must have something incredibly valuable.

And as for what was most important to Saul in this manor—it was undoubtedly any clue related to the Dead Wizard’s Diary.

“I hope you can help me kill my master,” Hunter said solemnly.

Saul was stunned. So, it wasn’t about saving him? “Was it Ralph who turned you into this?”

“Yes,” Hunter gave a bitter smile. “But I don’t resent him. I just don’t want my master to lose his dignity as a true wizard. I may not be a wizard myself, but I’ve served them all my life, and I know—my master’s current state is irreversible. If he still had any awareness left, I believe he’d never accept what he’s become.”

“So you want to help him find release? But I have to be honest with you—I’m no match for your master in his current form. I’m not about to throw my life away.”

“I understand, sir. No matter how good the terms, no one would accept a mission that guarantees death. Please, come over here—I have a bottle behind my head.”

At his words, Saul turned to his left shoulder, brushed off nonexistent dust, and glanced briefly at the nearby knight, Olaf, before approaching the butler’s head.

Throughout their conversation, Olaf had stood silently five meters away. Even as a wraith, he kept his sword drawn and stood guard loyally.

As Saul walked up, he saw Hunter’s head placed in a large dish. A pale red liquid sloshed around it, though only a shallow layer remained—barely enough to wet a fingertip.

“It’s probably this liquid that’s keeping Hunter’s mind functioning.”

Though intrigued by its composition, Saul knew this was no time to be running experiments.

Little Algae extended from the back of Saul’s neck, poked around behind Hunter’s head for a moment, and then pulled out a clear, round-bottomed crystal flask.

“This is it,” Hunter said, his expression complicated. “After acquiring Victor’s potion, my master spent days analyzing its components, trying to craft a counteragent. He almost finished it… but lost his mind before he could complete the formula. However, he was certain—once finished, this antidote could completely neutralize the potion’s effects.”

Saul examined the vial carefully. “But with your master’s current condition, even if the potion’s effects are removed… he probably won’t survive anyway. Ah, right—your goal is to give him release. Living or not doesn’t matter.”

Hunter clenched his jaw but couldn’t refute Saul’s point.

“This is no easy task. Even if I can refine the antidote, I’d still have to face Ralph again to administer it. That’s incredibly dangerous. I can’t see what you could possibly offer to make that risk worthwhile.”

“I have the formula notes for the antidote. My master was just a step away from finishing it,” Hunter offered immediately, lowering the difficulty of the task.

Then he added, “If you can create the potion, I will give you Master Ralph’s blood and flesh inheritance. Blood and flesh is the culmination of centuries of the Bloodthorn Family’s legacy.”

“Not enough,” Saul rejected him without hesitation.

Hunter froze. He hadn’t expected that the heritage of an entire wizard family could fail to impress the boy before him.

He gritted his teeth and continued, “There are also Master Ralph’s research notes from decades of study. They don’t just cover blood and flesh—there’s also knowledge and insights from many wandering wizards, all refined and verified by my master. They’ve been compiled into a book called the Catalog of Blood.”

“Anything else?” Saul asked, expressionless.

Hunter opened his mouth, momentarily forgetting he didn’t need to breathe. “Sir… that’s the most valuable thing in Ralph Manor. As for mundane gold and silver, I doubt it would interest you.”

“I don’t want gold or silver. I want knowledge. A family with a hundred-year history can’t possibly have only Ralph’s catalog, right?” Saul stared intently at him.

Hunter looked at Saul blankly, then suddenly came to a realization. “Sir… are you interested in records from the last calendar era? We do have some of those, but they’re all unverified accounts. Their authenticity is questionable.”

Saul’s heart skipped a beat. He felt like he’d finally asked the right question. “That’s not your concern. The price you’ve offered so far isn’t enough to make me risk my life. As for the rest—I’ll need to see it first.”

“I understand. Please push the bench under the table and straighten it along the right side.”

Little Algae stepped forward to help.

Click!

As the bench slid beneath the long table, a spring clicked, and the floor tile under where the bench had been popped up.

Little Algae poked its head in to check for traps. Finding none, it retreated back into Saul’s neck.

Saul approached and crouched down.

The mechanism had no magical components and, therefore, gave off no magic energy—something easily overlooked by wizards accustomed to magical detection.

The small compartment was half a meter deep. Inside were several books, a stack of loose pages, and a few spell scrolls.

Saul glanced at the scrolls. Only one was a First Tier spell—Minor Fireball. The rest were all Zero Tier spells.

He couldn’t help but wonder—why would anyone bother turning Zero Tier spells into scrolls?

With a sigh, he tossed the scrolls to the ground and began pulling out the books, propping them up beside him.

He skimmed titles and guessed at their contents.

His instinct told him there was nothing useful here.

Finally, he picked up the stack of loose pages of various sizes and materials and began flipping through them quickly with his thumb.

A series of characters—some familiar, some not—flashed before his eyes.

Suddenly, Saul stopped. He pulled out a few pages, and his eyes began to glow.

These pages described how, during the Bloodthorn Family’s separation from the Bloodrose Family, they had taken with them a book called the Dead Wizard’s Diary.

Though the following pages didn’t go into detail about the diary’s contents, they did mention its origins and some family lore surrounding it.

The Bloodrose Family had never valued the book and had handed it down to Ralph’s ancestor rather casually.

“So this diary wasn’t something passed down by the Bloodthorn founders after all… its origin lies elsewhere.”

He scanned the pages quickly, absorbing the words.

Behind him, Hunter—nothing but a head resting on a tray—couldn’t see whether Saul had found anything of value.

Watching Saul treat the family’s prized knowledge like junk, casually tossing things aside, filled Hunter with both heartache and anxiety.

He wasn’t worried Saul would take the documents. After all, most of them were unverifiable records of questionable credibility. The truly valuable items—the blood and flesh legacy and Ralph’s research notes—were still in Hunter’s possession.

What he feared was that Saul might refuse the deal after all. If that happened, there was nothing more he could do.

Saul was the only one who had made it into the basement in a long time. That was why Hunter had chosen to negotiate with him.

If Saul walked away, too, Hunter wasn’t sure if he’d ever get another chance.

At that moment, Saul stood up, tucked the few pages into his coat, and turned around.

“Hunter, is there anything else you’re hiding from me?”

“No, sir.”

“Then explain something. You’re just a head on a dish, sitting in a cabinet—how do you know your master’s being kept on the fourth floor and fed like a worm?”

(End of Chapter)

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