Academic gathering with Lich colleagues

Use the juice of bitter grass to draw a six-pointed star according to the book. This symbol must be complete and completely cover the dragon staff.

This wasn't difficult at all; the desk was small, but it was more than enough to hold a staff.

However, the problem lies in the part where the talent ball has corroded shallow pits. That part is dark black wood, and no matter how Lyle applies it, it won't show up.

Lyle had a good idea.

He placed the talent ball in the dent and imagined the missing part of the six-pointed star in his mind.

With the help of the changing light and shadow within the sphere, the magic circle becomes complete.

There's a voice inside me, and that voice is now.

Following his intuition, Lyle began to chant.

His right hand rested on the tip of the staff closest to him, and he chanted an incantation.

The runes on the six-pointed star began to light up, a pale white color.

The pale white color begins to spread across the six-pointed star, following the lines it has drawn. Once it completes a full cycle, the ritual is finished.

Lyle started to get nervous.

Because the light white color quickly spread to that shallow pit.

We're almost there. Just three words, two words, and one word away.

Then, the phantom runes inside the transparent sphere began to glow, but Lyle almost stopped the ritual.

Because the runes inside the ball are colored.

A kaleidoscope of colors, a blend of shimmering iridescent hues.

Why are they rainbow-colored?

Lyle saw that the rainbow moving forward inside the ball seemed to pause for a moment, and then turned into a spreading pale white.

Lyle finally breathed a sigh of relief when the runes were fully lit. The dragon staff was now completely bathed in white light, so bright it almost blinded Lyle.

"The plague doctor! The plague doctor!"

"He'll be fine, just a bit of a blur." A new voice appeared, like a cold drink on a sweltering summer day or a warm soup in the dead of winter. The voice could stir up inner desires, yet it was difficult to express its true essence. It was a woman's voice, mature and alluring.

Lyle's pupils gradually adjusted, and he opened his eyes.

She lay on the table, looking at her grapes with concern. Her little black head was raised high, gazing at Lyle's face. What a kind little girl.

On the other side, the dragon on the staff propped its head up with one forepaw, its tail swaying on the staff, and its eyes were also fixed on Lyle, but slightly narrowed. What was that? A mockery?

The dragon's body changed from white to a light pink; she was beautiful, very beautiful.

In fact, Lyle was somewhat prepared for his cane carving to come to life and learn to speak. "So, did I succeed?"

“Of course, my master, I am more than happy to be used by you.” A tingling voice came from the dragon’s mouth, and Lyle felt as if he were looking at a fox.

This doesn't seem very good.

"My walking stick, do you need a name? I think you should be given a good name to witness our good working relationship."

"Whatever the name, as long as it's bestowed by my master, I will be eternally grateful." It felt like an older sister joking.

"Hmm, how about I call you Little Dragon Girl?"

"Alright, then my name will be Medusa. Thank you, Master."

"...It's Little Dragon Girl."

"Mei, Du, and Sha thank you, Master."

"...It's a pleasure to meet you, Medusa."

"Me too, dear master."

This thing isn't working properly.

Lyle gripped his cane, and Medusa coiled around his palm, beginning to dart between his fingers. Looking at the fine dragon scales, a dragon named Medusa—what a strange incongruity. Oh well, when in Rome, do as the Romans do. Hopefully, she won't trick me later.

Lyle reached out to pick up the Talent Ball on the table; it had helped him earlier, thanks to it.

Just as my hand was about to touch that glistening surface.

A protrusion popped out from the smooth surface, and a liquid tentacle climbed up Lyle's arm, coiling around him like a snake. The talent orb turned into a thin stream of water, which then re-converged into a sphere on Lyle's shoulder.

Lyle stared at his ball in surprise.

It swayed twice automatically.

"Gurgle."

Chapter Fifty-Eight: Conversation of the Dead

"Gurgle."

"Gurgle."

It bounced slightly, making a sound with the vibrations, beating like a lively heart, though the sound sounded more like a restless stomach, but Lyle knew it wasn't hungry.

Lyle's talent changed, heading in the opposite direction of his expectations; the vine of fate broke free from the support he had built and stretched towards the sky.

His talent ball is becoming more like an individual entity.

Although forced commands could still control its actions, Lyle could sense the thought lurking in the corner; it had developed a sense of self.

A strange awareness made Lyle feel somewhat detached from it, even though it was his talent. He put the ball in the leather bag, tied the knot tightly, and tossed it onto the table. After instructing Medusa and Grape to watch for any unusual activity, Lyle lay down on the bed.

"My master, the night is long, and you just leave me here on this cold table, looking at a leather bag? We've only just met, shouldn't you be holding me in your hands, exchanging affection?" Medusa raised her upper body high, looking this way.

"No, you're only twenty centimeters long, and I don't have the habit of sleeping while hugging a piece of wood."

"What a gentleman."

"Thank you for the compliment. Good night, Ms. Medusa."

The next day.

The white tip of the cane tapped on the cobblestones of the main street. Lyle had changed into a neat sheriff's uniform, and the morning light shone on the top of his hat, bringing a touch of warmth to his head.

The air was fresh and the weather was mild. Lyle set off in a good mood for his first day back at work.

Halfway down the road, his body shifted unnaturally.

He touched the smooth tip of the staff; the dragon wasn't on it.

The fabric on my back was soaked through and stuck together, which was very uncomfortable.

That's not due to sweat.

He tugged at the back of his shirt.

"Gurgle."

Yes, the ball also came along, transforming itself into a large, thin piece of fabric that stuck to Lyle's back, its secreted mucus wetting the lining.

Medusa, meanwhile, moved inside the clothes, sliding from the left sleeve down to the chest and then to the right shoulder, as if in revenge, forcing Lyle to endure the ticklish sensation.

"Can you be quiet, Medusa?"

The thing that had been lurking in his abdomen swam up, and along his abdomen, ribcage, and collarbone, a small head emerged from Lyle's collar.

"I'm sorry, Master, the scent of a young boy is making me a little restless."

"Can't you just stay in your pocket or go back to your cane?"

"I'm getting to know you, getting used to your magical flow, so I can cast spells better in the future. You don't want your spells to fail either, right? If you had put me on the bed last night, this process might have been completed long ago. Are you feeling a little regretful now?"

"I am very glad I made that decision last night; at least I got a night's peace."

“Stubbornness is not a good quality, and many people suffer because of it, including you.”

Lyle limped to the police station.

Fortunately, Medusa was sensible enough to stop teasing people she knew.

Mr. Jordan was at the front desk, his eyebrows furrowed. Right in front of him, two men were arguing. They had come to the police station to report each other for breaking the law and were now engaged in a heated debate.

Mr. Wilt was nowhere to be seen, which seemed like good news. Even Mr. Jordan's sour face was much better than his fake smile. At least today, I could relax a little.

Passing through the front hall and arriving at the main living room, the young nobleman from that day was not resting here; perhaps it wasn't their work time yet. Lyle breathed a sigh of relief; at least he didn't have to awkwardly perform the hat-tipping ceremony for them.

The office was quite large, and Mr. Garrett's desk seemed to never run out of documents—signatures, stamps, signatures, stamps.

Occasionally, a document would cause him to frown, his distorted brow bone seeming to crush his monocle.

Good morning, Mr. Garrett.

"Good morning, little Bühler." He didn't even look up at me, yet he called me correctly.

"You arrived much earlier than I expected. It's good to be young; you recover so quickly."

It seems that Ralph really did report that lie.

"Perfect timing, your independent studio has a new task for you. Remember to write a report."

"Yes, sir." It's only been a few days, and there are already more deaths. This is truly the Dark Ages.

“Wait, little Buhler.” Mr. Garrett stopped writing, the swishing sound ceased, and his unlensed eye squinted as it scanned Lyle.

"Take this."

Mr. Garrett took a gold voucher from the drawer; its gleaming gold border was as soft as fabric.

Lyle had just seen this thing before.

"Indulgences?"

"Your injury hasn't healed, so don't push yourself. Your walking posture is all distorted now. Use this to take good care of yourself."

"Thank you, sir." Although his strangeness was not due to the so-called lack of buttock tissue.

"I'm too lazy to wait for that bastard to come to me for this, so I might as well just give it to you directly. It's strange, given his habits, he should have come to me to say those things a long time ago, but nothing has happened yet."

Lyle smiled. Ralph knew his true situation and naturally wouldn't stoop to begging for help. Judging from this, Garrett had given his uncle a lot of help in the past.

Thank you again.