The Nonexistent Hardcover Book

In a dim, gloomy little room.

A large communal bed held over a dozen boys.

They were all boys of twelve or thirteen.

Each of them was curled up, sleeping fitfully, not even daring to stretch their hands out from under the blankets.

"Hiss!"

The candle lamp on the left wall suddenly flared to life.

The boy sleeping on the far left was startled by the candlelight, curled deeper into his blanket, and kicked the boy to his right.

The boy on the right, kicked awake, kicked the boy to his right in a daze.

Just like that, one kick after another, they kicked the boy on the far right against the wall.

"Ugh..."

Thor let out a low groan, rubbed his dull, aching knee, and climbed up in a daze, standing still for a moment to clear his head.

"Hurry up... if you're late, the wizard will turn you into flower fertilizer," the boy next to him reminded him like a sleep-talker.

Thor pressed against the old wound on his forehead; the slight stinging sensation helped him wake up, and his movements finally became efficient.

He quickly climbed off the bed, put on the servant's uniform hanging on the wall, pushed open the door of the small room, and walked out.

Outside the door was a long, curved corridor. Every few meters on both sides of the corridor, there was a door, with a candle holder on either side of each door, using their faint, yellowish light to try their best to dispel the chilling gloom of the hallway.

Thor looked at his left shoulder by the candlelight.

A hardcover book, smaller than a palm, was floating there.

Hasn't it disappeared yet? Maybe it's not a hallucination.

Ever since he transmigrated a few days ago, that book had been floating above Thor's left shoulder.

He could see it, but he couldn't touch it, and others couldn't see it either.

Thor had called out for a system and prayed for a chip, but received no response, eventually concluding it must be a hallucination caused by his head injury.

But a hallucination shouldn't last for so many days without disappearing.

Regardless of whether it was a hallucination, Thor had his own work to do and no time to keep studying it.

The place he was in was a Wizard Tower.

Since transmigrating, Thor had never once stepped out of this tower.

Moreover, as a servant here, he had to climb out of bed around four in the morning every day to mop the floors of the eleventh to thirteenth-floor corridors. There couldn't be any obvious stains or trash left behind, or he would be chopped up to serve as flower fertilizer.

The cleaning of the corridors had to be finished before the candlelight turned from a dim yellow to a bright white flame; otherwise, if he ran into a wizard apprentice heading out, he might be snatched up for an experiment.

Those wizard apprentices were all strange-looking, with terrible, impatient tempers, as if they were being chased by death every single day.

Thor's predecessor had been killed by a wizard apprentice who threw a book at him. The body was tossed into the utility room and nearly disposed of as trash.

When he crawled out of the utility room with his face covered in blood, even the butler almost thought it was a haunting.

After confirming he wasn't dead, the butler immediately assigned him work, and Thor was sent to labor before he even had time to tend to his wounds.

Until today.

Ending his recollections, Thor first went to the utility room next to the communal bedroom to grab a mop, a bucket, and a trash can, placed them on a small flatbed cart, and pushed it forward.

The wheels of this cart were said to be inscribed with a silencing spell to prevent disturbing those incredibly fragile-nerved wizard apprentices.

Thor had carefully observed the patterns on them for the past two days, but other than feeling slightly dizzy, he had gained nothing.

He yawned and began his day's work in the cool of the early morning.

The corridor was, to be precise, a semicircle, with a door every few meters on the left and right sides.

Those doors had nameplates hanging on them, and the characters on the nameplates represented the room numbers.

The body Thor transmigrated into was literate, and after a few days of exploration, he had recovered some basic common sense from the fragmented memories.

While cleaning the eleventh floor, Thor heard muffled sobbing from behind one of the doors.

Whenever the crying started, the candlelight on both sides of the door would sway gently, the light and shadows flickering in a deeply unsettling way.

Thor tightened his collar, all his sleepiness frozen away.

He quickly pretended he knew nothing and heard nothing, finishing the mopping of the floor there as fast as he could.

There was a weirdo on the twelfth floor who liked to throw trash at his doorway.

Hair, shredded paper, unknown chunks of meat...

Thor had already grown accustomed to taking the initiative to clean it up when passing by.

He took the small shovel hanging on the side of the trash can to collect all the trash, and as he turned to dump it, he heard a faint scratching sound.

He quickly turned around and saw the door behind him opened a crack; it was pitch black behind the door, and he couldn't see anything.

Thor immediately felt the hair on his entire body stand up. His hands trembled slightly, and he wanted to run, but he was afraid that the wizard apprentice inside would find his behavior disrespectful.

He hadn't been in this strange and terrifying place for many days, and the thing he was taught most was to maintain the utmost respect and humility toward all wizard apprentices.

Thor was currently just a twelve-year-old boy without any abilities, and his body was thin and frail.

A powerful wizard apprentice could crush him with the flick of a finger.

As for a wizard, heh, with his status, he wouldn't even be able to meet one.

Thor waited for a while, his heart pounding in his chest.

There was no movement behind the door.

Time was tight; he maintained his vigilance toward the door while mopping the floor, keeping his eyes fixed on the gap.

Finally, he walked past it, the door hidden from view by the curved corridor.

Thor's tense shoulders relaxed slightly as he pushed his cart up the slope to the next level.

The thirteenth floor.

As a transmigrator, Thor was rather sensitive to this number.

Even though he had originally been a materialist, having arrived in a bizarre world filled with wizards and monsters, he chose to be cautious.

It was said that the previous servant responsible for cleaning had died on the thirteenth floor.

Thor had cleaned this area two days ago and hadn't found anything unusual, but this floor still made him feel uncomfortable.

It was that kind of fear where, even though nothing had happened, it still made his hair stand on end and his fingers tremble uncontrollably.

Thor lowered his head and scrubbed the floor vigorously, using physical labor to dispel the unease in his heart.

However, the thing he feared most still happened.

As he passed the third door, the door to his front right... suddenly began to seep a pool of bright red blood from underneath.

The blood was vivid, viscous, and carried a heavy, fishy stench.

At a glance, it was clearly nothing good.

The blood flowed to the middle of the corridor and finally stopped spreading.

According to the butler's requirements, Thor had to clean up all obvious stains.

He gripped the mop handle tightly, gritted his teeth, and steeled himself to step forward.

Just then, the hardcover book on his left shoulder suddenly flew to his chest and flipped open with a rustle.

Thor was stunned; this was the first time the hardcover book had shown any change.

His heart leaped with joy—could it be that his golden finger knew he was in danger and had come out to save him?

Thor glanced at the blood on the ground out of the corner of his eye, but most of his attention was focused on the book.

The hardcover book stopped on a blank page, and several lines of text appeared rapidly:

[New Moon Calendar Year 314, May 21st, While cleaning the corridor floor, you saw a pool of blood seeping from behind a door. Although you felt terrified, in order to complete your task and avoid being turned into flower fertilizer, you steeled yourself to go up and mop the floor.

But this floor is so hard to clean; why does the blood on the ground keep increasing the more you mop?

You look down and understand—it turns out that you are the one constantly bleeding!

The next day, there was an extra dried corpse in the Wizard Tower's trash room.]

Thor's legs went weak, and he nearly collapsed into the trash bin behind him.

He used the mop handle to steady himself, looking at the pool of blood with lingering fear.

So my golden finger is a death crisis warning. In this terrifying and gloomy place, it is quite practical.

He didn't think the hardcover book would lie to him.

What value did he have to be lied to?

Thor carefully pushed his cart, intending to go around the pool of blood, when the hardcover book in front of him changed again.

[You are terrified of that pool of unknown blood and decide not to clean this part of the floor.

In the morning, because the floor is not tidy, you are summoned by the butler.

The next day, there is new flower fertilizer in the greenhouse, and you feel very satisfied with your stinky new form.]

Thor: "..."

Damn it!

No matter what I choose, it's death?

New author, new book, please add to your library and click to the last page, thank you!