When Victor returned to the North Tower, the sky was already tinged with dusk. He placed the coin containing the mischievous spirit on the empty table and settled into his office chair.

As the coin clinked against the surface of the table, it emitted a crisp ringing sound.

If one looked closely, they would notice one side of the coin bore the design of a six-pointed star, while the other featured a grotesque skull, exuding an eerie aura.

As the coin spun and tumbled, the skull’s eyes occasionally flickered with a grayish gleam that disappeared in an instant, leaving one wondering if it had been an illusion.

Yet in this room, there were no creatures capable of inducing such hallucinations.

The oil painting on the wall now depicted only a towering spire; the once-thriving rapunzel plants within were nowhere to be seen. A teapot rested motionlessly in the corner of the table, and the full-length mirror in the corner stood spotless, as though it reflected nothing at all.

“Bring me the bottle.”

Victor snapped his fingers at the teapot perched on the table's edge.

The teapot shuddered slightly, then clumsily began to creep across Victor’s cluttered desk. It accidentally tripped over a quill, tumbling headfirst into a pile of books and parchment, landing with a muffled plop.

Seemingly embarrassed, the teapot buried itself in the pile of books, disappearing momentarily from sight before wriggling free to resume its search.

Moments later, it presented a pitch-black bottle.

The bottle, though made of glass, had weathered the passage of time, appearing yellowed and aged. Its contents were obscured from view. When Victor picked it up, he noticed the top bore the same six-pointed star inscribed with runes—a mark associated with King Solomon.

In both worlds, King Solomon was recorded as a preeminent magician. Victor had been astonished to find that Solomon existed in this realm as well. Accounts in The History of Ancient Magic described Solomon as a pioneer in researching dark magical beings and a key contributor to the development of guardian spells—a luminary among ancient mages.

Anyone familiar with Arabic might recognize an inscription near the bottle’s stopper:

“Do Not Touch.”

Yet the next moment, Victor ignored the warning entirely, casually pulling the stopper free.

A billowing black mist surged forth from the bottle, causing the white flames in the room’s fireplace to flicker violently. The chandelier overhead swayed as though making way for the tangible darkness.

Within the mist, four crimson eyes gleamed, accompanied by a distorted, monstrous face.

It was a demon from Arabic folklore.

Initially disoriented after its release, it laughed hoarsely at the ceiling:

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“How long has it been?”

“Ah, when King Solomon sealed me in this bottle, I swore that if anyone freed me, I would grant them wealth, glory, and fulfill their every desire. But a hundred years passed, and no one came. So I vowed instead to bestow unimaginable riches upon my savior. Then two hundred years passed, and still no one appeared. At that point, I swore to kill whoever released me but would allow them to choose the manner of their death.”

“And now, how will you—”

The demon’s raspy voice halted abruptly when it spotted Victor. Its four eyes widened slightly.

“...Why is it you again?”

“It’s me. Are you disappointed?”

“Disappointed? How could I not be?” The demon’s crimson eyes glared at Victor. “I’m not even asking you to release me anymore. Just throw me back into the lake—but you couldn’t even do that?”

“What’s the rush?” Victor waved dismissively. “You’ve only been here three years. A few more won’t make much difference.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” the demon growled through gritted teeth. “You’re not the one trapped in a bottle.”

“Three years, then another three. By the time I get another chance to escape, my magic will likely be worn down completely. At that point, I won’t even be able to defeat an ordinary fisherman. How am I supposed to regain my power?”

“And what would you do with that power?”

“Conquer, of course—damn it, you’re trying to trick me into talking!”

“As if your intentions aren’t obvious.”

“Enough. I didn’t summon you for idle chatter.” Victor picked up the coin from the table, holding it before the demon’s four eyes. “You know what this is, don’t you?”

“Solomon’s cursed coin?”

The demon’s misty form sank slightly, bringing its eyes level with the coin.

“Ah, but there’s more to it… Something’s been trapped inside, hasn’t it?”

“Another fool who sought Solomon’s treasure, no doubt. They always assume a sorcerer like Solomon wouldn’t bother protecting his riches. In truth, they’re the real fools. Touch something that doesn’t belong to you, and—poof—you’re trapped in a coin forever.”

“Why don’t I ever encounter such dimwits?”

“...Says the demon who was tricked into a bottle by a fisherman.”

Victor’s words made the demon’s mist churn uncomfortably, punctuated by nonsensical growls of protest.

The demon grumbled about its supposed brilliance, the fisherman’s treachery, and being too disoriented after centuries of imprisonment. But under Victor’s steady gaze, the protests dwindled to silence.

Finally, the demon shifted topics in frustration:

“Fine! Just tell me—what’s in the coin?”

“A ghost.”

“A ghost?”

“Yes. A ghost unique to this region. You might not have noticed, but we’re in a new land now. The magic here is quite different from what we’re used to, producing fascinating creatures like this one.”

“They’re former wizards, reduced to remnants of obsession and memory, nothing more. But the one in this coin seems… unusual.”

Victor shook the coin lightly, releasing a faint gray hue before setting it down.

“It appears to be connected to this castle. If you can beat it into submission and make it confess the truth, I’ll agree to toss you back into your sea. Feel free to vent some personal grievances while you’re at it.”

“Connected to the castle…?”

The demon’s mist drifted through the room, seemingly deep in thought.

In mere moments, the air became thick with the stench of sulfur, intensifying until it was almost tangible.

After several seconds, the demon grinned wickedly.

“I see now.”

“I understand. You still believe in that rumor...”

Its voice was confident, dripping with malice.

“Oh?” Victor arched an eyebrow lazily.

But the demon’s four eyes remained fixed on him.

“Yes... I remember...”

“The rumor speaks of an alchemical method to perfect the soul, elevating it beyond the mundane world,” the demon hissed. “Even in Solomon’s domain, such whispers were known.”

“One crucial step in this alchemy involves gathering three elements symbolizing the complete cycle of reincarnation: the past, the present, and the future.”

“This ghost sounds like the perfect candidate for the past, my friend.”

The demon’s voice, brimming with sinister delight, reverberated through the office as it hovered menacingly.

“In the end, after so many merfolk, wizards, and giants perished chasing it, do you wish to join them?”

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