The book creaks as I wrench it off the shelf, heavy as a medieval-dressed concrete brick. My arms sag slightly under its weight. Not one of those decorative brochures for literate snobs, no. A real block, weighing as if every page had been soaked in molten lead.
"…Damn, this isn't a book, it's a dumbbell."
I tip backward, wings flapping a little to steady myself, and drop back down to the floor. The cold marble greets my boots with a sharp little click. I clutch the tome to my chest, and a sharp smell seeps out—a mix of ancient dust, tanned leather, and stale damp. Like someone locked a dead cow in a library for a century.
[ The weight of this book is substantial enough that you require muscular effort to carry it. ]
"Thanks, Senpai. Great. I picked up a dictionary, not a paperback."
[ Suggestion: use a lectern. ]
"Yeah, sure. And while we're at it, why not a butler, a cup of tea, and my own private library?"
[ Umh… That is in fact the place you're in right now. ]
I groan and squeeze the volume tighter. The leather corners bite into my palms, cold and rigid. I pivot on my heels, wings folding back, and spot an armchair by a low table. The kind of seat that probably costs more than my entire life combined.
"Alright. Gym break."
I flop into the armchair with all the grace of a sack of armored potatoes. The leather groans, protesting under the impact, and the book lands with a dull thud on the table in front of me. Dust bursts into a choking little cloud, dragging a cough out of me.
"Seriously, I hope there aren't any deadly mushrooms in there…"
[ Probability of fungal infection: moderate. ]
"…I was kidding."
I shove the tome aside a little too roughly, then my eyes drift to the shape sprawled on the floor. The scholar.
He's still there, lying on the marble like a forgotten doll. His hands twitch occasionally in reflex, his lips move, but no sound comes out. His gray beard spreads across a small puddle of drool.
I stare at him for a while, elbow on the armrest, chin resting on my hand.
"…So what do I do with you?"
[ Probable options: 1. Leave him here. 2. Revive him. 3. Eliminate him. ]
"…Thanks, Senpai, but that's not a drop-down menu."
[ Correction: it is exactly a drop-down menu. ]
I sigh, stand, and walk closer to the old man. My boots scrape against the marble. I study him. His eyelids flutter weakly, like he's trying to crawl out of his coma just to insult me in the local language.
I lean down, hands on my knees.
"You know, you're not very practical. You scream, you panic, you faint… Lucky for you, you're too old to serve as a punching bag."
I extend a hand, hesitate a second, then lightly pat his cheek. Not hard—just enough to see if he reacts.
A faint groan. A ragged breath. Nothing more.
[ At least the individual remains alive. ]
"Thanks, Dr. House."
I straighten back up, studying him again. Part of my brain says I should maybe thank him: without him, no map, no book. Another part whispers I should finish him off before he rats everything out to his superiors.
I smile. Wide. Too wide.
"You know what? I'll wait. See if you come back. You owe me that much."
I turn away, head back to the armchair, leaving the old man sprawled behind me. My gaze falls again on the book. It waits, massive, dark, like a locked chest.
And for the first time in a long while, I feel like I'm holding something truly valuable.
My fingers trace the cover. The leather is hard, cracked, but crafted with an almost unhealthy precision. Arabesques wind along the edges, hand-carved, thin as veins. The relief catches the candlelight, throwing golden flashes into the library's shadows.
"…Holy hell."
I hate to admit it, but it's beautiful. Really beautiful. Not just a dusty book—an artwork. A relic that's survived through time.
[ Observation: metallic pigments. High probability of actual gold used. ]
"Fantastic. I stole the most boring gold bar in the world."
I lift it slightly, tilt it, and the shine dances on the binding. At the center, a broken-circle symbol catches my eye. I frown. It doesn't look like anything I know, but there's a strange symmetry, almost hypnotic.
I scratch the pattern lightly with a nail. It vibrates under my skin. Not like a simple design. Like… a beating heart.
A shiver runs down my spine.
"Yeah… you're hiding something."
I set the book on my lap, take a deep breath, and lift the cover. It groans like a cellar door. A puff of dust stabs my throat.
"Seriously… even the books here want to kill me."
The first pages stare back with superiority, covered in twisted lines and symbols. Pretty letters, probably, for those who can read them. For me? Just elitist doodles.
"…Yep. As expected: unreadable."
[ Correction: readable for about 9.3% of this continent's population. ]
"Great. And I'm in the 90.7% left out, thanks."
I flip a page. Then another. Each one brings the same frustration. Entire paragraphs mocking me with their elegant curves. Like they're whispering secrets while sticking their tongues out.
"Awesome. I stole the fantasy version of Terms and Conditions."
[ Suggestion: persistence. ]
I sigh, keep turning. Miniature maps, incomprehensible diagrams, marginal notes scrawled by a trembling hand. Nothing that makes sense. Until—
My eyes catch something.
I blink. Lean closer. My heartbeat slows.
In the middle of the book, the letters change. No more twisted glyphs. Instead… straight lines. Square shapes. Symbols I know.
I freeze.
Kanjis.
"…Wait. No. Seriously?"
My fingers tremble. I stroke the page, just to check it's not a hallucination. The characters are sharp, familiar, drawn with almost school-like precision.
[ Anomaly detected. ]
"Anomaly? No kidding! It's Japanese!"
[ Impossible. Japanese is a language of your world of origin. ]
"And yet, it's right here. Want a magnifying glass?!"
My lungs empty in one rush. A nervous laugh escapes me.
"What the hell is this… Who's been here before me? The calligraphy club? A kanji teacher?"
[ Hypothesis: this document is multilingual. A deliberate translation, adapted to different readers. ]
I shake my head, a tight smile tugging at my lips.
"Yeah… except there's only one category of person who can read this here: me. And that's not normal. Not. At. All."
I dive back into the page, devour every character. It's Japanese, but not scribbled casually: complete sentences, organized paragraphs. Talking about history, kingdoms, wars.
A shiver runs down my spine.
"This thing… it was made for us. For the reincarnated."
[ Correction: for you. ]
I clutch the book, my knuckles white.
"…So I'm not the first."
I adjust the tome on my knees and flip ahead to a thick block of heavier pages. My eyes land on it… and I almost burst out laughing.
A table of contents. Written in Japanese. A real one, neat and clear, black lines cutting across yellowed parchment like graffiti scrawled in a medieval museum.
"…You serious, universe? You even prepped a table of contents for me?"
[ It is indeed adapted to your linguistic skills. ]
"Translation: the System thought about clueless tourists like me. That's… creepy."
I run a finger along the first line. The kanji dance under the candlelight, like they knew I'd recognize them.
1. The First Great Convergence
I frown.
"…The First Great what?"
I reread it three times. No mistake. The characters speak of a massive gathering, a unique event, something like a world conference… but the title is vague, almost theatrical.
"Great. Sounds like one of those family reunions where everyone ends up punching each other."
[ I suppose it equates to something like the "First World Council." ]
"Yeah, or as I'd call it: the first Zoom meeting of the apocalypse. With crackling mics and Uncle screaming in the background."
2. Vinizan
I freeze. The hair on my arms stands up.
"…What the hell does that mean?"
Next to the word, a few scribbled sketches. Not detailed drawings—just vaguely human silhouettes, twisted, deformed. Close enough to me to be unsettling. Distant enough to remind me I never want to meet them.
[ They resemble a highly predatory species. Their status appears unknown. ]
"Yeah, well, unknown or not, I don't want them showing up in my backyard."
My stomach tightens. I trace the word with my fingertip, as if checking it's really there. Like a threat, lying in wait on paper.
3. Significant Potentials
I blink.
"…Isn't that what you spat out just before we fused and I became… me?"
[ Correct. It refers to individuals considered statistical anomalies. ]
I wrinkle my nose.
"Translation: the 'big chosen ones.' The ones that shine a little too brightly in the dark."
I feel my own reflection in that phrase. And, despite myself… I like it.
4. The Keren Empire
I narrow my eyes. That, even I've already heard of. The massive political juggernaut. The steamroller that thinks it's the center of the world.
"Fantastic. Time for the 'imperial propaganda' chapters, I guess."
[ Correction: more likely a summary of their expansion and military power. ]
"Translation: spoiler for the current season."
And finally—
5. The Ohts Incident
I stop cold. My breath catches.
Ohts. Crossed out on the map. Ohts. Destroyed. And now, a whole chapter dedicated to it.
"…An incident. Seriously? They call that an incident? That's like calling Hiroshima a little spark."
[ Observation: semantic choice intended to minimize the event. ]
"Yeah, well, it doesn't work. Even written in kanji, it reeks of tragedy."
I freeze before the table of contents. Five titles. Five promises. Five bombs ready to blow up in my face if I dare turn the page.
A nervous laugh bubbles up.
"…Okay. I've officially snagged the Michelin Guide to nightmares."
[ Correction: 'historical guide of high value.' ]
"Yeah, but that's a worse sales pitch."
I slowly close the book, holding it tight against me. My heart pounds. It's no longer just a book. It's a key. A black box. A testimony.
And now that I know it exists… there's no going back.