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The Death Knight did not nod. It did not speak.
It simply obeyed.
With slow, mechanical precision, it raised Gareth's severed head higher. Then it tilted back its helmet. The visor opened with a grinding sound, metal scraping against metal like a coffin lid being pried open after centuries.
There was no face beneath. No skull. No mouth.
Just emptiness.
A spiral of teeth materialized in that void, grinding and clicking in a wet rhythm that turned Velgrin's stomach. The Knight dropped the head into the darkness like someone discarding trash.
The crunch that followed was immediate and sickening. Bones splintered. Flesh tore. The sound echoed through the library's vaulted halls, bouncing off distant shelves.
Velgrin pressed himself against the column where he'd taken refuge, one hand covering his mouth. He'd witnessed horrors before. Had seen battlefields where the dead outnumbered the living. Had stood in ritual circles where souls were bartered like currency. But this was different. This wasn't consumption or ceremony. This was something colder, more mechanical. Like watching a machine process raw materials.
The Death Knight's armor trembled. Cracks appeared along the seams, thin lines of purple light bleeding through. Then the creature bent forward and convulsed, its entire frame shaking.
A mass of black bile hit the marble floor with a wet slap. It sat there, pulsing faintly like something alive. Velgrin watched, unable to look away, as bones began forming within the mass. They rose slowly, pushing up through the viscous substance. Smoke curled around them, thickening into solid shapes. Black armor grew from nothing, layer upon layer, accompanied by sounds that made Velgrin's teeth ache.
Less than a minute passed before another Death Knight rose and knelt beside the first. The two creatures looked exactly the same, down to the runes etched in their armor. Neither moved. Neither made a sound. They just waited there like statues carved from shadow.
Velgrin felt his legs weaken. His breath came short and shallow. His mind, trained through decades of magical study to categorize and understand, struggled to process what he'd witnessed.
The creature hadn't summoned another Knight. It had reproduced. Created. Built a copy from the raw material of a human soul.
He stayed perfectly still, willing even his breathing to quiet. His thoughts raced through everything he knew about necromancy, pulling from texts he'd read fifty years ago, lectures he'd attended at Henderson Academy, conversations with practitioners of the death arts.
A Sixth-Tier undead was not an accident. These creatures didn't spawn naturally or appear through amateur mistakes. A Death Knight was a weapon, deliberately crafted through immense skill, rare components, and years of study into the darkest branches of magic. Perhaps a dozen people in the entire world possessed the knowledge required to create even one.
Controlling a Death Knight required the power of an Arch Necromancer. Someone who had mastered soul-binding, command structures, and the delicate art of keeping a sentient corpse from turning on its master. These were scholars who had dedicated their entire lives to understanding death, and then kept studying long after most would have retired or expired.
Velgrin himself had fought one during the War of the Pale Coast. It had taken three other archwizards, extensive preparation, and more luck than he liked to admit. Even then, he'd only rated his chances at fifty percent.
Fire was the natural counter to undead. It consumed both flesh and the ethereal tethers keeping spirits bound to the physical world. Velgrin was the Spiral Flame, master of the Third Circle. Fire answered him like a loyal hound. And even with all that advantage, he'd barely survived.
But what he'd just seen wasn't control. Control implied struggle, resistance, the constant effort required to keep something dangerous under your command. This had been effortless. The Knight hadn't fought or hesitated. It had simply converted Gareth into raw material and produced a copy of itself. No ritual circles. No incantations. No visible strain.
Velgrin's gaze moved to the young man standing calmly in the center of the carnage.
The librarian still held his tea in one hand, his posture relaxed as though nothing unusual had happened. He looked completely ordinary, which made everything worse. Nothing ordinary could command that kind of power. No mortal should be able to create Sixth-Tier undead with a casual gesture.
Unless he wasn't mortal at all.
Velgrin looked around the library with fresh eyes. The endless shelves stretching beyond sight. The floating lamps that burned without fuel or flame. The silence that seemed to press in from all sides, absorbing sound rather than simply existing as absence. This wasn't architecture. This was a domain, a pocket of reality carved free from the normal laws of existence.
Creating a space like this required Tenth-Tier Magic. The final circle. The realm of legends so old they'd calcified into myth. Spatial manipulation at a level that let you rewrite the rules of reality itself within a bounded area.
In all of recorded history, only one name had ever been documented at that level: The First Wizard. The mythical founder of human magic. A figure so ancient that half the magical academies debated whether he'd been real or simply a useful story told to students. A man supposedly capable of creating worlds in shadows, teaching concepts to dragons, and carving runes from thoughts alone.
The idea that this young librarian in his cardigan, holding a paperback and a mug of tea, could possess mastery over both death and space at that mythical level seemed absurd.
It had to be absurd.
Except Velgrin had spent a lifetime learning to trust his instincts about power. He'd stood before entities that could shatter mountains. He knew what overwhelming force felt like when it pressed against reality.
This was worse precisely because there was nothing to feel. No aura bleeding into the air. No pressure making it hard to breathe. No heat or cold or crackling energy. Just a man sipping tea while two Death Knights knelt like he was their king.
Sweat trickled down Velgrin's spine despite the cold air. Every survival instinct he'd honed over decades screamed the same warning: Do not draw attention. Do not provoke. Do not, under any circumstances, give this being a reason to notice you.
But despite the fear coiling in his chest, despite knowing better, a whisper escaped his lips.
"Who are you?"
The librarian turned a page. He didn't look up. When he spoke, his voice was casual, almost distracted.
"Just the librarian."
.
.
.
Inside Levi Warwick's skull, panic was throwing a rave.
Oh, I am SO fucked. Like, cosmically fucked. Universe-endingly fucked.
Levi stood perfectly still, maintaining the calm exterior that apparently screamed 'ancient evil deity' to everyone else. His fingers gripped his mug with enough force that he worried the ceramic might crack. The tea inside had gone cold minutes ago, but it was the only normal thing left in his entire existence and he was clinging to it like a security blanket.
A man had just been decapitated ten feet away. A Death Knight had eaten the head. Then it VOMITED UP ANOTHER DEATH KNIGHT LIKE SOME KIND OF NIGHTMARE COPY MACHINE.
And both of them were kneeling to him like he was their dark overlord.
I used to write romance novels. ROMANCE. NOVELS. The most violent thing I ever wrote was a breakup scene at Olive Garden.
Internally, Levi was having a complete meltdown. Externally, judging by the way the old wizard looked like he was about to wet himself, Levi apparently radiated enough menace to make Satan nervous.
And the worst part? This entire disaster had started because he'd tried to run away.
.
.
.
FIFTEEN MINUTES EARLIER
Levi had been shelving books when he'd heard the shouting. Angry wizard. Even angrier warrior. Lots of masculine yelling about betrayal and murder and vengeance.
His response had been immediate and sensible: Nope.
He'd turned around and started walking in the opposite direction at a brisk pace that definitely wasn't running because running would be undignified and also he'd trip over his own feet.
Let them figure it out. I'm not a therapist. I'm barely a librarian. I'm just a guy who got kidnapped by a sentient building.
But the System had other plans.
The notification had materialized in his vision like a pop-up ad designed by someone who hated him personally.
EMERGENCY QUEST
Punish the Rule Breaker
REWARD: +300 EXP
FAILURE: DEATH
Levi had stopped walking. "I'm sorry, what? That's not a quest. That's extortion. That's a hostage situation with extra steps."
Calculating mission difficulty...
"Oh good, a loading screen. Love those. Really builds the suspense." Levi had waited, hoping for something reasonable. Maybe 'Easy.' He'd settle for 'Moderate.'
Result: Exceeds Host Capabilities.
"WOW. Thanks for the vote of confidence, you absolute nightmare of a program. Really feeling the support here. Ten out of ten encouragement."
Then the screen had changed into something worse.
Newbie Bonus Activated.
One (1) Free Gacha Spin granted.
His vision exploded into what looked like a mobile game ad designed by a committee of sadists. Neon sparkles. Rainbow explosions. A cheerful skeleton mascot appeared, giving him enthusiastic thumbs up. Upbeat jingle music played directly into his brain like an ice pick made of sound.
"Feeling Weak? Feeling Pathetic? SPIN TO WIN!"
"Oh, I'm sorry," Levi had muttered, "I didn't realize we were doing psychological warfare now. Yes, I'm weak. Yes, I'm pathetic. Thank you for the reminder, you sentient malware."
He'd opened the rates with the enthusiasm of someone checking their cancer diagnosis.
80% – Nothing (You Die Lol)10% – Beginner Weapon (Literally A Stick)10% – Loyal Servant (???)
Levi had stared at the screen. "So let me get this straight. Eighty percent chance you just murder me. Ten percent chance I get a stick that a toddler could find at the park. And ten percent chance I summon... what? A demon? A very aggressive hamster? Satan's intern?"
TIME REMAINING: 30 SECONDS
"Oh, a countdown. How helpful. I love artificial pressure. It's my favorite."
He'd looked up. The warrior was channeling a spell. The wizard was backing away. Violence was about to happen, which would disturb the library, which would fail the quest, which would kill him.
"Right. Okay. So my options are: definitely die, or maybe die. Great. Love those odds. Really feeling good about this."
Levi had closed his eyes and hit the button.
The wheel had spun. Colors exploded behind his eyelids. The skeleton mascot did a little dance. Music that sounded suspiciously like it had been stolen from a discount casino played on loop.
"Come on, servant," Levi had whispered. "Give me the servant. I'll take anything. A goblin. A zombie. A particularly motivated raccoon. Just something that won't immediately kill me."
The wheel had slowed.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Stop.
CONGRATULATIONS!!!
[Loyal Servant – Tier 6: Death Knight] Summoned
You Beat The Odds! (You Lucky Bastard)
For exactly two seconds, Levi had felt pure, beautiful relief. He'd beaten the gacha. He had backup. He might actually survive this.
Then another notification appeared.
MAIN QUEST ACTIVATED
DIGNITY OF THE LIBRARIAN
The Librarian of the Library of Noctis must remain calm, composed, and possess absolute dignity at all times.
Quest Duration: Permanent
Reward: Continued Existence
Failure Penalty: DEATH
Levi had opened his mouth to scream every curse word he'd ever learned in three languages.
Then he'd remembered the quest parameters and clamped both hands over his mouth, the sound coming out as a muffled "MMMRRRGGHHH" that probably made him sound like he was being strangled by an invisible ghost.
"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!" he'd hissed into his palms. "You want me to stay CALM? I'm a NOVELIST. I once cried because I killed off a character I invented. I have the emotional regulation of a caffeinated squirrel!"
QUEST PARAMETERS LOCKED
GOOD LUCK :)
"Did you just... did you just add a smiley face? You passive-aggressive nightmare program. I hope someone deletes your source code. I hope you get a computer virus. I hope—"
The warrior had started yelling again.
Right. No time for arguing with a sadistic AI. Time to act.
Levi had straightened up, adjusted his grip on his mug to hide the trembling, and taken a deep breath.
Then he'd walked into the aisle with the energy of a man heading to his own execution.
"Excuse me," he'd said, his voice somehow steady. "You're being too loud. This is a library."
The words had echoed. Both men froze. The air itself seemed to hold its breath.
The Death Knight had fallen from the ceiling like God's own sledgehammer.
.
.
.
NOW
And now Levi was standing in the aftermath, watching two Death Knights clean up a murder scene while the old wizard looked at him like he was the second coming of the apocalypse.
This is fine. Everything is fine. I'm definitely not one wrong facial expression away from dying.
He took a slow sip of his cold tea. It tasted like despair and poor life choices.
"Clean all of this up," he said to the Death Knights, gesturing vaguely at the blood and scattered books. His voice came out perfectly calm, almost bored. "And please don't drip anything near the mystery section. Those are first editions."
Perfect. Very dignified. Absolutely not screaming internally. Gold star for Levi.
The Death Knights rose in unison and began working with disturbing efficiency.
Levi glanced toward where the wizard was hiding. The old man looked like he'd just watched his entire worldview collapse.
Good. Fear means distance. Distance means fewer questions. Fewer questions means less chance of me saying something stupid like "actually I have no idea what I'm doing" and dying instantly.
He took another sip of awful cold tea.
"So," he said quietly, addressing the System in his mind, "just to confirm. I have to maintain this creepy calm librarian act forever, or you kill me?"
AFFIRMATIVE
"And if I slip up even once? Even a little bit?"
DEATH
"Fantastic. Love that for me. Really adds a fun layer of existential dread to my day."
QUEST TIP: Try not to die :)
"Oh, try not to die! Why didn't I think of that? Here I was planning to die, but thanks to your helpful tip, I'll simply NOT DIE. Problem solved. You're a real visionary, you know that?"
YOU'RE WELCOME
Levi closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, his expression was perfectly serene.
On the outside: mysterious, powerful, completely in control.
On the inside: a screaming mess of sarcasm and terror.
Welcome to my life now, he thought darkly. Professional liar. Full-time fraud. Part-time necromancer. And absolutely, completely, one hundred percent out of my depth.
But he kept the mask on.
Because the alternative was death.
And Levi wasn't ready to die yet.
Not when he still had so many sarcastic things to say to this nightmare System.