In this world, there are only two kinds of people—the oppressors and the oppressed.
The strong and the weak stand on opposite sides of an unyielding divide.
The strong always dominate the weak—
A balance that the world pretends is fair and natural.
The Wielders—rare, blessed individuals—gain their strength through ancient artifacts of unknown origin. These relics grant them powers beyond mortal comprehension.
Because of this, Wielders rise above all others. They gather influence, form leagues, and shape the course of history.
Respected. Feared.
Often crowned as kings, leaders—those who stand above every hierarchy.
Against their overwhelming might, ordinary people have no chance.
---
The world is split between two continents.
In one—the Continent of Dryness—lies a land blessed with abundant green nature.
Scattered across it are villages, each ruled by its own chief.
And in the farthest village—so remote it takes a month by cart to reach—live people known for their intelligence and devotion to knowledge.
Here, the most treasured place isn't the marketplace, nor the tavern—but the library.
---
Sunlight streamed through the tall windows of one such library, golden beams catching drifting dust motes that danced in the air.
Swish. Swosh.
A feather duster glided across the shelves, brushing away the faintest specks from rows of books.
A man, his half-lidded eyes betraying a weariness of both body and soul, worked silently.
He was the librarian—the sole owner of this place, passed down to him from his late parents, who had died only months ago in the war.
In his eyes, the polished spines and colorful covers reflected like jewels.
---
"This should be all," he murmured with a sigh, resting his right arm on his wrist, numb from an hour of cleaning alone.
"Since Dad and Mom left five months ago, I've done my best to keep this library alive. I'll grow old here… pass it to my children one day. Generation after generation, it will grow—until it holds every book my parents gathered during decades of travel."
His voice softened as his gaze drifted toward the spotless, glass-like floor.
Then—
Something fluttered down before him.
A torn scrap of paper. Old, yellowed, and frayed at the edges.
He crouched, steadying himself with his left arm, picked it up, and folded it without thinking.
Heading toward the trash bin, he walked in slow, distracted steps—his mind lost in grief.
---
"Why… why am I living like this? They loved visiting far-off places but never had much time for me—their only son. Yet they promised… promised to be back for my eighteenth birthday. D-Dad… M-Mom… why?"
His hands trembled as he hurled the paper toward the bin—
But instead of falling, it hovered mid-air.
His eyes widened. He rubbed them hard.
The paper glowed—deep blue, pulsing with unstable energy.
"W-What…?" His voice cracked as sweat trickled down his temple.
The paper unfolded itself with sharp, crackling sounds.
Drawn by a force he couldn't name, Albert stepped closer, squinting at the shimmering words that emerged.
---
"T-The… The System?" he whispered.
Blue, marble-like energy swirled around him, twisting in the air before drifting toward his forehead.
He flinched as it sank in—yet felt nothing.
Then it was gone.
"Am I… hallucinating? No… I ate two bowls of soup earlier, and Madam Merry gave me three free servings of boar meat…"
The paper had vanished.
He scratched his head, muttering, "Albert… what's happening to you? Argh… I can't think straight."
Locking the library door and flipping the sign to CLOSED, he stepped into the bustling street, adjusting his hat.
If that wasn't an illusion… they might already be here. I need to tell the chief. If anything threatens this village—or my library—I'll stop it. No matter what.
---
His parents were gone, but their memory burned within him.
As he hurried toward the chief's manor, the chief's daughter appeared ahead, waving brightly.
"Al! Hurry up!" she called.
Albert raised his hand, signaling for her to wait.
Lady Lessa…? Why hurry?
When they met, they walked side by side.
Lessa, the chief's daughter, was admired for her charm and kindness. Albert, though fond of her, had always felt a faint jealousy—she seemed to have everyone's attention. Even his parents used to compare him to her bright, social nature.
Unlike her, Albert preferred quiet.
---
"Umm, Lady Lessa? What is it you need?" he asked with a raised brow.
Her smile widened. She took his hand.
"Al… Dad said I could choose the man I want to marry. Do you know what that means?"
Albert understood instantly.
He looked away, speaking quietly.
"So… you chose me. That's… good. I can still manage the library, my children will be protected as kin of the chief, and they'll live well. No reason to refuse… maybe…"
But his heart remained unchanged.
---
Her joy dimmed. Tears welled up in her eyes.
Before he could react, she hugged him tightly.
"I… I love you, Al. Always have. Even if it's one-sided… I'll open your heart someday."
He froze. Fists clenched at his sides.
"It's not that I don't… I just can't accept this reality yet. Losing my parents—it's a wound that won't heal. And I think… I don't—"
"You don't love me?" she interrupted.
She tried to smile. "It's fine. I'll make you love me."
"That's not it," he said gently. "I don't hate you. I love your smile—it lifts the heaviness inside me. Maybe… I've felt the same way for a long time."
Her tears eased into a smile. "So… your heartbeat didn't change because you've always loved me?"
She hugged him tighter.
"Come! I want you to meet Father," she said, pulling him along.
"Right… I also have something to report," Albert replied.
"Forget that. Today's about us—our wedding!" she beamed.
Albert followed, but guilt shadowed his eyes.
I'm sorry, Lessa… I lied. I still can't feel love right now.
---
At the manor gates, the butler bowed.
"My lady, your father is in an urgent meeting. He ordered not to be disturbed."
But Lessa pushed past, dragging Albert along.
They reached the chief's door.
"Father! Your beloved daughter has chosen her husband!"
No answer.
Worried, she tried the handle—it was locked.
Albert stepped forward. "May I?"
One firm push and the door gave way.
What lay beyond froze his blood.
---
The chief's lifeless body sprawled on the floor.
A hooded man stood beside it.
Albert slammed the door shut, heart pounding.
"Aww, are you shy?" Lessa teased, still unaware—until she saw his face.
Fear. Anger. Pain.
Her smile died.
"Who!? Who killed him!?" she cried, rushing forward.
But at the manor's exit, the hooded man stood waiting.
Albert stepped in front of her.
"Who are you? A Wielder? If you intend to kill, show your legal order. Without it, you're a rogue—and this village won't bow to you."
The man said nothing.
He drew a black knife, tossing it at Albert's feet—a challenge.
Albert snatched it up without hesitation.
"RARGHH! I'll kill you!"
---
The blade struck flesh. Blood spilled—
But when Albert looked…
It wasn't the man.
It was Lessa.
She stared at him in shock before collapsing.
Albert dropped to his knees.
"No… NO!" His scream tore from his throat.
He could swear—he had seen the man before him.
But somehow… the one he struck was her.
---
As her life faded, something drifted into view.
That same glowing scrap of paper.
Words burned across it:
[One Soul Collected Successfully]