The second order of business—after riding that high—was to check out the little house in front of him.
The black altar had given him the powerful Soul's Eye. This building had to do something too, right?
Rod followed the steps up and went inside.
It wasn't big—rectangular, about fifteen meters long and five wide. Empty, mostly. Only a stone workbench up front, and a bookshelf to the left.
The workbench was cluttered with tools and drawers of all sizes, some open, some shut, all in glorious disarray.
The shelf was bare except for a single book.
Rod went to the bench first.
It was huge, taking up the entire front of the room—yet oddly, none of the tools or drawers would budge, as if nailed in place.
After poking around to no avail, he turned to the shelf and lifted the one lonely tome.
It was enormous—two arms required—bound in dark violet, its cover etched with strange patterns. Starry, script-like constellations lent the whole thing an epic feel.
Rod squinted, trying to decipher it.
"Intelligence… sum total… lacking… a record of—"
Dream-script, the fancy, artsy kind. Twice as hard to read.
"'Book… of… Im—Imbec—' The Book of Idiocy?"
Wham!
Just as he was about to open it and admire this "idiocy," the tome snapped shut like a bear trap, smacked his hands, and thudded to the floor.
"Yow! What in the—"
Rod nearly drew and fired, but the book lay there quietly, not lunging for seconds.
Spring-loaded pages? Seriously?
He reached out with his reddening hand and prodded it.
Nothing.
Poked it again.
This time he clearly saw the tome scoot a few inches away—like it was disgusted with him.
…Was the book alive?
"Hey, can you hear me?" Rod asked carefully.
No response.
He tried a few more times. Still nothing.
Edging closer, he noticed the cover's lettering was faintly aglow, like it wanted to tell him something.
He frowned at it for a long moment—then the lightbulb went on.
"The Book of Knowledge!"
At once the letters settled, the glow cooling to a distant, haughty sheen—like a queen with attitude.
Rod didn't know whether to laugh or cry. You're a book. I said your name wrong. Big deal. If I call Lily "Vivi" by mistake, she doesn't slam my fingers in a cover.
He gingerly picked it up again.
No ambush this time. But when he flipped it open—every page was blank.
An unwritten heaven? Or did it need some condition to show text?
He leafed back and forth, found nothing. Finally, scratching his head, he muttered, "How am I supposed to use you?"
A pair of neat characters faded onto the empty page:
[Ask]
The script was fine and a bit scrawled, practically radiating impatience.
Rod's eyes widened.
Ask? So if I pose a question, it answers in the book?
Jackpot.
Delight bubbled up. He cleared his throat and started with the obvious.
"How do I use that workbench?"
Ink bloomed into a line:
[Light… er, on the bench… the Tears of Combustion]
Rod glanced up and instantly spotted a three-pronged metal candlestick on the bench's left side—three candles at uneven heights.
"Oh. So that vague word meant 'candle.' Light the candles to activate the bench?""How do I light them?"
[Add fuel]
Rod exhaled. For a second he'd thought it wanted soul.
If it was fuel, that was easy—fuel was the city's most common commodity.
He fired off another volley:
"Who killed the Redstone Village convoy? Where is he? Where's the ironclad proof?"
[Please ask questions related to knowledge.]
He deflated a touch. Not an omniscient god-book—more like an indexed encyclopedia.
Still more than enough.
What he lacked most was knowledge—especially about this dreamscape. It held too many unknowns. If he could map it all, his growth would skyrocket, his safety net would thicken, and the good life might actually show up early.
With that thought, he asked what mattered most right now:
"How do you light a star in the obelisk?"
The Book of Knowledge delivered: a long paragraph unfurled across the page.
Luckily, Rod had hauled Ancient Tongue and friends into the dream for exactly this. He'd learned enough to muddle through with a reference.
[To light a new soul-star, you need sufficient kindling, a large amount of spiritus, and a special soul.]
His heart skipped. "What's a special soul?"
[A soul that possesses a Source.]
"What is spiritus?"
[The element that constitutes soul—only human souls contain large amounts of living spiritus.]
"What does kindling mean?"
[Souls without spirit—i.e., the corporeal portion of a soul.]
Just as he suspected.
When he lit his second star, Biting Blue, he'd used five dust-grade souls, one doomsday cultist's soul, and one invading monster's soul.
Clearly, the "special soul" was the invader—the only likely bearer of a Source.The cultist likely provided the spiritus.The "kindling" came from the lot.
Conclusion: to light another star, the key is a soul with a Source.
"Where are monsters that have a Source?"
[Not a knowledge question.]
…Tch. What a literal book.
He thought a moment. "How do I raise a star's rank?"
[Reach max burn state and obtain soul kindling.]
"How do I get soul kindling?"
[Craft it at the workbench—requires corresponding elements.]
Good.
Two key answers in hand. The rest could wait.
Priority: get fuel, activate the bench, and see how soul kindling is made.
Because once a star is lit, it keeps consuming souls until its rank reaches Eternal Flame.
He checked the obelisk: in just a few short hours, Biting Blue had dropped from Max Burn to Sustained Burn, down three whole tiers—its intensity falling from 26 to 15.
That had cost him nearly eight hundred souls to stack!
If he could push Biting Blue to Eternal Flame, it would sit at Constant Burn and stop hemorrhaging souls.
His heart hurt.
He had to raise the star's rank, fast.
He laced his thumbs and formed the lightning sigil.
Vision blurred, a hard drop yanked through him, and he was back on the toilet in the washroom. Water thundered in the shower, steam roiled around him—
—and a pounding crash hammered his door.
"Move! Harder! He might be in shock!"
Before Rod could say a word, the door exploded with a boom. Cassandra, golden hair blazing, barreled in first.
"Ro—"
Rod snapped his hands apart at lightning speed and threw his arms wide.
From Cassandra's angle, Rod was stark naked on the toilet, arms open—launching himself at her.
"AAAAAAAHHHHH!"
A scream powerful enough to crack the world blasted his eardrums. A split second later, the girl's iron fist caved in his face; the impact shattered the toilet beneath him.
Cassandra spun and bolted, bowling over the academic staff in the hall.
Oh, come on!
Stars burst behind Rod's eyes, his head ringing. A certain region felt… catastrophically injured.
You go on about "having kids" every other day, and this is what you've got?A fancy pillow—all talk, no practice!