Dark Library (5)
Thinking about it, the very existence of Nox Biblio was no different from a space that outright denied the very concept of spells Lennok had learned.
A subspace was a power Lennok, who had mastered both spatial magic and manipulation techniques, could barely create even with the help of his summons.
Yet not only was such a subspace constructed on an overwhelming scale and used merely as an archive, it also exhibited the peculiar act of collecting and preserving sorceries of the Old World.
The transcendence of shaping, constructing, and manifesting a massive subspace regardless of location or environment—something that seemed to bypass the laws of this world.
And the sense of incongruity that such a Dark Library existed without being bound by any gain or loss.
Lennok had already realized that this very incongruity was a contradiction born from the power of a transcendent being that surpassed common principles.
Proof that the existence of Nox Biblio was based on a transcendent concept, to the extent that an 8th-level Dark Mage, Tilion, was content with the position of a librarian here.
Not an Ascendant challenging ascension, nor an apocalypse swimming beyond the Outer Sea.
A transcendent who had challenged ascension in the Second World—and succeeded.
The necromancer Lennok had seen in his memories had ultimately succeeded in ascension and engraved his existence into the Third World.
“The one I saw was a madman who started a war for his own ascension and caused a massacre by making two continents collide.”
Lennok’s eyes sank deeply as he looked at the chuckling skeleton.
“Your method of ‘pulling down’ the Third World to challenge ascension was an unprecedented idea that had never existed in any world. Why would someone like you be satisfied pretending to be the owner of a mere archive?”
A necromancer who possessed greater spirituality than anyone across all three worlds.
The Lich, Naoiz Pen, did not treat ascension as simply crossing into the Third World.
He had been utterly faithful to the essence of a necromancer, to the extreme—he had summoned into existence a Third World that did not yet exist.
Rather than transcending the world, his idea was to ‘pull it down,’ an approach that even the High Priest had praised.
In that process, he had raised the power of necromancy by waging war across two continents and committing countless massacres.
Even Lennok had no choice but to acknowledge that the idea itself was astonishing.
Summoning a nonexistent future and bringing it into being—an ultimate inversion unlike any other transcendent.
Not Ascension, but Reaching the Heavens.
That was why, even while acknowledging and trembling at his achievement, Lennok had also been wary.
If he were a transcendent who had succeeded in ascension, it would not be strange if he were plotting something unimaginable somewhere in the Third World.
Yet to think that such a great necromancer would reside in a subspace like this, devoted to collecting sorceries.
And not only that, but personally translating the techniques of the Old World into those of the present world.
The moment he saw Naoiz Pen, Lennok realized this truth—
And could not endure without asking directly.
[You are misunderstanding something.]
But Naoiz Pen merely laughed it off casually, even after hearing Lennok’s question.
He showed no particular emotion or reaction.
A detached appearance, as if no trace remained of the domineering necromancer Lennok remembered.
[I do not know who you are. Nor do I precisely know what kind of being you are.]
“……”
[Only that somewhere in memory, a past version of me has recognized that it encountered you.]
Naoiz Pen shrugged in his skeletal form.
[With such a connection, one cannot say we know each other. Defining oneself through the medium of memory… is not my way.]
Naoiz Pen was a transcendent who had succeeded in ascension, but he was not like the High Priest, who confined himself within memory.
Thus, even if he recognized what happened within reproduced memories, he did not consider that to be himself.
[Our meeting is nothing more than a drawing on sand. When the sea descends from the sky and waves crash, it will vanish like foam without a trace.]
The Lich’s eyes glowed darkly as he looked at Lennok.
[Do you still not understand that there is no reason to cling to such a coincidental encounter?]
“Then what are you doing here?”
Lennok asked with a hardened expression.
“Is translating Old World techniques and spreading them in this world your chosen answer?”
Olivera had said that the existence of Nox Biblio was a miracle made possible by the ideology of its owner.
Because the transcendent maintaining the archive desired the transmission and propagation of knowledge.
That meant Naoiz Pen himself maintained this archive for the sake of sharing knowledge.
[I am waiting.]
“…What?”
At that strangely familiar answer, Lennok flinched slightly as Naoiz Pen tilted his head.
[I knew even before succeeding in ascension that a fourth does not exist.]
“……”
[And I also understood that I could not succeed through the same method as before.]
A low voice flowed from the Lich’s rattling jaw as his dark eye-light gleamed.
[Knowing that it would not end with a single ascension, I was able to step on and surpass the world I was born into.]
He had understood that the Third was the end even before transcending it.
Surely that was only possible because of the transcendent spirituality he was born with.
A conclusion attainable only by a Lich who had lost bodily senses but awakened the senses of the soul.
[But because of that, my Reaching the Heavens was incomplete. This is the price.]
“The price?”
A bitter smile seemed to mix into the Lich’s voice.
[One who succeeds in ascension must pay the price for the answer they chose. It is the cost required to make oneself—who did not originally exist in the next world—exist.]
Lennok knew what he meant.
Both High Priest and Leader paid an immense price simply by existing in this world.
Even such monsters bore a heavy burden from that cost.
That was why the High Priest hid himself within memory, and Leader only moved under meticulous plans.
There was a price and destiny based on origin—and something they desired enough to reject it and remain here.
Then—
“The very existence of Nox Biblio… is tied to your origin.”
…
[······.]
Seeing the Lich fall silent, Lennok’s eyes gleamed.
“This archive itself—is it the ‘price’ you pay to exist in this world?”
[Hmm, you are not someone who can enjoy skeleton quizzes for long…]
Tilting his head in difficulty, the Lich spoke.
[Are you not excessively clever? I do not enjoy speaking long with those who answer too quickly.]
…
[You already knew how I succeeded in ascension. Then you should understand what I am saying.]
As Lennok fell silent at that absurd answer, Naoiz Pen tapped the pen in his hand and asked.
[To pull down a world, step on it, and surpass it—just how heavy must a soul be?]
“The weight of a soul?”
[I have been seeking the answer to that question in this archive. No… more precisely, I have already found it.]
The Lich smiled and raised his hand.
[That is why I can stand here before you and tell you the answer.]
Fwoosh!!
At that moment, the darkness surrounding the archive deepened, and Lennok’s body slowly began to sink.
As if the archive itself was trying to forcefully expel his existence.
Was Naoiz Pen’s control over subspace so great that he could expel even Lennok, who possessed target designation resistance?
“…No, that’s not it.”
It wasn’t expelling Lennok from the archive.
Leaving only Lennok behind, the entire Dark Library itself was moving away from him.
Just as he had not transcended the world but pulled it down.
A reversed idea and meaning slept within this archive.
Realizing that, Lennok muttered.
“This wasn’t made to transmit and spread knowledge… but to acquire and absorb it.”
[······.]
“You said you were waiting for the end, but you intend to make it come to you yourself.”
Looking at the Lich slowly turning away, Lennok said.
“You haven’t given up on reaching the next yet.”
[Heh heh…]
At that moment, the presence of Naoiz Pen twisted eerily.
Behind the shabby skeleton, immense darkness burst forth, wrapping around his body.
KWAaaaaa!!!
The very image of the tyrannical necromancer Lennok had seen in his memories.
With his hands behind his back, the Lich looked down from above at Lennok, who was sinking into the darkness.
[As expected, it seems I can no longer enjoy quizzes with you.]
…..
[Even if we have no fate, there will surely be a next.]
Lennok tried to respond, but the darkness of the archive quickly left him behind and moved away alone.
[Then, be sure to keep the return deadline.]
With the necromancer’s low message, Lennok’s body was suddenly flung upward as if bouncing off a cliff.
Paaang!!!
“…!!”
The black oil that had stained the cliff was gone, leaving only piles of white bones scattered in the wind.
As Lennok stared blankly at the cliff, he belatedly came to his senses upon seeing the grimoire in his hand.
At that moment, Olivera’s voice echoed from behind him.
[You’re late.]
…
“Olivera.”
Turning around with the grimoire in hand, Lennok fell silent upon seeing the scene behind him.
Whoooooong…!!
The dungeon that had stretched through the cave was split in half and shattered, as if its insides had been turned inside out.
At the end of the devastated terrain, like a place swept by bombardment, Olivera stood with her arms crossed, looking at him.
Just like when they first met, she wore a splendid robe and a transparent veil draped over her face.
Aside from the slightly dimmed light of her Mystic Eyes beyond the veil, she appeared uninjured.
[It seems you properly borrowed the celestial spell.]
Olivera’s eyes gleamed as she looked at the grimoire in Lennok’s hand.
[Good. I was certain I had seen that grimoire in the archive before.]
…
Narrowing his eyes at Olivera, Lennok asked.
“I didn’t expect that your business with Tilion meant this.”
[That is not something you need to know.]
Olivera snorted.
[In any case, Shandorei will not take issue with this matter. That is enough, isn’t it?]
…
Olivera was prideful by nature, but also a mage who handled her power with caution.
Despite her talent, it was rare for her to personally step forward and unleash spells.
Lennok had only fought a past version of her in a restricted zone, never directly clashing with her in the present.
For her to have a conflict significant enough to confront Shandorei Tilion now—
[Let’s return. It’s been a while since I moved, and my body feels tired.]
Gently rubbing her neck, Olivera turned around.
It seemed she intended to return to Vulcan without meeting Tilion again.
From the moment she arrived, she had likely planned to end things this way.
“How do you plan to use the celestial spell?”
[I will summon Clarisse Richellen and have her teach it.]
Olivera answered as she walked across the ruined plateau.
[Assimilator possesses excellent affinity for spells and is not bound by a single system. To adjust the veil and find the path to the Outer Fear City, it is more efficient for a Long-Lived to oversee the process.]
…
[Of course, that will be after I take some rest. I personally assisted you, so I will not accept objections.]
Through the veil, Olivera’s gaze seemed to sharpen.
[If you agree, let us return to Vulcan and bring Assimilator.]
With that, Olivera moved forward without hesitation.
[If it is the Long-Lived I know, they are surely wasting time on trivial matters.]
“Your evaluation of Clarisse Richellen is strangely low…”
As someone close to Aris, Lennok found it rather awkward to hear such words about her.
He considered mentioning his encounter with Naoiz Pen, but ultimately shook his head and stayed silent.
Though he now understood that the archive itself was his ‘price,’ too many questions remained unresolved.
Above all, he would have to return there someday to return the grimoire.
Forcing away his thoughts, Lennok followed Olivera.
“I have her contact. If she’s still in Vulcan, I should be able to reach her.”
***
Central district of the great city Vulcan.
A pilates studio where bright sunlight poured through transparent front glass.
Having come to find Clarisse, Lennok felt a strange sense of déjà vu and silently lifted his gaze.
“Now, narrow your elbows and extend your wrists.”
“Yes!”
“Bring your shoulders forward and take a deep breath!!”
“Hooaaah…!!”
The once quiet studio was now filled with dozens of students.
Following the instructor’s booming voice, they moved in perfect unison.
But what was even more surprising was that every single student in the studio was a high-level mage.
“So this is Instructor Grancia’s physical training hall?”
Mages lined up beside Lennok as he stood watching.
All wore traditional robes bearing the symbols of their mage towers.
“They say there’s no better place for personalized training in substitute chanting using martial arts, like Treadburn showed in the fight with Bolt.”
“It’s already famous in other mage towers. Quite a few are planning trips to Vulcan.”
Bolt, Treadburn, substitute chanting using martial arts.
Stories Lennok had half-forgotten after Lapis’s incident flowed clearly into his ears.
Things he never expected to hear in this studio.
How had Rancia become the beneficiary of a martial arts boom among mages because of that duel?
As Lennok stood silently, the students chatted while walking through the corridor.
“They say she was originally a martial artist. How does she teach mages so well?”
“Well, apparently she once taught a student who was incredibly frail.”
“…!”
Lennok’s fingers, which had been folded across his arms, twitched.
“They say that student was the weakest person she’d ever seen, and teaching them improved her own skills.”
…
“They say compared to that person, teaching mages like us is ridiculously easy.”
At that point, Lennok could no longer hold back and stepped into the studio.
It seemed there was much he needed to hear from Rancia and Clarisse.