Chapter 975: Archive of Darkness (3)

“Has he already entered the archive?”

Inside the dungeon of Shandorei Tillian, an 8-level black wizard, a gigantic infant lay in an obsidian coffin, facing Olivera Ron Maize.

Beyond her splendid robe, the tall woman with her hands clasped behind her back, her transparent veil fluttering in the wind.

Tillian, staring at the darkness that carpeted the dungeon corridor with a bitter expression, spoke softly.

“It took me over twenty years to understand Nox Biblio and gain free access to it.”

“He’s naturally gifted when it comes to his senses.”

Olivera Ron Maize responded slowly.

“Though he himself doesn’t seem to feel much about it, he possesses a spirituality blessed by the heavens.”

“…That’s surprising. For you to praise someone else’s talent so much.”

Tillian chuckled.

“Didn’t you say that talent and destiny are fleeting standards, and that you would change them?”

“I did.”

Olivera Ron Maize said.

“However, if there’s an ultimate standard for magic, I’m not foolish enough to deny it.”

“…”

“The ideal destination we yearned for, searching across the entire world. Regardless of our wishes, perhaps it existed somewhere from the very beginning.”

“Hahahaha… How absurd, Maize.”

Tillian, staring at her with a dazed expression, mumbled.

“To think that you, of all people, can say such things now. How fleeting time is.”

“…”

The black wizard scoffed, and Olivera Ron Maize replied, but their sentiments weren’t vastly different.

Both Olivera Ron Maize and Tillian, who had attended the meeting, knew how unrealistic a being Lennok was.

Even without meticulously dissecting his every action, the mere duration of his existence served as a benchmark for gauging the scope of his capabilities.

A nobleman of the central city. An unprecedented monster who had accumulated martial prowess and spellcasting aptitude surpassing the highest-ranking Apostles of the Cult, all in less than a decade.

“If it’s his talent as I surmise, adapting to the archive’s rules won’t take long either.”

Olivera Ron Maize’s eyes, folded in her robe, flashed sharply.

“Perhaps he might even meet the Archive’s owner, whom neither you nor I have ever met.”

“Yes, I know you have exceptionally high hopes for that wizard, beyond what I could imagine.”

Tillian chuckled.

“So what business do you have left with me? Even after using my goodwill to open the Archive’s doors, is there still something you want?”

“No.”

Olivera Ron Maize replied, stepping forward.

“But considering our long-standing connection, I have one final piece of advice to offer.”

“Huhu… Advice, you say.”

Tillian shook his head.

“Go on, then. I can guess what you’re going to say at this point.”

“If you don’t want to die, stop using the fragments of the Extinct Eye Acrottrinier.”

Beyond her veil, Olivera Ron Maize’s eyes gleamed coldly.

Her gaze was fixed on the withered branches densely hung around the obsidian coffin.

“If you saw Azamaha’s failure, you’d know. The permanence you seek doesn’t exist there.”

“…”

“The City Government isn’t trying to revive the fragments of the Extinct Eye Acrottrinier. They just want to create bio-weapons in preparation for war. More importantly…”

Olivera Ron Maize slowly tilted her head back and said.

“That power is only permitted to the bloodline of the Nether King. It’s a product of extinction, one that even the Nether King himself has now given up on inheriting.”

“Yes. I know… because I am not a member of that family.”

Tillian said, slowly rising from his spot.

As the gigantic infant stood on two feet inside the obsidian coffin, the branches connected to the coffin violently thrashed.

Schlurrrp!!

A sound like something being intensely sucked in was heard, and Tillian’s body began to contract on the spot.

Bones, muscles, joints, and flesh. The sound of a skeleton and nerves compressing and shriveling was heard, and his body mutated in real-time.

“What I’ve learned is Old World sorcery. The Nether King’s black magic will not align its worldline with my spellcraft.”

Tillian, transformed into ‘something’, walked out of the coffin and said.

“But what does that matter? Anyway, all causality in this world is twisted and askew.”

“…”

“The beginning and the end will no longer connect. So, wouldn’t it be alright if I took that place instead?”

Tillian whispered, forcing a smile.

“Take that place, you say…”

“Gabihaeng will surely end before the world’s conclusion… because that ritual is not inherently tied to ascension.”

Tillian said in a somber voice.

“That’s why the Nether King’s fate, conversely, can bring him closer to ascension than anyone else in this world.”

Leaving the silent Olivera Ron Maize, Tillian whispered.

“I want that power. I want the talent and destiny built upon death.”

“…”

Goooooo…!!

Tillian slowly walked forward, muttering with a cracking sound.

“So don’t interfere, Olivera. Before the conclusion you await, I will swallow everything in your stead.”

“The conclusion I await? You’re mistaken.”

As Olivera Ron Maize raised one hand forward, she pulled back her veil with the other.

Looking at Tillian with The Seven Debts Jewels Mystic Eye, Olivera Ron Maize coldly muttered.

“I have never once waited for anything.”

“This is as far as I go.”

In the endless darkness.

Lennok, walking along the Archive’s corridor, stopped in front of a bookshelf indicated by the Skeleton Librarian.

The skeleton glanced back at Lennok, then quietly stepped aside.

A faint hint of a smile seemed to mix in his gaze, but it was impossible to discern the skeleton’s expression.

“In front of this Archive, the librarians’ minds are forcibly closed. This is to prevent our minds from being corrupted by incomprehensible information.”

“…”

“May you achieve what you desire…”

With those words, the blue light in the skeleton’s eyes, fixed on Lennok, slowly faded.

Like a machine that had lost its will and only reacted to commands, it silently walked past Lennok, absorbed in organizing the Archive.

But instead of entering the section of the Archive that the Skeleton Librarian had guided him to, Lennok silently watched its retreating back.

Was this Skeleton Librarian mistaking someone else for Lennok?

Or had Lennok from the past truly visited this Archive at some point?

There were too many possibilities to consider, leaving him unable to confirm an answer.

Ultimately, it was a question that couldn’t be answered without directly checking the Archive section, as the librarian had said.

Thump. (Literal: Clunk)

Lennok, contemplating, pulled out a grimoire from the bookshelf.

The bookshelf the librarian had guided him to. And among them, the book placed within easiest reach.

Surely, this must be the very book that the Skeleton Librarian had mentioned someone frequently looked into.

“Fate Sealing: Àΰú¿ªÀü”

“…”

The title of the book was written half in understandable characters, and half in incomprehensible ones.

Lennok frowned and immediately turned the cover.

====

Cross the Sea of a Thousand Years

Pass through the Three Thirsts

Searching for results that exist without cause.

I am always here.

I leave this writing from beyond the fourth.

====

All pages of the book were filled with bizarre, distorted characters that were impossible to understand.

Only the last passage was translated into legible characters.

Upon realizing that, Lennok understood why he couldn’t decipher the title and content of this grimoire.

“…Is it an Old World grimoire?”

It wasn’t a script used in this world to begin with.

If it were in the form of spellcraft, he could understand it, but the moment it was written out in Old World script, it became incomprehensible.

As Olivera Ron Maize had said, finding the desired spellcraft information in this Archive of Darkness depended solely on the user’s knowledge.

‘It’s difficult, but not impossible.’

Though surrounded by incomprehensible scripts, Lennok remained unperturbed.

Olivera Ron Maize had told him to ‘borrow’ Celestial Spellcraft from this Archive to twist the veil’s orbital cycle.

That would only be possible if the Celestial Spellcraft, existing somewhere in the Archive, was in a form Lennok could understand.

Lennok immediately closed the grimoire, put it back on the shelf, and calmly began to examine other bookshelves in the Archive.

Rustle!!

He passed shelves filled with grimoires written in scripts that seemed to contaminate the eyes just by looking.

He also passed shelves piled high with bundles of parchment covered only in bizarre drawings, not text.

Pots, statues, animal hides, monster horns.

He ignored all the antique items that made him wonder if this was an archive or a museum.

The important thing was whether Lennok could understand and interpret their forms.

Repeating only that in his mind, he scanned his surroundings quickly, when at that moment.

Thump. (Literal: Clunk)

He realized that the Skeleton Librarians, who had been moving around the Archive, had all turned to look at him simultaneously, and he stopped.

“…”

All of them, carrying and transporting books, simply watched Lennok silently, blue flames flickering in their eyes.

A strange sight, as if they had only just recognized Lennok’s presence and were now taking in his movements.

As Lennok stood still, the skeletons slowly began to move, one by one.

Again, they slowly organized books, sorted parchments, and moved bookshelves, adjusting the Archive’s layout.

For what reason did they discover Lennok? What was the trigger for the skeletons to react?

Lennok paused, thinking, and then realized that some text had appeared beneath his feet.

“Do not run in the Archive.”

“…”

A warning so absurd that even Lennok, who had been slightly tense moments ago, managed a wry smile.

However, upon seeing this warning, Lennok became even more certain that his hunch was correct.

Unlike the surrounding books written in utterly incomprehensible scripts, the warning that appeared beneath his feet was in the continental script.

It was written in characters and language that Lennok could understand.

Surely, somewhere in this Archive, there must be grimoires or spellcraft information written in a script Lennok could interpret.

“…Alright.”

Lennok found a bookshelf filled with grimoires written in scripts he could recognize.

He had come so far that he couldn’t even properly remember the path he had first taken, but Lennok didn’t particularly care.

After all, the space of this Archive was not three-dimensional, so remembering the path and retracing it wouldn’t lead to an exit.

To physically escape this Archive, he would need a different method.

“The book titles are…”

“Akramushu’s Three Guaranteed Curses, sworn on name, wealth, and status.”

“The concept and definition of sorcery. And how to distinguish between true sorcery and impostor spellcraft.”

“How Stout became the coolest black wizard on the ancient continent.”

“…”

He hadn’t known it when they were written in strange characters, but the grimoire titles were surprisingly familiar.

Perhaps the black wizards who created these grimoires also made efforts to ensure their disciples or successors would read them?

Lennok, feeling an unexpected touch of humanity from the ancient black wizards, scanned the bookshelf with a reluctant expression.

“Black God Demonic Art”

“Shadow-Chained Demonic Script”

“888 Trigrams Binding Spellcraft”

“So, it’s about filling the body with darkness to replace the role of a Miniature Universe? How to become both a spellcaster and a warrior…”

There were quite a few seemingly serious grimoires, as well as books and parchments describing tempting spellcraft or incantations.

While the entire content wasn’t written in understandable characters, if the proportion of strange characters was less than half, he could infer the context and read them.

“49 days of meditation in darkness. Pluck out both eyes and memorize incantations, then new pupils will naturally grow… for awakening reversed vision…”

“100 murder methods that killed 100 people. Bathe for 100 days in the blood of 100 people. If even one person dies, restart the training from the beginning…”

“Limiting spellcraft usage based on Feng Shui, and quadrupling the power of specific curse systems…”

True to its name as an archive of sorcery, it was filled with peculiar spellcraft, bizarre in concept or beyond imagination.

The ideas and training methods were so unusual that even Lennok was momentarily engrossed in looking through the grimoires.

However, if he became too engrossed in examining the grimoires like this, he would have to spend his entire life reading books in the Archive.

As regrettable as it was, it was rational to pick a few useful-looking spellcrafts and move on.

Lennok selected two immediately useful grimoires: the [Black God Demonic Art], which involved filling the body with darkness to replace the Miniature Universe, and the [Hellfire Illusion Palace], which involved manipulating unquenchable flames in the shape of weapons.

Unlike when he first entered the Archive, his steps were unhindered, as if he knew all directions and locations.

From the moment he glimpsed a few readable grimoires, he had perceived a distinct ‘regularity’ within this Archive.

‘The grimoires and parchments gathered here aren’t stored randomly.’

Given the existence of grimoires Lennok could read, it was clear that Nox Biblio’s spellcraft wasn’t classified randomly.

Perhaps the countless Skeleton Librarians managing this Archive were also there to regularly classify and manage the grimoires?

The important thing was to understand that regularity and infer the likely location of the information Lennok desired.

Black magic. Curses. Spirit Summoning and Military Spirit City arts. Dark contracts. Demonic arts.

Among the information and flows of all sorts of spellcraft classified as sorcery, the information Lennok could find was-

“This is it.”

“Celestial Spellcraft: Miniature Garden”

A thick booklet with only a brief title and no embellishments.

A small, hastily drawn picture, resembling stars hung in the night sky, was merely sketched beneath the book’s cover.

The spellcraft contained in this grimoire was the Celestial Spellcraft that would provide a way to enter the Outer Tribulation City by altering the veil’s orbital cycle.

This was precisely the method Olivera Ron Maize had mentioned for reaching Kundara.

All that remained was to ‘borrow’ this grimoire, as Olivera Ron Maize had said.

However, Lennok’s expression, as he pulled out the book and opened its pages, instantly contorted into a troubled frown.

===

In the name of Chicheon, who embraces and watches over the heavens.

¸ðµç º°ÀÌ ¿ì¸®ÀÇ ¼ÕÈÄ¿¡¼­ ȸÀüÇÏ¸ç ºû³ª³ó´Ï.

¸ðÇüÁ¤¿øÀ» ¸¸µé¾î ±× ¾Æ¸§´Ù¿òÀ» ¿µ¿øÅä·Ï º¸Á¸ÄÉ Çϸ®¶ó.

===

Unlike the book’s title, most of the main text was written in incomprehensible, strange characters.

He had passed over all books written in strange characters until now, but if the Celestial Spellcraft was written like this, it would be problematic.

“…”

Why was the book’s title understandable, yet the main text incomprehensible?

Why, to begin with, was this grimoire written with two different scripts mixed together?

Should he consult Olivera Ron Maize about this, or did he need someone else entirely to decipher the script?

Given the limited opportunities to access the Archive, he had to make a quick decision here.

As Lennok stood pondering with the grimoire in hand, someone’s voice softly resonated from behind him.

“Do you need an interpretation?”

“…!!”

A mental transmission imbued with a will far more potent than that of the Skeleton Librarian he had met earlier.

Kwagwagwaga!!!!

As Lennok’s face hardened at the voice that resounded without warning, the bookshelves parted on both sides, transforming into a massive pathway.

At the end of the dark, expansive road, mountains of parchments and books were piled high.

And amidst these towering stacks, someone with their back turned was quietly tilting a pen.