Chapter 24: The Gatekeeper of Knowledge
I'd seen cathedrals in life, movies and games before. Gothic, towering, majestic, where secrets waited behind stained glass windows and heavy oak doors. But this one? This one made all of those look like a Pinterest board. The spires clawed at the sky like they were trying to stab the heavens, and the statues along the roof looked like they were about to jump down and interrogate you for your sins.
The Archive sat right next to it. Less intimidating, more ancient. Like the building had been around for millennia and was simply too tired to fall over.
I approached the gates with an odd sense of reverence. Okay, maybe not reverence. But if there was ever a place to find answers about this world, about its politics, its countries, its damn 30-hour days—that was probably inside. My whole plan today had been simple: sell junk, buy supplies, then cram my brain with enough knowledge to pass as a local. Or at least a semi-literate foreigner.
Only one small problem.
She stood at the entrance like some divine middle finger aimed directly at me.
Silver plate armor, polished to a blinding sheen. A long white tabard draped over it with no symbols I could recognize. She had the kind of pale, flawless complexion that most noblewomen in stories apparently die for but the expression on her face made me think she'd kill just to have a reason.
Her hair was pitch black, like the void itself had given up on life and taken up residence on her scalp. Long, straight, and sleek, it swayed just slightly in the breeze, reaching all the way down to her armored waist. And speaking of her waist…
She was armed.
Not just any sword. That thing on her hip practically hummed danger. Its hilt was wrapped in deep violet cloth, and the exposed portion of the blade shimmered like it wasn't reflecting light but consuming it. Compared to that, the sword I bought might as well have been carved out of firewood with a rusty spoon.
"State your name and intent," she said, voice sharp and formal.
I blinked, then cleared my throat. "Uh… Kaizen Vale. I'm just here to use the Archive."
"No," she said flatly.
I blinked again. "I… sorry, what?"
"No," she repeated, taking a single step forward. "You're not permitted."
I looked around to see if maybe I had accidentally wandered into a noble-only section. "Is this, like… restricted access or something?"
She didn't move. Didn't even flinch. "Your attire is insufficient. Your weapons are improperly secured. And you have no credentials authorizing scholarly access."
I opened my mouth. Closed it. "Okay, look…"
"No."
Gods help me, I was going to throw hands with Joan of Arc's emotionally repressed sister.
"I'm not here to burn the place down. I just want to read some books. Learn about the world. Maybe avoid dying like an idiot."
"That is not my concern," she said.
Her eyes flicked down to the hilt of my sword, then back up to meet mine.
"Return with proper credentials," she added coldly. "Or not at all."
And with that, she returned to statue-mode, still, poised, and radiating the kind of authority that made me feel like I'd been backhanded through a brick wall without anyone moving.
I took a step back, raising both hands. "Okay, cool. Great talk. Gonna go… do some credentialing."
As I turned and walked away, I could still feel her eyes drilling into my back.
Who the hell was she?
And more importantly, how the hell was I supposed to sneak past that?
I didn't walk back to the gate. I just remembered I did have credentials.
I strutted.
Alright, fine. I limped a little. But I made sure my chin was held high like I was carrying the crown jewels in my pockets. Because I was going to wipe that smug ice-queen expression off her pale face if it was the last thing I did today.
As I reached the gates of the Archive again, her eyes locked onto me like heat-seeking arrogance.
"You again," she said, already disappointed.
"Miss Armor-All," I replied with a grin. "Would a guild-issued credential be sufficient for Archive access?"
She narrowed her eyes just slightly. "Yes. Why?"
I pulled the guild card from my pocket and flicked it open in front of her like I was laying down a royal flush. "Because I got one."
She took it.
Examined it.
Scoffed.
"F-rank," she muttered like I'd just offered her a used bandage. "Barely qualifies as a mercenary, let alone a scholar."
"Oh, bite me."
"What did you say?"
"I said, 'Thank you kindly.'" I flashed her the smuggest smile I could manage while holding back every insult I wanted to throw at her.
She handed the card back with two fingers, like it might contaminate her gauntlet. "Do not damage the collection."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
And with that, I walked past her into the Archive.
The interior was colder than outside—ancient stone, silent hallways, floating lights drifting between aisles of bookshelves taller than houses. It was like walking into a sacred tomb, except every coffin was filled with information, not corpses.
…Hopefully.
---
A few hours later—okay, a lot of hours later—I made it back to the inn.
The moment I stepped through the door, the smell of roasting meat, spilled ale, and firewood hit me like a warm punch to the gut. The innkeeper spotted me and raised a mug as if I'd just come back from war.
"Thought you'd get lost in that dusty place," he said, handing me a drink.
"Mentally? I did." I took the mug and climbed the stairs, foot by foot, like someone twice my age.
In my room, I dumped all my gear onto the bed like a dragon shedding his hoard. The sword, the armor, the few potions I'd picked up earlier, laid them all out to take inventory. Then I sat down at the desk and pulled out the handbook the guild receptionist had handed me yesterday. Guild basics. Rules. Rankings. The kind of stuff I probably should've read before waving the card around like a VIP pass to a damn vault of ancient tomes.
But I didn't open it yet.
Instead, I looked at the wall and leaned back in the chair.
…You guys must be a bit curious.
Yeah, I'm talking to you. Don't pretend you're not there, I can feel the fourth wall cracking every time you lean forward in your chair.
So let me lay it out for you. The world I'm in? It's called Ros.
Nice, right? Sounds like a brand of tea or a perfume. But don't be fooled, this planet's a beast. Easily twice the size of Earth, maybe more, and with three damn moons that take turns haunting the night sky like they're playing musical chairs with insomnia. One's blue, one's red, one's silver, each named after some god I couldn't care less about.
The people here, though? Oh, they care. Hard.
As for the layout of this oversized marble, imagine three supercontinents, all broken off from the same crusty piece of ancient landmass. Yeah. Pangea 2.0, only bigger and angrier. The three landmasses are:
Artaros - where I am right now.
Cartaros - the second one, somewhere east, across the ocean.
Tartaros - sounds like it belongs in hell, probably does. Far south.
Now, these aren't just a weekend cruise apart. No. We're talking oceans so big it takes months to cross them. With waves taller than skyscrapers and sea monsters that make Godzilla look like a bath toy. I'm not exaggerating. This place makes the Bermuda Triangle look like a kiddie pool.
As you know, days here are 30 hours long. I'm still trying to get used to that. Makes sleeping feel like a side quest, and nights drag on like a boring lecture.
There are 15 months in a year, and 450 days total. The current date? The 17th of Nirkarak. A name that sounds like something an ancient lich would scream before cursing your soul.
I'm in the kingdom of Rostalio right now. It's tucked way down in the southeast corner of Artaros, like someone forgot it was there when drawing up political borders. Not rich. Not powerful. Not really known for anything except its obscurity and how not-dangerous it usually is.
And that's all you get for now.
I'll drip-feed you the rest of the world lore as it becomes relevant. Gotta keep things spicy, right?
Now then…
Let's see what this guild handbook says about surviving as an F-rank scrub in a world where three moons ain't even the weirdest part.