Petunia—or rather, Ryo—was slowly beginning to grasp the situation.
Transmigration? Sure. I've read enough web novels to roll with that. But being forced into the role of a mysterious librarian… who helps people level up?
He dragged his hand down his face. Oh, God. What kind of joke is this…?
Taking a deep breath, he turned to the scarred warrior before him.
"Mr. Garrick," Ryo said cautiously, "what exactly should I do to help you level up? And… forgive me for asking, but what level are you at now?"
The man straightened, his broad shoulders rising like a mountain. "Me? I stand at Level Seven on the Warrior's Path."
He stepped back and spread his stance, his iron fist clenched tight. Then, with a voice that carried like steel grinding against stone, Garrick began to chant:
"Exuro ferum… ruptor caelum…!" (Burn, O iron… rend the heavens!)
A crimson light flared around his gauntlet. The veins on his arm glowed faintly as ancient sigils crawled across the iron surface. The air itself trembled, pulled taut as though the world was holding its breath.
With a roar, Garrick swung his arm forward.
"Arcanum Bellator: Manus Ruptoris!" (Warrior's Arcana: The Rending Fist!)
The mansion shook as if struck by an earthquake. A phantom shockwave burst forth, tearing across the chamber. The marble floor cracked under the weight of the strike, chandeliers above rattled violently, and bookshelves groaned as dust cascaded down in waves.
It was not merely strength—it was sorcery bound into steel and flesh.
Ryo stood frozen, mouth agape.
What the hell was that? That was—holy crap—that was amazing.
But Garrick's single eye darted toward him, filled with sudden hesitation. His voice lowered, almost humble.
"Forgive me, Master Petunia. Was I too insolent, showing my strength without leave? I know I am not the strongest you've seen. Still… who in Brasshaven does not know the name of Iron Crow Garrick?"
Ryo blinked rapidly. Iron Crow? Okay, that's… both badass and kind of ridiculous.
He tried to respond. "N-no, I wasn't—"
But Garrick bowed his head sharply, face stiff with shame. "Damn it… to flaunt myself like some street thug before the Librarian. Unforgivable."
Ryo raised both hands, panicked. "Wait, that's not what I—"
The man cut him off again, growling. "I have embarrassed myself before you. I should never have… displayed my power so crudely."
Inside, Ryo screamed: What Librarian?! I'm just some unlucky transmigrator!
But outwardly, he forced a trembling smile. "Heh… let's just say I'm… impressed."
---
For a few long minutes, silence ruled the mansion. Then—like a whisper slipping between the cracks of his mind—Ryo felt it again.
Take a book. Third shelf to the left. Top row.
He groaned under his breath. "This intuition again…" He glanced back at Garrick and forced a smile. "Wait here a moment, Mr. Garrick. I… feel like there's something I need to give you."
The old warrior raised a brow, watching as Ryo walked toward the towering library that consumed the far wall.
The shelves loomed like obsidian cliffs, stretching all the way to the vaulted ceiling. A rolling iron ladder clung to the side, its wheels screeching when Ryo pulled it along. Dust hung in the air, shimmering under the pale glow of the oil lamps. Hundreds of tomes, bound in weathered leather and ancient parchment, stared back at him like silent witnesses of forgotten centuries.
Ryo climbed carefully, brushing aside layers of dust, until his fingers stopped on one particular book.
It looked… ordinary. A plain brown cover, edges rimmed with dull bronze now eaten by rust. The spine was cracked, its title barely legible.
"'Manual of Forgotten Steel'?" Ryo squinted at the faint letters. "Sounds like a blacksmith's diary…"
Still, a chill crawled up his arm as he pulled the book free. He coughed at the cloud of dust, then descended the ladder, holding the tome casually as if it were nothing more than an old manual.
Ryo handed over the dusty tome with a shrug. "Here. Something tells me this belongs to you."
The old warrior's eye widened the instant his palm touched the cover. His breath turned ragged, as though he were staring at the abyss itself.
Ryo tilted his head. "...What's with that face? It's just an old manual."
But Garrick wasn't listening. His lips moved rapidly, muttering words in a tongue Ryo couldn't recognize. His single eye burned with feverish light.
Then, suddenly—
"ARCANUM BELLATOR! MANUS SANGUINIS!"
He screamed like a man possessed, veins bulging as he raised the book high. To Ryo, it was madness—an old soldier yelling gibberish to a pile of dust in a silent library. The chandeliers didn't shake, the shelves didn't move; everything remained perfectly still.
Ryo rubbed his forehead. What the hell is this guy doing…? Has he lost it?
But inside Garrick's own perception, the world shattered.
The shelves warped, twisting into grotesque arches of bone and steel. The air pulsed red, thick as blood. The book in his hands writhed like living flesh, its cover black and wet, titles searing into his vision in crimson script:
Codex Sanguinis Bellatoris.
A thousand whispers clawed at his mind, voices of long-dead warriors screaming oaths of carnage. Runes flared across the marble floor, burning in a spiraling ritual circle that wrapped around his body. His limbs felt heavy, chained by invisible hands—and then, suddenly, reforged with inhuman strength.
"Power…! Eternal… power!" Garrick roared, his voice layered with echoes not his own. His gauntlet bled crimson light, pulsing like a living heart.
He slammed his fist downward.
In Garrick's eyes, the entire chamber fractured—marble splintering, shelves exploding into ash, the world itself bowing to his strike.
But in Ryo's vision… Garrick simply punched the floor with a hollow clang. Nothing moved. Not even a single speck of dust fell.
Ryo blinked. "...Okay. He's definitely insane."
Meanwhile, Garrick stood trembling, chest heaving as the last of the crimson glow faded from his sight. He clutched the book tightly, lips stretched into a crazed smile.
"To think… that such a power still existed… You are truly the Librarian of Fate, Mr. Petunia."
Ryo froze. What the hell did he just call me?
---
Garrick reached into his belt pouch and tossed a heavy leather sack onto the nearest table. The impact rattled the wood, spilling several coins out across the polished surface.
The coins were unlike anything Ryo had seen before.
Some were small copper discs called Pence, used for bread, tools, and the daily lives of commoners.
Others gleamed silver with stamped crests of lions and swords—Shillings, the coin of merchants and guilders.
But the heaviest of all were the golden Sovereigns—etched with the profile of a crowned figure, each one carrying the weight of a family's fortune. One Sovereign was said to buy a horse, five could buy a home, and a hundred could buy silence from the most loyal assassin.
The bag Garrick had handed over carried at least fifty Sovereigns—enough wealth to make any man's eyes shine.
"Mr. Petunia, I will rent this book," Garrick said, his voice trembling with reverence. "No matter the price. Here is the payment."
Ryo raised both hands quickly, panic flashing across his face. "Wait, wait, no—you don't need to do this. That's just a normal book!"
But Garrick only lowered his head, muttering under his breath as though speaking to himself. "You are truly terrifying, Master Petunia. How can such a dreadful tome lie dormant in your halls, looking so… ordinary?"
He clutched the book to his chest like a relic and then stepped back. His body bent slightly, his movements cautious, his tone lined with respect—as though he stood before an emperor rather than a confused young man.
With a deep bow, he turned to leave.
"Wait!" Ryo called out instinctively.
Garrick froze mid-step. His brow furrowed, and he muttered nervously, "Damn, was the money not enough? Do I need to pay with blood? My arm? My soul?"
Aloud, he straightened and asked respectfully, "What more can I offer you, Master Petunia?"
Ryo scratched his cheek awkwardly. "I… just wanted information about the city."
Garrick blinked. Then, with a solemn nod, he whispered to himself: "So it is not destruction he seeks… No, there would be no gain in razing our lands for one such as him."
He drew out a smaller leather-bound notebook from his coat and placed it carefully on the table.
"This is all I know."
The Notebook of Brasshaven
Inside, the parchment pages were filled with Garrick's rough yet meticulous handwriting.
The Kingdom of Caelvaris – Once a fractured land, now united under the banner of King Aldren IV. It is a kingdom both industrial and arcane, fueled by the clash of magic and steam. The royal court is said to host both mages and merchants, priests and generals, all vying for favor.
The Capital: Brasshaven – A sprawling city of smoke and steel. Massive factories belch black clouds into the sky, their chimneys rising like the spears of giants. Clockwork inventions clatter through the streets, while horse-drawn carriages still mingle with early steam engines. Beneath the grandeur lies crime, guild wars, and shadows where the poor struggle to breathe.
The People – The citizens are divided sharply by wealth. Nobles dress in silks and feathers, while factory workers choke on soot for a single copper. Adventurers walk openly in the streets, their blades and staves marked by their levels. The strongest are revered like demigods; the weakest are forgotten as dust.
Guilds and Orders – In Brasshaven, the guilds wield power as much as the crown. The Iron Vanguard, a guild of mercenaries and warriors. The Ember Consortium, merchants of both steel and spell. The Lunar Archive, keepers of forbidden magic. Each fights not just for coin, but for influence over the city itself.
Rumors – Whispers of a hidden order linger in the taverns: a nameless council that moves unseen, pulling strings even the king fears. Some call them the Council of Twelve, though none dare speak of their true faces.
When Ryo closed the notebook, Garrick bowed once more. His face was calm, but his single eye betrayed something else—fear, awe, and the heavy burden of respect.
"I pray this serves your will, Master Petunia. May Brasshaven's secrets unfold before you."
Without waiting for another word, Garrick turned and departed, his heavy boots echoing against the marble floor until the massive doors shut behind him.
And once again, Ryo was left alone in the mansion, clutching a notebook full of secrets… and more questions than answers.