The hunger was worse now. Not sharp, but constant—like an itch behind his ribs. Every time his eyes landed on a shelf, his stomach clenched, as if the books themselves were roasting meat.
William forced himself to breathe and think.
If the System had turned books into food, then it had to follow the same rules as food. There'd be limits. He wasn't going to swallow an encyclopedia and expect no consequences.
Capacity. Digestion. Rate of absorption.
He rubbed his jaw, pacing the aisle. "Okay. How much can I eat before I'm sick? How long does a book last? Do I get diminishing returns if I stuff myself?"
Survival wasn't just about calories. It was management. He'd learned that hiking. Learned it hunting chanterelles with his grandmother's field knife. A man who ate everything in his basket on day one starved by day three.
So he wasn't going to binge. He needed a test case.
William scanned the spines.
A massive leather tome promised The Complete Arts of War. Too thick. He could feel his gut tighten just looking at it. Another, Theory of Ritual Geometry, pulsed faintly with symbols he couldn't read. Risky.
He moved down the row. His eyes caught on thinner bindings: a weathered guidebook, a pamphlet with faded ink, a battered notebook tied with string. Small meals. Snacks.
He swallowed hard, already salivating. His stomach cramped again.
"Start small," he said, voice tight. "Field test. You don't down the whole deer first—you chew the jerky."
His hand settled on a slim paperback. The spine was cracked, the title stamped in plain block letters: Field Notes on Native Oregon Plants.
The System had a sense of irony. Or maybe it was fate.
William hesitated only a heartbeat, then lifted it to his mouth.
The first bite crunched like stale crackers. Dry, fibrous paper clung to his tongue, bitter ink seeping across his teeth. He gagged once, forced himself to chew, swallowed.
And then the flood came.
Flavor surged deeper than taste. Resin, pine needles, cedar smoke. The tang of wet soil after rain. Each flavor burst into color behind his eyes: green layered on brown, pollen-yellow sparks flickering through the dark. The hues rippled and collided, weaving into a tapestry he couldn't blink away.
William staggered, hand braced against the shelf. His breath hitched.
It wasn't just sensory. It was knowledge. Roots twined through his thoughts. He felt them, as if his own nerves had grown into soil. He knew how willow bark tasted, how poison hemlock smelled when crushed, how to tell true chanterelles from the fakes. The distinction wasn't learned—it was remembered, as if he'd always known.
The System chimed in his skull.
[Book Consumed: Field Notes on Native Oregon Plants]
+1 Mental
Skill Gained: Herb Identification (Basic)
William exhaled, shaking. His stomach loosened, the hunger fading a notch. Not gone, but dulled, like eating half a cracker after fasting.
"That… worked," he whispered. "Holy hell."
He pressed fingers to his temple, steadying himself. The System wasn't playing games. He had proof of concept.
But he had more questions now than before.
How long until that hunger gnawed again? An hour? Two? Was his "stomach" literal, or some metaphysical capacity that reset over time? Could he overeat and hurt himself? Could books spoil inside him like bad fish?
He'd need to track it. Treat his own body like a test subject.
The knowledge struck hard and fast, like a second memory shoved into his skull.
Leaves unfurled in his mind's eye, each one distinct: the bitter edge of yarrow, the sharp menthol of wild mint, the soothing bite of chamomile. He could picture them crushed in his palm, smell the oils as if he were standing in a meadow after rain. Recipes came with them—infusions, poultices, teas—basic, practical remedies locked in as if he'd practiced them all his life.
He blinked, heart racing. His grandmother had taught him a little about wild plants, but this was deeper, sharper. He knew how to tell one sprig of sage from another at a glance, which weeds soothed burns, which stems brewed into sleep aids, which roots to chew for pain.
And that had been a small book. A pamphlet compared to the tomes around him.
He licked dry lips, staring at the shelves. "If that's a snack," he muttered, "what does a feast look like?"
His stomach rumbled in agreement.
But pragmatism cut through the hunger. Snacks proved the mechanic. Now he needed survival. A dungeon meant threats—monsters, traps, worse. He wasn't going to punch his way through with botany.
William's eyes dragged across titles again, heart hammering faster as hunger sharpened with every syllable. Encyclopedia of Kung Fu.Practical Anatomy.Knife Fighting Basics.
He clenched his fists. The hunger wanted them all, but instinct screamed for strategy. He had to ration, had to choose the right first strike.
Still, he couldn't deny the thrill.
Knowledge as calories. Power as nutrition. Every book a gamble between fuel and poison.
The shelves whispered promises.
And William Page—hungry, rational, afraid but grinning anyway—was ready to listen.
Status: William Page
Age: 18
System: Unbound Bookeater
Class: None
Strength: 8
Speed: 8
Durability: 8
Mental: 11
Social: 5
Luck: 4
Traits:
– Hunger for Knowledge
– Synesthetic Cognition
– Rational Mind
Skills:
– Survival (Basic)
– Mycology (Basic)
– Cooking (Basic)
– Knife Use (Basic)
– Herb Lore (Basic)
The hunger wasn't going away.
William clenched his fists as the ache gnawed again, sharper this time. The shelves around him swam with promise. A billion choices. But if this was a dungeon—and it was a dungeon—then there was only one priority.
Defense.
You could forage food, improvise tools, even fake charm if you had to. But once something decided to take your head off, you needed to not die.
He paced the nearest aisle, scanning titles. The hunger made him want to reach for the first thing that glimmered, but he forced himself to think like a survivalist. Start small. Build up. Don't gorge yourself and regret it later.
One thick tome caught his eye: Foundations of Martial Training. It hummed faintly, script curling in gold. His gut pulled toward it hard, like gravity. But it was the size of a cinder block. No way was he starting there.
He kept moving.
A thinner spine gleamed two shelves down: Simple Calisthenics. Barely a pamphlet compared to the tomes around it. His stomach cramped in eagerness, but this time William nodded. Perfect test case. Small, safe, practical.
He cracked the cover, hesitated only a second, then bit down.
The paper splintered between his teeth, chalky and dry. The taste hit sharp—salt-sweat, grit, the sour bite of muscle burn. Then the flood came: colors snapping like sparks behind his eyes, pale red blooming into warm gold. His body tingled. His breath deepened, chest pulling wider.
The System chimed.
[Book Consumed: Simple Calisthenics]
+1 Strength
William exhaled, blinking against the glow fading in his vision. He flexed his hand once. His arm didn't look bigger, but it felt stronger, steadier, like he'd already put in months of steady training compressed into a heartbeat.
The hunger dulled again, but not gone.
He licked his lips, glanced back at the shelves. "Alright. Snacks work. Let's stack some."
A row of slim manuals lined the bottom shelf. He crouched, pulled another: Breathing and Posture. Crunch. Dry paper dust and the cool taste of morning air filling his lungs. His back straightened, balance sharper.
[Book Consumed: Breathing and Posture]
+1 Durability
He grabbed a third: Stretching for Flexibility. Bitter ink, sharp tang like lemon peel. Color surged turquoise, fading just as fast. His joints loosened, muscles warm.
[Book Consumed: Stretching for Flexibility]
+1 Speed
He sat back against the shelf, breathing hard. Three books in, and the hunger was still nagging, but now it was manageable—like background static. His body hummed with new balance, strength, and readiness.
The bigger tomes still called to him, their spines like gold coins gleaming in the dark. But for the first time since he'd arrived, William didn't feel naked.
He felt like someone who could take a hit and not shatter.
And that was enough for now.
Status: William Page
Age: 18
System: Unbound Bookeater
Class: None
Strength: 9
Speed: 9
Durability: 9
Mental: 11
Social: 5
Luck: 4
Traits:
– Hunger for Knowledge
– Synesthetic Cognition
– Rational Mind
Skills:
– Survival (Basic)
– Mycology (Basic)
– Cooking (Basic)
– Knife Use (Basic)
– Herb Lore (Basic)