CHAPTER 15 — VERY INTERESTING
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The ground floor hallway felt quieter than the second floor, perhaps because most guests were either out or in their own rooms. The atmosphere here was almost like a different world—no laughter or chatter from the common room, no footsteps of passing attendants. Only a thick silence, broken occasionally by the creak of old wooden floorboards beneath their steps and the occasional gust of wind seeping through gaps in the poorly sealed windows.
They passed rows of tightly closed doors, heading toward the back of the inn as Elaina had instructed. Each door they passed had a different number—some with faded numerals, some with handwritten labels already difficult to read. From behind a few doors, faint sounds could be heard—perhaps guests talking, or perhaps just sounds from another world they didn't want to know about.
Amura: (Breaking the silence with a curious tone—a light tone, but with something beneath it, something he couldn't hide) "So, Kyoichiiro-san, what exactly are we going to the library for? Couldn't we just rest or plan our next move?"
The question was reasonable. After a tiring day—after a dungeon that nearly claimed their lives, after fleeing from collapse and monsters, after exhausting battles—resting was the sensible thing to do. But Kyoichiiro had another reason. There was always another reason.
Kyoichiiro: (His voice calm, flat—showing no exhaustion even though his body felt like it would collapse) "Just to learn something. There's still much about this world I don't understand. Libraries, wherever they are, usually hold information. Perhaps there's something interesting, or at least something that can answer some questions in my head."
His answer was vague, but logical. Amura nodded slowly, as if understanding even if not fully. He observed Kyoichiiro—a child his age who was too serious, too analytical, as if carrying a burden far heavier than his small body. His light blue eyes were always moving, always observing, always searching for something invisible to the naked eye.
Aetheria: (Suddenly speaking, with a shy tone while playing with her fingertips—a habit Kyoichiiro had come to recognize as a sign of nervousness) "I... I also like reading books, a little. Before... before all of this happened."
Her sentence trailed off, hinting at a past she hadn't shared. A past she might not want to remember. But her tone was innocent, showing genuine interest, and Kyoichiiro could see in her pink eyes—Scarlet Luminis—that she truly loved books. Not because they were useful, but because books were friends that never betrayed.
Kyoichiiro: (Turning to Aetheria, his tone softening slightly—just slightly, but enough to sound different) "That's perfect. You can help look for topics that might be useful."
Aetheria: (Her face flushing slightly, but smiling) "I... I'll try."
They then turned right, following a corridor that grew increasingly narrow and dark. The oil lamps on the walls became sparser, and in some places, only nearly spent candles remained. Shadows swayed on the walls, creating illusions of movement in places that should have been still.
Kyoichiiro glanced toward the distant lobby through the open balcony above them. No one was there. No attendants, no guests, no one. That empty sight only made him more alert. In his experience—in his previous life, in this life—calm often preceded trouble. A calm that was too perfect always hid something.
After walking several dozen meters, they found a small staircase descending to a lower area—perhaps a basement, or perhaps an old wing of the building no longer in use. The stairs were made of decaying wood, each step creaking in a different pitch—some high, some low, as if the staircase was singing its own death song. They descended the creaking stairs and arrived at a short corridor that turned left.
This corridor was dark and damp, different from the main part of the inn. The walls were made of old brick, with blackish-green moss growing in the cracks. The air here felt colder—not a natural cold, but a cold that crept over the skin like an invisible touch. At the end stood an old wooden chair, empty and abandoned in the corner like useless junk. The chair was broken in several places, covered in a thick layer of dust—a sign that no one had sat there for years.
Kyoichiiro only glanced at it before refocusing ahead. His sharp eyes caught small details: scratches on the walls that might be claw marks, dark stains on the floor that might be blood, and a faint smell he couldn't identify—a smell like metal, but also like something else, something older.
Suddenly, from the opposite direction, a middle-aged man appeared in simple work clothes—a worn shirt, coarse trousers, and old boots. Perhaps a cleaner, or perhaps an inn caretaker. The man seemed slightly surprised to see them, but showed no fear—only curiosity.
Middle-Aged Man: (His voice not harsh, only full of curiosity—like someone who had lived in a quiet place for a long time and rarely met new people) "Oh, you all. Where are you going in this area? Guests rarely come here. Usually only staff pass through."
Kyoichiiro remained silent, letting the more sociable Amura answer. He observed the man carefully: the way he stood, the way he held his broom, the way his eyes moved. Nothing suspicious, but Kyoichiiro stayed alert.
Amura: (Smiling warmly—a smile he had practiced to make people feel comfortable) "We're just looking around a little. An attendant said there's a library here. Is that true?"
Middle-Aged Man: (Nodding, his expression relieved—as if he had worried they were looking for something else) "Ah, that old library. Yes, it's at the end of this corridor. No one has visited it for a long time, except sometimes Miss Hana. Well then. Be careful, this area is a bit dark and the floor can be slippery sometimes. I have some business in the back."
He then walked away, his heavy footsteps echoing in the stone corridor, leaving the three of them behind. Kyoichiiro noted the man's steps—not hurried, not suspicious, but also not too relaxed. Like someone used to this place and indifferent to who came and went. Still, he made a mental note: Middle-aged man. Work clothes. Knows about the library and Miss Hana. Didn't ask for our identities. Didn't care.
They continued their journey. And at the darkest end of the corridor stood a door. A large, old wooden door, with rusted iron hinges and a worn handle, smoothed by frequent touch. Above it hung a tarnished, dusty silver nameplate with letters already difficult to read.
Amura: (Pointing, his voice slightly whispered) "We're here."
They stopped before the door. Kyoichiiro examined it carefully. The plate bore unfamiliar letters—not Latin, not any script he had seen in history books. But as his eyes swept across the writing, his mind automatically processed and translated it: "LIBRARY".
What is this? Kyoichiiro thought, and for a moment, he felt something strange in his chest—not fear, but deep confusion. My mind isn't processing these letters as any known alphabet. But the moment I see them, I immediately understand their meaning. This isn't ordinary translation—this is like... like something is translating directly inside my head. What system is working here? Is this an effect of 'reincarnation'? Or is there something—or someone—behind all this programming my language comprehension?
These philosophical questions swirled in his head, but there was no time to ponder further. Amura was already approaching the door, his hand on the rusted handle.
Amura: "Let's go in."
With some effort—the door was heavier than it looked—Amura pushed the old hinges. The wood creaked loudly, a sound that shattered the corridor's silence like a stifled scream. The door slowly opened, as if resisting, as if unwilling to let anyone in.
And what they saw inside made them pause for a moment.
The room was far larger than they had imagined. Much larger. A vast library with a high ceiling supported by dark wooden pillars—pillars carved with intricate patterns, faded with age but still visible. Giant bookshelves, nearly reaching the ceiling, stood in neat rows forming labyrinthine aisles. Thousands—perhaps tens of thousands—of volumes in various sizes and conditions filled every space. Some books looked new, with still-glossy covers; others were very old, with torn covers and yellowed pages.
Light entered through tall stained-glass windows on the walls—windows made of colored glass that cast strange patterns of light on the floor. Dust particles danced in the air, like tiny stars floating in the twilight sunlight. The scent of old paper, wood, and a hint of camphor—a scent familiar to anyone who had ever entered an old library—filled their senses, but there was also another scent, a deeper, older scent, like the smell of time itself.
Kyoichiiro: (Whispering, more to himself, his voice barely audible) "So vast... A library like this hidden in an ordinary inn? This place truly holds many interesting things. This isn't just a library—it's a... museum. Or perhaps more than that."
Aetheria: (Her voice full of awe, eyes sparkling) "It's so beautiful... I've never seen a place like this before."
Amura: (Smiling—a strange smile, a smile that said he already knew about this place) "Interesting, isn't it?"
Aetheria: (Nodding quickly) "Very interesting!"
Amura and Aetheria reflexively nodded at Kyoichiiro's muttering. They then stepped inside, their footsteps muffled by the thick, worn carpet—a carpet that might once have been deep red but had now faded to grayish-brown.
They began exploring the aisles. Kyoichiiro in the center, his eyes quickly scanning categories and book titles displayed on the shelves. He saw history books, geography books, books about monsters, books about magic, and books about things he couldn't quickly categorize. Amura on the left, also looking curious—he picked up a few books, opened a few pages, then put them back with an unreadable expression. Aetheria on the right, her hand occasionally reaching for a book, opening a few pages, then carefully returning it—as if afraid of damaging something older than herself.
Kyoichiiro: (Suddenly asking, without turning) "What kind of book do you want to read, Amura?"
Amura: (Pretending to think—Kyoichiiro could tell from the way he tilted his head and furrowed his brow) "Hmm... maybe I'll look around first. Find something interesting. Something unusual."
Kyoichiiro: (Nodding, then turning right) "And you, Aetheria—"
His sentence stopped. As he turned right, he saw Aetheria already holding a small blue-covered book in her hands. The cover was made of slightly faded cloth, with gold embossing at the corners. She stood there, looking very serious as she stared at the cover, as if the book was a treasure she couldn't let go of.
Kyoichiiro: (Flat but slightly surprised—a little surprised, because he didn't often see Aetheria so focused) "Aetheria?"
Aetheria flinched, then turned. When her face came into view, Kyoichiiro saw a small, genuine, innocent smile gracing her lips. Her pink eyes—Scarlet Luminis—sparkled with a joy she rarely showed. It was a smile he hadn't seen since they were on the grassland, since they first met.
Aetheria: "Yes... umm..." Her voice was soft, shy, but there was happiness in it.
Kyoichiiro: (Instead of asking about the book, he asked about her expression) "Why are you smiling?"
The question immediately made Aetheria even more embarrassed. Her cheeks flushed—a red color spreading from her cheeks to her ears, to her neck. She looked down, trying to hide her face behind the book she was holding.
From the side, a muffled sound was heard. Amura was holding back laughter, his shoulders shaking, his eyes sparkling with barely concealed glee.
Kyoichiiro: (Turning to Amura, annoyed—not too annoyed, but enough to make Amura stop laughing) "Hey. Why are you laughing?"
Amura: (Trying to stay calm, but his eyes still sparkling) "Nothing, Kyoichiiro-san. Just... an interesting sight. Come on, let's each find a book. I want to see if there are any books about ancient magic here."
Kyoichiiro grunted, then decided to find his own book. He walked to the nearest shelf—a shelf containing books with old brown leather covers, some of them very fragile—and, without much thought, took a book with a title written in faded gold letters.
"Lost First Love."
Lost First Love? Kyoichiiro thought, almost frowning. Ridiculous. I don't need romance or love stories now. I need history, geography, magic, world systems—not this. This is a useless book. This is a book that will only waste my time.
He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to dispel a little frustration—frustration at not finding what he was looking for, frustration at still not understanding this world, frustration at still not finding answers. When he opened them, Amura was already standing beside him, with a knowing smile.
Amura: (Enthusiastic tone—too enthusiastic, as if he was planning something) "Wow, that book looks interesting!" He saw the title. "Lost First Love?" He then looked at Kyoichiiro with sparkling eyes, his red eyes—Crimson Iris—shining with barely concealed delight. "So, Kyoichiiro-san, may I borrow this book? You're not interested in love stories, are you? I'm sure you prefer books about war strategy or kingdom history."
Kyoichiiro, without saying a word, handed the book to Amura. Better that book be in Amura's hands than cluttering his mind with unimportant things. Amura received it happily, holding it like a newly discovered treasure.
Amura: (Smiling broadly) "Thank you, Kyoichiiro-san! I'll take good care of it."
However, the smile on Amura's face suddenly changed. Not dramatically—only slightly, just enough for Kyoichiiro to notice something was different. His expression became serious, more serious than Kyoichiiro had ever seen before. His red eyes no longer sparkled with joy, but with something else—something deeper, heavier. His voice dropped to a whisper, meant only for the three of them, as if he didn't want anyone else to hear.
Amura: (His voice low, almost a whisper) "Kyoichiiro-san, Aetheria. Can we talk for a moment? About something important."
Both Kyoichiiro and Aetheria were startled. The atmosphere suddenly became tense—tense like the air before a storm. Kyoichiiro felt his instincts hiss, like an animal sensing danger in the air. This wasn't just casual conversation. This was something else.
Kyoichiiro: (His voice flat, full of alertness—his eyes fixed sharply on Amura) "Hah? Talk about what?"
Amura: (Looking around, making sure no one else was there—no attendants, no guests, no one) "We should find a more private place. It's still too open here. I don't want anyone to hear."
Kyoichiiro: (Silent, processing. He stared at Amura carefully, trying to read beneath that serious expression)
Aetheria: (Her voice small, slightly trembling—she was still holding the book she had just picked up, but her fingers were trembling) "W-what's wrong, Amura-san? You're scaring me."
Amura: (Smiling—a reassuring smile, but not entirely) "Nothing to be afraid of. Just... there's something I need to say. Something I've been holding back for a long time."
Kyoichiiro and Aetheria exchanged glances, confusion and anxiety visible in Aetheria's eyes. Still, they nodded. If Amura, who was usually so relaxed, suddenly acted like this, there must be something big. Something they couldn't ignore.
Without much discussion, Amura led them. He walked deeper into the library, past increasingly quiet and dark aisles. The bookshelves here were taller, older, and dustier. Some had small chains connecting covers to shelves—as if those books shouldn't be moved. The light from the stained-glass windows grew dimmer, and the shadows grew longer.
Kyoichiiro followed from behind, his mind racing. He watched Amura's back—his slightly tense shoulders, his steps quicker than usual. There was something in the way he walked, something that said he was preparing himself for something difficult.
An important discussion? Kyoichiiro thought, his eyes unblinking. What does he mean? Will he finally reveal what he knows? Will he explain all the mysteries he's been hiding? Or... is there danger? Is this place not as safe as we thought?
Aetheria gently grasped the hem of Kyoichiiro's robe—not tightly, but enough to feel that he was there. Fearful, yet also full of trust that Kyoichiiro would protect her, that he wouldn't let anything happen to her.
After turning right and walking straight for about thirty meters—past more bookshelves, more dust, more silence—they reached the end of the library. There, hidden behind the largest bookshelf—a shelf filled with thick leather-bound books with faded gold lettering—was another wooden door. This door was smaller, newer, and seemed better maintained. There was no sign or writing above it, but there was a small carving in the lower right corner—a symbol Kyoichiiro couldn't recognize.
Kyoichiiro: (Stopping, his eyes narrowing as he studied the door) "What door is that?"
Amura didn't answer. He only gave a faint smile—a meaningful smile, a smile that said "this is it"—then pushed the door. Its hinges moved without sound—unlike the main door, which had creaked loudly—as if this door was often opened and closed, as if this place was often visited.
The door opened, revealing darkness beyond. Not ordinary darkness—a thicker, deeper darkness, like the darkness inside a dungeon. Amura stepped inside first, then turned back, waiting for them with unreadable eyes.
Aetheria: (Her voice trembling, her hand gripping Kyoichiiro's robe tighter) "What... what's inside?"
Amura: (His voice calm, soothing—like speaking to a child afraid of the dark) "Come in. Let's go inside. There's nothing to fear. Just a room."
Kyoichiiro took a deep breath—the air here was cold, but not as cold as in the dungeon. Different air, air that felt like a place rarely visited. Whatever awaited behind that door, he had to face it. There was no other choice.
With determined steps, he followed Amura inside, pulling hesitant Aetheria along with him. The door closed slowly behind them, with a soft click separating them from the silent, mysterious library, ready to hold the secrets of the conversation that would take place in that hidden room.
And in the darkness, between them and whatever awaited, Kyoichiiro felt that their lives were about to change. For better or worse, he didn't know. But he knew one thing: there was no turning back.