Inside, towering shelves overflowed with magic potent enough to rewrite destinies. My pulse quickened as my fingers grazed the spines of ancient tomes, their covers alive with shimmering sigils that pulsed like captured starlight. A faint hum of latent power resonated beneath my touch, as if the books whispered secrets only the worthy could decipher.
Price tags hovered beside each tome—some modest at fifty Neonits, others climbing into the hundreds, their costs as steep as the knowledge they held. Though I had come for teleportation scrolls, the sheer allure of the arcane demanded my attention. My fingers twitched with temptation, drawn to the forbidden wisdom lining these shelves.
Before long, I drifted toward the history section, where rows of books safeguarded the world’s forgotten truths. Under the Astral Concord’s stewardship, public libraries offered knowledge freely. But here, in the black market, even wisdom had a price—seventy Neonits just to borrow a fragment of the past.
I pressed my badge against the scanner. The embedded camera blinked in acknowledgment before prompting me to scan the book’s QR code. As I complied, a holographic interface flickered to life: Audiobook or manual reading?
A quiet testament to how seamlessly magic and technology had intertwined. Nearly all literature had been converted into digital formats, preserving trees while ensuring knowledge endured. With a tap, I selected an audiobook. A pair of virtual headphones materialized, their translucent blue glow hovering in the air. As I placed them over my ears, they settled with a weightless chill, humming softly as they adjusted to my presence.
Then, the book spoke—its voice smooth, measured, steeped in authority. It wove history into something tangible, recounting the foundations of the world I now stood in.
Dungeons shattered the boundaries of reality. Their mana-infused air seeped into the world, blending with the atmosphere and ushering in the Era of the Blessed. Those who adapted gained extraordinary abilities, shaping the course of history itself.
I leaned against the shelf, absorbing every word. Then, curiosity pushed me further. I played another audiobook—Dungeons & Artifacts.
This one carried an air of caution, detailing the horrors lurking in the depths. It categorized creatures by rank—S, A, B, C, D, and E. The higher the rank, the greater the danger—and the rarer the rewards. But what truly caught my attention was the mention of artifacts.
Artifacts are relics of immense power. While most are discovered within dungeons, they can also manifest in areas with high concentrations of mana. Ranging from 1 to 6, their classifications, dictated by the church, remain in question.
Stolen story; please report.
My pulse quickened. This was what I needed.
Closing the audiobook, I turned on my heel and walked to the scroll section, my eyes scanning the shelves with renewed urgency. The teleportation scrolls were crucial—without them, retrieving the artifact I sought would be impossible. Failure was not an option.
Armed with scrolls, I made my way to the train station. The weight of my mission pressed against me, but I forced myself forward. The rhythmic hum of the train filled the silence as I clutched the scrolls tightly, my mind replaying every warning from the audiobook.
My stomach churned. My grip tightened. Risking my life for an artifact—was it worth it?
A deep breath. A moment of stillness.
Then, the train slowed to a stop.
The doors hissed open. A gust of wind carried the scent of damp earth and something else—something ancient, electric with power. My shaky legs carried me forward, each step a silent promise.
I had made my choice.
And so, I walked toward death.
Would these scrolls be sufficient?
I couldn’t recall how strong the guardian was since, in my novel, no one had ever attempted to retrieve the Eternus Grimoire, a tome containing infinite knowledge.
I stood before the artifact, its forest-green glow pulsing with a hypnotic rhythm. Scanning my surroundings, I found no sign of another presence. Relief flooded me, and I slumped to my knees, exhaustion and anxiety draining from my body.
"Looks like I get to live another day to tell the tale," I mused with a shaky laugh.
Dragging myself toward the radiant treasure, I savored the moment. My life had been tedious, but now, a fortune of immeasurable value lay within reach. A tear welled in my eye—it was almost too easy.
Then, just as the thought crossed my mind, something clamped around my legs.
A crushing force seized me, sweat beading on my skin as terror locked my breath in my throat—a heavy, clawed grip, unyielding and cold. Slowly, I turned my head.
A figure loomed behind me.
"You can’t be serious," I breathed as it flung me through the air.
My body twisted mid-flight, but before I could react, I crashed against the ruins with a bone-rattling impact. Pain exploded across my ribs. Gasping, I lifted my head, my vision spinning. The figure approached, calmly cracking its knuckles, exuding an overwhelming presence.
As my focus sharpened, my breath hitched.
Horns.
My blood ran cold.
If it had horns and could walk on two legs, then there were only two possibilities: a mutated dungeon beast—
—or a dragon.
Behind the "protective" walls of the ruins, I laid out the scrolls I had bought.
Most were teleportation scrolls. Some could reverse magical attacks. And others were for fog summoning.
I had tools. But they seemed insufficient.
I peeked through the cracks of the walls with a telescope artifact I had bought. Though it was a one-time use due to its poor quality, it served its purpose well. The dragon that guarded the artifact was in the undead domain.
I glanced at the horns, ensuring there were two. That meant the undead dragon had two Blessings.
My chances of surviving a one-on-one were in the negatives.
I flexed my fingers, rolling my shoulders.
This was going to be a very long series of scroll casting. I should be thankful I had bought a mana-stealing scroll—one that could take the opponent’s mana and gift it to the user.
The fight wasn’t just inevitable.
It had already begun.
