“Librarian?” My voice couldn't help but ask the question, confusion creeping in. “What do you mean? I simply channeled mana into a scroll, an illustration. I was just looking for a weapon—something I could use with a bow!” My voice rose in pitch, fear and anxiety spilling over, clouding my thoughts. Where am I? What happened? Why is there a man from the Northern Continent here—wait. He mentioned being summoned to Dominus Demeterra’s... It clicked.

  In that instant, I understood. It wasn’t that I had been summoned here; I had, unknowingly, called myself into this world—into the man’s world.

  “Smart,” Vanitas said, his tone approving despite the situation. “Deductive reasoning is invaluable for those who pass through Danatallion’s Halls.” He lifted a teapot into the air, manifesting it from thin air—something that hadn’t existed just a moment ago—and poured two cups of tea. I was too dazed to even question it, watching as the cups appeared, filled with steaming liquid as if by magic.

  “Well, let me start with what I can tell you,” he said, his gaze sharpening. “You’re an illegal contractor. You’ve managed to acquire an archive—an archive that holds the history of those who guard the grand library. But you’ve done so through improper channels.” His words hung heavily in the air, laden with the weight of consequences.

  Vanitas took a sip from his own cup, then scowled, throwing it against the wall with a sharp motion. The cup—rather than shattering—distorted, its shape warping and twisting until it returned to nothingness, vanishing completely as if it had never existed at all.

  “What this means is threefold,” Vanitas began, his voice calm yet laden with warning. “First, your first access to Danatallion’s Halls will be violent. Brutal. Messy. You’ll fight tooth and nail, bow and blade. Don’t expect to leave unscathed. Mentally. Physically. Emotionally. You’ll be pushed beyond your limits, taxed in ways you can’t even imagine.”

  He paused for a moment, letting the weight of his words settle before continuing. “Second, you won’t have the protections of our host while you’re there. Anyone can attack you at any time. Soul Realm be damned…” Vanitas trailed off, then turned back to me. “That’s what DD calls it, right? Soul Realm?”

  I nodded slowly, still trying to digest everything.

  “Good. That means those in Soul Realms four and above can strike you down for your soul,” Vanitas said, his voice unwavering. “What’s a Soul Realm one’s soul worth? I don’t know, and frankly, I don’t care. Don’t bother trying to figure it out. Finally, until you acquire a legal contract, you’ll have to pacify the material you absorb.”

  “Pacify? Material?” My mind was racing now, questions spilling out faster than I could catch them. I was starting to calm down, but the curiosity kept growing, demanding answers.

  “Yes. Pacify,” he repeated, his smile widening into something sharp, predatory. “The characters from the literature itself will assault you, test you, break you down. Whether fact or fiction, all within the halls of the lord of lexicon will demand something from you. Usually something tied to the source material itself.”

  Vanitas leaned forward, his tone growing darker. “Succeed? You’ll earn yourself shards of a grimoire. But you can become a legal contractor in many ways.”

  His smile, which had been calculating, now seemed downright dangerous. He had me pegged, and I could feel it. I was the sheep; he was the butcher, ready to harvest whatever remained of me.

  “Then let me ask… how would you recommend I become a legal contractor to prevent these problems?” My voice wavered, my body trembling as I spoke. Vanitas’s eyes gleamed like endless voids, stars and nebulae swirling within them, impossible to look away from.

  “Many ways,” he replied, his voice cold and calculated. “You want one without any bindings. The hardest but best option is to sign a contract of visitation rights with the lord himself. To do that, you’ll need to slaughter three hundred thirty-three million, three hundred thirty-three thousand, three hundred thirty-three possessed books. Not for the faint-hearted, but it’ll grant you exactly what you seek.”

  I winced, trying to suppress the shiver running down my spine.

  “You can also negotiate a contract with any existing legal contractor,” he continued, “but those come with their own caveats. And then, there’s the last method: survive ten years in the halls as an illegal. That one has no legal drawbacks, but, as I said, the hell I mentioned earlier still stands.”

  As Vanitas spoke, I absentmindedly took a sip of the tea he’d poured me. The taste was unbearable, like wet cardboard soaked in rotten ink. I set the cup down, grimacing, and thought for a moment.

  “I’ll regret asking this, but I know you’ll offer anyway,” I muttered, before meeting his piercing gaze. “What caveat would I have for YOUR contract?”

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Vanitas leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling glint of amusement. He knew Alexander was desperate to gain access, but the cost would be steep.

  “I see you’re eager, Alexander,” Vanitas said, his voice smooth as he folded his hands in his lap. “And I’d be remiss if I didn’t make this clear: contracts like this aren’t meant to be simple or kind. There’s always a price. But no, I cannot take your soul. You’re lucky in that regard, though it makes things… trickier.”

  He stood and walked toward one of the nearby scrolls, his hand brushing against the ink as though it were an old friend. “The price I require is not your soul, nor your memories. What I ask for is something far more profound: your knowledge. More specifically, your connection to the history you’ll uncover through this contract. I need your eyes—your perspective on what you find in the halls.”

  He turned back to face Alexander, his expression as inscrutable as ever. “I want you to become a living record. Your experiences, your discoveries, every shred of information you uncover within the halls will belong to me. Not just in the usual sense. I’ll take your perspective, your interpretations, your ideas, and I’ll be the one who decides what becomes public knowledge and what is buried. You will see the world differently, and everything you learn will be subject to my will.

  In exchange for this, you’ll be granted legal access to the halls and, perhaps more importantly, the ability to walk the road toward a true contract. You’ll no longer be an illegal contractor, but there’s a catch, of course. I’ll be with you. Constantly. The knowledge I extract from you will come at a price. The longer you keep the contract, the more I will learn from you, until you are no longer your own person, but a vessel for everything that passes through those halls.”

  His voice lowered, and he gave Alexander a pointed look. “You will become the embodiment of knowledge itself. The more you absorb, the more of you I will claim. Over time, you will lose your ability to separate your own thoughts from mine. Eventually, you’ll no longer remember what you thought before signing the contract. You’ll be a keeper of knowledge, but also its prisoner.”

  He paused to let the weight of his words sink in, then added, “Your choice, Alexander. Accept the terms, and you’ll gain access to everything you desire. But know this: Once you start down this path, there’s no turning back. Your identity will become intertwined with the archive itself.”

  Vanitas’s smile was cold, almost too satisfied. "So, tell me—will you accept?”

  ***

  Coming out of the tea house, I found myself back in my uncle’s armory, shaking my head.

  “That isn’t a weapon. Not one I can use right now. Uncle—can I keep this for future use?” I turned to the pudgy man. After a brief pause, he nodded, and I placed the scroll in my bag. I continued searching for a weapon, settling on one of my uncle’s diabolical experiments. After all, they worked so well, right?

  Among his “rejects,” I found a simple playing card. Touching it, I was cut by its edge. My uncle’s eyes widened in panic as words flowed into my head.

  Initializing.

  Boot up sequence 33%…

  User ID: Alexander Duarte – Confirmed Acceptable.

  Beginning Processing…

  Processing Complete.

  Link Established.

  “Rodrick. Why. Are. You. Scared?” My mother’s voice was cold, furious. Soon, hundreds of her surrounded the poor, pudgy humanoid Almiraj.

  “He...uhh…”

  Cutting him off, I forced the entity in the card to materialize. A hominid of paper, a red and black knight, manifested before me. It would be a terrifying presence… if not for its size.

  “Activated a Machina—yes,” I finished for him.

  “You can operate that?” My uncle’s voice was thick with disbelief, his usual confidence crumbling for a brief moment. His eyes darted between the tiny Machina knight and me, his mind struggling to catch up with what he was seeing. “It requires…” His brow furrowed, deep in thought, as he mentally pieced together the complexity of the situation. “That requires a very specific mana combination, combined with blood from…” He trailed off, his gaze suddenly snapping to the scroll in my bag. His eyes widened with realization, and his face drained of color. “Right. You went there. My apologies.” His voice wavered, now laced with uncertainty.

  The tension in the room thickened. My mother—no, mothers—all turned their gaze to my uncle in unison. Their collective stare was unnerving, piercing through him like a thousand daggers. The air grew cold, charged with the weight of their scrutiny. “What do you mean he went there? What is that scroll? What did you do?!” Her voice, now laced with fury, reached a fever pitch, her words echoing with the full force of her presence. Each syllable felt like it carried the power of a thousand voices, and I could practically hear the ground tremble beneath her.

  My uncle stiffened, his back hitting the wall behind him as the voices of my mothers pressed closer, each one adding to the mounting pressure. “Consider it revenge for the shears,” my uncle said with a forced chuckle, his usual bravado faltering. A small grin twisted his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “But I showed him a secret.” His voice grew more strained, as though trying to defend himself against the overwhelming power of their collective gaze. “I thought he could handle it. I didn’t expect…” He trailed off, glancing nervously at the scroll in my bag, his words faltering under the weight of my mothers' presence.

  Despite his effort to maintain composure, my uncle's shoulders slumped, the fa?ade of confidence crumbling like dry paper. “I’m also planning for the boy to venture into an Otherrealm,” he continued, his voice now more controlled, but still carrying an undercurrent of hesitation. “A Rank F 1-1 Otherrealm. Dominus Petra’s. He’s scheduled for it in two days, so…” He hesitated, glancing nervously from the floor to the dozens of eyes glaring at him. “Mind leaving?” His smile faltered, the corners of his mouth twitching as if the very concept of leaving the room was a joke, but a grim one. His arms hung heavy at his sides, exhausted by the mental and emotional strain.

  The final, collective voice of my mothers, now united in their fury, rose like a mighty storm, their scream tearing through the air and shattering the fragile calm of the room. The sound was so deafening, it seemed to shake the very foundation beneath us.