Chapter 881: Fragments of an Ancient Tome

Since His Majesty King Gawain’s coronation, the entire realm had been unified once more, and the Imperial Administration promptly issued a decree:

A comprehensive cataloging and protective restoration of all books and archives across the nation was to be undertaken.

The purpose of this monumental task was clear: to sift through the scattered technical documents left behind since the Age of Exploration, halting the damaging breaks in human civilization’s technological lineage; to safeguard historical evidence and regional records from the old kingdoms, putting an end to the chaotic, distorted mix of history and legend that had long plagued the land; and to collect and organize all ecclesiastical texts, thereby bringing the empire’s religious factions under tighter control, while weakening and eventually dismantling the clergy’s monopoly on knowledge.

Countless scholars, clerics, and scribes threw themselves into this endeavor—one that could shape the empire’s future for a century to come. Unlike the grand, attention-grabbing engineering projects that dazzled the public, their work was quiet and tedious:

Endlessly wrestling with musty, ancient tomes; piecing together files from countless repetitive, fragmented, and often contradictory texts. Some of these dusty scrolls and moldy manuscripts contained powerful technologies dating back to the ancient Gondor era, while others were nothing more than crude verses scribbled by some mediocre noble poet. All of it lay buried in heaps of forgotten paper across the land, worn beyond recognition by palace intrigues, church conflicts, and feudal wars—nearly lost to memory.

Centuries of civil decline and the chaotic medieval nobility system had destroyed so much. Too many treasures had been buried beneath the dust of time.

Sevin Terry was among those involved in this grand project, though his work had begun even earlier. Shortly after the Cecil family took control of Luan City, he had already been dealing with these centuries-spanning volumes.

Luan City, once the headquarters of the Southern Holy Light Church, was the largest cultural center and “knowledge hub” in the southern region. The clergy, who monopolized divine authority and vast stores of knowledge, had for a hundred years since the Second Dynasty gathered books from all corners of the south into the city’s many libraries. In an age when books were as valuable as treasure, this was a common practice among nobles and the church alike.

The missionaries’ tireless “acquisitions” had accelerated the decline of other southern regions, but Sevin Terry had to admit: it was precisely this greedy gathering that had preserved many precious texts amid the widespread chaos and decay.

Sevin paused before a towering bookshelf, tilting his head upward. His gaze swept across the heavy, somber volumes, climbing higher until it rested on the solemn stone dome overhead.

This was the last library in Luan City yet to be fully cataloged and organized. It housed manuscripts collected from various eras, as well as “books of the faithless” unrelated to the Holy Light doctrine. Such texts were undervalued here, and thus poorly preserved. The ancient air-filtering runes struggled like a broken bellows, and the blessings meant to slow the decay of the books were patchy at best. Many priceless works were slowly turning to dust in this dark, neglected environment.

To rescue these treasures, the region’s finest book restorers, scribes, and philologists had been assembled here. Still, progress was slowest in this library.

Yet, every day brought new discoveries. More and more precious materials were found, restored, or copied onto new media before they could be lost forever.

At that moment, a church attendant in a gray robe hurried over and bowed respectfully before Sevin. “Archbishop, we’ve found a book. It seems… unusual.”

“Archbishop” was the new title adopted after the church’s reorganization, replacing cardinal or metropolitan archbishop. Sevin Terry had never imagined he’d one day hold such a position. But with the entire bishopric of Saint Suniel martyred overnight, most regional bishops expelled, and a sweeping reshuffle of senior clergy in the southern diocese, it was no surprise that a progressive, experienced cleric like him had risen swiftly through the ranks.

“An unusual book?” Sevin frowned. “Show me.”

The book lay open on a workbench between shelves. Its surface had been dusted and cleaned of mold stains, and the faint scent of alchemical reagents lingered in the air. Nearby were neatly arranged bottles of potions, scribal tools, and implements for restoring ancient texts—scrapers, bone folders, parchment scraps—making the book look like a corpse awaiting autopsy. Around it, restorers and scribes stood ready, eager to uncover its secrets.

Sevin shook his head, dismissing the morbid thought. After confirming the book’s condition with a restorer, he sat down and carefully turned the pages, asking, “Any findings?”

“This is a composite volume,” an elderly scholar with graying hair explained. “The collector apparently didn’t understand its complex, profound origins. They treated it like a rustic chronicle, crudely stitching together several unrelated fragments. At first, we only noticed the opening folk tales and some marginal notes by a down-on-his-luck noble, nearly missing what lay beyond…”

A crudely assembled book—Sevin was no stranger to such things. Nobles in remote regions, no smarter than the farmers in the fields, nonetheless felt compelled to maintain their noble dignity and an image of erudition. Collecting and binding fragments of lost texts was one way to flaunt their learning and lineage. But true restoration required scholars of deep knowledge. The ignorant could only patch together scraps they barely understood.

The archbishop shook his head and skipped past the dull folk tales, flipping further into the book. The scholar leaned in, pointing to inconspicuous corners and gutter margins. “Notice these—here and here—these patterns…”

“Looks like some kind of heraldry… shield-shaped borders, thorns, frost symbols…” Sevin’s brow furrowed. “Noble arms, high nobility, but deliberately distorted—someone hiding their identity. We’ll need a heraldry expert or a genealogist.”

“Mr. Berclan has already examined these patterns, Your Grace,” the scholar said. “After reconstructing the designs according to heraldic rules, we confirmed they belong to the northern Wilde family.”

“The Duke of the North?” Sevin’s expression grew serious. “So these pages were left by a member of the Wilde family?”

“A fairly prominent one—well-versed in heraldry and authorized to use the family crest. We also detected faint magical traces in the parchment. Though the pages are six centuries old, the magic hasn’t fully faded. This suggests they may have been left by one of the earliest northern dukes!”

Sevin couldn’t help but whisper, “Six hundred years?!”

“Yes. The alchemical analysis surprised us too. It’s a miracle they survived so well despite poor preservation, likely thanks to the lingering magic,” the scholar nodded. “Though the pages are mostly intact, the text is heavily worn and stained. We’re working on restoring it.”

“…Perhaps we should report this. Duchess Victoria would be interested,” Sevin said, exhaling softly and nodding. “Can we trace the book’s provenance? I’m curious how it ended up here.”

“Only partially. The records show it was donated by a small church in the southeast. It was nearly stolen there, and the local priests decided it was too risky to keep. So they sent it to Saint Luan Cathedral. Clearly, it hasn’t been given much attention since.”

Sevin listened thoughtfully, his brow tightening once more.

…

The wind whispered past his ears. The summer sky stretched wide and clear. A shadow flickered atop the rooftops, finally settling on a clock tower in the Mage District. From the darkness emerged a girl—an amber-eyed half-elf.

She perched on the narrow ledge of the tower, a pose that looked perilous to any outsider, savoring the gentle breeze with a smile as she gazed down upon the city.

She loved the feeling of leaping between rooftops—not because of some “incurable occupational hazard,” as King Gawain joked—but because of the boundless freedom it gave her. The endless sky, the wind rushing past her ears—while many would find it terrifying, Amber found it strangely comforting.

She had never considered why she liked it so much, but now, thinking back, she realized it might be because she had spent so long in a dark, confined place where sunlight never reached…

Compared to the dull Shadow Realm, this vibrant “living world” was far more interesting.

Amber pulled a small pouch from her side and took out an assortment of snacks she’d collected. Spreading them out on the narrow ledge, she began to enjoy this rare moment of leisure.

Below, the road to the Imperial Academy stretched away at a slant. Passersby of all kinds moved along it.

Locals dressed in summer shirts and simple dresses mingled with exotic visitors in a dazzling array of attire. Ordinary citizens hurried about their business, while students in the academy’s uniform wove through the crowd. Among them, Amber spotted a childlike gray elf with silver hair and a burly beastman, speaking in strange dialects and foreign tongues. In this bustling imperial capital, a melting pot of cultures converged—seeking knowledge, wealth, or simply new experiences.

Since last year’s successful diplomatic efforts, economic and cultural exchanges had blossomed. The once isolated and rigid nations of the continent were gradually opening up. Every day brought more visitors to this first truly international city of the new era, and to other prosperous imperial cities. These visitors brought benefits unimaginable to merchants of old, and with opportunity came a flood of eager souls chasing the promise of the new age.

And so the cycle continued, turning ever onward.

The Empire’s Minister of Intelligence and the Chief Commissioner of Internal Security sat high atop the towering spire, casually cracking sunflower seeds as they overlooked the bustling scene below.

“Looks like the city’s really growing, huh? And there are all sorts of strange land-dwelling races popping up,” a voice suddenly came from behind Amber. “You land folks sure have a lot of weird intelligent species…”

Amber jumped, nearly dropping both herself and her snack off the tower. “Holy crap!!”

Steadying herself with some effort, she glanced back—and there was Tyr’s face peeking out from the shadow of the clock loft behind her. Behind him, the upper half of Miss Siren and a large coil of serpentine tail were visible.

“You scared me to death!” Amber glared, still shaken. As a Shadow Master, she was rarely caught off guard like this—and worse, she hadn’t even noticed Tyr sneaking up behind her. “What are you doing back there?”

“Looking for a place to nap,” Tyr yawned. “Betty’s busy cleaning and refilling the pool in my room, so I figured I’d come find somewhere else to crash…”

“I almost fell off,” Amber shot him another glare. “I’m telling you, there should be laws against just using public facilities as your personal nap spots…”

“I don’t buy that this height could kill you,” Tyr said proudly. “Last time I saw you jump off the city’s arcane broadcast tower downtown, you shadow-stepped sixty times all the way down and your hair didn’t even get messed up. At that height, I’d be dead three times over—shattered all over the place. Pretty brutal.”

Ignoring Amber’s subtle expression, Tyr leaned forward, poking his head out past the clock tower. He muttered as he watched the lively scene below, “It’s really bustling… back in Antavien, we haven’t seen this kind of liveliness in ages.”

“Antavien… that’s your siren capital, right?” Amber quickly caught the thread of the conversation. “I’ve always been curious—what kind of society do you sirens have?”

Tyr glanced at her. “No wonder you’re the Minister of Intelligence. Trying to gather intel, huh?”

“Just chatting,” Amber rolled her eyes. “You’re overthinking it.”

“Doesn’t really matter,” Tyr said casually. “If you want, I can tell you a bit.”

(End of chapter)