One second the air had been thick enough to crush a lung. The next, it was just dusty, stale library air.
Arthur collapsed—not falling outright, but slumping heavily against his cane, knuckles white, chest heaving as he gasped for breath. His shirt was soaked with cold sweat.
That was close, he thought,his heart pounding. Too close. Marcus didn’t move to help. The old man simply settled back in his chair. The terrifying amber fire in his eyes faded, replaced once more by bored exhaustion.
“You have a spine, boy,” Marcus grunted, picking up his book again. “I’ll give you that. Most men would have fainted.”
Arthur finally exhaled; his shoulders dropped with relief. I passed. For now.
“You are right,” Marcus continued in a low, steady voice. “Silence indeed kills kingdoms. But too much noise invites predators. I am just a shield, Oliver. I am the reason the Capital sends assassins with poison instead of an army. They know I am here. They know that if they attack openly, I will burn their legions to ash before I die.”
He looked Arthur dead in the eye.
“But the moment I use my mana—whether to fix a fountain or kill a bandit—my signature lights up in the Capital like a beacon. It tells them I am active. It tells them I am a threat. And that gives them the excuse they need to mobilize the Imperial Guard.”
Arthur nodded slowly. The logic was sound: Mutually assured destruction. Marcus was a nuclear weapon tucked away in a library.
“I understand,” Arthur whispered, pulling a chair out and sitting before his trembling legs gave out.
“But, Old Marcus… you know that if we just sit and do nothing, our fall will come sooner or later. A shield only works if it has something left to protect,” Arthur said, holding the old mage’s gaze.
Marcus paused, studying the boy. His look seemed to pierce straight through to Arthur’s core.
“Tell me, boy, what are you trying to achieve with all of this? Something clearly changed after you were poisoned. The old Oliver didn’t have this look in his eyes.”
Arthur swallowed. A chill ran down his spine.
I cannot afford to slip up here, he thought. If he realizes I'm not the real Oliver, I'm done for.
He straightened his back and forced his voice steady. “When I woke up… I felt helpless. Weak. For the first time, I looked out my window and truly saw the territory falling into ruin.”
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Arthur tightened his grip on his cane. “I don’t know why I started feeling like this. Maybe coming back from the dead changes a person. All I know is that if we don’t move, they will move for us.”
Marcus leaned back, the boy’s words stirring memories he had vowed never to revisit.
“Ashborn blood…” he muttered, then, after a pause, “Prove yourself, Oliver. I will acknowledge you once you do that. How you achieve it… that is up to you.”
Those were Marcus’s last words on the matter. He returned to his reading, signaling the conversation was over.
Arthur gave a silent nod of respect and retreated deeper into the stacks to clear his head.
Once out of sight, he slumped against a stone pillar in the far corner of the library. “Finally,” he muttered, massaging his throbbing forehead. “That was unbelievable.”
Now he had confirmation. Marcus wasn’t just a guard; he was the strongest person Arthur knew in this world. He was an ally—but getting Marcus to acknowledge him was a problem Arthur didn’t know how to solve. Add to the equation the fact that he was powerless and only a thirteen-year-old young master.
The weight of his predicament pressed down on him.
“How I wish you were here, Elena,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper in the dusty aisle.
He spent the next hour staring at the stone ceiling, letting his thoughts drift to process the shock.
After regaining some strength, he stood and walked to a nearby reading table to fetch a quill. It was time to update his plans.
Objectives Updated
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Water: Redirected to an unknown location — On hold
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Iron: The smithy needs a visit — On hold
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Knowledge: Visit the library — Completed
Sub-goal: Gain Marcus’s trust.
“I think the only thing I can do right now is gather more information about this world until I figure out the next steps,” Arthur muttered.
The logistics section sat on the opposite side of the library, in the middle row of shelves.
While scanning worn spines, his eyes caught a strange book. It had no title on the cover; the Ashborn crest was carved directly into the binding rather than stamped.
“This feels… different,” Arthur murmured, pulling it free.
The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the floor. Arthur peeked around the corner: Marcus was napping. If Marcus noticed this book, Arthur doubted he'd ever see it again.
He slipped the volume under his arm and made his way back to his room. The hallway was empty; servants were likely preparing for dinner. The estate was hosting the demanding Lunalar Viscountess, after all.
Safely inside his room, Arthur didn’t open the book. Exhaustion washed over him. He hid it carefully under his mattress, next to his notes.
“Man… I feel so tired for some reason,” he yawned, rubbing his heavy eyes. “I’ll take a nap until dinner.”
He collapsed onto the bed. Not even a minute passed before his breathing evened into deep sleep.
He didn’t see it, but beneath the mattress, the deep carving on the black book began to pulse with a faint, rhythmic red light.
(To be continued …)