When I opened my eyes, there was nothing.
No sky.
No ground.
No sound.
Just the void.
It stretched endlessly in every direction, a vast, silent expanse of dark gray that felt neither cold nor warm. I wasn’t floating, but I wasn’t standing either. There was no weight beneath my feet, yet I didn’t fall.
The event was over.
That much I understood instinctively.
I exhaled slowly.
The last thing I remembered was Vincent standing amidst the ruins of the billiard hall, battered, bleeding, but upright. The last one standing.
Then darkness.
Then this.
I rubbed my face.
“Personally… I didn’t like that event.”
My voice carried strangely in the emptiness, as if the void absorbed the sound instead of echoing it.
“It was full of holes.”
The more I thought about it, the more irritated I felt.
“The setting was supposed to be a school. But it was practically just a war zone.”
Territory battles. Boss fights. Organized violence in the streets.
No teachers.
No principals.
No police.
No adults.
“I don’t even remember the name of a single teacher,” I muttered.
Was there even a faculty lounge? A guidance counselor? A homeroom period?
It was as if the world had been designed with only one purpose, conflict.
I shook my head.
“Well… it was nothing more than an event anyway.”
The void began to ripple.
It started subtly, like a stone had been dropped into invisible water. Waves of pale light spread outward in circular patterns beneath my feet, or where my feet would have been if the concept of footing existed here.
I expected the usual.
A system prompt.
Floating text.
A disembodied voice delivering my results.
Instead-
A shape emerged.
White.
Humanoid.
Featureless.
A silhouette made of soft, glowing light stepped forward from the rippling void.
It had no face, yet I felt its gaze settle on me.
“Congratulations, Mr. Brise.”
The voice was calm.
Familiar.
I narrowed my eyes.
“You’re the voice in my head.”
The one that had guided me. Explained mechanics. Delivered rank ups.
“Who are you?” I asked.
The silhouette inclined its head slightly.
“I am your narrator.”
There was no arrogance in the statement. No mysticism either. Just a simple declaration of role.
“You may grant me a name if you wish.”
I blinked.
“You’re letting me name you?”
“That is correct.”
I stared at the faceless figure.
A narrator.
The one guiding my story-dives.
The one observing everything.
“…Morgan,” I said after a moment.
The name felt neutral. Balanced. Not too grand. Not too plain.
The silhouette paused for half a second.
“That would suffice.”
Her voice shifted subtly. Warmer.
“I shall answer to Morgan.”
I folded my arms.
“Now what?”
Morgan extended her hand.
The void shimmered again, and a single page materialized between us, like paper torn from a book, but glowing faintly at the edges.
“Now, it is time to provide your reward.”
Ah.
Right.
The real reason I was here.
“How does it work?” I asked.
Morgan’s posture remained composed.
“You may choose the form of your reward. One powerful record. Multiple lesser records. Or credits to be used at a later time.”
My eyes flicked to the floating page.
“If I choose one record… what rank would it be?”
Morgan didn’t hesitate.
“Based on the accumulated points within the event, your record would be Diamond-ranked.”
My breath caught for a fraction of a second.
Diamond.
Not Gold.
Not Platinum.
Diamond.
“The record size would be waived,” she continued. “And you may choose the base of its ability.”
Waived size restriction.
Custom base.
That was dangerous.
An opportunity like this didn’t come often.
I went quiet.
The temptation was immediate.
A devastating offensive record.
Something that could wipe out a battlefield.
A conceptual attack.
A reality-breaking ability.
The idea of unleashing something catastrophic crossed my mind, a nuke in human form.
But I frowned.
I didn’t like that.
Too flashy.
Too direct.
Too dependent on a single overwhelming move.
What if it didn’t land?
What if it wasn’t enough?
Power alone wasn’t what I needed.
I needed growth.
Consistency.
Adaptability.
“I don’t want something that only works once,” I said slowly.
Morgan waited.
I looked at her.
“Is there a record that helps me adjust to any story-world faster?”
Her head tilted slightly.
“Anything exists within the countless stories of existence.”
She raised her hand again.
The single glowing page split, multiplying into several fragments before merging into one completed sheet.
Words formed across it.
Tyrannical Beast Soul
Rank: Diamond
Record Size: 0 (275)
Rating: 10
Description:
A tyrant adapts to any situation, remaining the predator in any scene. Adjusting to any environment, learning any skill necessary to survive, and unleashing the presence of a natural predator.
I stared at it.
“…That sounds vague.”
Morgan’s tone remained steady.
“All records are described in conceptual terms.”
“That’s the problem.”
I looked up at her.
“How strong is it?”
No numbers.
No percentages.
No measurable data.
Just poetic descriptions.
“This is the strongest record of its kind,” Morgan replied. “It specializes in adaptive dominance.”
“Adaptive dominance?”
“It enhances environmental assimilation, accelerates skill acquisition, sharpens instinctual responses, and projects a predatory presence capable of influencing weaker entities.”
My mind turned.
So...
It wasn’t raw power.
It was evolution.
The ability to grow faster inside stories.
To adjust.
To survive.
To dominate long-term.
“It may also grant you torn pages if used correctly,” Morgan added.
That made my eyes narrow.
“Torn pages?”
“Fragments of higher-tier records. Rare. Valuable.”
So it had synergy with progression.
Interesting.
“How many bookkeepers have this record?” I asked.
“A total of five have obtained Tyrannical Beast Soul in the history of the Library.”
Five.
Out of how many?
I didn’t even know the total population.
“How strong are they?”
“All five reached the rank of Grandmaster.”
That made me pause.
Grandmaster.
I tried recalling the hierarchy.
“…Is that before or after Grandine?”
Morgan shook her head gently.
“Grandine is not a rank of bookkeeper.”
I blinked.
“It is a classification used for Avatar-type records, those that allow transformation into powerful beings across stories.”
Transformation.
“…Wait.”
My thoughts snagged on something.
“If you are referring to your blueprint for Izanus, the Demon Lord of Calamity, yes. That is a transformation-type record.”
I stared at her.
“Transformation?”
“It grants you the abilities of the Demon Lord of Calamity. It does not summon a separate entity.”
Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.
Silence.
I scratched the back of my head slowly.
“…You’re telling me I don’t summon Izanus.”
“That is correct.”
“I become him?”
“In essence.”
I tried replaying every conversation I’d had since acquiring that blueprint.
Did anyone explicitly say it was a summon?
No.
Did anyone explicitly say it wasn’t?
Also no.
“…This makes me feel stupid.”
Morgan did not respond with comfort.
She simply held the Tyrannical Beast Soul page out toward me.
It floated inches from my chest.
A Diamond-ranked adaptive evolution record.
Proven track record.
Grandmaster ceiling.
Long-term growth.
I exhaled.
“I’ll take it.”
The page dissolved into light and flowed into my body.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then-
A pulse.
Deep in my core.
Not explosive.
Not overwhelming.
Just… awareness.
As if something ancient had opened one eye inside me.
I felt it settle.
Coiled.
Waiting.
I rolled my shoulders slowly.
It didn’t feel dramatic.
But it felt significant.
I looked back at Morgan.
“Before I go.”
She remained still.
“What did Vincent get?”
There was a brief pause.
Then-
“Vincent Ferhorn received a blueprint.”
My eyes sharpened.
“A blueprint for what?”
Morgan’s faceless head tilted ever so slightly.
“That information is not available to you at this time.”
Of course it wasn’t.
Vincent.
The last one standing in the billiard hall.
He’d earned something dangerous.
I exhaled.
“Figures.”
The void began to ripple again.
“Your story-dive has concluded,” Morgan said calmly. “Prepare for reintegration.”
I looked at her one last time.
“…You’ll still be there?”
“As long as you continue to write.”
The white silhouette began dissolving into fragments of light.
The void collapsed inward.
Darkness consumed everything.
And just before consciousness slipped away-
I felt it.
Deep within me.
The Tyrannical Beast stirring.
Not a roar.
Not yet.
Just a quiet promise.
Predators don’t need to announce themselves.
They simply survive.
And when the time comes-
They dominate.
“How was it?”
Katherine’s voice reached me before my vision fully adjusted.
The world felt heavier.
Denser.
Real.
I blinked several times, staring at the familiar ceiling above me. The smooth white panels. The soft ambient lighting. The faint hum of the Library’s systems running in the background.
No dust.
No blood.
No shattered billiard hall.
Just reality.
“Weird…” I replied honestly.
That was the only word that fit.
Returning to my original body after being sixteen again felt… wrong. My limbs felt longer than they should. My center of gravity was different. Even my breathing rhythm had shifted. In the story-world, my body had been leaner, faster to respond. Here, everything felt slightly delayed, not weaker, just unfamiliar.
The first thing Katherine did was place her hand lightly against my shoulder.
Not dramatic.
Not panicked.
Just checking.
Her eyes scanned me carefully.
Story-dives that altered a bookkeeper’s physical age from the start were known to leave mental aftereffects. Identity drift. Sensory dissonance. Reflex misalignment. If the transition wasn’t addressed immediately, it could create subtle long-term instability.
“You’re grounded?” she asked gently.
I flexed my fingers.
Rotated my wrist.
Shifted my weight from one foot to the other.
“Yeah… I think so.”
She smiled, warm, reassuring.
“Just move around. Let your nervous system recalibrate. The faster your body reorients to its original proportions, the less phantom feedback you’ll experience.”
Phantom feedback.
That explained the strange sensation in my shoulders.
I rolled them slowly.
“Thank you,” I said.
She nodded as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
We began walking toward the viewing lounge.
The halls of the Library were as pristine as ever, endless shelves stretching upward into soft golden light. Floating glyphs drifted between aisles like fireflies. Bookkeepers moved briskly in different directions, but something felt… off.
There was an energy in the air.
Tense.
Urgent.
As we stepped into the viewing lounge, the atmosphere hit me immediately.
People were gathered around floating panels of light. Conversations overlapped. Several bookkeepers were already scanning through projected information pages. The usually composed environment felt borderline frantic.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
Katherine crossed her arms lightly.
“There’s another event.”
That alone explained half of it.
Events always stirred the Library.
But the intensity in the room suggested something bigger.
“This one is limited to Silver to Platinum-ranked bookkeepers,” she continued.
I frowned slightly.
Selective.
“The premise is similar to the world you were just in. Your records will be limited again, partially sealed based on ability. But this time, the setting is medieval fantasy.”
That got my attention.
“Medieval?”
She nodded.
“Swords. Magic. Noble houses. Kingdom politics.”
My mind immediately began mapping possibilities.
“And the conditions?” I asked.
“You’ll still be able to use supernatural abilities and magic,” Katherine explained, “but activation will require prerequisites. Rituals. Contracts. Narrative alignment.”
So no instant power spikes.
Structured progression.
Controlled escalation.
“That’s more interesting,” I muttered.
She continued, “The main plot revolves around a succession war within the kingdom. Multiple claimants to the throne. Factions forming. Alliances shifting.”
Political conflict layered over military tension.
“And the antagonist?”
“A necromancer.”
Of course.
“There’s an external threat manipulating the instability,” she said. “The necromancer is summoning undead armies to weaken the kingdom from within. If the succession war isn’t resolved quickly, the entire realm collapses.”
So internal strife plus external invasion.
Classic.
But effective.
“How long until it starts?” I asked.
“One week.”
That wasn’t much time.
“I’ll be participating as well,” Katherine added casually. “Just so you know.”
I glanced at her.
“You’re Silver-ranked, right?”
She smiled faintly.
“Gold.”
Of course she was.
I nodded slowly.
“I’ll need to prepare.”
My mind was already shifting gears.
A medieval fantasy world meant different survival metrics.
Environment adaptation.
Magic systems.
Political maneuvering.
Combat in armor.
Siege warfare.
Necromantic corruption.
My Tyrannical Beast Soul stirred faintly in response, as if it recognized fertile ground.
Adaptive environments.
New ecosystems.
Predator dynamics in unfamiliar terrain.
This was exactly the kind of world where it would thrive.
But I couldn’t rely on it blindly.
“Do we know what the magic system looks like?” I asked.
“Preliminary data suggests tiered elemental magic, ritual summoning, divine blessings, and artifact-based power amplification.”
So multiple pathways.
That meant unpredictability.
Good.
“Any restrictions on Avatar-type records?” I asked carefully.
Katherine’s eyes flicked to me.
“They’ll be heavily sealed at entry. Gradual unlock conditions. You won’t be transforming into demon lords on day one. Not like you completed your Blueprint yet anyways.”
I grimaced slightly.
Fair.
The viewing panels shifted above us, displaying a broad overview of the kingdom, vast stone walls, rolling plains, dense forests, a blackened tower in the distance pulsing with sickly green light.
The necromancer’s domain.
Even through a projection, it felt ominous.
Around us, bookkeepers were already forming teams.
Negotiating alliances.
Evaluating risk.
Some preferred to side with royal claimants.
Others likely planned to exploit chaos for point accumulation.
“Are you planning to join a faction?” Katherine asked.
“I don’t know yet.”
Succession wars were dangerous.
Aligning too early could trap you.
But staying neutral too long could isolate you.
A tyrant adapts.
Morgan’s words echoed faintly in my mind.
Adjust to any environment.
Learn any skill necessary.
Remain the predator in any scene.
This world wouldn’t be a schoolyard brawl.
It would be layered.
Political.
Strategic.
And undead.
I flexed my hand slowly.
“This event won’t be straightforward.”
Katherine nodded.
“None of the good ones are.”
I exhaled.
“One week…”
That meant studying medieval combat styles.
Understanding mana theory.
Reviewing ritual frameworks.
Strengthening my base conditioning.
And most importantly-
Learning restraint.
A predator that reveals itself too early becomes the target of hunters.
I glanced at Katherine.
“Could we do some training.”
Her eyebrow lifted.
“To recalibrate,” I clarified. “And to simulate restricted activation.”
She smiled.
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
The viewing lounge buzzed louder as new details populated across the panels.
Somewhere in the Library, the countdown had already begun.
A succession war.
A necromancer.
Limited power.
Seven days.
I felt the Tyrannical Beast shift quietly inside me.
Not impatient.
Just aware.
A new ecosystem was forming.
And soon-
We would be dropped into it.
“Back so soon?”
The old man didn’t even look up from the ledger in his hands when I stepped into the bronze record shop. The faint scent of old parchment and metal polish lingered in the air, mixing with the soft hum of preservation enchantments embedded into the shelves.
“I was starting to think you’d moved up in the world,” he added dryly.
“I did,” I replied, closing the door behind me. “That’s why I’m here.”
That finally earned me a glance.
His sharp, age-wrinkled eyes scanned me from head to toe.
“Big event coming up?” he guessed.
“Medieval fantasy. Succession war. Necromancer problem.”
He snorted. “So… Tuesday.”
I walked past the familiar rows of iron and bronze-ranked records suspended in thin glass frames. Even after multiple visits, the sight still fascinated me. Each page glowed faintly with its own hue, concepts crystallized into something tangible. Abilities distilled into paper.
“I want to upgrade my record,” I said. “Specifically Piercing Shot.”
The old man leaned back in his chair, folding his arms.
He grunted approvingly.
“Single-target penetration abilities scale well in restricted environments. Less flashy. More reliable.”
Exactly.
With the upcoming event restricting record usage and layering activation conditions on top, I couldn’t rely on broad, high-output attacks. I needed precision. Something that would still function even when skill trees and mana reserves were partially sealed.
I stepped toward the combining machine at the back of the shop.
It looked deceptively simple, a circular platform etched with fine inscription lines, surrounded by a waist-high metal ring. Above it hovered a transparent interface pane.
“I’m aiming for Platinum,” I said.
The old man whistled softly.
“Ambitious.”
“I’ve got the credits.”
He waved a hand dismissively.
“Credits aren’t the only cost. Record size matters too.”
I already knew that.
My book wasn’t limitless.
Each record occupied space, some more than others. Choosing poorly meant restricting future growth.
Still.
This was necessary.
I placed the first base record onto the platform.
Mana Bullet.
Iron-ranked.
Cheap.
Simple.
Pure mana compressed into a projectile.
Then I added three bronze-ranked records, all reinforcing penetration, rotational velocity, and structural stability.
The machine hummed.
Light traced across the inscriptions.
The four pages dissolved into streams of red-tinged energy before merging into a single sheet.
Silver-ranked.
Red Spectrum: Drill Bullet.
I lifted it carefully.
Rank: Silver
Record Size: 45 (55)
Rating: 10
Not bad.
But not enough.
I repeated the process.
This time, I chose Typhoon Arrow as the base, a bronze-ranked record emphasizing rotational force. Three additional bronze records supplemented trajectory stability and impact concentration.
The machine glowed brighter this time.
Energy swirled in orange hues before condensing.
Gold-ranked.
Orange Spectrum: Drill Caliber.
Rank: Gold
Record Size: 75 (90)
Rating: 10
Better.
The spiral concept was taking shape.
Penetration through rotational torque.
But to reach Platinum, I needed a proper support catalyst.
I turned toward the old man.
“Do you have any silver records?”
“Only a few,” he replied. “This is still a bronze shop. My inventory isn’t exactly prestigious.”
“Single-target attack types?”
He rummaged beneath the counter before pulling out a silver page.
“Fire Arrow. Simple. Direct. Elementally aligned.”
I examined it.
Silver-ranked.
Decent structural integrity.
More importantly, elemental amplification.
“I’ll take it.”
I added Fire Arrow to the combining platform alongside three more bronze enhancement records.
The machine vibrated more violently this time.
Light flared bright orange, almost blinding.
Heat radiated outward as the records dissolved and reassembled.
When the glow faded, a new page hovered above the platform.
Orange Spectrum: Blazing Drill Shot.
Rank: Platinum
Record Size: 120 (145)
Rating: 10
I stared at it.
Even dormant, the page emitted faint heat. Fine orange veins traced across its surface like magma lines beneath cooled stone.
Penetration.
Rotation.
Elemental burn.
Focused.
Precise.
Expensive.
“Pricey,” I muttered.
The total cost had reached sixty-seven thousand credits.
That left me with eighty-three thousand.
And more importantly-
I couldn’t fit another Platinum record into my book right now.
The size alone would strain the remaining capacity.
“I guess I’m going with just this,” I said, absorbing the page into my record book.
The old man chuckled.
“You’re quite the big spender.”
“Well,” I replied, dusting my hands lightly, “food and lodging are free here. Might as well invest in power.”
He shook his head with a faint smile.
“What now?”
“I’ll check higher-ranked shops. See what’s worth aiming for next.”
His eyes gleamed.
“Good.”
He leaned forward slightly.
“Go to Golden Finger. End of the street. They carry decent Gold stock.”
“Golden Finger?”
“Tell them Ferdinand sent you.”
So that was his name.
“Thanks,” I said.
I left the bronze shop and followed the marble corridor down to a more polished section of the district.
Golden Finger’s storefront was noticeably sleeker, gilded trim around the windows, a refined emblem shaped like a stylized hand embossed above the entrance.
Inside, the lighting was brighter. Cleaner. Shelves were organized meticulously by type and rank.
A young woman in a fitted uniform approached me immediately.
“Welcome to Golden Finger. I’m Emi. How may I assist you?”
Professional smile. Sharp eyes.
“I’m looking for Gold and Silver records related to poison magic.”
Her brows lifted slightly, subtle curiosity, but she nodded.
“Follow me.”
She led me to a shelf labeled Magic Spells. Each section was categorized by element: Fire, Water, Wind, Earth, Lightning… and further down, Toxic.
“Is there a specific function you need?” she asked.
“It’s for a blueprint.”
Understanding flickered across her face.
She pulled two folders from the shelf.
“Gold-ranked: Paralysis Fog.”
She placed it gently on a nearby table and opened it. The page shimmered faint green.
“Area effect. Induces muscular lock. Moderate mana drain.”
Then she placed another.
“Silver-ranked: Poison Spray.”
Simpler.
Direct application.
“These are the most affordable options,” she continued. “Twenty thousand for the Silver. Forty thousand for the Gold.”
I winced internally.
Sixty thousand.
Over half of what I had left.
But blueprints required sacrifice.
And once completed-
All embedded records would become usable through the blueprint construct anyway.
“I’ll take them.”
Emi smiled.
“Excellent choice.”
Credits transferred.
My balance dropped.
But when I absorbed the two pages into my blueprint slots, I felt something click internally.
Two of six slots filled.
Four more to go.
Too bad I hadn’t chosen credits as my event reward.
But no.
Tyrannical Beast Soul would pay off long-term.
Short-term sacrifice for exponential growth.
I closed my book slowly.
Once I complete this blueprint…
I’ll regain access to every record sacrificed into it.
Optimization through consolidation.
That was the plan.
As I stepped out of Golden Finger, I glanced down the corridor toward the higher-tier district.
Platinum shops.
Diamond vendors.
Artifacts.
Enchantments.
A medieval war was coming.
Succession politics.
Necromantic corruption.
Restricted abilities.
I flexed my fingers.
Blazing Drill Shot.
Poison integration in progress.
Adaptive predator core active.
Seven days.
I’d make it enough.
After all-
In any ecosystem-
There’s always room at the top.
And I had no intention of being prey.
