The air in the Library didn't move unless I told it to, which was great for the books but terrible for my sanity. Time here wasn't a river; it was more like a stagnant pond. Had it been months? Years? Honestly, at some point, I stopped counting and just started vibing with the eternal silence.
I leaned back on the plush, velvet couch I'd managed to coax out of the Library's "Voice." It turns out, being the Keeper comes with some decent perks if you're annoying enough to ask. The Voice—which I'd decided acted less like a god and more like a very stiff, overworked butler—had finally relented, manifesting a comfortable living space right at the center of the railing and the void. I had a table, a bed that didn't hurt my back, and a steady supply of food that didn't taste like cardboard.
"Hey, Voice," I muttered, waving a hand toward the edge of the platform. "Open the gate. I need to walk off this mental block."
With a faint shimmer, the railing vanished, creating a bridge into the endless circles of books. It was pure magic—literally. And speaking of magic, that was the problem.
I looked down at my palms. For a guy who used to just organize Dewey Decimal decimals, I was currently trying to rewrite my own molecular code. The Mana and Magic for Beginners book was currently sitting on my table, looking smug. My initial plan was simple: read, understand, execute. Easy, right?
Wrong.
Actually practicing magic was like trying to whistle while eating crackers—messy, frustrating, and involving a lot of unexpected blowing. Holy magic and healing especially felt... off. It was like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. My "Unfinished" nature meant I could do it, but my soul seemed to give me a skeptical look every time I tried to conjure a "Holy Light."
But here's the thing: I'm a bit of a perfectionist. Okay, a lot of a perfectionist. Most people would have thrown the book into the void after the hundredth failed spark, but every time a tiny glimmer of mana danced on my fingertips, I felt a rush that was better than finding a first-edition misprint. It was fun. It was addictive. It was the first time I felt like I wasn't just reading a story, but actually writing one.
I spent what felt like an eternity in a cycle of "failing better." I practiced until my veins felt like they were filled with static electricity. I refined my mana circuits until the "Self-Healing" spell didn't just stop a hypothetical bleed but made my skin feel tougher, denser.
Finally, after a session that ended with me successfully glowing like a neon sign without passing out, I shut the book with a satisfying thud.
"Alright, Voice," I said, stretching until my joints popped. "I've mastered the basics. I'm not just a glass cannon; I'm at least a sturdy ceramic one now. Can I go out yet? Maybe a lower-level world? Somewhere with, I don't know, a breeze?"
The Voice didn't answer immediately. It never did.
"Also," I added, glancing at the sprawling, infinite shelves, "I've been thinking. How did the guy before me—the 'Fanatic'—actually live for 5,000 years?"
I leaned against the railing, staring into the void, waiting for my butler-god to explain how the previous tenant managed to live so long as another human.
The Voice's tone was as dry as a desert, yet there was a flicker of something—was it amusement? Or just the cold efficiency of a system that had seen too many Keepers come and go?
"Time is stagnant in here and outside for only the Keeper," the Voice resonated, vibrating through the very soles of my boots. "As long as you aren't killed or die outside and as long as you possess the will to persist, you can live as long as you desire. The previous Keeper didn't die of old age; he died of arrogance. He forgot that knowing the chemical formula for fire doesn't make you immune to being burned."
I shifted my weight, leaning back against the railing. "So, he was basically a Wikipedia page that thought it was a god. Got it. Not exactly the legacy I'm looking to follow."
"Indeed. As for venturing out," the Voice continued, "it is now possible. You have transitioned from a 'Pure Unfinished' to one who has grasped the threads of mana. You can perform basic spells; you can mend your own flesh. In the hierarchy of the Vertical World, this is the bare minimum, but it is a start."
A holographic display shimmered in the air between us, showing a descending ladder of symbols.
"Worlds are classified by rank: SSS, SS, S, A, B, C, D, E, and F. In an F-Level world, you could lead a perfectly normal, perhaps even comfortable, life. These worlds are 'human-friendly.' The laws of physics are stable, and the mana density won't liquefy your internal organs the moment you inhale."
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. "F-Level sounds like a vacation. I could use a place with actual sunlight and maybe a decent sandwich."
"Do not become complacent," the Voice warned, its tone dropping an octave. "Just because it is Rank F does not mean it is devoid of danger. Strong species and powerful individuals exist everywhere. However, the most cataclysmic entities cannot manifest in such low-frequency worlds without heavy restraints. Even so, with your current mastery, you will be only marginally stronger than a seasoned human veteran. You are a scholar who has learned to swing a stick, not a warrior."
I looked at my hands again. I felt the mana humming under my skin—a quiet, steady pulse. I wasn't a hero yet. I wasn't some overpowered protagonist who could level a mountain with a sneeze. I was just a librarian who had finally learned how to fight back against the dark.
"Barely stronger than a normal human, huh?" I flashed a small, sharp grin. "Well, in a world of people who don't know the first thing about the 'source code' of the universe, I think 'barely stronger' is exactly the edge I need. Besides, I've always preferred a challenge."
I stood up, adjusting the cuffs of my robe. The stagnation of the Library was starting to itch. I needed to see if the theory I'd spent 'eternity' practicing actually held up when the stakes were real.
"Alright, God-Butler or Voice. Pick an F-Level world. Somewhere with a library—I've got a reputation to uphold, after all."