I paced the outer perimeter of the Library, my boots clicking rhythmically against the cold floor. Between the infinite, spiraling shelves, I finally spotted it: a door. It wasn't ornate or glowing with holy light; it was a simple, heavy slab of wood that looked like it belonged to a quiet study—fitting, I suppose.
"So, Voice," I said, stopping before the handle. "You're coming with me, right? I'm not exactly keen on doing this solo."
"I am intrinsically linked to the Library and, by extension, your consciousness," the Voice replied, its tone as steady as ever. "I will be present wherever you go. However, there is a caution."
I raised an eyebrow. "There's always a caution with you. Lay it on me."
"While I exist within your mind, I cannot observe, analyze, or hear the outside world without your expressed permission. The Library respects the Keeper's sovereignty. The previous host never granted this permission; he preferred the 'purity' of his own observations. That is why I cannot tell you exactly what killed him the moment he stepped out. I was effectively blind and deaf until his record simply... stopped. And since he himself didn't see it coming the his record also couldn't record it."
I shivered. The "Fanatic" really was a piece of work. He wanted to see the world so badly he shut out the only thing that could have warned him of danger.
"Well, consider the permission granted," I muttered, my hand gripping the cold iron handle. "I'm not a fan of being a 'pure' observer if it gets me killed. Keep your eyes open, Voice. If something looks like it's going to eat me, feel free to chime in."
"Acknowledged, Keeper."
"Good," I muttered, giving the handle a firm twist. "Let's not make 'dying abruptly' a tradition for the staff here. It's bad for morale."
I pushed. The heavy wood didn't creak—it simply gave way, opening into a blinding, white void that made my retinas scream. I stepped through, my mind firmly fixed on the concept of an F-Level World. I was picturing a cozy town square, maybe a bakery with a library next door—somewhere I could sit in the shade, drink something cold, and slowly figure out the local power scaling without getting singed.
The white light faded. The smell of old parchment was replaced by something sharp, damp, and overwhelmingly... green.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," I groaned, blinking the spots from my eyes.
I wasn't in a town square. I was standing in the middle of a forest so dense the canopy practically choked out the sun. Massive, moss-covered trees loomed over me like silent, judgmental giants. There was no library. There wasn't even a visible path.
I sighed, the sound lost in the thick, humid air of the undergrowth. I did a slow 360-degree turn, looking for even a hint of a stone wall or a stray bookshelf. Nothing. Just more trees and the distant, unsettling skittering of something that definitely had more than four legs.
"Hey, Voice," I called out, keeping my tone deceptively casual despite the spike of annoyance. "Change of plans? I distinctly remember thinking about a cozy library in a quiet village. This looks suspiciously like a place where things go to get eaten."
"You are currently in a F-Rank wilderness of a F-Rank world," the Voice replied, its tone as dry as a desert. "The Library does not provide a door-to-door delivery service to your specific aesthetic preferences. It anchors to the most stable mana-point within the requested ranked worlds. And you have chosen a F-Rank world."
"Great. So does being in a 'stable point' mean Being in a center of what looks like the Amazon forest back home for you?," I muttered, kicking at a particularly thick root.
I looked down at my feet. For a moment, I actually felt a pang of gratitude. Before I'd stepped through that door, I'd made the Voice retrieve my shoe from the abyss it had fallen into during my first day of 'physics testing.' Walking through a primeval forest with one bare foot would have been a one-way ticket to a very embarrassing infection.
I wiggled my toes inside my boots, savoring the simple luxury of symmetry. "Thanks for the retrieval, by the way. Going one foot barefoot in a place that looks this...would have been a real mood killer."
"It was a minor exertion," the Voice replied.
I leaned against a trunk that felt uncomfortably like scales and crossed my arms. "So, about the Library. I'm out here, it's back there. Do I need to leave breadcrumbs, or is there a 'Return to Base' button I should know about?"
"The Library exists within its own pocket dimension," the Voice explained. "It follows the Keeper. Though it is not physically visible in this world, your connection remains absolute. You may manifest the entrance whenever you wish to return."
I reached out and patted the rough bark of a nearby tree, half-expecting it to dissolve into a hologram. It didn't. It felt stubbornly, annoyingly real.
"Good to know," I muttered, pushing off the trunk. "A portable fortress is probably the only thing keeping my blood pressure within human limits right now. Though, a 'Return to Base' button would've been more stylish. Very sci-fi."
I checked the weight of my clothes and adjusted my stance. Even though I'd spent what felt like years back in the white void practicing mana manipulation, the air here felt... heavy. It was saturated with a wild, unrefined energy that made the hairs on my arms stand up. It was like going from a sterilized lab to a swamp.
"Alright, Voice. You're on 'Don't Let the Keeper Get Ambushed' duty. I'm going to start walking. If I see a dragon, I'm heading back to Level Zero and locking the door for a century."
"A dragon in an F-Rank wilderness is statistically improbable," the Voice retorted.
"Improbable isn't impossible, and with my luck, I'll find the one dragon with a grudge against librarians."
I started walking, picking my way through the dense ferns. The forest was loud—a cacophony of chirps, rustles, and the occasional distant howl that sounded a bit too much like a scream for my liking. I tried to keep my pace steady, mimicking the calm, effortless gait of those high-level masters I'd read about. If you look like you know what you're doing, maybe the predators will assume you're poison. That's the theory, anyway.
I'd been trekking for maybe an hour, my boots caked in a rich, dark mud that definitely wasn't in the job description.
I wiped a bead of sweat from my forehead, my breath hitching in my throat. Okay, maybe the "years" of practice in the Library didn't exactly translate to cardio. Back in the void, I didn't have to deal with humidity that felt like a wet blanket or the constant, nagging resistance of gravity.
"Voice," I wheezed, leaning heavily against a tree that looked slightly less predatory than the others. "Is the gravity higher here, or am I just that out of shape? Be honest. I can take it."
"The gravity is within 0.02% of your home world's standard," the Voice replied instantly. "Your current fatigue is likely a psychosomatic response to the sensory overload of a biological environment. Or, more simply: you are out of practice."
"Wow. No sugar-coating it, huh? Remind me to give you a 'sarcasm' slider when I find the source code for your personality." I slid down the trunk, my boots—now more mud than leather—digging into the soft earth.
I was done. My legs felt like overcooked noodles, and my internal mana reserves were humming with a restless, jagged energy from trying to filter the wild air. I closed my eyes for a second, just wanting to bask in the silence, but the forest wouldn't allow it.
Rustle-
Just when I was about to rest A sound caught attention It wasn't something new when it came inside a jungle since rustling sound was common when everything near you was but leaves and trees. But what actually alerted me to that sound was what my side view caught.
" Hey Voice! what's that!"