After that long day, Sieg finally returned to his room to rest. However, the moment his body touched the bed, he simply stared at the ceiling with an awkward expression.
A sense of embarrassment slowly crept in.
"Aaah! Damn it, I'm really not talented in rhetoric!"
He rolled back and forth on the bed until the sheets became messy. His breathing quickened, then gradually calmed. With a long exhale, he stood up.
His gaze shifted to the wardrobe door in front of him.
Sieg stepped closer, raised his hand, and without hesitation opened it.
"Nyarlathotep."
A sacred name filled with mystery.
As the door opened, what appeared was not a row of clothes, but an endless expanse of space. Towering bookshelves stretched infinitely, arranged in countless numbers, as if filling the cosmic void itself.
Without hesitation, Sieg stepped inside.
The door behind him slowly closed.
This place was known as the Universal Library—a space that stored knowledge from countless worlds beyond human comprehension. Everything that had ever existed, and perhaps even things that had never existed, was kept here.
Something gathered it all.
And that something… was a cosmic being that had once appeared in his dream, between the boundary of life and reincarnation.
Nyarlathotep.
In truth, Sieg did not need to say that name to come here. As long as he had the will and opened a "door," wherever it may be, he could reach this place.
However, saying the name… had become a habit.
'This place… no matter how many times I see it, it still feels extraordinary.'
Sieg walked along the endless rows of shelves until he finally arrived at a table.
There sat a man dressed in neat and elegant Victorian-style clothing.
However, that figure was not human.
His body was nothing but dense darkness, without a definite form—only a pair of glowing yellow eyes staring at a book in his hand.
He was the owner of this place.
Nyarlathotep.
Even as Sieg approached, the figure showed no interest. His gaze remained fixed on the pages of the book, as if Sieg's presence was nothing more than a minor disturbance.
"Are you looking for a book?"
His voice was calm and flat, yet strange—like it came from multiple directions at once.
"Yes… and a tutor."
The page stopped turning.
For the first time, the figure reacted.
He slowly lifted his head and looked at Sieg.
That gaze… was deep.
As if it did not only see his body, but stripped away his thoughts, memories, even the things he himself had not realized. There were no secrets. No gaps.
"Hmm… so you've finally made a decision."
Sieg narrowed his eyes.
"Aren't you watching me?"
"Hoo…"
Nyarlathotep tilted his head slightly, his tone shifting—seemingly intrigued, yet laced with subtle mockery.
"Why would I need to watch your life?"
He slowly closed his book.
That soft sound echoed strangely in the endless space.
"You know what I am."
A faint smile formed—or at least something resembling one within the darkness.
"I am interested in humans. The way they think… the way they desire things… and of course, their greed."
He stood up.
The darkness forming his body moved smoothly, like liquid imitating a human shape.
"In this place, there are thousands… no, perhaps billions of knowledge from various universes."
He stopped right in front of Sieg.
Those yellow eyes glowed brighter.
"So tell me…"
The atmosphere suddenly grew heavy.
"Why should I be interested in you?"
Silence fell.
Sieg did not think for long.
He already understood one thing about the being before him—something far more fundamental than mere curiosity.
Nyarlathotep collects.
Not just ordinary human souls, but extraordinary ones—those who build, destroy, and change the course of civilizations.
And more than that…
He collects something unseen.
Stories.
"Because you want stories, don't you?"
The sentence fell without pressure, yet echoed within the boundless silence.
For a moment, there was no answer.
Then—
"Heh… indeed."
His tone changed. Lighter, almost satisfied.
Nyarlathotep closed his book completely, his fingers of darkness brushing over its surface as if sensing something intangible. His yellow eyes dimmed for a moment, then glowed again—this time with clear interest.
"In that case…" he continued, his voice now much softer, like a collector who had finally found something worth noticing. "Do you want a book… or a tutor?"
Sieg exhaled softly, but his gaze did not waver in the slightest.
"Both."
A brief silence.
Then a short sound—half laughter, half mockery.
"Hah… quite greedy."
Yet there was no rejection in it—rather the opposite.
"Very well," he continued, now clearly interested. "What book… and which tutor?"
Sieg did not answer immediately, as if ensuring his words carried enough weight to match the price he would pay.
"I want a book about rhetoric in thinking…"
He paused briefly.
"…and a tutor from the era of the French Revolution."
The yellow eyes narrowed.
Sieg continued without hesitation.
"Napoleon Bonaparte."
For the first time, the atmosphere around them shifted—heavier, denser, as if the request carried real consequences.
"That… will be very expensive."
His voice was low, almost like a warning.
But Sieg had already known that from the beginning.
In this place, nothing was free.
The currency used was not gold, nor power.
But… karma.
A person's karma is formed from every action that affects others—whether it brings progress… or destruction. There is no difference in value between the two.
As long as it changes something, it holds value.
And from that accumulation… a story is created.
"I know," Sieg said calmly. "You can take my karma."
He did not hesitate to say it.
As a prince—and more than that, the secret successor of the king—every step he took carried impact. His decisions could change the lives of hundreds, even thousands of people.
And from that…
his karma flowed in great quantity.
"Very well…"
Nyarlathotep extended his hand.
A hand that was not truly a hand—just an extension of condensed darkness, faintly pulsing as if alive.
Sieg accepted it without hesitation.
The moment they touched—
something was pulled away.
It was not pain, but a strange sensation… like a small part of his existence was being extracted, unraveled into something unseen, then swallowed into the darkness of that being.
Nyarlathotep's yellow eyes flickered faintly.
The transaction was complete.
"You may proceed to that room."
He raised his hand, pointing toward a door that had not existed before—now standing among the endless shelves, as if it had always been there from the very beginning.
"Taught directly by the figure you desire…"
His voice lowered, almost like a whisper that teased curiosity.
"…and the book you requested."
A book appeared in his hand, then was lightly tossed toward Sieg.
Sieg caught it.
Its weight was negligible, yet as his fingers touched the cover, he felt something—an unnatural depth of knowledge, as if hundreds of thoughts had been distilled into a single perfect conclusion.
The book was not merely a collection of writings.
It was the result of filtering dozens… perhaps even hundreds of works on the same topic—condensed, perfected, and reorganized to achieve the highest level of accuracy.
One book.
Yet its value equaled an entire library.
"Don't die before your story becomes interesting, Sieg."
His tone returned to casual, yet left behind something hard to define—a fascination that was not entirely healthy.
"Because I… am looking forward to what comes next."
Sieg stared at him for a moment, then replied briefly.
"I'll remember that…"
Without adding another word, he turned.
His steps were steady as he approached the door he had been shown earlier—a door standing amidst the void, contrasting with the endless shelves around it. He raised his hand, touched the cold handle, and slowly opened it.
Warm light greeted him from within.
Completely different from the cosmic space behind him, the room felt… alive.
Sieg stepped inside.
Inside, a fireplace burned calmly, a small flame dancing atop the logs, casting light across the room. The warmth enveloped him immediately, contrasting sharply with the cold void he had just left.
The furniture was styled in the Victorian era—dark wood with intricate carvings, chairs upholstered in thick fabric, and tables detailed with elegant craftsmanship that spoke of past luxury.
Yet there was something different.
Eccentric.
As if every object had been chosen not just for function or beauty, but for the "story" it carried. An old clock ticked softly in the corner, a small bookshelf stood beside a chair, and a deep red carpet stretched out, muffling each of Sieg's steps. Every detail seemed purposeful, as if the room itself lived with memories left behind in every corner.
Suddenly, a deep, hoarse voice sounded from behind.
"It's been a long time… I haven't met someone. So you are the one requesting a tutor from me?"
Sieg flinched, his heart beating a little faster. The voice was not only heavy, but filled with authority, as if it occupied the entire room with its presence.
He turned slowly.
Before him stood a man his own height, a figure exuding an aura impossible to ignore. Though Sieg was only fourteen and still had room to grow taller, the figure before him seemed to have reached the peak of his prime—tall, imposing, full of confidence, and still wearing the same attire from when he led his armies across Europe.
His gaze pierced. The man's eyes were sharp, penetrating, as if he could read every layer of Sieg's thoughts without a word spoken. There was something in that expression… a mixture of curiosity and cold judgment, making Sieg feel all the courage he had gathered upon entering the room tested at once.
Sieg drew a deep breath, holding back the nervousness threatening to emerge, then slightly bowed in respect.
"Sir Bonaparte… I… humbly request your guidance," he said, his voice firm despite a slight tremor.
Napoleon leaned slightly, as if weighing Sieg's courage, then let out a short, raspy laugh, yet full of authority.
"Heh… since this is a request from that figure, I truly cannot refuse," he said, his voice vibrating with undeniable power. "But you must understand—my guidance is not something easy. I will not shield you from pain, from challenge… or from failure. Do you understand that?"
Sieg swallowed, yet his eyes remained sharp on Napoleon, his resolve beginning to harden.
"I understand," he replied briefly, confidently.