"To think… there really are people who talk like that." My voice came out low, almost a whisper, as my fingers slowly ran along Axel's back. The pup, though not exactly massive, had a lethal intent that was enough to scatter the gang of boys—most of whom had probably never even faced a magical beast. Even if Axel barely met the standards to be classified as a rank-1 beast, he was superior to fully ranked ones in more than a few ways. And now, with his mission accomplished, he lay by my side, breathing calmly, his golden eyes watching me with a strangely human expression… puzzled, as if trying to understand the reason behind my quiet frustration.
"That speech... so rehearsed, full of clichés. Do they practice in front of a mirror? Or maybe read too many villain monologues before dinner?" I sighed, shaking my head with a muffled chuckle. Axel gave a soft growl in response, either trying to mirror my irritation—or maybe he was just hungry.
The distant rustling of pages being turned, the faint creak of aged wood in the library, and the wind brushing against the stone walls outside created a peculiar sort of peace. After a minute of silence, I heard footsteps behind me, short, shuffling steps accompanied by the soft drag of heavy fabric over the stone floor.
"Don't take it to heart, young Alexander," came a serene voice, like a spell of calm cast into the air.
I turned slowly. It was the old librarian, short and round, with tangled gray hair like spiderwebs and glasses so thick they looked like the bottoms of bottles. His robes were stained with ink and dust, but his eyes, barely visible behind the lenses, gleamed with gentleness and the aged sharpness of a seasoned mind.
"I don't," I replied with a slight smile, resting my hand on Axel's head. He immediately closed his eyes in contentment.
The old man nodded approvingly, folding his arms over his ample belly.
"Good boy. Grudges, after all, are a slow poison... but a sure one. They kill the heart first, then the mind." His voice had the tone of ancient parchment—firm, but softened by time.
"I know..." My tone dropped to something more contemplative. "There are countless tales of kings who ruined their kingdoms, armies that tore themselves apart, whole families wiped from history... all because of blind vengeance."
"But at the same time," I continued, "vengeance can also come from forgiveness. The cold kind. Not out of spite, that's childish,but from understanding that some debts shouldn't be forgotten. Water for water. Goodwill for goodwill. But blood... blood for blood."
The librarian fell silent, studying me with slightly widened eyes. He stroked his thick mustache slowly, as though chewing over every word with the same care he reserved for ancient manuscripts.
"I see your studies haven't been in vain," he said at last, his tone somewhere between respectful and surprised. "Such depth of understanding about your family's creed... and the human soul... at your age. Fascinating."
A corner of his mouth curled in a discreet smile, and he leaned in slightly, like he was about to share a secret.
"Boy, are you sure you don't want to be a scribe? Or maybe a scholar? The peace that knowledge brings is a rare gift, even in this cruel world. Why take such a dangerous path?"
My reply came swiftly, but with the steady weight of someone who'd long made peace with the answer.
"Because it has to be done, sir. Especially by me... because I'm a Dracknum."
"Ah?" The old man raised a curious brow. "And how does that change anything?"
"In more ways than I can count," I said, turning back to Axel and stroking his neck. "Picture five people: a scribe, a scholar, a farmer, a housewife, and a warrior. If each of them were left alone before a magical beast... who do you think would survive?"
The librarian hesitated, but answered seriously. "The warrior, maybe. The farmer... might lose a limb. The housewife... likely not. The scholar, the scribe... poor souls, little chance."
"Exactly." I paused and looked at him. "Now imagine if one of them was a noble. Not from a great and mighty house—no, imagine one from a mid-tier or smaller one. Better yet, make him a Dracknum. A direct descendant."
The librarian's expression stiffened slightly. He seemed to understand where I was going.
"We are targets," I continued. "Out of envy, political ambition, old hatred. And even if we managed to dodge every human conspiracy... we'd still have the beasts."
My voice turned hard, like steel quenched in cold water.
"The death rate from magical beasts reaches about 15% of the kingdom's population every year. Fifteen percent!" I repeated, my voice edged with disbelief. "And that's not even counting accidents, bandits, disease, or war. Now think... how much higher do you think that rate is for someone with noble blood—exposed, surrounded by enemies and expectations?"
"Thirty percent?" the librarian guessed, already looking troubled.
"Anywhere between thirty and sixty."
Silence fell over us like a heavy blanket. Axel yawned, indifferent to the weight of the conversation.
"Yes... that's the reality of being a noble." I said, standing and stretching my shoulders. "For common folk, life is already hard. But for us... there's more than just beasts. There are schemes. Poisonings, broken alliances, spies, murders dressed as accidents. One wrong move, and you become a dinner story."
The old man said nothing. He simply crossed his arms, his eyes clouded behind his thick lenses.
"I didn't choose this world. But I choose how I live in it," I finished, my voice low but solid—like tempered steel.
My time in the Black Forest—especially in the remnants of Erebus—had changed me. Not just physically, but inside. That forced isolation had made me face truths that, in a gentler world, I might've kept ignoring.
I came from a peaceful world—or at least, Earth felt peaceful in comparison to Asgardia. There, the greatest battles were internal. Here, death waited in every shadow.
At one point, I even considered walking away from anything remotely dangerous. I fantasized about becoming a scholar, cloistered among books and maps, living through history and explaining the present. After all, in my previous life, I had followed a similar path. It felt natural. Comfortable. And even isolated, I could still explore the mysteries of this world.
But as the days passed and I grew more attuned to Alexander's memories, something in me began to shift. A spark—raw and undeniable: in this world, if you have no power... you have nothing. Not even the right to exist in peace.
The illusion that knowledge alone was enough vanished like smoke. Strength was necessary. The ability to make myself known. To defend what mattered.
And the cruelest part for a Dracknum choosing the scholar's path—essentially the path of a pacifist while still young—was that it meant giving up the use of mana. That alone would put me in even greater danger. Especially with Leopold's warning that the kingdom was heading into turbulent times. Giving up the means to protect myself would be suicide.
After all, what's the point of understanding a world, if you can't survive in it long enough to live your own story?
Axel stretched beside me, extending his front legs with a guttural yawn, before wagging his tail lazily—as if to remind us that despite the weight of the conversation, the world still turned with a simpler rhythm.
The old librarian watched the gesture with a faint smile and finally nodded silently—not as someone merely agreeing, but as someone acknowledging something deeper. It was a gesture thick with meaning, like an invisible seal placed upon my words.
The tension dissolved like mist in the morning sun.
"But enough of life's heavier questions," I said, raising my hands in a theatrical show of surrender. "I actually really need you to explain a few things to me." I nodded toward the stack of books on the table—thick, dust-covered volumes with cracked spines and fabric bookmarks hanging like the tongues of old sages.
The old man followed my gaze, and his expression softened even more.
"Ah, of course. Of course!" he exclaimed, visibly brightening as he shuffled toward the table. "It's rare I have company—especially this time of year." His voice carried a faint melancholy, but it was still warmed by the joy of teaching.
"Oh... if you'd like, I could stop by more often to—" I began with a friendly smile, already thinking about how good it felt to have his company.
But he cut me off with a raised hand and a short, amused chuckle.
"For the record," he said, adjusting his glasses with one finger, "I do have a family, holidays, and even the right to get visitors, you know?"
He shot me a sarcastic grin as he picked up one of the books with exaggerated care—like he was handling a newborn.
"It's just that... not many people come to the library, especially at the beginning of the year. Everyone's too busy trying to stick to their New Year's resolutions or catching up on the sleep they lost during the Trial."
"Or running away from books..." I added with a crooked smile.
"Or running away from books," he agreed with a solemn nod, like he mourned an entire generation lost to willful ignorance. "But not you. That, I admire."
The silence that followed was brief, but comforting. I took a seat at the table, pulling one of the books closer, while Axel settled back at my feet—his body warm and firm, like a living stone offering silent protection.
"So, where do we begin?" I asked, already flipping open the first volume.
The old librarian eased into the chair beside me, the gleam of curiosity returning to his eyes behind those thick lenses.
"At the beginning, of course," he said with a knowing smile. "Always at the beginning."
✦ ✦ ✦
"Talking with someone wiser is a gift," I murmured with a faint smile as I walked beneath the soft moonlight. The conversation with the old librarian had lasted hours, though to me, it had felt like mere minutes. Before I knew it, the library had closed for the night.
The chill of the evening accompanied me as I headed toward the café, the one that stayed open 24 hours a day, designed for those like me who got lost in training or mental exertion until well past dusk. It was part of the Wait Camp's infrastructure, flexible, adaptable, and efficient. A direct reflection of the needs of those who trained there.
The winter breeze blew gently, but sharp, and I pulled my cloak tighter around me. The moon hung overhead, casting a pale, melancholy glow across the stone path. My thoughts swirled in a quiet storm.
The calm of recent days was on the verge of shattering. I could feel it. 'The peaceful phase had ended… the other descendants were about to make their moves.'
I sighed. "Being a genius is a… complicated burden," I muttered to myself, my voice dragging with a hint of boredom. It wasn't just the intellect that weighed heavy. It was everything it attracted. Envy. Fear. Targets.
I noticed, with a mix of amusement and unease, that beyond my compulsions for sweets and books, two constants, my tongue had gotten sharper, and my narcissism had started to grow at an alarming rate. Not cultivated. Natural. Spontaneous. Almost organic, like it bloomed alongside the slow, imperceptible merging between me and Alexander.
And it was slow. So slow I only noticed it in retrospect, when I caught myself reflecting too seriously on my actions, or when someone pointed out something I hadn't realized had changed.
'It's already been a year since I accepted Alexander as a part of myself. Shouldn't we be one by now?' The truth? The more time passed, the harder it became to tell where I ended and Alexander began.
Most unsettling of all? I hadn't spoken to anyone my age in over ten days—aside from those eleven idiots, of course. Thanks to Alexander's mental inheritance, I had developed a tendency to see most people as mediocre. Unworthy of conversation. Sometimes it was instinctive. Other times, a reasoned conclusion. But always constant.
"My only company is Axel… and the librarian." I sighed again. "One's an old man. The other's a wolf."
My gaze dropped to the ground. "Damn it, Alexander… what kind of life have you been living until now?" I muttered with a touch of frustration, reaching for the cafeteria door.
Or rather, trying to.
The moment my hand touched the handle and I began to push it open—something—or someone—exploded outward.
FWOOOOOOSH!
My instincts kicked in faster than thought. I released the handle instantly and shifted left in one smooth motion.
"What the—?"
KRRRSH! — another body flew right through where I'd been standing a heartbeat earlier, crashing onto the ground with a solid thud. I stepped to the right — FWAM! — another human projectile zipped past.
I kept dodging, my body flowing on autopilot, movement reading near instinctual.
Four.
Five.
Six.
Seven.
Eight.
Nine.
BOOM!
The tenth came flying through a side window, slamming to the ground in a heap of groans.
At last, I turned slowly toward the street.
Ten figures sprawled awkwardly across the pavement, writhing and groaning in pain and disbelief. I recognized every single face. Of course I did.
"One's missing..." I murmured, confused, though a smirk was already curling at the corner of my lips.
"Look out!" someone shouted.
WHOOSH!
A gust of wind surged behind me. Without thinking, I summoned air beneath my feet and launched myself into a spinning leap.
VRRRAAAAAAM!
I landed softly on the frozen ground, feet sliding into a swift step that absorbed the impact.
"That was close," I murmured, casting a glance over my shoulder.
There he was—the last one. The eleventh. Crumpled on top of the others like the cherry on a disastrously baked cake.
I looked over the heap of bodies writhing in discomfort, groaning in pain, and let out a quiet laugh.
"Now it adds up..."