Cyril sat in silence for a couple minutes, rubbing the memory shard between his thumb and forefinger absently. As far as he knew, the shards of things were impossible to fabricate or tamper with. Unfortunately, if anyone could do it, it would be a Librarian spirit. Without knowing the Translate Cantrip himself, he couldn’t even trust the words on the tablets were accurate.
He scratched his forehead. “So the priest killed Priestess Anadei at the wedding? Her spirit lost control afterwards and waged war on the city?”
“I didn’t see any of it myself,” said Barnabas. “All I can do is try to interpret the knowledge here.”
“Anadei was a powerful oracle and didn’t see this coming?”
“The popular theory, back when anyone else remembered any of this, was that an incredibly powerful fate-breaking artifact was involved.” Barnabas shrugged, as if such matters were trivial. “The union between the Desert Tyrant and Priestess Anadei would have led to them controlling the desert and expanding their territory far beyond in all directions. Every divination revealed an extremely prosperous future for the couple. As you can imagine, there are other empires and powerful individuals who would take issue with that.”
It made sense, Cyril supposed. A glance at his soul revealed that his Dominion of Knowledge was ticking upward from the information, though that didn’t necessarily prove the veracity of the claims.
“How did this lead to Beljeza falling into the Underdark?” he said.
“After Anadei’s death, Lanazael went insane.” Barnabas’s three eye-flames shifted toward the marble of smoke for a second. “The loss broke her, and even the most peaceful spirits enjoy a bit of a rampage under those circumstances. Hosjin battled with her for several days, destroying large portions of the city. Even though he outclassed her, she would retreat up into the night sky, where the Tyrant wouldn’t dare follow. He eventually suppressed her, just in time to find enemies converging on the city from all directions.”
“So he brought the city down into the Underdark, where they wouldn’t dare follow him?” Cyril guessed.
“Pretty much,” said Barnabas. “Most of the city had survived the clash between Hosjin and Lanazael. At first, he remained here as a protector, trying to make sure his dead bride’s people could adjust to the Underdark. But in his absence, his enemies were shredding his empire with a thousand shallow cuts. Eventually, he was forced to join the fray. He left behind one of his trusted lieutenants, promising to one day return. A hundred years passed until the new guardian of the city died, and within another hundred years, the last Beljezan perished.”
Cyril clenched the memory shard with enough force to shatter steel. He forced himself to relax, worried he would ruin the record, though the enchanted glass showed no signs of stress.
“What happened to Hosjin?” he said.
Barnabas shrugged. “No clue. Everything I know comes from those records. Maybe the drows have information on him, if they’re still around. Supposedly some of the last Beljezans banded together and braved the Underdark to try to find the Queen. Haven’t seen anything but monsters here since, though, so that tells you something.”
Cyril nodded slowly. “Well, thanks for the information. I have to get going.”
He stood up and brushed off his clothing, though it remained as spotless as ever. His core had mostly refilled during their conversation. Sitting down for so long had made him realize how exhausted he was. Nothing sounded better to him than a warm meal and a soft bed. His physical body had accumulated a grisly assortment of wounds, most of them sealed beneath an uncomfortable layer of stone armor. Though his soul had progressed by leaps and bounds, his physical constitution was only slightly better than a mundane human’s. Defensive techniques could augment him, but he was a far cry from the divine-grade body Behemoth had inhabited before their bond.
The sooner he finished off the Half-Ascended Wyrm, the sooner he could rest.
As he turned to leave, Barnabas flitted forward atop his scroll to intercept him. “Where are you going? You’re coming back, right?”
“I mean, it’s possible, I suppose.” Cyril carefully maintained his composure, face blank as a mask. “I have other matters to settle first. Say, do you know where an exit from the Underdark is?”
“Well, there should be one nearby, but Hosjin sealed it off. No records show where it is or why none of the Beljezans were able to make it through.” A moment after dispensing the information, Barnabas seemed to understand the significance of what he’d said. “Wait, wait. You are coming back here to restore the Library, right? I may not know where the exit is, but I can look into it more. Plus, there’s all kinds of other stuff here that can help you!”
Cyril glanced side-eye at the imp. “Like what?”
“Well, you follow the Dominion of Knowledge, right? You ever think of becoming a Librarian?”
“I considered it at some point,” he admitted reluctantly.
“Follow me, follow me!” Barnabas shot out of the room and toward the dark stairwell leading deeper into the Library.
Trying his best not to grin, Cyril followed. Barnabas had brought the tablets and memory shards up instead of allowing him to go down into the lower levels. The imp had originally manifested as a guide after he approached the stairway. While part of its function was to assist guests, another was to prevent those without sufficient permission from accessing the private levels of the Library.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
It appeared that Barnabas had made the executive decision to personally upgrade Cyril’s privileges. Who was he to complain?
The imp led him down only a single level before turning into a long-abandoned corridor. Coughing, Cyril covered his mouth with his forearm as his slippers kicked up plumes of dust. Fortunately, their destination was the first doorway to the right. A series of runes above the doorway flared with cerulean light as Barnabas zipped through.
Like most of the library, the room no longer possessed any furniture. A few shelves along the wall held fractured tablets and wrinkled leather bookspines. The only unique feature of the room was a skinny marble pedestal in the center; atop of it lay a crystal orb, its pellucid surface glowing softly beneath the layers of dust.
“Lay your hand on that right there,” said Barnabas, nodding in the direction of the crystal orb.
Cyril raised an eyebrow. “Explain first.”
Barnabas shook its little head. “That’s the ledger where Librarians used to sign in and out for their shifts. Also where a new Junior Librarian can be registered to access the Knowledge system and their benefits.”
Cyril subtly wiped his mouth to make sure he wasn’t drooling. “Right. And in exchange for what obligations?”
“Nothing. There’s no schedule, no guests.” Barnabas cleared his throat. “Just make sure to remember to come back here. The Blessing will make you recognized throughout all institutions that uphold the Dominion of Knowledge, granting you basic privileges.”
Cyril took a deep breath and approached the crystal orb. Truthfully, he could barely wait to clutch the artifact and reap its blessings. Barnabas didn’t need to know that, though.
First, he wiped off the coating of ancient grime. Then he rested his palm upon the cool, smooth surface and closed his eyes. The surface began to heat up until it was uncomfortably warm to the touch. Before the pain turned scalding, a strand of ancient will reached out through the crystal orb and connected with the tip of his fingers. With a small jolt, it bridged the gap to link with his spiritual channels.
He expected the crystal orb to extract his qi, probably draining half of his core and delaying him further. Instead, pulses of faint Knowledge qi echoed into his channels. He circulated the feeble energy, and when it reached his core, it resolved into an intricate rune. The marking disappeared after a moment, leaving behind a spectral after-image in its wake.
The orb had grown scalding to the touch. He pulled his hand back, hissing.
The pain faded quickly. Annoying, but well worth the newest addition to his Soul.
Blessing:
Seed of Knowledge- the bearer is recognized in their pursuit of wisdom. Grants the Translate Cantrip.
While it provided no immediate combat strength, the benefits of learning the Cantrip were enormous for his future scholarly pursuits.
At the very least, it would let him confirm that Barnabas hadn’t falsified the translations in the tablets and memory shards. Not that it mattered much to him, outside of the information about Hosjin Yaserath. He had already known the ifrit-woman had gone mad from the loss of her spiritual partner. The whole tragedy had played out long ago, and he had only stumbled upon the depressing aftermath.
The Scion of the Underdark title burned above the Seed of Knowledge on his soul. Given where he founded the Cursed Blessing, he suspected Hosjin had, one day, found his way back to the city he had been forced to abandon. Centuries, perhaps millennia later, returning with the faintest hope that its people would have prospered in his underground domain, only to find monster-infested ruins.
“Where did the energy from the Blessing come from?” he asked Barnabas.
“When people learn within an establishment like this, their epiphanies create ambient energy that the Library is able to gather into arrays to power itself. Especially those following the Dominion of Knowledge leave behind a powerful byproduct in their wake.”
“I thought you liked answering my questions because of my charm.”
Barnabas coughed and chose not to respond.
Before Cyril left the Library, he made sure to touch the marble pillar, adding the E-grade material to his list of Transmute options. Then he returned to the viewing room and transcribed the writings on the tablets onto blank pages of his Mind Scroll. The Cantrip was close to having all of its pages full, but as his Dominion of Knowledge grew, the quantity available to him kept pace. Between the information he learned from the imp and the Blessing, the Dominion had reached 724/1000, granting him access to 82 pages total.
Barnabas followed overhead, desperately spilling as much information as he could to keep Cyril’s attention. He did reveal one more pertinent bit of information.
“Will you at least tell me where you’re going?” said Barnabas, trailing him desperately. Trying to squeeze as much of that Knowledge fuel out of him as possible, no doubt.
Cyril offered a brief recounting of his battle with the Half-Ascended Wyrm and how he was tracking it.
Barnabas glanced nervously at the marble of smoke once more. “Strange. That direction goes straight to the palace. I’d be surprised if any monsters are holed up in there. A mad djinn maintains the grounds still--an old gardener who has long since forgotten anything beyond following their directives.”
Cyril whirled around to face the imp. “There are other spirits in the city besides you?”
Barnabas scratched one of its horns. “Well, been a long time since I interacted with the gardener. May be gone by now, but he was peak-rank and the most obstinate bastard I’ve ever come across. Wouldn’t surprise me if he’s still alive, cleaning up the grounds and protecting the Priestess’ burial chamber.”
The information that the Priestess’ body was in the palace broke through his reverie, but that wasn't important right now. Everything the imp had said tumbled around in his mind, gradually resolving into a few concepts that he very much didn’t like considering.
Barnabas shouted at his back as Cyril sprinted at full-speed out of the Library. The marble of smoke shot beside him, pulling ahead almost eagerly as he ran out of the building. Barnabas lingered at the entrance, unable to leave the perimeter, but Cyril ignored the spirit.
His mind was focused on other things.
Like how desperate and injured the Half-Ascended Wyrm was. And how the only thing preventing it from fully Ascending was that it had not been able to bond with a spirit. Now, the abomination was apparently in the same location as the only entity around capable of completing the formation of its spiritual core.
Heart pounding, Cyril thundered down the street.