The Bookkeeper leaned back in his grand, leather-bound chair, his fingertips tapping rhythmically as if to the unheard pulse of time itself. His eyes, sharp and gleaming behind those black-rimmed glasses, flickered with the kind of curiosity one might have while playing with a toy. But here, in this endless library, an infinite sanctuary of knowledge, the 'toys' were people, and the game was life and death. Each tome that lined the towering shelves whispered of secrets long-lost, forgotten tragedies, and battles fought in shadows.
Around him, the flurry of butterflies seemed an odd juxtaposition—a dance of delicate life amidst the faint stench of death. Their wings shimmered under the soft glow of dim lamps, a kaleidoscope of colors weaving through the air like fragments of dreams. They floated with elegance, occasionally landing on the corners of ancient books or on the rim of one of the ornate lamps, their beauty masking the quiet savagery that had unfolded moments before.
The floor, pristine in appearance, bore the slightest imperfection—a small pool of blood, dark and glossy under the candlelight, a silent testament to a life extinguished. The scent, subtle but unmistakable, lingered in the air, intertwining with the aroma of parchment and aged leather. The body that had spilled it was already gone, vanished as if it had never existed, though the metallic tang of its absence remained.
With a soft, amused chuckle, the Bookkeeper glanced down at the lingering bloodstain. “Ah, my apologies,” he said, his voice velvet and insincere, tinged with mirth. He tilted his head, an almost whimsical gesture as if addressing an old friend. “There was a... minor incident, you see. Nothing that should trouble you, I assure you. And, in the spirit of generosity, I won't charge you for that one. Consider it a favor.”
His tone was light, bordering on playful, as though he were discussing a trivial favor rather than the murder of a man. He glanced at Wallace, who stood across from him, silent and still. The flickering light caught the contours of Wallace’s expression, unreadable yet stern. His gaze shifted momentarily to the blood on the floor, but no sign of shock or anger registered—just a cold indifference, as if such matters were beneath his concern.
“You killed Callum, right?” Wallace said, his voice steady, betraying neither surprise nor satisfaction. “I must thank you. He was making things rather difficult for me.”
The Bookkeeper's grin deepened, his amusement growing, as if Wallace’s gratitude was an unexpected delight. “Ah, yes. Callum.” He spoke the name slowly, savoring it like one might a rare delicacy. “Such a promising young man, wasn’t he? Full of potential. But alas, some promises are meant to be broken.” He gave a half-hearted shrug, the mock sympathy in his voice as shallow as the pool of blood at his feet. “He made a most unwise decision… attempting to steal something precious from me. I simply couldn’t let that slide, you understand.”
With a subtle flick of his wrist, a pale blue butterfly alighted on his hand, its delicate wings contrasting sharply with the macabre conversation. It fluttered lightly, unaware of the tension crackling between the two men. The Bookkeeper's eyes followed the creature's movements, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper, as though sharing a private joke. “Though, if I’m being honest,” he said with mock disappointment, “he didn’t prove to be much of a challenge. A rather… underwhelming end. Such a pity. But, that’s the nature of the game, isn’t it? Some pieces fall far too easily.”
Wallace raised an eyebrow, his expression a mixture of curiosity and disbelief as he scrutinized the man before him. “You’re someone who seems to have three of everything,” he began, his tone measured but probing, “what could be stolen from you that would actually anger you?”
The Bookkeeper's smile remained, but something dark and fleeting passed behind his eyes. He leaned forward slightly, his fingers drumming against the armrest of his grand chair. “I'm sorry,” he purred, voice as smooth as velvet, “but that's a secret, one that I refuse to tell, no matter how much you’d pay me.”
Wallace narrowed his eyes, his suspicion deepening. The Bookkeeper was notorious for his willingness to sell any piece of information to the highest bidder, no matter how sensitive. His refusal to disclose something—anything—was as rare as it was suspicious.
Mia, standing nearby with her arms crossed, shot a glance at the man. Her voice cut through the air, sharp, and cold. “You’ve offered to tell us how the world would end,” she said, her tone laced with accusation, “yet time and time again recently, you’ve been keeping secrets. What is it you’re hiding?”
The Bookkeeper chuckled, a low, ominous sound that sent a shiver through the room. “Ah, Mia,” he said softly, “you’ve always been the inquisitive one. But some knowledge is too… delicate for those who might misuse it.”
Baal, looming in the shadows beside Mia, grunted in annoyance. His voice was guttural, tinged with a strange amusement as he sniffed the air. “Hey wife,” he said, his monstrous form shifting slightly, “this human smells weird. What’s wrong with him?”
Mia’s eyes flashed with irritation, and she shot Baal a cold glare. “Don’t call me 'wife,' you demon,” she retorted, her voice icy. The tension between them was palpable, as if it crackled in the air.
Before either could react, the Bookkeeper snapped his fingers with a swift, almost theatrical motion. In an instant, a golden spear materialized out of thin air, gleaming with radiant energy. It shot toward Baal’s head with deadly precision, slicing through the air with a piercing whistle.
But Baal was quicker. A grotesque mouth, massive and jagged, appeared from his hand, its teeth gnashing as it devoured the spear whole. The weapon vanished into the abyss of his maw, leaving behind only a trail of dissipating light.
Baal licked his lips, a grin spreading across his monstrous face. “Woah,” he growled, his voice dripping with sinister delight. “The mana in that spear—it's delicious.” He leaned forward, his eyes glinting with a ravenous hunger. “Please, try to kill me more,” he taunted, his laughter filling the room like the rumble of distant thunder.
“Mana?” Mia questioned, her eyes narrowing with suspicion as she looked at Baal.
The Bookkeeper smiled, his tone casual, almost as if discussing something as simple as the weather. “It's the demon’s equivalent of aura. In the Abyss, where they hail from, that’s what they call it. Many different creatures have their own names for it. For example, the angels refer to it as holy power.”
Iris, standing near Wallace, glanced between them, her brow furrowing in confusion. “Wallace, who is this guy?”
Before Wallace could answer, Charles stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as he pointed toward the Bookkeeper. “Yeah, I recognize him too. He came by to check on Iris when she was unconscious.”
The Bookkeeper's playful smile remained as he raised his hand, snapping his fingers with an air of authority. In an instant, the previously unconscious students began to stir, their movements slow at first, as if awakening from a deep sleep. The room shifted as the students came to life, their confusion evident as they blinked, looking around.
Theo immediately rushed to check on his sister, his voice laced with concern. “Celia, are you alright?” he whispered, kneeling beside her, his hand gently brushing her shoulder.
Xavier, ever the picture of calm, scanned the room briefly before sighing and casually slumping back onto a couch, seemingly uninterested in the surrounding chaos.
Jacob, however, looked frantic as his gaze locked onto Alice. He bolted toward her, his voice trembling with residual fear. “Alice, are you okay?” His hands shook as he spoke. “I remember that monster had you… he grabbed you by the hair, and then… then he…”
Alice blinked, her expression distant as she tried to recall the events. “I can’t seem to fully remember what happened,” she murmured, her voice dazed. “It’s all… foggy.”
From across the room, The Bookkeeper's voice sliced through the confusion like a blade, his tone devoid of emotion. “Those kids are quite fortunate. They encountered the Boogeyman… and yet, he chose to spare them.”
“Don’t dodge the question!” Charles snapped, his voice filled with frustration as he glared at the Bookkeeper. His hand twitched at his side, a clear indication that his patience was wearing thin.
The Bookkeeper turned his gaze toward Wallace, his smile never faltering. He almost seemed to be enjoying the tension in the room. “Wallace,” he began, his voice smooth and unbothered, “odds are there will be a meeting involving the entire Clockwork Council after this incident. Not just us—Beta and Gamma facilities were attacked as well.”
Wallace crossed his arms, his jaw tightening. He didn’t like where this was going.
“I’ll answer a few more of your questions,” the Bookkeeper continued, “but only after the meeting.” He paused, a glint of amusement flashing in his eyes. “Of course, in return for a favor.”
“Tell me how many enemies are left within the facility,” Wallace demanded, his voice sharp, cutting through the tension in the room. His patience was wearing thin, and he wasn't in the mood for the Bookkeeper's usual games.
The Bookkeeper leaned back slightly, a lazy smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “So demanding,” he teased, his tone dripping with amusement. “But fine, I’ll indulge you—I'll just add it to your tab.”
He stood, the motion slow and deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world. “The majority of the minor forces have already been dealt with,” he began, waving a hand dismissively. “Both by your agents and, of course, the Boogeyman, who—might I add—was quite hungry.”
Wallace’s eyes narrowed, but he stayed silent, waiting for the real information.
“As for the Awakened threats,” the Bookkeeper continued, his smile deepening as he listed them off like a vendor recounting items in a marketplace. “The Frost was slain by you, no?” He raised an eyebrow at Wallace, knowing the answer already but enjoying the game of stating the obvious. “I personally dealt with Mockingbird. I won't deny that I enjoyed myself doing so.”
He glanced toward Mia, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous glint. “The Knight, well… let’s just say Mia showed some impressive skills and drowned him quite thoroughly.”
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Mia didn’t respond, her icy gaze fixed on the Bookkeeper as he continued.
“Baal,” the Bookkeeper said, gesturing toward the demon, who gave a lazy wave in return, “was rather efficient, beheading the Scholar. Not much left of him now, I'm afraid.”
“And as for the Hummingbird and the Boogeyman…” The Bookkeeper’s smile widened, almost as if the thought amused him. “They’re currently… preoccupied. Their battle began not too long ago.”
“The Hummingbird was originally battling the Slayer,” The Bookkeeper interjected, his tone flat and devoid of any emotion, “but the moment she brought out her artifact, the Boogeyman charged in. He has a particular hatred for Excalibur.”
Wallace absorbed the information, his mind working quickly to process the chaos unfolding within the facility. His gaze darkened as the realization sank in, they had cleared most of the immediate threats, but the remaining battles could still shift the tides in unpredictable ways.
The Bookkeeper watched Wallace, his smile unwavering, sensing the storm brewing beneath the agent's calm exterior. “Satisfied?” he asked, his voice laced with mock politeness.
“Bring me and Baal to where they’re battling. We need to assist her,” Wallace demanded, his voice urgent. “She’s strong, but depending on how much power he placed into that version of himself, she might not be able to win.”
The Bookkeeper reclined in his chair, a faint smile playing on his lips. “You doubt her too much,” he replied, almost lazily. “She is a fellow member of the Clockwork Council, just like you and I, Wallace. I promise you, she will win. I’m sorry, but I want her to handle this herself.”
Wallace’s brow furrowed in frustration. “May I ask why? Or is that another one of your secrets?” His eyes hardened. “Even if she will win, she’ll sustain serious injuries.”
The Bookkeeper’s expression never wavered, his gaze steady. “I need the outcome of this battle to remain undisturbed. She will win, and what follows is something I won’t let you interfere with,” he said coolly, his voice gaining an edge of finality. “So sit tight and read a few books. You’re in a library, after all.”
The room fell into an uncomfortable silence. Wallace clenched his fists, but he knew there was no use arguing. The Bookkeeper was immovable, his influence, and foresight too vast to challenge, especially in his own domain. Wallace glanced around at the towering shelves of books, feeling the weight of his powerlessness. There was no way out of the library without the Bookkeeper’s consent.
Meanwhile, Iris’s sharp gaze had been locked on the enigmatic figure of the Bookkeeper. To her, he wasn’t just the keeper of knowledge and secrets—he was Fate, the being she had known for as long as she could remember. Yet, he had never shown any direct interest in her, never acted as if they had crossed paths before, despite the long threads of history they shared.
Stepping forward, Iris approached his desk, her voice soft but direct. “Excuse me,” she said, gaining his attention. “Earlier, Wallace used a book, one that he said came from you. Could you explain what that book was? And why…” she hesitated, her voice dropping to a near-whisper, “why it matched the one you gave me?”
Wallace’s head tilted slightly at her words, his curiosity piqued.
The Bookkeeper’s smile barely faltered, though a glint of something more, perhaps amusement, perhaps caution, flashed behind his eyes. “So many questions today,” he muttered under his breath, loud enough only for Iris to hear. “Honestly, it never seems to end.”
He leaned closer to her, his voice dipping into a conspiratorial whisper that no one else could catch. “What I have to say to you, I won’t say in front of others. I already have a meeting planned, so just wait.”
With that, the Bookkeeper stood, his movements fluid, deliberate. Without breaking eye contact, he reached for the bookshelf behind him. A book slid out on its own, pages rustling as it opened. He stepped through the book, disappearing as though swallowed by the words themselves.
Wallace stared at the spot where he had vanished, tension knotting in his chest. Iris’s eyes lingered on the space as well, her mind spinning, knowing that Fate, The Bookkeeper, held answers she desperately needed. But the weight of his secrets remained, looming like a shadow over them all.
“Excuse me, everyone gather around, I need to explain a few things to you all,” Wallace called out, his voice firm but carrying an edge of concern.
The children shuffled closer, their curiosity mixed with apprehension. They knew something was off about this place, the vast, endless shelves of books, the eerie calm, and the enigmatic presence of the Bookkeeper, but they trusted Wallace. For now.
“Listen up,” Wallace began, locking eyes with each of them, “under normal circumstances, I’d never allow any of you into this place, but things are far from normal right now. So, I’m laying down a few rules.” His voice dropped, growing serious. “First, never, under any circumstances, venture past the front of the library. Beyond the Bookkeeper’s desk is where things get dangerous. This place may seem calm, but the deeper you go, the more dangerous it becomes.”
The kids glanced nervously at the towering shelves, the flickering lamps casting long shadows across the rows of books that seemed to stretch into infinity. Wallace’s tone made it clear, this wasn’t just a warning. It was a matter of survival.
“Second,” Wallace continued, “never ask anything of the Bookkeeper. He always takes a price, and trust me, it’s not one I’d recommend paying.”
“And finally,” Wallace added, “if the Bookkeeper ever offers you a book, unless he tells you beforehand that your debt has been paid for—don’t accept it. His books aren’t gifts. They come with consequences, and none of you are ready to face those.”
Iris raised her hand cautiously, her voice soft but inquisitive. “But… what about you, Wallace? You accepted a book from him.”
Wallace gave a tight-lipped smile, his eyes briefly flicking to Iris before settling back on the group. “That’s different. I can handle his deals. You can’t.”
Charles, ever the pragmatist, spoke up, “But what price will you have to pay, Wallace? The powers you got from that book… they were insanely strong. It doesn’t come free, right?”
Before Wallace could respond, a familiar, mischievous voice echoed from behind him. “Oh, there’s no need to worry,” the Bookkeeper said, his tone dripping with amusement. “It won’t be anything too serious.”
Wallace’s body tensed immediately, and in a flash, he spun around, his instincts kicking in. His leg shot out in a swift kick aimed at the Bookkeeper’s head, but before his foot could make contact, the Bookkeeper dissolved into a flurry of butterflies. The delicate creatures scattered, fluttering gracefully through the air before reforming across the room, where the Bookkeeper reappeared, lounging against a shelf with a teasing smile on his lips.
“Must you always resort to violence?” the Bookkeeper asked with mock innocence, tilting his head as if genuinely curious. “I’m simply here to reassure you, Wallace. Your debt is… manageable.” His eyes gleamed with mischief. “For now.”
Wallace scowled, his hand still twitching from the adrenaline rush, while the children watched in wide-eyed fascination, unsure whether to be terrified or impressed by the bizarre exchange.
“I won’t entertain your games today,” Wallace said coldly, his voice laced with frustration. “Just stay out of this.”
The Bookkeeper chuckled softly, his laughter echoing through the library like the flutter of pages. “Oh, Wallace… It’s not a game, it’s business. But don’t worry, when the time comes, you’ll pay exactly what’s owed.” His eyes flicked to the children for a brief moment, a subtle warning in his gaze, before returning to Wallace. “I never take more than what’s fair… unless someone’s foolish enough to offer.”
The air hung heavy with tension, the playful yet ominous tone of the Bookkeeper unsettling everyone. Even Wallace, who had grown used to dealing with him, couldn’t shake the feeling that something darker was at play.
The Bookkeeper gave a final, knowing smirk, his fingers brushing the spine of a nearby book like he was caressing a secret no one else could touch. “I’ll leave you to your little pep talk,” he said with a teasing glint in his eye. Then, with a sly wink that made Wallace's stomach churn, he added, “But remember—the library is always watching.”
Before anyone could respond, his form dissolved into a swirling cloud of butterflies, their vibrant wings catching the flicker of lamplight before dispersing into the dim shadows of the vast library. The silence that followed felt oppressive, as if the air itself had thickened in his absence.
Mia exhaled sharply, her irritation evident. “Dealing with him is the worst. Everything’s a game to him.”
Baal, still eyeing the spot where the Bookkeeper had vanished, licked his lips thoughtfully. “His mana tasted… different. Delicious, yes, but there's something too special about it. Something unnatural.”
“Everything about him is unnatural,” Wallace muttered, crossing his arms. His gaze swept over the endless rows of books, each one holding who-knew-what kind of dangerous knowledge. “He’s as much an enigma as ever. This library… it defies logic. It’s not just a collection of books, its door can appear anywhere in the world, anytime, and any information, no matter how lost, can be found here. Yet he joined us, but only under one condition, that he could keep a close eye on the Alpha facility.”
Wallace’s eyes flicked to Iris, a creeping suspicion gnawing at him. Had the Bookkeeper been planning her arrival all along? Was his insistence on watching the Alpha facility tied to Iris somehow? But there was a flaw in that theory. The Bookkeeper had been part of A.E.G.I.S far longer than Iris had even been alive. Still, there was something about his strange fixation, something Wallace couldn’t quite piece together.
As if sensing Wallace’s troubled thoughts, Mia voiced her own concerns. “I’m more worried about what he’s planning with Eliza. He’s not one to lie, he never does, but why is he so insistent on making her fight two powerful enemies alone?”
Mia’s frustration simmered beneath her words. She glanced at Wallace, searching for some form of explanation, but none came. He was just as perplexed, his brow furrowed in thought.
“The Bookkeeper is always calculating,” Wallace finally said, his voice quiet, contemplative. “He wouldn’t put Eliza in harm’s way unless there’s something more at play. But that doesn’t mean I trust his reasons.”
“He plays the long game,” Mia agreed, folding her arms. “But what’s the end goal? Eliza’s strong, but even she could get killed if things go wrong.”
“Let it go,” Wallace interrupted, his tone sharp but tinged with worry. “We won’t figure it out by speculating. He’s ten steps ahead of us, as usual.”
Wallace’s irritation deepened as the Bookkeeper tossed a leather-bound volume straight at his head. His reflexes kicked in, catching it effortlessly before it could hit him, but the annoyance was unmistakable.
“Oh right, if you want to know how The Slayer is doing,” the Bookkeeper said with a maddeningly casual tone, his figure already beginning to fade once again. “Read this. It’s not synced with the current events, so you’ll see the beginning, but it's not like you could intervene anyway.” His voice echoed with an unsettling amusement, and in a blink, he vanished into a swirl of butterflies, leaving nothing but a faint shimmer in the air.
Wallace glared at the spot where the Bookkeeper had disappeared, his patience hanging by a thread. “There’s not enough coffee in the world to deal with today,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing the tension from his temples.
Mia, already exasperated herself, sighed and nodded in agreement. “Yeah, alright,” she said, pulling the mysterious book from Wallace’s hands. “Let’s just see how Eliza’s doing before.”
As Mia opened the heavy tome, it seemed to pulse with a strange, ethereal energy, a faint glow emanating from its pages as though it had a life of its own. The surrounding air grew thick with power, and they both felt a slight tremor underfoot, as though the library itself was reacting to the book’s presence.
Suddenly, the Bookkeeper’s voice emerged from the pages, soft at first, then growing more distinct, as if he were standing right beside them, narrating the events. His words flowed like silk.