I only had the chance to speak with Cuttle briefly the next morning. He apologized, explaining that he probably wouldn't be able to chat much over the next few days, except for a short period in the evenings. Apparently, the party had decided to hightail it to Zyme. Picking me up had already put them behind schedule.
Still, I took every opportunity I could to talk to Cuttle. He's… interesting to deal with. Cuttle is fairly direct and a bit no-nonsense in his approach. He doesn't sugarcoat things, which I appreciate, and so far, he's been more than willing to answer my questions. Mostly, I've asked about the world itself.
For starters, the System has been around as long as anyone can remember. Everyone here—species, monsters, flora, fauna—is either an Initiate or a descendant of previous Initiates. Apparently, every single thing in this world came from another during the beta test. The whole goal for Initiates, or so the story goes, is simple: survive. The longer you survive, the stronger you become, the more you "break the system for the System," whatever that means. In the end, the better you do, the better benefits your species wins when they're fully integrated into the System.
Cuttle, Hapa, and Urchin are all Natives—descendants of species initiated a couple of iterations ago. They grew up in a small seaside village that farmed a local dungeon. Cuttle lit up when he talked about it, describing the crustaceans as a delicacy and the coral and pearls looted from the dungeon as being of unparalleled quality. He even said he'd like to take me there someday.
The three of them had always planned to form a party together and see the world. Cuttle was the first to get his class: Acolyte. He's happy with it, using a balanced combat style that flows between tanking and fighting, filling whatever gap the party needs. Hapa got his class next: Adept, a hybrid between arcane and divine magic. He serves as their buff and support caster.
Urchin, though, is the wildcard. He ended up with the Striker class, which the village elders thought might lead to something unique. Usually, Strikers focus on blades, but Urchin is all about using his hands instead, which seems… unconventional, to say the least.
One evening, I even got to talk to Hapa! He's incredibly curious, spending most of our time together asking about my home before I ended up as an Initiate. I liked him a lot and really hope I get to speak with him again soon.
Urchin, on the other hand, outright refused to even touch me. That wasn't exactly pleasant to learn. I get it—talking to a book is weird—but it still stung. Or maybe I spooked him? Cuttle said that Urchin was denying ever having heard me when had held me before. Which was disappointing.
During the days and nights when I was on my own, I decided to Echo a couple of books since I was being carried in the same bag as my friends. Maybe I'm going crazy, though. I am calling books friends. I guess, listening to their rhythms is nice. I still enjoy just kinda dozing, or as close to it as I can, and enjoying the company of their whispers and lights.
However, I did decide to Echo Pastel Yellow first. It… it took a while. It was the longest by far.
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The Wanderer's Handbook
Fear not the wild, friend. With steady hands and sharp wits, even the harshest trail can be tamed. Begin with fire—it is your friend, your warmth, and your light in the shadow of the woods. Dry tinder is your treasure: moss clinging to bark, a handful of brittle grass, or the smallest twigs snapped underfoot. Treat it with care, for with its first breath, your journey truly begins.
Shelter need not be grand, only sufficient. Seek a fallen tree or a low overhang, and build beneath it with what the land provides. Layer branches thick and tight as a weaver's loom, and your shield against the night will hold.
And when the winds carry strange howls or unseen rustling, remember this: Most creatures fear you more than you fear them—except, of course, when they don't. Best to stay vigilant, eh?
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The book had been a goldmine of survival tips and tricks. Way more in-depth than anything I'd found in Wildlife or Eryngo's Handbook. It covered everything: the basics of fire-making, from gathering tinder to building different types of fires and even keeping them lit in harsh conditions. There were detailed guides on constructing temporary shelters, identifying safe-to-eat plants, and even the general flora rules that seemed to hold true across different worlds. Stuff like "brightly colored berries are a no-go" and "if it smells like death, it probably is." It was all incredibly practical, and I could feel myself soaking it up like a sponge.
'If nothing else,' I thought, 'this knowledge could come in handy someday. Assuming I ever get the chance to, you know, use it.'
Once I'd absorbed what I could from that book, I decided to turn my attention to Deep Blue. If I was already gaining passive XP just by existing, maybe I could squeeze out a little extra while Echoing? It couldn't hurt to try, right?
'Here goes nothing,' I thought, focusing my energy. 'Let's see what Deep Blue has to offer.'
Surveyor's Notes: The Woodline Trail, as Deep Blue was actually titled, turned out to be one of my favorite reads so far. It wasn't just practical—it was amazing. The amount of information packed into it was staggering.
There were detailed notes on dangerous areas: places to avoid because of natural hazards like quicksand, briar thickets, or unstable terrain that could send you tumbling. Then there were entries about safe campsites: marked spots perfect for overnight stays, usually near water sources or natural cover. And of course, there were the points of interest—ruins, caves, and mysterious locations that practically begged to be explored. Some even came with warnings, which only made them more intriguing.
But the maps? Oh, the maps. They were the real stars of the show. Beautifully done, they weren't just dry technical diagrams or boring overland routes. No, these maps felt alive, with close-up details of trails and winding paths that made you feel like you were already there. The artistry behind them was as much a treat as the information itself.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
The Woodline Trail as well seemed to be an area pretty close, if not part of the Western Thickets. 'It looks like Eryngo had a particular interest in the area. Maybe I can convince them to go check it out sometime?'
It was about that time I had an idea. A silly, not-so-smart-in-hindsight kind of idea. 'What if I Echoed both Iron and Tan at the same time?'
Spoiler alert: the experience wasn't great. Not the absolute worst thing I've ever done, but definitely not something I'm planning to repeat anytime soon. It took forever, way longer than it would have if I'd just done them one at a time.
It was like staying up until 3 a.m. to cram for a test, only to realize you've been reading the same sentence over and over again without actually processing any of it. It was like staying up until 3 a.m. to cram for a test, only to realize you've been reading the same sentence over and over again without actually processing any of it.
Oh, and did I mention? It was like staying up until 3 a.m. to cram for a test, only to realize you've been reading the same sentence over and over again without actually processing any of it.
'Ow. I don't think I'll be doing that again. Ow. Ow.' The bookache that followed was the cherry on top of an already terrible idea. My metaphorical spine throbbed like it had been used as a bookmark for an anvil.
Lesson learned: multitasking might seem efficient, but for a book? It's definitely not worth the pain. 'Well, not yet anyway.'
The contents of the two books I'd Echoed couldn't have been more different. On one hand, there was Tan, whose actual title was The Care and Feeding of Exotic Hounds. It was written by some high-born enthusiast who was, apparently, the undisputed expert on rare and magical hounds. And boy, did they want you to know it.
The tone was formal and dripping with condescension, like they'd reluctantly decided to share their infinite wisdom with the unworthy masses. The pages were stuffed with elaborate terminology, overly detailed instructions, and frequent humblebrags about the author's superior breeding stock. While it was definitely informative—if you ever needed to feed or groom a magical hound, this was your book—it often veered into outright self-aggrandizement. Honestly, it felt like the author thought of themselves as a gift to the entire field of magical hound care.
On the other hand, Tales from the Ironwood—the true name of the Iron rhythm (mental self-high five for getting that right)—was an entirely different vibe. It was a collection of myths, legends, and cautionary tales all centered around the Ironwood, a dense and mysterious forest. The stories wove together themes of danger, wonder, and the occasional lesson on what not to do if you wanted to live to see another day. And wouldn't you know it? The Ironwood just so happened to be near the Western Thickets.
The two books couldn't have been more opposite if they tried. One was a pompous instruction manual for the elite, while the other was a treasure trove of regional folklore and eerie legends.
If I'd been capable of sighing, I would've. 'At least now I know never to Echo two wildly different books at the same time again. My poor pages are still recovering.'
After the whole double Echoing fiasco, I decided I deserved a break. No more trying to cram two wildly different books into my metaphorical brain at the same time. Instead, I spent some time chatting with Cuttle and… well, I made a bit of an odd request.
Through the text filling my pages, I asked him to put stuff in me. You know, a leaf, some dirt, or—if they ended up in a fight—a bit of fur or a drop of blood. 'Totally normal, not weird at all, right?'
I think the blood part weirded him out a little. Just a bit. He didn't say anything outright, but the slight hesitation in his movements told me everything I needed to know. Thankfully, they didn't seem to get into any fights, so that particular request went untested. Occasionally, though, Cuttle would slip some plant material into my pages—leaves, bits of bark, stuff like that.
Every time he did, I tried to Analyze it. I mean, that's what you're supposed to do when you're a book with a fancy System skill, right? Except… nothing happened. Not a single thing. It was like the skill didn't even recognize that there was anything there.
To be fair, I couldn't actually see what they looked like. Or smell them. Or feel their texture beyond their faint outlines pressed between my pages. They were just… there. Present but frustratingly unreachable.
Time for another distraction. This time, I turned my attention to the Reddish-Brown rhythm: Beasts Beyond the Borders. The topic? Local monsters.
The book itself was a sparse but practical bestiary, clearly written with survival in mind. The author's tone was brisk and pragmatic, no fluff or unnecessary details—just what you needed to know to stay alive. Identifying features, behavioral patterns, and solid advice for avoiding or escaping encounters. No deep dives into biology or mystical origins, and the illustrations were few and far between. It wasn't some grand academic piece; it was a survival guide for travelers and adventurers who had the misfortune of running into something they really, really shouldn't have.
And honestly? It was a lot of fun to Echo. The sheer variety of creatures was fascinating. Some were horrifyingly dangerous, others just strange or unsettling, and a few… well, I wouldn't exactly call them cute, but I could see someone thinking they were interesting in a "look-but-don't-touch" kind of way.
What really blew my mind was how many of these creatures had apparently been brought here by the System. And that wasn't even counting dungeon monsters or those that had evolved over time. This place was a patchwork of ecosystems and species from who-knows-how-many different worlds, all thrown together and left to adapt or perish.
It was hard not to get caught up in the wonder of it all. Sure, some of these beasts could probably kill a person in the blink of an eye, but there was something incredible about the fact that they existed at all.
Between all of that, we finally arrived in Zyme. From what Cuttle said it was a mostly martial city in design. Mostly a hub for trade and at a crossroads between some major cities and dungeons. A great place for adventurers to meet up, according to the guides. With hope, maybe even get a new party member. An Initiate, from Earth.
Experience: 6.27/100