{Chapter: 232: Confession}
Although the number of books on the second floor was considerably smaller than that on the first, they were much more heavily protected. As a result, Dex found that downloading and deciphering their contents took just as long—if not longer—than the previous layer.
The protective enchantments were more complex, layered with intricate magical traps and encrypted energy signatures designed to ward off unauthorized readers. It took Dex a full month of careful work, threading his mental tentacles through a maze of magical circuitry, to crack all of them and fully extract the knowledge hidden within.
---
The Third Floor.
This level marked a clear turning point in the library's layout and purpose. Here, the collection shifted from miscellaneous knowledge and strange theories to something more structured and systematic. Basic skill books for a wide array of professions began to appear—swordsmanship manuals, introductory magical theory, alchemy primers, archery guides, and more.
Although most of the books weren't considered particularly rare or advanced, their prices were still prohibitively high for the average person. For commoners and fledgling adventurers, purchasing such a book outright was nearly impossible.
That's why many low- to mid-level professionals gathered in this corner of the library, where the books could be rented and studied for a nominal fee. For many of them, this was the only affordable opportunity to access formal training material. Without this public resource, countless aspiring warriors, mages, and craftsmen would never have found a starting point.
After all, not everyone is lucky enough to be born into a family with wealth or noble lineage. Not everyone can afford a skilled mentor.
However, even here, learning wasn't easy. Many of the individuals huddled in these corners came from humble, even impoverished, backgrounds. A large number of them were functionally illiterate. Books, to them, were more foreign than monsters. Even when handed a skill manual, many would frown in confusion, squinting at the strange words as if trying to decipher ancient ruins. For them, reading was a skill they were learning while simultaneously trying to absorb combat techniques. It was like trying to swim while reading a book on how to swim.
Most resorted to the crude illustrations within the books for understanding. If a diagram showed a sword slashing from right to left, they would mimic the motion directly. Their interpretation was a mix of mimicking and guesswork.
In many cases, the results were bizarre hybrids of actual techniques and personal improvisation. The finished product depended entirely on luck. Sometimes their self-taught methods ended up surprisingly effective—tailored to their own strengths and quirks. Other times, they were utterly useless or even dangerous to the user.
"Damn it! What does this word even mean?!"
Dex heard the frustrated growl of a nearby man, who was practically tearing his hair out while staring at the open book on his lap. Glancing around, Dex noticed that this scene was not uncommon. In fact, it seemed to be the norm.
Most of the readers looked like monkeys with lice—scratching their heads, muttering to themselves, or mouthing words silently in vain attempts to understand.
Some were clearly stronger than others, probably mid-tier professionals in the level 5 to 6 range, yet they still wore the same expression of mental constipation. It was as if the books had stabbed them in the brain multiple times.
Dex even had the fleeting thought that if comprehension could be gained by taking a few physical stabs, many of them might line up to be pierced—so desperate were they to understand the contents. Fortunately, most adventurers had robust vitality. A few minor injuries were not fatal.
Dex's appearance, naturally, did not go unnoticed. His attire, poise, and subtle aura marked him clearly as someone of higher status—a refined and seasoned professional. It was obvious to everyone in the room that he didn't belong among the struggling novices.
Still, no one dared to speak to him. No one questioned him or approached. Most simply inched away subtly, shifting their seats or standing slightly further from him. It wasn't fear, but discomfort—an unspoken acknowledgment of the vast social and professional gap between them.
Dex, for his part, paid them no mind. He was used to these kinds of reactions.
He quietly pulled a random book off the shelf and began to leaf through it.
[Galite Style – Basic Swordsmanship]
The title was straightforward, and the contents matched. The manual described fundamental sword-handling techniques for the Galite martial tradition—simple strikes, basic parries, stance corrections, and movement drills.
Dex read it calmly.
Although most of his focus remained on bypassing the protective enchantments laced into the pages, he couldn't help absorbing the actual content. Years of training had made it second nature for him to commit useful information to his vast memory as he went.
Even though he had never specialized in swordplay—and in truth, didn't particularly like weapons—Dex had no trouble understanding the material. His body was that of a martial artist, a bare-knuckle brawler who enjoyed cracking skulls with nothing but the strength of his fists. He was more street brawler than knight, more beast than warrior.
But swordplay, like all physical combat arts, followed predictable patterns. The muscles and bones involved, the angles of attack and leverage, the timing—it was all physics, strategy, and adaptation. The basic mechanics were simple. He understood it all at a glance, and after a few minutes of idle thought, he was already reimagining and optimizing the techniques in his mind.
In the end, whether it was swordsmanship, spearplay, or unarmed combat, the goal was the same: use your body to deliver maximum force to a target in the most efficient and lethal way.
Strip away the flowery names and flashy movements, and every technique boiled down to a simple question: how fast, how accurate, and how lethal can you be?
For Dex, those three principles formed the core of his style.
Fast. Accurate. Ruthless. Then vanish.
That was his way.
He never wasted energy on flashy flourishes unless he was humiliating a weak opponent for amusement. In real combat, there was no room for theatrics. Either he would fight head-on with everything he had, strike from the shadows with something dirty, or escape the moment things turned sour.
These were the only three options Dex respected—and he had no shame in choosing any of them.
He smirked quietly to himself as he flipped the page.
Let the others wrestle with the alphabet. He was here for something else.
And this was just the beginning.
---
Two Months Later
With a calm, almost mechanical motion, Dex closed the thick book in his hands and returned it neatly to its original place on the shelf. The soft sound of parchment settling back into line echoed faintly through the quiet hall of the library.
Then, without rushing, he turned his gaze toward a young girl standing not too far away.
She had been loitering in his periphery for a while now—two days, to be exact. Dex wasn't oblivious. Her presence was subtle, her glances discreet, but her curiosity was obvious to someone as alert and perceptive as he was.
She was pretty, no doubt about it. Delicate features framed by light brown hair, and her clothing—clean, well-fitted, and stitched with the kind of fine thread only wealth could buy—suggested that she came from a decent background. Based on the faint pulse of energy she emitted, Dex estimated she was a level 4 professional, still climbing the lower rungs of power.
But more importantly, he had sensed no malicious intent from her.
And so, while he had noticed her observing him, Dex hadn't bothered to address it. He was focused on collecting knowledge—downloading everything he could from the books that lined this library's third floor. There was no point in diverting attention from his goal over something trivial.
Now, however, he had completed his objectives.
He had downloaded, recorded, and internalized everything useful. At last, his schedule had a gap.
So he spoke.
"What's the matter?" Dex asked casually, his voice low but not cold. It was calm and measured—neither friendly nor hostile, simply the neutral tone one used with strangers.
Startled at being addressed, the girl blushed slightly. She hesitated, her gaze flickering between Dex's face and the floor. Then, almost as if forcing the words out before she could lose her nerve, she stammered in a voice barely above a whisper, "Um… can you tell me your name?"
It was the tone of someone dipping their toes into the unpredictable waters of a teenage crush—nervous, hopeful, and vulnerable all at once.
Dex scratched the back of his head absentmindedly and answered in his usual straightforward manner. "Dex. That's my name."
As simple as that.
Hearing his reply, her eyes lit up, a little spark of joy dancing within them. With a bit more confidence this time, she followed up quickly, "My name's Evanka. Are you… married?"
Her voice trembled slightly with the boldness of the question. To her, asking such a thing outright was daring—something she'd likely rehearsed in her mind countless times.
Dex shook his head. "No," he said flatly.
She seemed to grow more nervous as she became aware of the growing number of people around them. Curious bystanders had started to pay attention. Whether openly watching or sneakily eavesdropping from behind bookshelves, they were all waiting to see how the scene would unfold.
Feeling the pressure, Evanka's heart pounded in her chest. Emboldened by adrenaline, she blurted out without thinking, "Then… can I be the one?"
Her voice echoed a little too loudly in the quiet space, and immediately after the words left her mouth, her expression crumpled in regret.
Too forward! she scolded herself internally. He's going to think I'm shameless…
Dex, however, remained unmoved. His answer came with the same brutal honesty he applied to everything.
"No. My family background is very troublesome."
"Ah?"
Evanka blinked, caught off guard. She had been preparing for rejection, but the word troublesome threw her off. What did he mean by that? Did he have enemies? Was it a cursed bloodline? Or something even more complicated?
She tried to figure it out, but the gears in her mind refused to turn quickly enough under the weight of embarrassment. In the end, she gave up trying to understand.
Throwing caution to the wind now—after all, she'd already ruined the moment—she asked one more question with a voice full of nervous determination.
"What about being your… girlfriend?"
This time, her tone was quieter, almost a plea. A final attempt.
Dex didn't hesitate. "No. Still too troublesome. I prefer relationships where I can use someone for what I need and then say goodbye."
"!"
The bluntness hit like a hammer.
There was no sugarcoating. No soft landing. Just a raw, unfiltered truth dropped like a rock into still water.
Gasps could be heard all around as the spectators registered the sheer audacity of what he had said. People who had been pretending not to listen could no longer hold back their shock.
It wasn't just Evanka who stood frozen in place, stunned by the honesty. Even those watching—whether they admired him or not—were caught off guard.
Some were offended. Others… impressed.
Not far away, a young man who had been eavesdropping whispered to himself in awe.
"Is this the mindset of the strong…? His power isn't just in his body—it's in his will. To speak so plainly, without fear of judgment…"
He originally wanted to mutter something crude or dismissive, but he stopped himself. The presence of Dex, the sheer weight of his aura, silenced those kinds of thoughts.
He felt small. Submissive.
Dex, for his part, wasn't bothered in the slightest. Seeing the flustered and horrified girl before him, and the way the crowd had begun to stir with gossip, he simply shook his head with mild exasperation.
He turned away without another word and walked out of the library at a steady pace.
Let them talk. Let them stare.
In his eyes, attraction was never gender-exclusive. Not only men could be lured by lust or beauty—women too were victims of sudden desire, drawn in by appearances and fantasies stirred by hormones and instinct.
Love, after all, often came crashing in not with reason or planning, but with the foolish impulse of youth.