Chapter 1: The Rain, The Rot, and The Inheritance (Part 2)
The interior of the carriage was warmer than the shack, but it felt infinitely colder.
It was lined with crushed velvet the color of dried blood. The seats were soft, stuffed with goose down, a luxury that would have cost a family in the Outer Rim a year's worth of wages. Yet, to the two knights sitting opposite him, this was merely transportation.
Ren sat in the corner, his small body barely making a dent in the cushions. He did not look out the window. There was nothing to see but the streaking rain and the receding darkness of the slums. Instead, he watched the knights.
He observed them with the detached curiosity of a scientist studying a new species of predator.
Knight A: Helmet removed. Short cropped brown hair. Scar running down the left cheek. Chewing tobacco. Bored.
Knight B: Helmet on. Tapping his gauntleted finger against the hilt of his sword. Impatient.
They didn't speak to him. To them, he was baggage. A bastard born of a mistake, retrieved only because the Duke hated loose ends.
Ren closed his eyes.
He needed to understand what had just happened to him. The weight in his hand was gone, but the weight in his mind was crushing. He focused on the sensation in his right palm, on the tattoo that Elara had called a "burden."
Focus, he commanded himself. Look inward.
The transition was instant.
One moment, he was feeling the vibration of the carriage wheels on the cobblestones. The next, the world dropped away. The smell of wet wool and tobacco vanished, replaced by the scent of old parchment, dry dust, and ozone.
Ren opened his eyes—or rather, his mental projection's eyes.
He was standing on a floor of polished black obsidian. Above him, there was no sky, only a swirling gray mist that pulsed with a faint, rhythmic light, like a sleeping heartbeat.
And in front of him… were the shelves.
Ren had to crane his neck back until it hurt. The shelves were made of a dark, heavy wood that seemed to absorb the light. They towered upwards, hundreds of meters high, disappearing into the gray mist above. They stretched to the left and right, endless, vanishing into the horizon.
It was a canyon. A canyon made of books.
"This…" Ren whispered, his voice echoing in the absolute silence. "This is the Archive."
He began to walk. The sound of his footsteps on the obsidian was the only noise in this dead world.
The books were not uniform. Some were thick, bound in dragon leather with iron clasps. Some were thin, fragile scrolls. Some seemed to be made of stone tablets. Others were vibrating, chained to the shelves as if they were trying to escape.
He approached the nearest shelf, labeled with a golden plaque: [ Row 1: The Mortal Foundations ].
He reached out to touch a thick, red book.
ZAP.
A spark of black lightning jumped from the spine of the book, stinging his finger. He recoiled.
[ System Alert ]
[ Access Denied. ]
[ Reason: Insufficient Mana Capacity. ]
[ Required Tier: Bronze. ]
[ Current Tier: None (Mortal Civilian). ]
Ren frowned. He looked at the next book.
[ Access Denied. ]
[ Reason: Insufficient Strength Stat. ]
He walked down the line, trailing his hand in the air near the spines. Denied. Denied. Denied.
It was a treasury of gods, and he was a beggar without a key.
"Mother said I was the Warden," Ren muttered. "A Warden has keys."
He stopped. At the very beginning of the first shelf, resting on a small pedestal separate from the others, was a simple, gray book. It had no chains. No lightning. It looked ordinary, almost boring compared to the grimoires surrounding it.
The title was embossed in faded silver: The Manual of Basic Survival.
Ren reached out. This time, there was no pain. His hand passed through a cool membrane, and he grasped the spine.
He pulled the book out.
It was heavy. As he opened the cover, he didn't see pages of text.
He saw a hole.
The page was a window looking down into a swirling vortex. Inside the vortex, floating in the void, were thousands of tiny, glowing chests. They looked like jewelry boxes, some wooden, some iron, some glowing with faint lights.
[ You have opened 'The Manual of Basic Survival'. ]
[ Contents: 1,500,000 Low-Grade Pandora Chests. ]
[ Availability: 1 Free Draw per 24 Hours. ]
[ Additional Draws Cost: 10 Years of Life Force OR 100 Gold Coins. ]
Ren's eyes narrowed. Life Force? The cost was steep. But the "Free Draw" caught his attention.
"I need power," Ren said to the empty library. "I am going into the lion's den. I cannot be a sheep."
He reached his hand into the open book, into the swirling vortex on the page.
It felt like dipping his hand into ice water. He groped around in the void until his fingers brushed against cold wood. He grabbed it and pulled.
He withdrew his hand. Holding a small, wooden chest, roughly the size of a fist. It was rot-resistant oak, bound with rusted iron.
[ Item: Common Rusty Chest ]
[ Open? Y/N ]
"Yes," Ren commanded.
The rusted latch clicked. The lid creaked open. A flash of white light blinded him for a second.
[ Congratulations! ]
[ You have opened a Common Rusty Chest. ]
[ Reward Obtained: Skill Book - 'Analytical Eye' (Rank F). ]
[ Reward Obtained: Vitality Potion (Low Grade) x1. ]
A small, thin booklet and a vial of red liquid materialized in his hands.
Ren didn't hesitate. He crushed the Skill Book in his hand (a common method to learn skills in this world). The book dissolved into particles of light and shot into his forehead.
A sharp headache spiked behind his eyes, then faded, leaving the world looking… sharper. clearer.
[ Skill Learned: Analytical Eye (Passive/Active) ]
[ Description: Allows the user to see basic information about objects and living beings up to 5 levels above the user. ]
"Useful," Ren murmured. He pocketed the potion in his mind (which meant it would appear in his inventory or physical pocket when he woke up).
He looked up at the endless shelves again. Millions of books. Billions of chests. And this was just one book.
"Who collected all of this?" he wondered. "And what happens if the chains on the other books break?"
He felt a sudden lurch. The carriage was stopping.
[ System Alert ]
[ Leaving Mental Dimension... ]
Ren opened his physical eyes.
The carriage had come to a halt. The rain was still falling, but the sound was different now. It wasn't hitting wood; it was hitting stone.
"Out," the knight with the scar grunted, kicking the door open.
Ren stepped out.
He wasn't in the slums anymore.
He stood in a massive courtyard paved with white marble that gleamed wetly under the light of mana-lamps. In front of him stood the Arken Estate. It wasn't a house; it was a fortress disguised as a palace.
Towers spiraled into the night sky, topped with gargoyles that looked disturbingly alive. The windows were tall and arched, glowing with the warm, golden light of magical heating—a stark contrast to the cold darkness Ren was used to.
Servants in crisp black-and-white uniforms were rushing about, ignoring the rain, attending to the horses.
"Move," the knight shoved Ren's shoulder.
Ren stumbled slightly but caught his balance. He didn't glare. He just activated his new skill.
Analytical Eye.
[ Name: Sir Garrett ]
[ Race: Human ]
[ Class: Heavy Knight ]
[ Rank: Silver (Low) ]
[ Condition: Irritated, Fatigued. ]
Silver Rank, Ren noted. Far beyond me. If I fight, I die instantly.
They marched him up the grand staircase. The massive oak doors, carved with the history of the Arken lineage, swung open.
The warmth hit him first. It smelled of lavender, roasted meat, and polished wood.
They entered the Grand Foyer. It was a cavernous hall with a chandelier made of mana-crystals hanging from the ceiling. A red carpet stretched from the door to a double staircase.
Standing in the center of the hall was a line of people.
Ren stopped. He was dripping wet. Mud from the slums was still caked on his boots, staining the pristine white marble floor. He looked like a rat that had crawled out of a sewer and into a dining hall.
A man stepped forward. He was tall, thin, and wore a butler's tailcoat that fit him perfectly. His hair was white and slicked back, his face a mask of professional indifference.
[ Name: Alfred Pennysworth (Head Butler) ]
[ Rank: Gold (High) ]
[ Danger Level: Extreme ]
Ren's internal alarm bells rang. Gold High? A butler is stronger than the knights?
"So," Alfred said, looking down his nose at Ren. "This is the... boy."
"Yes, Sir Alfred," the knight bowed respectfully. "Ren Arken. Retrieved as ordered."
Alfred inspected Ren. He looked at the muddy boots, the ragged tunic, the pale skin. He didn't look at Ren's face; he looked at him like one would look at a stain on a tablecloth.
"Take him to the Servant's Quarters in the West Wing," Alfred commanded, waving a gloved hand dismissively. "The Master is dining. He does not wish to have his appetite ruined by the sight of... filth."
Ren didn't react. He expected this. In fact, he preferred it. Distance meant safety.
But before the knights could grab him, a voice rang out from the top of the stairs.
"Wait."
It was a young voice, arrogant and sharp.
Ren looked up.
Standing on the balcony of the second floor was a boy about Ren's age, perhaps thirteen. He wore a tunic of blue silk embroidered with silver thread. He had the same black hair as Ren, but his eyes were blue, not grey. He looked healthy, well-fed, and bored.
[ Name: Caelum Arken ]
[ Status: 3rd Son of Duke Arken ]
[ Rank: Iron (High) ]
[ Disposition: Cruel, Spoiled. ]
Caelum leaned over the railing, a cruel smile playing on his lips.
"Is this my new brother?" Caelum laughed. "He looks like a goblin. Hey, Bastard! Do you know how to talk? Or do you only bark?"
The servants in the hall tittered quietly, terrified to offend the young lord.
Ren looked up. He met Caelum's blue eyes with his own calm, grey ones. He felt the Bibliotheca humming in his mind, the weight of a million demons resting behind his eyes.
"I can speak," Ren said softly. His voice carried clearly through the hall, steady and unafraid.
Caelum's smile faltered for a second. He expected fear. He expected tears. He didn't expect the dead calm of a predator.
"Cheeky," Caelum sneered. "Alfred, change of plans. Put him in the Old Kennel. If he wants to live like a dog, let him sleep like one."
Alfred bowed low. "As you wish, Young Master Caelum."
The knights grabbed Ren's arms, harder this time.
"To the Kennel," the knight growled.
Ren didn't resist. He allowed himself to be dragged away, leaving muddy footprints on the marble.
The Old Kennel, Ren thought. A place outside. Cold. Isolated. Good. No one will watch me there. I can explore the Archive.
As he was dragged out the side door, into the rain once more, Ren allowed a very small, very cold smile to touch his lips.
They think they are punishing me, he thought. They are just giving me time to reload.
End of Chapter 1 - Part 2
Summary of Events:
System Unlock: Ren enters the mental Archive. He realizes the limitation (Tier requirements) but finds the "Manual of Basic Survival."
First Draw: He uses his daily free draw to get a Common Rusty Chest, obtaining the "Analytical Eye" skill and a potion.
Arrival: He arrives at the Arken Estate, contrasting his poverty with their wealth.
Conflict: He meets Alfred (Head Butler) and Caelum (Half-brother).
Outcome: Instead of a room, he is thrown into an old dog kennel. Ren sees this as a tactical advantage (privacy).