CHAPTER 26: CROWN, CLOTH, AND CATASTROPHES

  FIELD NOTE:

  If someone calls you precious, check if you are being eaten.

  We never made it to our “comfortable quarters.”

  We made it to catastrophe.

  Now the ruined shrine outside Vatica had to hold the aftermath, the smoke, and all the feelings we did not have time to process.

  Lyra was mid-explosion.

  Mina was mid-explosion.

  I was still in a two-kisses brain crash.

  Roth stood at the entrance like a door that had decided to become a person.

  Pyon looked proud of being alive.

  Valeblade whispered like he had just watched the funniest play in history.

  “Perfect,” he murmured, satisfied.

  Roth turned his head just enough to remind us reality existed.

  “Quiet,” he said again, sharper this time.

  A shout echoed in the distance.

  Holy city alarms. Steel on stone. Panic rolling like thunder behind the walls.

  Lyra’s jaw clenched so hard it looked painful.

  Mina’s hands trembled on her symbol.

  I wiped my cheeks with the back of my sleeve like that would erase the situation.

  It did not.

  Valeblade whispered, “Do not wipe it off. It will make them angrier.”

  “Shut up,” Lyra and Mina snapped in the same breath.

  Valeblade sounded pleased. “Yes. Exactly. Like that.”

  Roth pointed with his chin toward the canal reeds where the grated outlet waited.

  “We have passes,” he said. “We have a binding confession. We have a vault legally won in front of witnesses.”

  Lyra stared at him. “Legally.”

  Roth didn’t blink. “Yes.”

  Mina swallowed hard. “We can’t just take it.”

  Roth’s voice stayed calm. “We can. The Host’s Word was binding. The crowd heard it. If the Church denies the wager, they admit their own compulsion ritual was false.”

  Lyra exhaled a laugh with zero joy. “So we’re going to loot the pope.”

  Valeblade whispered, dreamy, “Finally.”

  Mina flinched at pope like it burned.

  My brain finally kicked into gear.

  Zorath escaped.

  The holy city was chaos.

  If we left now, the Church would seal everything and bury every record under ten layers of incense and denial.

  If we went back in now, while everyone above was screaming, we could strip that vault like it owed us blood.

  My lockbox hummed once, steady.

  Do it.

  I nodded.

  “We take proof,” I said. “We take materials. We take anything that shows the star-circle system. We do not take random pilgrim offerings.”

  Lyra stared at me. “You’re making ethical rules for a demon vault heist.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  Lyra blinked. “That’s insane.”

  Roth said, “Good.”

  Mina breathed out slowly. “Okay.”

  Valeblade whispered, “Can we take the velvet chair.”

  “No,” Mina hissed instantly.

  Valeblade whispered, offended, “Coward.”

  Pyon blinked.

  …chair?

  “No,” I whispered.

  Pyon seemed disappointed on principle.

  We went back in.

  The tunnel under the basilica wall still smelled like wet stone and incense that had learned how to rot.

  We moved fast.

  No talking.

  No light except Lyra’s minimal heat glow and Mina’s symbol kept dim.

  Roth in front.

  Me in the middle.

  Mina and Lyra flanking.

  Pyon blinking ahead and back like a scout with anxiety.

  Valeblade stayed silent for almost a full minute, which was suspicious.

  We reached the hatch under the summoning circle rug and climbed back into the lounge.

  It looked even worse without stage lights.

  Loot stacked like a shrine to greed.

  Trophies mounted like a hunter’s ego wall.

  Crates stamped with Church seals that should not have been in a demon general’s private room.

  Lyra made a face. “I want to vomit and set it on fire.”

  Mina’s voice was tight. “We need evidence.”

  Roth scanned the room. “Fast.”

  My craft brain woke up hungry and focused.

  “Inventory pass,” I said. “Priority list.”

  Lyra blinked. “You have a priority list for looting.”

  “Yes,” I said. “I’m a professional now.”

  Valeblade whispered, “He is a loot goblin with standards.”

  Mina hissed, “You’re also a loot goblin.”

  Valeblade whispered, pleased, “Yes. That is what I said.”

  I went for documents first.

  Because gold is heavy and paper is lethal.

  I pulled open a chest that looked like jewelry.

  It was ledgers.

  Actual ledgers.

  Thick, ink-heavy, with names and dates and donation totals that made my stomach tighten.

  The top page read:

  INDULGENCE COLLECTIONS

  WARD MAINTENANCE ALLOCATIONS

  SPECIAL STAGE EXPENSES

  Stage expenses.

  I flipped.

  Payments labeled with little star-circle stamps.

  “Maintenance shipments” that matched the charm fragments we’d found.

  Bribes.

  Sealed orders.

  And names.

  Names that were not priests.

  Names that were academy.

  Names that were Crown adjacent.

  Names that had no business sitting in Church ink at all.

  My Detective skill pulsed like a bruise.

  This is bigger than one demon.

  Roth leaned in, saw one line, and his eyes sharpened.

  “We take all of it,” he said.

  I shoved the ledgers into my inventory.

  My system chimed.

  [ITEM STORED]

  Indulgence Ledger Set (Evidence)

  Warning: Contains divine-tagged seals

  Lyra grabbed a crate and cracked it open with heat.

  Inside were blue-veined metal ingots, wrapped in cloth.

  She recoiled like it was alive.

  “Contaminated alloy,” she spat.

  Mina raised her symbol and Purified the crate edges.

  The blue veins hissed and dimmed. Not gone. Quieter.

  “Seal it,” Mina whispered.

  I crafted on instinct.

  Seal strip.

  Resin.

  Wax stamp.

  [CRAFTING SUCCESS]

  Contamination Seal Wrap (Uncommon)

  Effect: prevents spread (Minor)

  I wrapped the ingots and shoved them into inventory too.

  Roth found relic weapons.

  Not holy relics.

  Loot relics. Stolen from villages and monster dens and maybe dead adventurers.

  He piled them in a corner, then started selecting like a commander picking soldiers.

  “Keep,” he said, grabbing a shield core with anti-corrosion runes.

  “Keep,” he said, grabbing a box of ward rune chalk.

  “Leave,” he said, kicking a jeweled goblet away like it offended him personally.

  Lyra opened another chest and screamed, “WHY IS THERE SO MUCH CASH.”

  It was literal stacks of minted coin. Bags and bags. Enough to buy half a town.

  Valeblade whispered, “Yes. Let the greed flow.”

  Lyra snapped, “I am not greedy.”

  Valeblade whispered, “You are screaming about cash.”

  Lyra hissed and stuffed coins into a sack anyway.

  Mina found a small velvet box and froze.

  Inside was a ring.

  Simple. Plain.

  A faint star-circle etched inside the band like a private joke.

  Mina’s face went pale.

  “He wore this,” she whispered.

  Roth’s voice was flat. “Evidence.”

  Mina’s hands shook.

  I stepped closer, careful. “Mina.”

  She swallowed and closed the box.

  “We take it,” she said, voice cracking. “I want proof. I want every piece of proof.”

  Lyra’s eyes softened for one beat, then hardened again. “Good.”

  My lockbox hummed in my pack like it approved.

  Then Valeblade spoke again, almost casual.

  “You’re wondering why I’ve been so quiet.”

  Lyra snapped, “Yes.”

  Mina snapped, “Yes.”

  I snapped, “Yes.”

  Valeblade sounded offended. “I was muted.”

  “Mina’s suppression?” I asked.

  Valeblade whispered, “Not just Mina. The holy wards. The Host’s stage. Every time I tried to speak, the city tried to interpret it as confession.”

  Lyra blinked. “That’s hilarious.”

  Valeblade whispered, wounded, “It was not hilarious. I am not a sinner.”

  Mina stared at him. “You are literally bound to me because you were unsellable.”

  Valeblade whispered, “That was a strategic choice.”

  Lyra laughed.

  Roth didn’t. He pointed at the summoning circle carved into the floor.

  “Do we destroy it,” he asked.

  Mina’s symbol glowed brighter.

  Lyra’s hands flared.

  I looked at the circle.

  Not paint.

  Carved.

  Fed.

  A conduit.

  If we tried to destroy it now, we would make noise. We would drag every guard and cultist in the city down onto our heads.

  Roth already knew that.

  He was asking to hear it.

  “Not now,” I said. “We take the ledger. We take a rubbing.”

  I crouched with charcoal and oilcloth.

  Star-circle marks hid in the circle seam.

  I rubbed hard.

  The pattern appeared clean.

  Proof of exact runework.

  Then I took one thing I didn’t want to take but needed.

  A sample.

  One vial, sealed, with a smear of blue residue scraped from the circle edge and immediately wrapped in contamination seal.

  It hissed faintly like it hated being contained.

  [ITEM STORED]

  Blue Residue Sample (Hazard)

  Warning: Authority-tagged contamination

  Lyra stared at the vial like she wanted to throw it into the sun.

  Mina whispered, “It’s real.”

  Roth said, “We leave.”

  We left.

  Fast.

  We dropped back through the hatch, down the tunnel, out through the grate, into reeds, and away from the holy walls before anyone could decide we were a convenient scapegoat.

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  Behind us, Vatica screamed.

  Ahead of us, the road waited.

  And in my inventory, a demon general’s financial records sat next to a sealed blue vial like they were both normal loot.

  Nothing about my life was normal.

  Getting back to Verena should have taken days.

  It did not.

  Because the Church built a holy highway for water.

  And we had just stolen the map.

  We reached the aqueduct access and found the inspection skiff still hidden under brush where we left it.

  It looked innocent.

  Nothing that moves water uphill is innocent.

  Kenta logic: downhill means fast.

  We shoved the skiff in.

  The main current grabbed it like a fist and yanked us forward.

  We shot through the tunnel like an arrow through a throat.

  Lyra sat rigid, glaring at the runes like hatred could disinfect stone.

  Mina held the letter case and stared into the water like she expected to see Orsino’s face in it.

  Roth stayed forward, shield across his knees, posture steady.

  Pyon curled beside me and looked smug.

  …boat fast

  “Yes,” I whispered. “Boat fast.”

  The tunnel tried one last time to remind us it was alive.

  A cluster of wardwater leeches dropped from the ceiling.

  Lyra roasted them mid-air.

  Mina Purified the residue.

  Roth didn’t even shift.

  Then the tunnel spat us out near Verena’s ravine outlet, moonlight hitting our faces like a slap.

  We hid the skiff.

  We ran the rest of the way on foot.

  By sunrise, we were at the capital gates.

  Verena’s guards saw our crests, our dirt, our bloodstains, and the way Roth walked like he had already decided where the fight would be.

  They didn’t ask questions.

  They opened the gate.

  The Crown Office was quieter than it should have been.

  It always is.

  Quiet is how power breathes.

  We were ushered through corridors with too-clean stone and too-polite guards and led into the same room where we had turned in evidence before.

  The investigator was there.

  Same thin smile.

  Same careful eyes.

  He looked up.

  Then he saw Mina’s face.

  Then the Church letter case in her hands.

  Then the sealed contamination vial in my grip.

  His smile died.

  “What did you do,” he asked softly.

  Lyra answered instantly. “We won a pope in a gambling match.”

  The investigator blinked.

  Roth spoke, flat and precise. “Demon General Zorath infiltrated the Holy See under identity: Pope Orsino. He confessed publicly under binding Host Word ritual. He escaped. We recovered evidence.”

  The investigator stared at Roth.

  Then at me.

  Then at Mina like she might explain why reality was broken.

  Mina opened the letter case and slid the papers out.

  Royal seals.

  Witness documents.

  Rubbings.

  Ledgers.

  The investigator’s hand trembled as he took the first ledger.

  He read one line.

  Then another.

  Then his face went very still.

  A scribe behind him dropped a quill.

  Ink splattered on the floor like a minor disaster trying to keep up with the major one.

  Lyra said, “Yes. That’s the correct reaction.”

  The investigator spoke again, slow.

  “This,” he said, “is a holy war.”

  Roth’s voice didn’t change. “It is infiltration.”

  Mina whispered, “It’s betrayal.”

  I set the sealed blue vial on the table.

  Everyone in the room leaned back by instinct.

  The investigator swallowed.

  “Where,” he asked.

  “Under the Holy See,” I said. “In a vault. In a summoning circle. In their water arteries. It climbs.”

  The investigator’s eyes sharpened. “Climbs.”

  Roth nodded. “Uphill.”

  Lyra spread her hands. “Water doing the impossible. Welcome to the new normal.”

  Silence.

  Then the investigator stood so fast his chair scraped.

  “Lock the room,” he snapped.

  Guards moved.

  He looked at us like we were either heroes or walking disasters.

  Probably both.

  “I am escalating this to the Crown Council,” he said. “Immediately.”

  He pointed at Mina.

  “And you will be protected,” he added, voice careful now.

  Mina flinched. “I don’t need protection.”

  The investigator’s smile returned. Not thin now. Grim.

  “You have no idea what you need,” he said.

  He turned to a guard. “Summon the Guild Master. Summon the High Marshal. Summon the Church delegate.”

  Lyra muttered, “This is going to be so loud.”

  Roth said, “Yes.”

  My system vibrated.

  Not a skill.

  A world shift.

  Then it chimed.

  [WORLD EVENT]

  GREAT GENERAL UNMASKED

  Condition met: Public confession obtained

  Condition met: Evidence secured

  Reward pending: Authority response

  Then a cascade.

  [LEVEL UP]

  Kenta: 33 -> 34

  Roth: 32 -> 33

  Lyra: 32 -> 33

  Mina: 27 -> 28

  More chimes kept coming like the system was trying to drown me in dopamine before the politics crushed my soul.

  [QUEST PROGRESS]

  Siphon Network Investigation: Major Node Identified

  Reward: EXP +2,000

  Reward: Skill assimilation boosted for 24 hours

  Lyra stared at her invisible windows and whispered, “I leveled from bureaucracy.”

  Mina whispered, “I hate that.”

  Roth said, “Useful.”

  Valeblade whispered, smug, “I leveled from being right.”

  Mina hissed, “No you didn’t.”

  Valeblade whispered, “I feel stronger.”

  Lyra looked at Mina. “Your sword is lying again.”

  Mina’s eyes narrowed. “He’s always lying.”

  Valeblade whispered, “I am always true to myself.”

  The Church delegate arrived last.

  Of course.

  He wore clean robes, a clean smile, and eyes too tired to be kind.

  He took one look at the evidence spread, one look at Mina, and one look at the sealed vial like it was a serpent.

  Then he did something I didn’t expect.

  He bowed.

  Deep.

  “My apologies,” he said.

  Lyra stared at him. “For what. The demon pope.”

  The delegate’s smile tightened. “For the confusion.”

  Roth’s voice was flat. “Confusion is not the word.”

  The delegate lifted his hands, palms out, calming.

  “The Church grieves,” he said. “The Holy Council has convened. An emergency decree is being issued. To preserve unity.”

  Mina’s breath caught.

  “What decree,” she whispered.

  The delegate’s eyes flicked to her.

  And in that flick, I saw it.

  Relief.

  Not for her.

  For the Church.

  “We will not allow the faithful to despair,” he said smoothly. “We will not allow the Crown to interpret this as fracture.”

  Lyra snorted. “Oh.”

  The delegate inhaled.

  Then he said it.

  “By unanimous decree of the Holy Council,” he announced, “Mina, adopted daughter of Orsino, is named Acting Pontiff of the Light. Until formal election.”

  Silence.

  The room did not breathe.

  Mina stared at him like her brain refused to understand language.

  “I’m,” she whispered, “what.”

  Lyra’s mouth fell open.

  Roth’s eyes narrowed.

  The investigator looked like he’d been punched in the soul.

  Valeblade whispered, delighted, “POPE MINA.”

  Mina turned slowly toward the sword with a look that promised violence.

  Valeblade whispered, “I was always destined for greatness. This is my arc.”

  Mina whispered, “I don’t want this.”

  The delegate smiled gently, like a blade wrapped in silk.

  “The Light chooses,” he said. “The people need a symbol. You were seen with the champions. You were known as Orsino’s candle. And you survived.”

  Mina’s hands shook.

  “You’re using me,” she whispered.

  The delegate’s smile did not change.

  “We are elevating you,” he corrected.

  Lyra took a step forward, fire flickering in her palm. “Try forcing her.”

  Roth’s shield shifted slightly. Not raised. Ready.

  The investigator’s voice went cold. “You will not coerce a citizen of the Crown.”

  The delegate’s gaze flicked between them.

  Then he bowed again.

  “No coercion,” he said. “Only duty.”

  Duty.

  That word weighed a thousand pounds.

  Mina looked at us.

  At Lyra.

  At Roth.

  At me.

  Her eyes were bright with panic and anger and grief.

  Then she swallowed.

  Her voice came out quiet but steady.

  “Fine,” she said. “Acting. For now.”

  The delegate’s smile widened.

  “Blessed,” he said.

  Lyra whispered, “I’m going to kill someone.”

  Roth said, “Not now.”

  Valeblade whispered, “Pope Mina sounds expensive. We should demand a budget.”

  Mina hissed, “I will throw you in the river.”

  Valeblade whispered, “The river climbs. I would come back.”

  The next twelve hours did not belong to us.

  They belonged to the Crown.

  To the Church.

  To the Guild.

  To anyone with a seal and a plan.

  We were paraded again, but this time it wasn’t celebration.

  It was crisis management dressed as honor.

  We were dragged into a council chamber and made to repeat our story three times to three different groups who asked the same questions with different words.

  We were awarded titles in a room that smelled like old paper and fear.

  We were given coin that clinked too loudly.

  We were given permission to train.

  We were told, gently and firmly, not to leave the capital without escort until the Crown understood what it was dealing with.

  Lyra hated that.

  Roth accepted it.

  Mina looked like she was standing on a cliff edge.

  I tried to keep my brain from melting.

  At some point the High Marshal slapped a medal onto Roth’s shoulder, clasped his forearm, and said, “You held a city’s line without panicking.”

  Roth nodded once. “Yes.”

  Lyra was granted a mage tower voucher and the tower master stared at her bracer and said, “Who taught you heat venting.”

  Lyra pointed at me without looking. “Workshop goblin.”

  The tower master blinked. “What.”

  Lyra shrugged. “Long story.”

  Mina was given a white cloak with gold trim.

  Papal trim.

  She held it like it was radioactive.

  The Church delegate smiled and said, “You will wear it at your announcement.”

  Mina smiled back like she was imagining his funeral.

  Then, finally, the investigator looked at me.

  “You,” he said, “have rendered major service to the realm.”

  I waited for the normal reward.

  Coin.

  Voucher.

  Title.

  Instead, he asked, “Any request.”

  My mouth moved before my brain could stop it.

  “Honestly,” I said, “it’s kind of wild that I’ve been stabbed, bitten, scammed by a demon pope, and nobody gave me a cool sword before any of this started.”

  Silence.

  Then Lyra burst out laughing.

  Mina made a sound that was half laugh, half sob.

  Roth’s mouth twitched so slightly it almost didn’t count.

  The investigator stared at me like I had insulted the concept of honor.

  Then he sighed.

  “…we did forget,” he admitted.

  A noble behind him coughed.

  A guard shifted like he wanted to disappear.

  The High Marshal rubbed his forehead.

  “Fine,” the investigator said. “Fine. Bring it.”

  Two armored attendants carried in a long case.

  Not wood.

  Black metal with silver runes and a lock that looked like it belonged on a vault.

  They set it on the table with a heavy thunk.

  My chest tightened.

  The investigator opened the case.

  Light spilled out.

  Not metaphorical.

  Actual light.

  A blade lay inside, impossibly clean, impossibly bright, like sunrise had been hammered into steel.

  White drakehide wrap on the handle.

  Gold guard etched with a tiny starburst.

  A faint glow line down the center of the blade like it was breathing.

  My system did not show a window.

  It screamed.

  [ITEM ACQUIRED]

  ROYAL RELIC: DAWN STANDARD

  Grade: Legendary

  Restriction: Hero Class

  Bind: On Equip

  Effect: Radiant Edge (Holy)

  Effect: Corruption Sever (Major)

  Effect: Auto-Parry Window (Minor)

  Effect: Courage Aura Amplifier (Moderate)

  Effect: Skill Growth Boost while equipped (Minor)

  Durability: High (But not infinite)

  Warning: Overdraw risk if used against Authority-tagged targets

  Lyra stared at the blade like she was offended it existed.

  “That’s,” she whispered, “stupid.”

  Roth’s eyes narrowed. “Useful.”

  Mina stared at the warning line. “Overdraw risk.”

  Valeblade whispered, instantly jealous, “That sword is trying too hard.”

  I lifted it.

  It was lighter than it had any right to be.

  When I swung it gently, it hummed like it was singing to my bones.

  My Hero’s Aura flared automatically.

  The room brightened.

  A few nobles flinched like they’d never seen real power that close.

  I smiled, helpless.

  “Okay,” I whispered. “That is a cool sword.”

  The investigator nodded. “Try not to lose it.”

  Lyra muttered, “He’s going to lose it.”

  Valeblade whispered, “He’s going to break it.”

  I pretended I didn’t hear either.

  Then came training.

  Because we had levels and no time.

  Roth went to the Royal Guard Hall and returned an hour later with an upgraded stance that made the air around him feel heavier.

  [ROTH CLASS ADVANCEMENT]

  New Passive: Bastion Captain

  New Skill: Shield Wall Aura

  New Skill: Counterbrace

  Lyra went to the mage tower, vanished into a room full of angry scholars, and returned with eyes too bright and a grin that looked dangerous.

  [LYRA CLASS ADVANCEMENT]

  New Passive: Pyromancer Core

  New Skill: Flame Thread

  New Skill: Heat Mirage

  Mina was dragged into the cathedral by smiling clergy and emerged with a cloak too heavy and a stare that could peel skin.

  The Church called it blessing.

  Mina called it hostage jewelry.

  [MINA CLASS ADVANCEMENT]

  New Passive: Pontiff’s Grace (Acting)

  New Skill: Mass Purify (Locked behind MP threshold)

  New Skill: Sanctuary Ward (Minor)

  Kenta.

  Me.

  Hero.

  No trainer.

  No hall.

  No tower.

  No priesthood.

  I asked three officials, two guild clerks, and one very confused librarian.

  Every answer was the same.

  “Hero class is… unique.”

  “There is no standardized hero curriculum.”

  “You will discover your path through deeds.”

  Translation.

  Nobody knows what to do with me.

  Lyra laughed in my face.

  “So you’re bored,” she said, delighted. “Good. Suffer.”

  “I have a cool sword,” I said.

  Lyra pointed at it. “That sword is compensating.”

  Valeblade whispered, “It really is.”

  Mina pinched her nose. “Please. Not now.”

  Roth said, “We need information.”

  That sentence saved my sanity.

  Because yes.

  We had loot.

  We had proof.

  We had levels.

  We had titles.

  We had a pope problem.

  We did not have understanding.

  So I did the only useful thing a hero with no trainer can do.

  I went to the library.

  Verena’s Grand Archive was not the mage tower library.

  It was older.

  Stone halls that swallowed sound.

  Shelves that reached high enough to make you feel small.

  Ward lights that glowed softly, like they respected quiet.

  Lyra insisted on giving me a tour because she cannot resist acting like she owns knowledge.

  “You don’t touch anything,” she said as we entered.

  “I’m touching the air,” I said.

  Lyra glared. “You know what I mean.”

  Mina wasn’t with us.

  Mina was being measured for ceremonial robes and taught how to stand like a symbol instead of a person.

  Roth was in meetings.

  So it was me, Lyra, Pyon, and Valeblade.

  Yes, Valeblade.

  Mina had shoved him into my hands and said, “Take him. If I have to listen to him right now, I will start a holy war personally.”

  Valeblade whispered, content, “Books. Delicious.”

  Lyra snapped, “Do not eat the books.”

  Valeblade whispered, “I will eat the boring ones.”

  Lyra muttered, “I hate you.”

  I walked past shelves labeled with categories that made my brain itch.

  ANCIENT WARDWORK

  PLANAR THEORY

  DRIFT PHENOMENA

  ARCANE CONTAGION

  DEMONOLOGY

  I stopped at Drift Phenomena.

  Lyra noticed and sighed.

  “Of course you’re attracted to the section labeled don’t do this,” she said.

  I pulled a book out.

  Thick. Heavy. Cracked leather binding. Smelled like dust and old ink.

  My system chimed.

  [NEW SKILL ACQUIRED]

  Reading (Rank F)

  Lyra froze. “No.”

  I blinked. “Yes.”

  Lyra stared at my invisible window like she could strangle it.

  “You can’t,” she said, voice rising. “You can’t level reading by looking at a book.”

  “I’m not looking,” I said. “I’m reading.”

  Lyra made a strangled noise.

  I opened the book.

  The first page held a map of something that looked like an ocean of stars.

  The text was dense and old.

  I read anyway.

  And felt something click.

  Not magic.

  Understanding.

  My system chimed again.

  [SKILL EXP]

  Reading +22%

  [SKILL RANK UP]

  Reading: F -> D

  Lyra stared at me like I had committed a crime.

  “You just,” she whispered, “ranked up reading.”

  I flipped another page.

  The book talked about the Drift.

  How sometimes the world’s boundary thinned and things slipped through.

  Not heroic summoning.

  Accidental. Rotten.

  There were records of people from our world appearing in another place called the Blue Sphere.

  A world of metal roads.

  Glass towers.

  No visible mana.

  Earth.

  My throat tightened.

  The author wrote about the Blue Sphere like it was strange and fascinating and full of powerless people who compensated with machines.

  Then it got worse.

  The author described mages who visited that world and returned changed.

  Restless. Manic. Obsessed with speed. Obsessed with novelty. Obsessed with bending rules for fun.

  The text called it Arcane Contagion.

  Not a sickness.

  A personality infection.

  Exposure to a world without mana made mages desperate. Desperation made them creative. Creativity without restraint made them unhinged.

  Lyra leaned over my shoulder.

  “What,” she whispered.

  I swallowed. “They’ve been to Earth before.”

  Lyra’s face tightened. “That’s impossible.”

  “Water climbs,” I whispered. “Everything is impossible.”

  Valeblade whispered, “I would enjoy Earth. I would be famous.”

  Lyra snapped, “You would be a kitchen knife.”

  Valeblade whispered, horrified, “Cruel.”

  I kept reading.

  Symptoms of Arcane Contagion.

  Impulse casting.

  Experiment addiction.

  Sleep neglect.

  Reality detachment.

  I stared at the words.

  And thought of myself.

  Crafting until my hands burned.

  Leveling like I was being chased.

  Chasing dopamine like it was oxygen.

  Cold crawled up my spine.

  Lyra’s voice went quiet. “Kenta.”

  I forced a laugh that wasn’t real.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m already unhinged. It can’t get worse.”

  Lyra didn’t laugh.

  That was somehow worse.

  I closed the book.

  The moment my fingers touched the cover, my system chimed.

  [NEW SKILL ACQUIRED]

  Tome Sense (Rank F)

  Effect: identifies topic density and rarity

  Lyra whispered, “Stop.”

  I grinned, helpless. “No.”

  I reached for another book.

  Lyra slapped my hand.

  “I said don’t touch anything,” she snapped.

  I blinked. “You brought me here.”

  “That was before you started speedrunning literacy,” she hissed.

  I grabbed a different book anyway, faster than she could stop me.

  The system chimed.

  [SKILL RANK UP]

  Reading: D -> B

  Lyra’s eye twitched.

  “How,” she demanded, “are you doing that.”

  I shrugged. “I’m good at obsession.”

  Valeblade whispered, approving, “Yes.”

  Lyra glared at the sword. “You don’t get to encourage him.”

  Valeblade whispered, “I am a bad influence. That is my charm.”

  I opened the second book.

  Planar seals. Divine authority tags.

  One page in, my vision flashed.

  [NEW SKILL ACQUIRED]

  Contact Reading (Rank F)

  Effect: touch a book to obtain a summary imprint

  Cooldown: 10 seconds

  Warning: does not replace study, but it pretends it does

  Lyra froze.

  “No,” she whispered.

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  Lyra’s voice rose. “That is cheating.”

  I touched the book cover.

  Information slammed into my head like a warm flood.

  Not full text.

  A summary. Key terms. Cross references. A mental index.

  I blinked.

  Then smiled because it felt amazing.

  Lyra stared at me like she wanted to kill me in a scholarly way.

  “You,” she said slowly, “are banned from my favorite wing.”

  “I’m not even in your favorite wing,” I said.

  Lyra pointed. “Yet.”

  Pyon blinked onto the shelf edge and stared at the rows of books.

  …many food?

  “No,” I whispered. “Not food.”

  Valeblade whispered, “Knowledge is food. He is eating.”

  Lyra snapped, “STOP TALKING ABOUT EATING BOOKS.”

  A librarian down the aisle cleared his throat.

  Lyra instantly stood straighter and spoke politely.

  “My apologies.”

  Then she leaned in and whispered through clenched teeth.

  “If you touch a grimoire and download it, I will personally throw you into a river that climbs.”

  I smiled. “Noted.”

  My Contact Reading cooldown ended.

  My fingers twitched.

  Lyra’s glare sharpened.

  I behaved.

  Mostly.

  We left the archive an hour later with my brain full of new fear and new terms.

  Drift.

  Contagion.

  Authority tags.

  Star-circle notches hidden in infrastructure.

  Holy arteries turned into straws.

  Lyra walked beside me like an angry tutor escorting a delinquent student.

  Valeblade whispered, “You know, for a pope, Mina is handling this well.”

  Lyra’s head snapped. “She is not pope.”

  Valeblade whispered, “She is Acting Pontiff. That is pope enough.”

  Lyra hissed. “Stop saying pope like it’s funny.”

  Valeblade whispered, “It is funny.”

  We turned a corner in the palace district and ran straight into the last person I wanted to be real today.

  Captain Seraphina Aster.

  She leaned against a stone pillar like it was built for her.

  Same confident posture.

  Same unfair face.

  Same smile that made my brain stumble.

  Lyra stopped so hard she almost collided with me.

  “Oh no,” Lyra said.

  Aster’s smile widened.

  “Champion,” she purred, eyes flicking to my new sword. “You got upgraded.”

  I tried to sound normal. “Crown reward.”

  Aster stepped closer, eyes bright.

  “Royal relic,” she murmured. “They finally remembered you exist.”

  Lyra muttered, “Unfortunately.”

  Aster ignored her and reached out like she owned space.

  Her fingers brushed the flat of my blade, gentle.

  The sword hummed.

  My Hero’s Aura flared slightly.

  My system chimed, traitor as always.

  [NOTICE]

  Affection influx detected

  Affection Sense +18%

  Flirt Deflection +12%

  Lyra’s expression turned murderous.

  Aster looked delighted.

  “I came to report about Verena Academy,” Aster said lightly. “Your siphon alert was correct. Someone embedded a pull-rune line beneath the arena. It is sealed now. Temporarily.”

  Lyra glared. “Temporarily.”

  Aster smiled. “Everything is temporary. That’s what makes it exciting.”

  Lyra took a step forward. “Stop talking to him like that.”

  Aster tilted her head. “Like what.”

  Lyra’s voice rose. “Like he’s cute.”

  Aster’s eyes glittered. “But he is.”

  My brain tried to leave my body again.

  Valeblade whispered, thrilled, “Yes. Battle.”

  I hissed, “Stop.”

  Aster’s gaze slid to Lyra, amused.

  “Jealous,” she said, like she was naming the weather.

  Lyra’s hands warmed. “No.”

  Aster looked at me again, then leaned in slightly and lowered her voice.

  “Your next move,” she whispered, for my ears only, “is not chasing Zorath.”

  My stomach tightened.

  “What,” I whispered back.

  Aster’s smile stayed sweet.

  “You chase the people who built his stage,” she murmured. “He was a performer. Performers need crew.”

  Then she straightened and smiled at Lyra like she was offering a gift.

  “Try not to burn the archive down,” she said cheerfully.

  Lyra’s jaw clenched.

  Aster stepped back, then did the worst possible thing.

  She reached up and brushed my cheek with her thumb, like she was wiping away a smudge.

  I froze.

  It was nothing.

  It was also everything.

  The system chimed.

  [SKILL RANK UP]

  Affection Sense: D -> C

  Lyra made a sound that can only be described as fire trying to become language.

  Aster winked at me.

  “See you soon, champion,” she said.

  Then she walked away like she hadn’t just thrown a grenade into my day.

  Lyra stared at her back like she wanted to incinerate the concept of confidence.

  Valeblade whispered, content, “She is fun.”

  Lyra snapped, “Shut up.”

  I swallowed and looked toward the cathedral district where Mina was being dressed into authority she never asked for.

  Then I looked at my new sword.

  Dawn Standard.

  Overpowered.

  Beautiful.

  Probably doomed.

  And the weird, heavy truth settled in.

  We had loot.

  We had proof.

  We had levels.

  We had a pope.

  And the demon general had escaped laughing.

  Which meant the war had not started.

  It had just introduced itself.