I Bought a Rulebook and It Became a Grimoire (Part 2)

Outer Gods.

I wasn't deeply versed in the lore, but to put it simply, they were beings from the outside—entities within that mythos who transcended the very fabric of the cosmos.

Things whose names must never be uttered; beings so alien that the human vocal tract was fundamentally incapable of pronouncing them. Or so the books claimed.

Yet strangely enough, I felt an uncanny certainty that I could actually say them.

Was this, too, the grimoire's doing?

Crackle, pop...

I stared down at the rulebook sizzling to a crisp golden brown in the frying pan.

Or, more accurately, what used to be a rulebook. That cursed volume—reeking of swampy muck and raw, putrid fish—was currently slathered in cooking oil, basking over a blazing blue flame.

A rich, savory aroma of grilled fish drifted up, tickling my nose.

Naturally, I had zero intention of eating it. This was purely for disposal.

Half of my reasoning was the simple thought that since it stank of stagnant water and fish guts, killing it with fire ought to do the trick. The other half was the realization that if I tried to incinerate the thing in this cramped studio apartment, the smoke and ash would make my life an absolute nightmare. Pan-frying it to disable its paranormal functions like cooking a filet was my pragmatic compromise.

Sizzle... crackle...

Hot oil splattered, releasing the mouthwatering fragrance of grilled seafood, but no matter how many times I flipped the volume over with my tongs, the pages refused to singe.

Far from being cooked, it didn't suffer so much as a scratch.

Man. It really is a grimoire, huh?

Still, at least I had upgraded the stench from rotting deep-sea fish to a hearty plate of pan-fried mackerel.

"Sniff, sniff."

I shut off the gas, let the heat subside, and used the metal tongs to hoist the book onto a ceramic plate.

Three-Star Pan-Fried Grimoire.

Suppressed the fishy odor with cooking oil, minced garlic, and a generous splash of soju.

Through the seasoned expertise of an eight-year bachelor lifestyle, the worst possible ingredient was miraculously redeemed.

None shall ever dare question his culinary mastery again.

It wasn't that an actual status window had popped up; I was merely indulging in the thought. When you're hit with an unrelenting barrage of cosmic absurdities, you have to goof around just to keep up the illusion of sanity.

Leaving the pan-fried grimoire to cool, I pulled up a chair in front of my monitor to dig for more intel on this hunter-infested world.

"O-ho-ho-ho! Yours truly, the Magical Noble Girl Sunset, has arrived~!"

Beneath a vast, azure sky, nestled within a towering forest of skyscrapers, an impossibly vibrant pair of crimson drill curls sprang up like coiled springs.

As I was scouring the web for world lore, a live broadcast thumbnail boasting overwhelming visual flair had caught my eye.

Not quite a traditional magical girl. Dressed in a frilled, crimson gown, she hoisted an ornate weapon high toward the heavens—something that blurred the line between a magic wand and a rapier.

A deluge of messages surged up the live chat.

The camera framed the woman claiming to be a "Magical Noble Girl," laughing haughtily behind the back of her hand, and the masked man squaring off against her.

It seemed internet chat was the same everywhere humans congregated.

More importantly, this live broadcast was showing two people locked in fierce combat across city rooftops in real time.

"Not half bad for a villain terrorizing our innocent citizens! However, you are sorely mistaken if you believe yourself a match for Sunset~!"

With a flourish of her staff, ribbons of flame wove an intricate, dazzling tapestry through the air. Embers drifted among the fiery arcs like scattered stardust. Was that actual magic? What awakened class had she even unlocked to pull off stunts like that?

"O-ho-ho-ho! There won't be a next time, but your skill was quite commendable~!"

Ultimately, her opponent conceded defeat under an unrelenting onslaught of flames. Right on cue, police officers who had been lying in wait swarmed the rooftop to cuff the masked man. Sunset turned back toward the camera, wrapping up her stream with her signature pose.

"Well then, thank you for your hard work today, everyone! Mind the pollen, and have a wonderfully peaceful day! Yours truly shall take her leave now~!"

"Hmm."

A genuinely enriching use of my time.

...She was really pretty.

Watching dynamic action and genuine magic—the kind you usually only saw in anime or video games—unfold in a live broadcast felt surreal, but deep down, it stirred a quiet flutter in my chest.

Fantasy.

A tiny, clear spring of fantasy had carved a channel right through my barren, dried-up emotions.

I hopped over to the Magical Noble Girl ★ Sunset! channel and smashed the subscribe button. It seemed like a solid source for learning the ropes of this awakened society, and since I was apparently an awakened hunter myself, keeping up with her content couldn't hurt.

After allowing my racing heart a moment to settle, I returned to my original mission: gathering intelligence.

By the time I came to my senses, midnight had already slipped past.

Researching hunters, gates, and the endless minutiae of this society had eaten up a massive chunk of time. I finally closed the Magical Noble Girl Sunset Wiki tab, turned around, and glared down at the pitch-black grimoire, which had thoroughly cooled off by now.

One crucial discovery: Lovecraft's works did not exist in this world. Consequently, neither did the cosmic mythos nor the lore he had conceived.

Then what on earth was this book sitting in front of me?

A volume that reeked of deep-sea filth—now masked by pan-fried fish—and that horrifying, unfathomable presence I had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠felt the moment I nearly spoke its name... It was blatantly obvious that this was far beyond anything I was equipped to handle.

And tabletop roleplaying games didn't exist either.

Son of a bitch...

Well, tabletop games existed, but none of the rules or settings I was familiar with.

I kept my eyes fixed on the rulebook resting atop the plate. The reason I hadn't dared open it yet? Elementary: one does not simply flip open a grimoire and skim the pages. That was rule number one ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of surviving the occult.

Status window.

Calling for my status window in my mind summoned a translucent blue interface into the empty air. I had been too disoriented earlier to notice, but I recognized that acronym: SAN.

The problem was that SAN was a stat straight out of tabletop RPGs; I had no idea why it was showing up on an awakened hunter's interface. SAN, short for Sanity—a psychological gauge that depleted whenever you suffered severe mental trauma or cast dark magic and eldritch sorceries.

And if that gauge dropped past a certain threshold... you fell into madness.

Skills.

"Whew..."

Staring at the so-called skills laid out before me, a throbbing headache set in.

Sorcery, Mental Protection, and Madness Deferral. As someone well-versed in subculture tropes, the names alone were enough for me to deduce their rough functions.

Sorcery. Presumably an ability related to magic. Given that shouting the skill name didn't cause fireballs to shoot from my fingers, it was likely passive or governed by specific conditions.

Mental Protection. Self-explanatory—it shielded my mind. I still couldn't tell whether this was a fever ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠dream or reality, but surviving the shock of getting crushed to death by a falling sign, transmigrating into another universe, hurling my guts out, and coolly pan-frying an eldritch grimoire in a skillet... that had to be the work of Mental Protection. Any ordinary person would have lost their sanity on the spot.

But what the hell is Madness Deferral?

Taking the term at face value, it postponed madness. But that implied I was bound to face situations where going insane was an inevitability, didn't it?

This was precisely why I couldn't bring myself to crack this book open.

Even if my psyche was fortified, and even if madness could be put on hold, as long as it wasn't outright nullified, opening this tome required tremendous resolve. Maybe merely opening ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it was safe. Maybe reading it wouldn't hurt as long as I didn't cast any spells.

Except...

Wasn't that just like holding a revolver to your temple and pulling the trigger over and over without knowing whether the chamber held a live round?

I had already confirmed that my skill list didn't include any regression skills. I might have survived dying once in my previous life, but there was no guarantee I had another quarter in my pocket for a second continue.

Therefore, caution was paramount—

Right then, an anomaly erupted from the grimoire resting neatly on the plate.

Flap!

Fwip-fwip-fwip-fwip!

The cover flipped open entirely on its own, and the pages began turning violently before I could even process what was happening.

"Wh-what..."

Panic seized me.

"Whoaaaaagh!"

I propelled myself straight out of my chair, driving my elbow down like a flying meteor onto the wildly fluttering grimoire.

WHAM!!

CRASH!!

A solid, jarring impact resonated through my elbow joint. The sound of the plate shattering underneath echoed through the room, but who cared? It was just a thousand-won ceramic dish from Daiso.

Yet despite my desperate assault, the bizarre grimoire refused to yield, its pages stubbornly writhing beneath my elbow drop. Determined to stop it, I threw my entire body weight over the cover, wrestling with all my might to pin it shut.

"Nnngh...!!"

The resistance was staggering. It was alarming enough that the book was moving of its own accord, but the sheer force fighting against my full-body press was actually threatening to heave me off my feet.

I had no idea why, but an instinctive alarm screamed inside my head: Under no circumstances can this book be allowed to open!

To think my life would come to a rodeo match against a book.

THUMP—!

"Guh!"

An invisible, repulsive force detonated beneath me, flinging my body backward and dumping me unceremoniously onto the linoleum floor. More than the shock of being repelled, more than my failure to pin it... what stung most was the humiliating reality that I had picked a fight with a book and lost.

I just awakened, so why does my physical strength feel completely unchanged...?!

While I was wallowing in self-pity, the grimoire—now wide open and exuding the mouthwatering aroma of grilled fish—shot straight toward my face.

Flap, flap, flap!

"Mmph! Mmpphh!"

Clinging to my visage like a facehugger fresh out of Alien, the damn thing refused to let go. I clawed at its binding, finally tearing it away from my nose and mouth—

"...What the."

Inevitably, my gaze caught the exposed pages, and an overwhelming surge of arcane knowledge flooded my consciousness.

I couldn't read a single letter of the archaic script, yet the profound meaning and weight behind each word echoed lucidly within my mind.

A prison? An executioner? What did that even mean? If I was the warden, why call me an executioner? My shallow mortal intellect couldn't begin to comprehend the concept of a book serving as a cosmic penitentiary.

Still, there were a few distinct silver linings.

First, glancing at the text hadn't driven me instantly insane.

Second, I wouldn't have to learn some ungodly foreign language to decipher the grimoire.

Whether it was the grimoire's eldritch mana or creeping madness, as the sheer volume of forbidden concepts overloaded my cognitive capacity, darkness crept in at the edges of my vision.

And strangely enough, having found those small consolations, I was able to pass out with a mind relatively at peace.