Power

I sat down beside the librarian and started to read.

"This section covers the basic formulas of magic. It explains the elements that make up a spell."

"Aha."

"Magic comes into being when those formulas tangle together and interact..."

I felt bad for her, explaining so earnestly, but I didn't understand a single word.

What do you even expect from a middle-school dropout?

What — she thought I could make magic in four hours? Not a chance. She was definitely looking down on me, the man the Korean government had officially designated a Special-Grade Orphan.

"...Well, that should be enough explanation. Shall we move on to practice? Would you open the blueprint in your skill window?"

"Yes."

I followed her lead, unfolded the blueprint, and worked the mana.

...I can feel something.

Plump, squishy blue beads were drifting all through my body. So this was mana.

"It won't come easily at first, so if you follow the method I'm about to describe..."

"I already pulled it out."

"...I see. Then we should be able to go straight to the next step."

She kept explaining the crafting process.

"The mana has to be arranged differently depending on the formula's school..."

"Oh, done."

"...You succeeded immediately. Congratulations."

"..."

"..."

"Administrator. This time, please imbue that formula with an attribute, then designate the form the mana takes when it's released."

"Mmm... done."

"...Yes, Administrator."

Maybe it was thanks to having a good teacher. Everything she taught me, I blew through in an instant, without a single snag.

It just clicks.

Hearing it out loud, I had no idea what any of it meant. The moment I actually moved the mana, though, I got the feel of it. Call it animal instinct. Anyway, I'd kept at the grimoire like that for about an hour when—

The crafting was complete.

A status window appeared before my eyes.

So this was a skill you picked up after the fact, not a class skill. And there it was — the grimoire skill I'd just made.

Hey, give me my grimoire back.

I jumped, thinking it had been used up on its own. But when I looked at my hand, the grimoire was still there, perfectly intact. Seemed like only the skill had come in.

Is it telling me to climb the Tower?

I'd have to see the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Fireball's exact performance to be sure, but it hit with the force of a B-rank single-target skill, and its reach was as wide as a respectable area spell. The lower floors, at least, I could climb without overdoing it.

Getting stronger never hurts. Maybe I'll head up when I've got the time.

I was thinking something along those lines when the librarian spoke, astonishment written all over her face.

"...Administrator, would it be all right if I asked how you did it?"

"Huh? Did what?"

"The grimoire. By all rights, even sensing mana should have been difficult, and yet you implemented the formulas with perfect fluency despite having no theory at all."

"Hmm."

She could ask all she liked. From where I stood, there wasn't much to say.

"I just went whoosh-whoosh by feel, and it worked. I kind of got a sense for what to do."

"..."

At that, the librarian looked faintly startled and began straightening her books.

"...You surpass my expectations by a very wide margin."

After that, I hit the exit button on the skill window and came back to reality.

...This isn't a dream, right?

For a second I thought it might be, so I slapped myself across the face. It hurt like a bastard.

"Ghk—hah...!"

Reality, confirmed. A little relieved, I looked down at the grimoire in my hand.

If I sell this at the auction, how many hundred million would I pull?

The going rate for a B-rank skill book was three to four hundred million gold. But the magic I'd made was more versatile than B-rank magic, and even as an area spell it packed the ridiculous punch of a single-target skill. Maybe it would climb all the way to a billion.

"Yes. Of course."

Without a shred of hesitation, I listed the grimoire on the system auction. After that, I made a beeline for the blanket spread on the floor.

God, I'm wiped.

The crafting itself had only taken an hour, but making a grimoire sucked your mind dry. It felt like grinding forty straight ranked games through a sleepless canyon.

Still, I've got things to do.

I carefully powered on my phone, which was one good bump away from total annihilation. I'd picked it up off the street five years ago, and I was still using it. The only downsides? It needed about ten minutes to warm up before it would turn on, and the screen had been crushed to powder, so you could barely see a thing.

Minor.

While the phone booted, I killed time fantasizing about what I'd do once the grimoire sold. First, get out of this miserable disaster zone.

If I'm lucky, maybe I can even buy a house.

I was living in government rental housing for now, but strictly speaking, calling this place a house was a stretch. Monsters barged in at the drop of a hat, the power and water cut out every other day, and the whole place was crawling with bugs. In a way, I was the one freeloading in the bugs' house.

I was still turning that over when the phone finally came on. From there it took another long while to open Hunter Gallery.

I could tell the thread was drifting toward some weird bait.

...A grimoire?

Don't tell me this was because of the one I'd listed. Only half convinced, I tapped the post.

"..."

Hunter Gallery was blazing with talk of my grimoire.

I didn't think it'd be this big.

I'd been a complete outsider when it came to hunters, so I hadn't understood the fallout. From not occupying a skill slot onward, it was an absurd asymmetric weapon — apparently a legendary, utterly broken, GOAT-tier skill book. People seemed to think my grimoire was an item that had luckily dropped in the Tower.

Countless blueprints lay dormant in my status window.

Most of them have level restrictions, though.

Those would unlock bit by bit as I climbed the Tower. Not that I even needed to make a better grimoire in the first place.

...Once it sells, should I just disappear like this?

I was idly looking over my skill window with that thought when—

"Whoa."

Bewitched by the peculiar name, I opened the skill info.

I can't let this one go.

I was about to unfold the blueprint, spellbound by that god-tier description, when the system shut me down.

Go raise your level and come back?

There was only one condition for raising a skill level: climbing the Tower.

Level 2... that was clearing up to Floor 5, wasn't it?

The mainstream take was that any halfway decent Awakened could manage Floor 5. I, however, was a crafting class. Not a single combat skill to my name...

Oh. I do have one.

I remembered the Fireball - FinalRealRealRealRealLastWrapUpFinalVersion lying quietly in my skill window. With this, maybe it was possible.

CRASH!

The window I'd wrapped round and round with tape shattered. Through the broken gap came a human with rotting skin. A zombie.

"Kraaaagh!"

A zombie raid.

Perfect. I was bored.

Normally I'd have pulled the baseball bat I kept stuffed in my underwear and braced for a fight to the death... but this time was a little different. The perfect chance to check the Fireball's power. I spread my mana on instinct and finished preparing the skill.

Fireball - FinalRealRealRealRealLastWrapUpFinalVersion.

The instant I called it in my head, the mana answered.

With those messages, a massive orb of flame more than a meter across bloomed into being—

Fwoosh!

Swallowed in violent flame, the zombie vanished without a trace.

Holy shit. That's insane.

I stared, impressed, and looked around. Through a refreshingly unobstructed view, the street outside was perfectly visible. One entire wall of my house had been blown clean away.

"...Excuse me?"

Isn't this a little too strong...?