The Phantom Retrieval
In the library's restricted gold book reading area, Neris dropped the book she was holding the moment she spotted the faint glow lingering at Ronan's fingertips.
Thud. The thick tome on magical classifications struck the oak floor, its echo ringing like a bell through the hush. The sound wasn't loud, but in the library, it carried far. The area beyond the golden chains was quieter than the training grounds. Yet right now, Ronan was drawing more eyes than he ever had there.
Because Neris still hadn't let go of his hand.
"Hold on."
Neris's voice was low but urgent.
"This isn't fire, wind, water, or earth."
Her fingers traced the back of Ronan's hand—the one that had flicked away the practice sword hilt and caught the potion vial. At its tip lingered a very faint silvery afterglow.
Neris's eyes sparkled.
"Even calling it pure mana doesn't fit; the shaping is too precise. Attributed magic couldn't leave a residue like this. Why's a swordsmanship cadet using something like this?"
Lia took a step forward.
"Neris. Let go of his hand first."
Seris folded her arms by the door.
"Even for observation, you're too close."
Neris replied with dead seriousness.
"Necessary contact for research."
Ronan glanced at his own hand and chuckled.
"Call me a specimen, and I'll bolt."
Lia let out a breath that could have been a laugh or a sigh.
Seris lightly tapped the floor with the tip of her scabbard.
An elderly voice floated from deeper in the library.
"No disturbances in the gold book reading area."
It was the librarian. An old man with gray hair tied back was descending from beside a tall ladder. His black-gloved hand bore a silver-embroidered crest: sword and book. The ancient emblem of the Royal Knight Academy.
The librarian frowned at the fallen book.
"Neris. Dropped another one, have you?"
Neris didn't even turn her head.
"This time, the hand matters more than the book."
"No hand matters more than a book."
"This one does."
Neris lifted Ronan's hand slightly.
"This hand."
A few cadets in the back held their breath.
Ronan could see it in Neris's eyes—not arrogance, but desperate hunger not to miss a thing.
The librarian approached.
"Ronan, was it?"
"Yes. Ronan."
"Word from the training grounds reached even here. Flicked away a sword hilt, they say."
"The hilt started it."
The librarian's eyebrow twitched upward. Not quite a smile, but not anger either.
"In the library, even hilts must stay quiet."
"Noted."
Then came a dry sound from the inner shelves.
Tap.
Ronan turned. Beyond the golden chains, at the back of the gold book area. Between worn shelves, a single thin spine hung askew. Its faded brown cover bore a sword and book, overlaid with a crown emblem.
The librarian's face hardened.
"Don't touch it."
His voice dropped low.
Neris's hand paused on the back of Ronan's.
"A sealed shelf?"
"Yes. Founding-era training records. Can't be opened without an instructor's permit and a librarian present."
Seris asked,
"Even if it's about to fall?"
"Especially then. Don't touch it."
The librarian pointed to the silver dust beneath the shelf.
"Sealed dust. Disturb it, and it logs unauthorized access."
"What about that book?" Lia asked.
The librarian answered curtly.
"The dust decides."
A low murmur rippled through the library. A cadet in blue sleeves embroidered with the magic department's silver thread snorted. Barken. A fellow magic cadet with Neris.
"Swordsmanship cadets might not know. Sealed dust is sensitive. Even breath shakes it. Touch it with a sword, and you're done."
Ronan looked at him.
"If breath disturbs it, maybe the loudmouths should watch it too."
A small laugh escaped. The librarian tapped his staff.
Thud. The laughter stopped.
"This is a library."
"Sorry."
Ronan bowed his head at once. Barken glanced at Neris.
"Neris. Not the time to cling to a swordsmanship kid. I'll report the record to the TA office."
Neris didn't blink.
"No."
"What?"
"This hand comes first."
Barken's face flushed.
"Obsessed with something weird again. He's just some cadet who flicked a practice sword."
Neris finally looked up.
"That's why I'm watching."
That shut Barken up.
A soft rustle came from the shelves again. The old spine sagged further, but the sealed dust held its form.
Neris, still gripping Ronan's hand, said,
"That gap—your hand could slip through without touching anything."
Ronan grinned.
"Praise or kidnapping?"
"Both."
Ronan eyed the book beyond the chains. He didn't know its light's name yet, but he knew where it touched: not flesh, but claw paths, hilt gaps, vial bottoms. And perhaps, between a line of dust and a bookshelf.
Ronan drew a slow breath.
Lia glanced at his bandages.
"Don't push it."
"Haven't done anything yet."
"You will."
Ronan didn't reply, just crooked his fingers slightly. The air split thin. A sword formed. A silvery line a bit thicker than a hair, a bit longer than a needle. But unmistakably a blade.
Ronan's phantom sword.
The candle flames flickered. Not from wind. Everyone held their breath at once.
Neris murmured softly. Her gaze lingered longer on Ronan's fingertips than the book. What she'd seen wasn't a magic formula, but precision shaped like a sword.
"Impossible."
Ronan asked,
"Not allowed?"
"No. Keep going."
"Don't call me a specimen."
"Won't."
Neris answered instantly. She didn't release his hand.
The thin phantom sword slipped under the chains. It touched neither chain, seal plate, nor ancient spine. Its tip halted before the shelf gap. Precisely between dust and wood. Space for a single hair.
Sweat beaded on Ronan's forehead. His bandaged wrist throbbed faintly.
Lia noticed at once.
"Ronan."
"Wrist hasn't quit on me yet."
"That's banned too."
"I'll take the scolding after."
Neris cupped the back of his hand with both of hers. Lia's eyebrow rose, but Ronan's blade tip didn't waver.
The phantom sword didn't shove the dust. Nor sweep it. It slid beneath and lifted the entire line—like raising a thin cloth.
The silvery-gray powder settled calmly atop the blade. Not a single grain scattered.
The librarian's mouth slowly opened.
Barken stepped forward.
"How in the..."
"Don't move."
The librarian said lowly.
Ronan's blade tip glided along the shelf gap. An inch, half, half again. It didn't slice. Didn't tear. Didn't shatter. It only parted the tiniest hidden crevice between dust and seal plate.
Neris held her breath.
"No attributes. Just form."
Ronan murmured softly,
"Heavy praise."
"Not praise. Discovery."
The librarian raised a silver magnifying glass.
"The seal line's undisturbed."
His whisper carried to everyone. Barken's face stiffened.
Ronan shifted the sealed dust to a small silver plate beside it. It settled in its original shape. The final gap opened. The spine eased forward.
Ronan swung the phantom sword downward. Its tip caught beneath the book. Without tearing a single page, it lifted only the leather cover's corner.
The book emerged from the shelf. At the moment the ancient record seemed about to fall, the phantom sword fanned out like a thin plate. The record settled atop it.
"There."
The librarian pointed to an empty pedestal.
The phantom sword lowered the ancient record onto the pedestal. Perfect fit. Neither chains nor dust line had shifted.
The library fell silent.
Barken muttered lowly,
"A swordsmanship cadet..."
The librarian cut him off.
"Not a swordsmanship cadet. Ronan."
Eyes turned to Ronan. A sword that struck not people, but spared dust from disturbance. An odd assessment. But one that would linger.
As Ronan dismissed the phantom sword, strength drained from his wrist. Lia yanked over a chair at once.
"Sit. Now."
Neris still hadn't let go of his hand.
"Instinct? Calculation?"
"Felt like I'd catch hell from the librarian if it fell."
Neris nodded solemnly.
"Precision shaping based on risk aversion."
The librarian eyed the record on the pedestal.
"Royal crest."
Seris's eyes sharpened. Neris said at once,
"Ronan should see it too."
The librarian looked at her.
"He lacks permission."
Neris replied as if it were obvious.
"You just got it."
"What permission?"
"Reason."
The librarian's mouth twitched ever so slightly. Ronan started to say he'd wait outside. But Neris gripped his hand tighter first.
"No."
Too quick. Lia and Seris both looked at her. Neris wasn't watching the record—she was looking at Ronan. With eyes for a companion, not a research subject.
The librarian hadn't opened the record's cover yet. Instead, he eyed Ronan's fingertips.
"Your sword just passed beneath the dust. Feel anything?"
Ronan looked down at his bandaged wrist. The sensation lingered. Inside the shelf gap, beneath the dust, the wood's grain. And a very thin severed line.
"There was another snag deeper in."
The librarian's eyes changed.
"Another?"
"Yes. This record didn't feel like the end."
The library hushed again. Neris stepped to the chains. Without magic, she slowly moved a single candle. Light illuminated the inner gap.
"It's there."
Neris whispered.
"Really there."
A faint click echoed from the shelf's depths.
Click.
Ronan's fingertips twitched on instinct. No phantom sword emerged, but the sensation reacted first. Deep in the shelf's shadows, another cover stamped with the royal crest trembled faintly.