Chapter 18
Chapter 18
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 18
Chapter Title: Epilogue and Prologue
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In the Tower, nearly every concept takes on physical form.
Whether it's bookworms that feed on the words in books, sky whales soaring through the heavens, or the sun and moon trapped in a single body, nothing would be out of place.
Time was no different.
A white cloth covered her eyes as she lay there.
Beneath that thin fabric, her eyes were closed—or perhaps asleep.
Her breathing lacked even the slightest rise and fall, making her look almost like a corpse.
Bandages wrapped around her right arm were visible.
They didn't seem like dressings for an injury so much as the wrappings of a mummy, meant to prevent decay.
Thorny vines draped across the space like curtains on a stage.
Those long-hanging vines connected seamlessly to her hair.
The thorny vines bound her arms.
Thorns pierced her skin, yet not a single drop of blood flowed—a strangely eerie sight.
The vines seemed like an extension of her body, or perhaps chains holding her captive.
She resembled a mannequin on display in a shop window, or a puppet tethered to its strings.
Especially so, with the dark room illuminated only at its center by a bright spotlight.
She looked like a pitiful girl stripped of her freedom, but the truth was the opposite.
This space was being encroached upon by the girl herself.
"What brings you here?"
With a lively music box melody, everything surrounding them sprang to life all at once.
Like a figurine atop the music box, the girl began to move in time with the sound.
She sat up and asked the question.
The motion itself felt unnatural, as if something inhuman were mimicking a person, stirring a wave of unease.
"You already know."
She let out a small laugh at the grumbled reply.
"You're right about that. Still, there's meaning in speaking it aloud and hearing it with your own ears—the simple act itself holds value."
A clear voice emanated, yet her mouth remained shut, unopening. It was as if she spoke without speaking.
The disconnect between hearing and sight sowed confusion. Irritated, I furrowed my brow.
"That's how it's recorded, after all. Only when spoken aloud does it gain worth. Surely you know that?"
She tilted her head slightly as she posed the question.
Her words and demeanor suggested nothing held value unless documented.
The very space around us laid bare her mindset.
A massive printing press churning out skill books, chronicling everything in the world.
The room buzzed with the atmosphere of an amusement park.
Dwarves moved along fixed tracks to the cheerful, looping tune of the music box.
With their pointed hats, they resembled gnomes.
Crafted from glass, each dwarf looked similar yet distinct in their features.
The dwarves bustled about, printing paper, binding it into books.
Instead of conveyor belts, they used amusement rides for the manufacturing process.
Even as I explained it to myself, I wondered if it made sense—this insane space truly operated that way.
In bumper cars, they debated a book's concept.
Crashing into each other like clashing opinions, they engaged in heated discussions.
Thus, the book's genre was decided.
Next, they revised the manuscript based on that genre.
I spotted dwarves ascending in a Ferris wheel.
Gazing at the scenery outside, they recharged their emotions.
The higher they rose, the more their eyes glistened with feeling.
Fueled by that surging emotion, they refined the manuscript.
With the revised draft in hand, the design phase began.
Not just covers or illustrations, but fonts, layouts—every visual element of the book.
The concept itself, of course, designed for easy reading.
This step took place aboard a roller coaster.
Honestly, this was the part I couldn't wrap my head around.
What did design have to do with a roller coaster?
A lamppost wearing a bowler hat approached me. Mimicking a gentleman, it had a monocle perched where its back curved in.
The gentlemanly lamppost drew near and began to explain.
Thin, threadlike arms extended from either side, holding a sketchbook.
Unable to speak, it wrote its explanation on the pages.
Time smiled as she watched me absorb the explanation.
Her attitude screamed that she knew it all already.
Infuriating as it was, I listened to the rest. Curiosity had gotten the better of me, after all.
The rough feel of the illustrations in skill books suddenly made sense.
The lamppost, asking if I had more questions, returned to its post.
It resumed directing the dwarves.
With designs finalized, the books underwent printing and binding.
Both processes happened on a carousel.
Seated on the spinning merry-go-round, they diligently produced the books.
They bound them with thread infused with mana, which glowed brilliantly.
The threads swayed up and down, creating a mesmerizing spectacle.
The finished books piled neatly in one spot.
Thus, skill books were produced and distributed throughout the Tower.
While some dwarves toiled away, others perched in high seats, overseeing them.
These overseers wore stern, triangular glasses as they read and graded the books.
One dwarf hurled a book aside, shouting in anger.
That book was deemed worthless, ungraded refuse, and separated out.
So this was what lurked beneath my used bookstore.
It looked even larger than the space I'd provided.
Hm, maybe even bigger than the bookstore itself.
This absurd feat was made possible by the girl before me.
If asked who in the Tower stood closest to godhood, I'd point to her without hesitation.
She wielded the greatest influence here.
The girl flashed a cryptic smile, touching the cloth over her eyes.
"Aren't you curious? Why I cover my eyes."
"I already know."
"Is that so? Still, hear it once more."
This lunatic.
I couldn't help but curse inwardly.
Why even ask if she was going to do this?
Evidently enjoying my reaction, her smile deepened.
"The moment I open my eyes to the world, the observed reality is etched into record forever."
The world observed by Time is documented and stored as-is.
In game terms, like a save point.
You could return to the save point, but never before it.
"That's why I keep my eyes closed, unless it's truly important."
Her idea of "important" was likely the birth of a god, the death of one, or the world's end.
"To be honest, I thought the world would end like this. Such a clichéd, predictable finale—how disappointing."
Her lips split into a grotesque grin.
With that chilling smile, she continued in rapture.
"But then—you appeared."
She clasped her hands, blushing like any girl her apparent age.
Yet within lurked a serpent that had slithered through endless ages.
"I never thought you'd turn back time."
The girl rose.
The vines shifted in sync, supporting her.
Puppeteer and puppet.
Who controlled whom?
The dynamic felt reversed, as if the puppet now pulled the strings.
Her joints twisted in unnatural directions.
Her excited laughter filled the room.
With grotesquely bent limbs, she approached me.
Her torso half-turned, she floated toward me.
"After all, you're the first to let the wish voucher I gave you rot this long."
She gripped my chin, lifting it as she spoke.
"Or not? Ah, maybe not the first. But they all met unhappy ends anyway, so it hardly mattered. None even used the voucher properly before their demise."
Her words accelerated.
"They couldn't offer true value. They failed to weigh what they could give against the goals they craved."
Her voice brimmed with anticipation.
"Now, will you be different? Can you live up to my expectations?"
The girl, hungering for a deal, embodied not time but a devil.
"I have no need for chess pieces bound to their rails."
She tugged at the trailing thorny vines.
"Sometimes, I crave a mad horse that leaps off the board."
The vines stretched taut like rubber bands.
"Time's elasticity? What of it? Just as you can snap a rubber band, you can sever the chains of causality."
Snap! With a sharp crack, she spun back.
The lights flickered out and on like a power outage.
She sat calmly in her original spot, as if nothing had happened.
Her voice, once fevered, now serene, posed the question.
"Well then, shall we begin our transaction?"