Becoming the Grimoire's Master
A chilling night.
Up on the Noryangjin Overpass, I trudged along alone, buffeted by the cold river wind.
My shoulders sagged under the heavy plastic bag stuffed with books, damp from the mist.
"Hoo..."
It had already been three years.
While my friends flaunted their big-corp badges on SNS with pics of their girlfriends, I'd blown three years chasing some pipe dream of becoming a civil servant.
Nothing had changed for me. Every half-assed attempt to switch things up ended in epic failure, leaving me at zero—except for those lost three years.
Beep-boop-beep—
I sighed as I entered my goshiwon room. The door lock's chirp grated on me more than usual.
I'd left the window cracked because of the heat, but some drunk asshole started bellowing outside, so I slammed it shut.
"Fuck, please, anywhere's fine—just get me out of this shithole goshiwon."
Shwish. I dumped the plastic bag on the desk and pulled out the workbooks. Four volumes of past papers for the 9th-grade general admin exam. Priceless, since some law changed again—I'd scraped together every penny for these.
"One, two, three, four, five... Huh?"
But at the bottom, there was a book I'd never seen before.
A thick, used hardcover with a pitch-black cover. So goddamn hefty it looked like a Bible.
That explained why the bag felt extra heavy.
"...Did I grab the wrong one?"
Head back to the bookstore? Return it?
No matter how I racked my brain, I had zero memory of buying some weird-ass book like this. The receipt only listed the four workbooks.
But trekking back to the shop now? Timing was off, and I didn't even have the number for the first place I'd hit.
"Eh, whatever..."
Deal with it tomorrow. Chat with the old bookstore owner then.
I was about to shove it aside when—
"Huh...? Wha-what?"
Something freaky happened.
The black book floated up into the air on its own.
Like some Grimoire, it glowed with a dark purple aura around the edges, bobbing gently.
"Not AI, right?"
I blurted out nonsense in my panic, but the weirdness kept going.
Vrrrrm—
The pages flipped with a crisp shra-la-lak sound. A violet flash poured out, bathing everything in purple light.
Fwoosh!
I love Welch's, but this is too much!
The light intensified, blinding. My eyes burned like fire, and I blacked out.
Hiss—
First thing I saw: my vision wavering.
Bubbles roiled everywhere; beyond the glass membrane, distorted lab techs peered in.
Felt like I'd been tossed into space, floating weightless.
"—!"
My mind was foggy. Body wouldn't respond. Trying to speak just leaked air bubbles.
Consciousness sank. Like getting sucked somewhere.
. . . .
When I came to again, I was strapped to a conveyor belt, heading somewhere.
A sharp, bloody tang stung my nose amid the chaos of boys and girls like me, all bound and carted off.
Where the hell is this?
Not a dream. Kidnapped by some shady group? Human experiments?
Hazmat-suited figures wheeled me along.
They mumbled in rumbling voices.
[...Some high-and-mighty cyborg bigwig's order, looks like. Makes sense—if you're a cyborg, you'd claw to survive no matter what.]
[What can ya do? Artifacts ain't handouts. No talent? Swap out the guts—that's your only play.]
The one on the right chuckled low.
What to do? Talk to them?
But shit looked bad. The massive facility screamed factory—not for goods, but people.
They noticed my eyes darting.
[Oh, this one's awake.]
[Poor thing. No clue where she's headed.]
[Hits the guilt every time. Gutting 'em's just like pigs.]
...What?
Left hazmat dropped the bomb.
[Intelligence torched anyway—basically beasts in human skin. Let's just do the job.]
[Still clones... Feels off.]
[Client requested it personally. No guilt on us. You were rolling with lab rats yesterday—gone soft already?]
[Sigh... Fine.]
Confusion settled; calm returned.
From their chat: This was a psycho factory shipping clones for organ harvesting.
Probably for some elite's worn-out parts.
...This level of fucked-up meant one thing.
Not Earth.
The weird black book in my workbooks. Its eerie glow. Me passing out.
Hard to believe, but isekai'd. All signs pointed there.
Meanwhile, their ominous banter droned on.
[Almost there. Fuck, this sucks.]
Sure enough, a black tunnel gaped ahead.
Crimson lights inside screamed bad vibes. And... clacking mechanical arms.
Freaky dentist-drill arms wriggling like bug legs.
'Insane.'
Looked deadly. Stay put, and I'd get gutted, dying pointlessly.
Couldn't have that.
Like a squished worm, I thrashed with everything I had.
[What the—? She's moving!]
[...? Intelligence burned, right? Why's she...]
Drugged maybe—my struggles were pathetically weak.
Pure desperate flailing.
Die like this?
"Damn it..."
Ignoring their fuss, I twisted wildly to break free.
Tunnel right there. Motor whirs scratched my ears.
No give in the restraints, death closing in—
Suddenly, I sensed something inside me.
A pulsing dark purple glow... a book.
That black-covered, Bible-thick, ominous Grimoire.
'This...'
I reached for it instinctively—and power surged through me.
"...!"
Raw strength. Omnipotence.
I could do anything. Ripped the bonds apart.
Crack-crack-CRACK—
[What the hell! What's wrong with her!]
[Shit! Code Gamma! Code Gamma! Subject's escaping!]
Frail body, but violet mana cloaked me, empowering.
I landed lightly, facing the hazmats.
Eye level way lower than before; hair cascaded past waist to butt, swaying. No time to dwell.
[Black magic...! Black magic! Crazy! What the fu—]
[Shut up and draw weapons! Code Gamma! Execute on sight!]
They yanked crude guns from holsters.
Instinct screamed what to do.
Hand out.
Fwoom. Ominous winds howled; the Grimoire materialized.
A personal library of vile, awe-inspiring spells.
Only a few accessible now, but enough.
[■■]
[That crazy bi—!]
Splat.
That was it.
Otherworldly tentacles erupted from the floor, skewering the hazmats like kebabs.
Pierced vertically. Gray matter, brain fluid, blood oozed from their suits.
...I'd just killed people.
"...Urk."
Gore hit hard—nausea surged—but no time for pity or guilt.
Sympathy's for the well-fed.
Combat staff swarmed after hearing the radio.
[Escalating to Code Delta. All staff, terminate the subject!]
"Can't spare a sec to talk?"
I sighed, invoking another page.
Shra-la-lak—
Eerie glow from the Grimoire.
That day, Ether Bio Pharma HQ got served hundreds of shish kebabs.
I blended into the street crowd, walking.
A sea of people beyond packed. Rush-hour Gangnam Station vibes, suffocating.
But perfect cover—lost in the throng, trackers couldn't pin me easy.
I was the terrorist who'd crippled a megacorp, racking up casualties. They'd throw manpower at it, corp or cops.
Hide like this? I'd vanish like a raindrop in the ocean.
One gripe: my outfit.
Naked wasn't an option, so I magicked clothes. Witch getup. Not modest traditional—moe-beam overload, high-exposure modern style.
"Ugh... Gotta be this?"
My magic sucked; regen always spat out the same slutty witch look.
I hit the main drag from the alley, scanning.
Cyberpunk world laced with fantasy. Neon signs everywhere; haphazardly stacked buildings like a jungle.
Chicken-coop density—people jammed every gap.
Beyond: skyscraper forests like mountain ridges.
Hovercrafts zipped low; airships blimped ads.
Pedestrians wild: cybernetic swaps standard, some herding spirits or fairies.
At the boulevard, I hailed an unmanned anti-grav taxi.
Clunk—
"Welcome, passenger. Please set your destination."
I flopped into the seat.
"Can you show the map?"
"Yes. Select your destination from the map."
Ding!—A holo-map popped up.
72 districts. Top label: Iris Empire. Cyberpunk dystopia under a monarchy?
"Hmm..."
Wanted the boonies, but cash-poor. Only 100k credits swiped from the lab—all I had.
Burn on transit? Future's fucked.
Cheapest route it was.
"17th District Residential Area entrance."
"Destination recognized: 17th District Residential Area entrance. Departing."
As the taxi hummed along, I gazed out.
Sunset. Towering buildings crammed tight. Displays blasted ads everywhere.
Overhead trams packed with commuters.
Coolest: A boundary line etched in the sky, splitting the heavens to the horizon.
What the hell was that?
Soon, arrived.
"Arrived. Please pay the credits."
30k credits on the display.
Even insane Korean prices didn't hit that for a cab...?
Sigh. I fed in three crisp bills from my emergency stash.
Clunk—
AI's robotic goodbye as I stepped out. Air hit different—murky glow under flickering lamps, acrid human stench.
17th District Residential Area.
Elites in corp apartments; here, bottom-rung slum dwellers.
"Way more dystopian than I figured."
Had to adapt. Hole up here awhile.
I hurried on.
70k credits left. Barely a night or two at a fleabag inn.
Need cash fast. Might go illegal if push comes to shove.