Experiencing the Past in the Library of Memories
I thought the past one could experience in the Library of Memories would just end with manifesting certain recollections, but the process I'd gone through was even influencing reality itself.
"Feels like we've met somewhere before, even though this is our first time. Like you helped me out or something."
The beastman mercenary who introduced himself as Gerard said that to Maness.
"Anyway, since it's fate, let's grab a meal sometime. Folks from Warland don't buy into superstitions, but you can't ignore a gut feeling."
Gerard didn't remember the events in the desert perfectly. He just vaguely sensed a connection. That alone proved the library's influence was tremendous.
Turning non-events into reality.
As Maness trailed behind Class 1's procession, fragmented sunlight filtered through the leaves onto his face. An influence bordering on reality manipulation. A realm no one could dare touch.
The Library of Memories was achieving it.
Considering that, it made sense why someone like Retos, a grand archmage, served as its librarian. It had to be guarded by such a figure.
Whatever. Maness shook his head to clear the stray thoughts. There was no point dwelling on the library anymore—it wasn't a place he'd revisit. He'd already gotten everything he could from it, and there were no looming crises tied to reality manipulation ahead.
And then... "...that bastard Boltman."
He was utterly exhausted.
He'd pulled an all-nighter and barely made it before class, only to face another ordeal. Outdoor lesson. Why did this damn academy love outdoor activities so much? No clue.
"My dream of face-planting on a desk and sleeping..."
Maness muttered as he shuffled along like a half-dead corpse, prompting the students in the back to put even more distance between them. He had no intention of unnerving them, but it was beyond his control. He lacked the ability—or the will—to explain what had happened overnight.
Sensing his state, Hiteri called over Kyle from the front.
"Keep going straight, and you'll hit an open clearing. That's the lesson site—lead them there and wait."
"Yes, Professor."
Hiteri, who had been standing aside to let the procession pass, then singled out his target.
"Stop, Maness."
Maness halted at the sudden summons, forcing a bright smile onto his haggard face. You couldn't just spit in the face of someone who looked so decent. Getting a lecture from the viper now might just break his mind. Plus, Hiteri was one of the few who knew where he'd been last night.
"You look tired."
"...As you can see."
No need for excuses. Dragging it out would only make him seem more pathetic. He hadn't dozed off mid-lesson yet, so he could stand tall.
"More importantly, are you doing okay, Professor?"
"What do you mean?"
"You were on night duty but took morning class too."
The professor he'd run into heading to the Library of Memories? None other than Hiteri.
"I'm not shoving my class onto another professor over a little lost sleep."
Tough bastard.
Maness's response to the answer was curt. "Hmph."
Hiteri let out a brief grunt, then drew a forearm-length wand from his robes. As its tip pointed at his student, an egg emerged from Maness's pocket.
"A familiar, huh."
The egg, ordinary yet mysteriously alluring at first glance, soon returned to its owner's pocket.
"I told you not to steal, and you bring back something extraordinary."
"...It just kinda happened."
"The world's gotten awfully convenient. Even top-tier familiars fall into your lap 'just like that.'"
He didn't give an inch in their exchange. Still, it didn't feel like he was picking a fight. More like confirming the facts and processing them. His tone was sharp, but there was no hostility.
"Seems Metaph takes a liking to you."
"Is private guidance a problem?"
"Hardly. Sure, some might gripe about fairness among students, but as a professor, it looks fine to me."
Hiteri pocketed the wand and turned to leave.
"Do whatever for morning class—lean against a tree and catch your breath, or wander around. Your call."
"Pardon? What do you...?"
Maness's ears perked up as he followed. Such consideration didn't suit the man at all—it felt like he'd eaten bad breakfast.
"Got word. Said you need rest."
Word? Few in the academy could sway Hiteri. Not just skill, but his years here dwarfed others'. Even the principal or vice-principal might get compliance, but he'd never yield easily.
"Besides, this lesson wouldn't benefit you anyway."
Maness recalled the class content. Communion with spirits—something first-years would love.
"I'm interested in spirits too."
"Don't you know the opinion of someone who's already bonded a familiar doesn't matter?"
Was there some deep link between familiars and spirits? That was news to him. Familiars were rarer than rare. Even far in the future, Kyle had no familiar ties, so no intel there either.
"You'll figure it out once you experience it yourself."
With those cryptic words, Hiteri headed toward the distant group.
Mindful of painting a weird picture, Maness kept a few steps back as he rejoined the crowd.
"Focus."
Hiteri drew eyes as he stood on the bare dirt platform.
"You can't see it now with the barrier up ahead, but this is spirit territory. A replica of Spinel, the land of spirits occupying part of the continent's east."
Admiring murmurs rose from the students. To these fledglings, spirits were unknowns. Discovering talent for spirit communion could lead to becoming a spiritist. They were highly valued in society—borrowing spirit power instead of your own mana made jobs easier, and their unique affinities opened wide fields.
"Some of you might stumble on new talents here by accident. But don't get too hung up on whether you have it or not. The spirits you'll meet aren't high-level, so anyone can commune with practice."
Hiteri exhaled shortly toward the group sitting wide-eyed and eager.
"Form groups of three from now. Scores vary by results, so choose wisely."
The condition dropped right before class made Maness grimace. No joke.
*
In the end, it was wordplay. Rest if you want, but the format showed zero consideration.
Damn viper.
Maness's suspicions hit the mark. Even with orders from above, that sly mage wouldn't comply willingly.
"Kyle, group with me."
"You got private sword lessons last time! Yield this one."
Maness sighed, watching the cluster around Kyle. The coolness from the tree against his back. Cloudless blue sky. Perfect napping weather—even a meteor wouldn't wake him.
But it was group work. With scores on the line. No way they'd let a dropout slide.
Should I just bail? His reputation was trashed anyway. His partners might even prefer he stay away. Letting the other two frolic with spirits while he napped would be helping, he hypnotized himself.
"Since it's living beings, stay within ten paces for safety. Of course, break it if you dare—I'm curious what punishment I'd give."
The viper crushed his last hope.
Run.
Pushed to his limit, Maness fantasized impossible plans. Get caught fleeing, get injured enough for the infirmary. But Hiteri suppressing a student with wounds? Contradiction.
"Can I even form a group...?"
Naturally, no one around as he muttered. The school delinquent's rule worked in reverse—no one approached, not even eye contact.
There has to be a way.
His bleary eyes scanned, pupils dilating. Someone in a similar spot. Worlds apart in reputation, but another loner: Conien Mactatum, northern nomad heir.
Conien sat eyes closed in the leafy shade, attuning to nature. Straight-backed, hands at his dantian—like a meditating ascetic.
One down. Perfect match. He had zero spirit interest. Propose skipping for points? High chance of yes.
"Hey."
Maness approached casually, sat at a distance, and spoke. Golden eyes gleamed softly from beneath lifted lids.
"You not grouping?"
Conien's gaze shifted to him briefly before returning forward. Short appraisal done.
"If it's a result we'll face anyway, waiting patiently is a virtue."
"...You talk fancy."
Not incomprehensible. Pair with leftovers. Wise for someone who avoided crowds.
"Not into spirits? You look chill compared to the others."
"I forgo leaning on such things."
"Got it."
As expected. Maness nodded faintly, satisfied inwardly.
"What about you? No interest?"
Couldn't answer the counter right away. Not zero interest. Like the hyped students, spirits mystified him too.
But no bandwidth. Illusions, necromancy, word magic, familiar. Too much piled up short-term for new grabs.
How'd it end up like this? Original plan: coast smartly. Let Kyle, Conien, Iris handle events. Skim gains, plan ahead.
Now? Reversed. Kyle and Iris laughing with peers yonder. Him? Anxiety over anti-magic cults via Row. Ruthless demon power from the library. Prepping for futures aggressively.
What kinda extra am I?
If only those threats. Empire's ills exposed. Rekindled racial strife. Magic Tower elder's continent-spanning mess.
Griping inwardly felt petty, but fatigue made him snappy.
"Eh, similar to you. Who'd group with me anyway?"
"Hmph."
Couldn't dump thoughts on Conien, so Maness brushed it off. Conien, still forward-gazing, murmured low.
"Kyle might."
"Ugh."
Maness waved it off at Kyle's name.
"Pushing through that crowd for a spot? Headache just thinking. Even if, others wouldn't let me."
Conien nodded silently. He'd rated Maness highly inwardly, but impossible was impossible.
"Human relations are needlessly complex."
"You think?"
As groups formed one by one, silence exchanged, Maness spoke again amid the lull.
"So, wanna group with me? If the last one's not into points or spirits, we hole up and rest."
"Points?"
"How much they giving for this? Better rest solid now, focus on real priorities."
Conien pondered briefly.
"Selective focus isn't bad."
"Smart call."
"If the third agrees."
Groups nearing end. Probably picking the unlucky last.
"Can't ignore someone's wishes."
"Told ya—if they're meh on points/spirits, we rest."
He had confidence. Pairing with the class isolates meant forfeiting. They'd thank quiet passage.
"You two there."
A sharp voice called—the sacrifice set. Overconfident tone odd for delinquent duty, but Maness could only accept, rubbing his temple.
"One spot open?"
Fiery red hair matching her vibe. Arms crossed, looking down imperiously.
"...Think so?"
Iris Jerman was the worst of bad luck.