Chapter 37
Chapter 37
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 37
Chapter Title: Deep Sea Chronicles
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Ian sat next to the increasingly vacant Librarian, sipping coffee together.
One might expect it from a library manager, but the coffee the Librarian brewed was pretty good. It was definitely the same instant powder, yet somehow the taste was worlds apart.
Was this some kind of anomaly too?
"Hmm."
Ian wrote on the paper that it was safe to drink the coffee brewed by the Librarian, then turned to look at him.
"For now, no running in the library. No jumping either. Oh, no crawling around, and no climbing the bookshelves. If you do, I'll come charging over and chop your head clean off."
"I see. Next rule?"
Ian sipped his coffee as he etched each rule the man shared onto the paper.
The absurdly extensive rules were summarized as much as possible. For instance, rules like spitting on or tearing the library's books causing your mouth to rip wide open and your body to split in half were condensed to 'Do not damage the books.' The rest were shortened similarly.
If someone couldn't grasp that and deliberately damaged a book's value, well, that was natural selection. They'd die somewhere anyway, library or not.
Tap tap.
Ian rolled the ballpoint pen between his fingers, lit a cigarette, and kept listening to the Librarian's rules.
"Ah, smoking is banned in the library. If you smoke, I have to slowly roast you to death from the toes up!"
"I'm fine."
"Oh. Really? Got it......"
"Anyway, keep going with the next rules. How many left?"
"Uh...... A total of 136!"
"......How many summarized?"
"Then 7!"
"Then explain them summarized."
"Yes!"
Time kept flowing. Ian jotted down the rules the Librarian shared at top speed, while the Librarian somehow churned his increasingly dim wits to explain them all.
At last, the rulebook was complete.
Rules no different from Neapolitan ghost stories. Thanks to the relentless summarization, the content wasn't as overwhelming as expected. Seemed easy enough to memorize.
But carrying at least a copy would boost survival odds even more.
'Not a bad idea to leave one here for emergencies.'
Anomalies didn't discriminate between anomalies and humans. Ian had come to the library of his own accord, but there was no guarantee ordinary folk wouldn't get dragged in. Mage or esper status be damned—some surely would.
To up their survival rate, leaving a few copies scattered around the library made sense. He handed the handwritten rulebook to the Librarian and said,
"Photocopy this and place about five copies around the library? Give me back the original."
"Uh, why?"
"Everyone needs to know the rules. That way you can rest easy too."
"You're right! I'll copy them!"
"Yeah, make a guide note saying where you put each rulebook. And from now on, ignore whatever I do here."
"Got it!"
Ian left the eagerly replying creature behind and headed into the graveyard of endless books.
Bookshelves towering to the ceiling. He peered into one, scanning for anything decent.
Most were malicious. A single compendium of ways to harm humans clocked in at a staggering 2,000 pages. No interest in reading that.
But not everything was like that. Plain novels like *Don Quixote* and Arthurian legends dotted the shelves. A few famous tales from the real world. Knowing reading itself carried no penalty, he flipped through some—nothing special. Just novels.
'Looks like a place that gathers books from this world and beyond. Wonder if there are grimoires too.'
He slotted the book back onto the shelf, gripped his grimoire, and patted his shoulder.
Ian's grimoire was leagues apart from ordinary ones. Unlike standard grimoires penned by fellow humans, the *Hand of Recreation* had been authored by an Outer God.
Just how far did an Outer God's power extend? Could they gulp down Earth like in some story? No clue. But one thing was certain: they ranked among the universe's heavy hitters. Even Earth's mightiest mages would crumble like insects before them.
Which was why he wanted to check. The gap between a mage's grimoire and an Outer God's. How vast the difference in caliber. Foreknowledge could give him an edge in any future run-ins with them.
"Hmm."
With the copy machine humming away behind him, Ian roamed the library, hunting for grimoires.
After some time, he spotted one book that stood out—exuding an air of genuine mystery amid the rest. An antique tome.
Thick volume with a blue cover etched in gold lettering. Ian checked the title and cracked a smile.
[*Book of Moses 8*]
Jackpot. Ian set the *Hand of Recreation* on the table, took a seat, and examined his new find.
The *Book of Moses 8* was one Ian knew.
*Lemegeton*, *Key of Solomon*, *Necronomicon*, *Arbatel*, *Book of the Office of Spirits*—same tier as those legendary grimoires. It had even been listed in the grimoire guide Lee Seo-ah carried.
Prayers to summon rain or unleash floods. Mostly destructive spells recorded within.
True, sincere repentance and prayer to God could nullify its magic, but no denying it was a powerhouse grimoire. Ian badgered the Librarian for another coffee, took a sip, and flipped the cover.
"......?"
He tried. But it was like the cover was glued shut—it wouldn't budge.
"No, what's this?"
Unlike the library's other books, this grimoire refused to yield.
No—on closer look, the cover was quivering. As if straining with all its might to stay closed.
"......Well, well?"
It had shown itself like it wanted him, only to pull this? What was this, some mind game?
......Competitive fire lit. Ian gripped the book, shot to his feet, and yanked the cover with everything he had.
[......Ughhh!]
The *Book of Moses 8* shuddered desperately, refusing to open. The thick cover twitched mere millimeters but wouldn't part fully.
"You—help out!"
Panting at last, Ian summoned the *Hand of Recreation*. The Outer God's grimoire fluttered once, as if sighing in lofty disdain, then slithered over and nudged the other book's cover.
And.
**KABOOOM!!!**
A deafening blast—and the *Book of Moses 8* exploded.
"......!"
Torn shreds and pulverized chunks rained to the floor. In a blink, it lay like a corpse, twitching sporadically before going slack.
Dead. A grimoire that had existed in this world mere moments ago was gone.
"......"
Ian stared mutely at the remnants on the floor. The grimoire capable of drowning villages or unleashing deluges had met its end today.
A relic from the ancient great Moses, vanished just like that. Ian barked a hollow laugh and slumped into the chair.
[The grimoire penned by an Outer God influences even its owner.]
Gaping in disbelief at the debris, the *Hand of Recreation* climbed his arm and flipped open on its own.
[The grimoire's owner is deemed chosen by an Outer God. Mages in this state become pariahs to other grimoires. Reading one causes ego collapse and death. Higher-caliber grimoires can endure it, though.]
[But a 100% compatible bearer is no mere chosen pet—they're seen as the Outer God's companion, treated as an Outer God by other grimoires. Unless penned by the same Outer God, no grimoire can withstand their aura and all perish.]
"......Ah."
In short: the instant you claimed an Outer God grimoire, other grimoires became off-limits—untouchable, unreadable. Ian scratched his head, eyeing the pristine, hefty tome in his grip.
Motionless, it seemed to declare no other grimoires but itself.
What was this, some obsessive girlfriend? Absurd.
Ian heaved a deep sigh and set the grimoire on the table.
"Bottom line: I can only peek at grimoires from the same Outer God."
Lame that he'd never touch a mage's grimoire again, but hunting other Outer Gods' books? Pass. One clingy grimoire was plenty.
With that thought, he reached for his coffee.
But his hand closed not on the paper cup.
Hard, rough—leather texture.
"......?"
He hadn't set any other book on the table, so what the hell was this?
Unease prickling, Ian slowly turned his head. Confirmed what he'd grabbed.
A pitch-black book. No descriptions, no illustrations. Just black paint on the cover, red letters carved into it.
[*Deep Sea Chronicles*]
An ominous title emerged. Ian tried to yank his hand free—but it moved on its own, rustling the cover open. Dense text crammed onto pristine pages filled his vision.
[*Deep Sea Chronicles*]
[*Author: Master of the Outer Sea*]
[This grimoire was penned by the Outer God Master of the Outer Sea, hereinafter ■■■, and primarily records methods to summon creatures directly created by ■■■—]
**BAM!**
As Ian unwittingly scanned the familiar intro, the *Hand of Recreation* slammed the *Deep Sea Chronicles* shut and crushed down from above.
"Eek!"
Ian yelped as pain like his hand was being pulverized shot through him.
[Woooong!]
[Wooooong!]
The two grimoires sandwiched Ian's hand, shoving at each other with desperate force. Ian's face twisted in agony, like his hand was caught in a vice.
"Ah, ah! Hey, it hurts! Aaaah!"