Now that the money situation is finally taking off, business with the item publisher has become… profitable.
She took the diamond without question after that test — and once trust was established, I began introducing other goods. Minor things at first: tonics, stimulants, a few substances I'm pretty sure would count as illegal back home. But here? They're just "alchemical enhancers."
Then… well, there's the little problem of the tiny nuclear reactor.Don't look at me like that, reader. It's not like I built an actual bomb. It's a compact energy core, something I could justify as "a mana engine prototype." Still, I had to give her the technical rundown carefully, explaining that it produces pure energy without fire, crystals, or mana. Her eyes sparkled like I just told her the secret of godhood.
I know — not the smartest move. But desperate merchants make desperate deals.
Now that the money's rolling and the merchant network's forming around me, there's something more important I need to face.Knowledge.
If I'm entering the empire's academy without understanding how this world actually functions — its hierarchy, its energy system, even its history — then I'm basically walking blind. The only advantage I have is what I brought from my world, and that advantage is fading fast.
So before I step foot into that academy, I need to learn how this world works.
Its magic.Its science.Its people.Its story.
Because the last thing I want is to be the fool who introduced nuclear energy to a medieval empire.
Come to think of it… is there even a library inside the Malkiha Kingdom?
There has to be. A place that big — a capital of trade and politics — wouldn't survive without some kind of archive, even if most of its books are about noble bloodlines and tax records. But where exactly?
Maybe I should ask Anastasha.
…No. No, that's a bad idea. Talking to her again this early could twist the story's timeline. One small conversation could spiral into a whole subplot that shouldn't even exist yet. The butterfly effect here isn't just possible — it's practically guaranteed.
As much as I want to involve myself, I need to let things unfold on their own. Every story has its natural rhythm, and forcing my hand too soon could throw me further away from the main thread — the one I actually need to stay close to.
A change this early would be detrimental to my run.
So for now, I'll just observe. Find the library myself. Keep my head down, my mask on, and my mouth shut.
The less I alter, the longer I survive.
As I found myself walking through the streets of this town, I couldn't help but notice how balanced everything seemed. The ratio of nobles to commoners here was surprisingly even — maybe one-to-one.
But I doubt the Empire itself would be that generous. Realistically, it's probably two commoners for every ten nobles… or worse, the exact opposite.
"Excuse me, mister. Is there a library in this kingdom?" I asked a broad-shouldered man with a long moustache and beard. His name tag floated neatly above his head: [NPC]
"The public library's open to all," he said, voice gruff but polite. "Just follow this path—left, right, then another left." He gestured with the kind of precision that only comes from repeating the same line thousands of times.
"Well, thank you."
"No worries, young man."
As I walked away, my Author's Eye flickered faintly again — and I noticed something odd. The notorious item publisher I met earlier was still labeled [NPC].
Strange. You'd think someone that important, that unique, would at least get a special tag. Maybe none of the original cast ever delved deep enough into the underworld for her to matter. Maybe she was never written to exist for them.
One week. That's how long until Anastasha leaves for the Empire. And as fast as the diamond trade and other goods are selling, the money's still coming in too quickly.
Twenty-five percent of the tuition already paid — in just two days.
I still have five more. That's enough time to learn more about this world. Maybe even visit a museum or two.
It's still weird, though. How there are modern concepts everywhere — tools, systems, even hints of industrial design — but none of it is… consistent.
Like someone tried to mix two eras together and called it a setting.
So this is the public library?
Its design looks like a miniature Greek temple — marble walls, towering pillars, and a triangular roof that makes it feel both ancient and out of place. The sides are closed, though, unlike the open-air structures I've seen in books.
I guess the author took inspiration from real-world architecture and added their own creative twist.
Still, it's almost predictable. If it's not American-inspired, then it's usually Greek or Roman. European styles dominate everything here — from the symmetry of buildings to the ornamental patterns carved into every stone.
The noble houses, for example, look exactly like old European estates: grand, symmetrical, and designed to show power. Commoner homes, meanwhile, resemble cramped American-style apartments. And for those in poverty… the architecture turns tragic — wood, scraps, and desperation built into walls.
The markets remind me of something different, though — Asiatic regions, maybe. Tight stalls jammed together, vendors shouting, the smell of cooked food, spices, and metal blending in the air. It's crowded, chaotic, alive.
It's as if the author wanted to recreate the real world piece by piece — mixing cultural inspirations like ingredients — but still remind everyone that this is fantasy.
Even the banquet Anastasha mentioned at the end of the week feels familiar. The way nobles gather for prestige and politics, feasts and alliances — it's the same as the real-world aristocratic events back before technology made communication too easy.
This world isn't foreign. It's just... distorted. Like a reflection of mine, caught in the wrong era.
As I entered the library, a clerk immediately handed me a thin wooden pass — apparently, it grants me permission to roam freely and, well, do what people are supposed to do in libraries.
Though, personally? Back in college, I mostly used libraries as a sleeping place. They were quiet, cold, and no one bothered you as long as you pretended to be reading.
This place, however, had its own sense of reverence. Everything was crafted from glazed wood — polished enough to reflect the faint light of the hovering lanterns. The shelves, curiously, weren't wooden but carved from smooth, pale stone, etched with faint runes that probably reinforced them against decay.
The books themselves were bound in thick leather, all shades of brown and crimson, smelling faintly of ink and dust. When I picked one up, the pages were coarse to the touch — not the thin, clean paper I was used to, but rough parchment, uneven and fibrous. Still, the weight felt… real. Tangible.
I wandered between aisles for a while, until I found a section labeled Histories and Records. The signage above the shelves was neatly engraved in gold letters — at least they had some sort of system here.
I brushed my hand along the spines, scanning the titles.
"Chronicles of the First Empire.""Rise and Fall of the Draconic Dynasties.""A Record of the Abyssal Calamity.""The Age of the Thousand Crowns."
All these names sound dramatic enough to be written by someone who wanted their book to be remembered forever.
"Well," I muttered under my breath, pulling one from the shelf. "Let's see what kind of history this world wants me to believe."
The origin of this world, named Terarya, is born from the clash between the Grand Devils and the Grand Gods and Goddesses. After the war ended, the shattered remnants of their battle molded into what is now known as Terarya.
Humans and other races were said to have been created from the blood spilled by both sides—offspring of both good and evil, chaos and divinity mixed into one.
When these beings first gained consciousness, the world was peaceful—untainted by greed, pride, or envy. But peace didn't last.
A vessel of the Grand Devils descended into this world and introduced a concept foreign to all existence at that time—Sin.
The book's text seems to almost breathe that word—Sin.
And from that single concept, everything changed.
With sin came awareness—of what was "wrong," and therefore, what was "right." The paradox was born: to know purity, one must first taste corruption.
The world fell into chaos as the beings of Terarya began to understand freedom. Some followed the temptations of sin, while others sought meaning through faith.
In response, the Gods and Goddesses sent down their own vessels—the First Mage and the First Knight—figures who taught the world the laws of order and the arts of magic and valor.
Their teachings birthed the new age of civilization, marking the end of the era of sins and the beginning of what history calls The First Dawn.
But even as I flipped the page, the tone darkened again.
"The vessel of sin was vanquished, but not erased. Its remnants linger in the hearts of mortals, whispering forbidden truths. Those who seek the unknown—who desire to recreate the divine—carry the fragments of its will."
I paused.
Forbidden truths? Recreation of the divine?
That sounds dangerously close to what I'm trying to do—creating a core, a system, something beyond the natural order of this world.
It's almost like the book was warning me.
Still, I couldn't help but feel a spark of curiosity. If the sin was the pursuit of forbidden knowledge, maybe I'm already walking the same path that vessel once took.
And if I could understand how the First Mage created the foundation of magic in this world—maybe I could reverse-engineer it.
Maybe I could finally build my own system.
Exactly — that's the horrifying revelation.
The more I read, the clearer it became why this world's "system" felt incomplete. It wasn't just an arbitrary mechanic for power balance. It was biological—a structure woven into the body itself.
The mana paths, as described, are thin threads running along what I could only compare to human nerve channels—branching from the spine to the limbs, connecting to a central point called the Aether Core, located where the heart would be.
Every spell, every enchantment, every so-called "miracle" in this world passes through those paths. It's both conduit and control system, allowing the body to manipulate the world's energy flow.
But I don't have one.
I might have a nervous system, but I don't have a mana system. Which means, in this world's standards—I'm a being with no roots, no element, no foundation.
And yet, the Author's System—the strange interface that allows me to bring things from my world, to manipulate space and items—still functions here.
That means the System I carry operates independently of this world's magical framework. Like a foreign operating system running on incompatible hardware.
So if I could somehow bridge the two—link my Author's System to an artificial version of this world's mana network—then I could not only use their magic, but also rewrite it. Customize it.Maybe even surpass the limits of both.
Still… the book made one thing terrifyingly clear:
"Those born without a path are the unblessed—souls foreign to the weave of the world. To force a path within them is to tear flesh from spirit, binding what was never meant to merge."
It's a warning. A painful one.
To create a system inside myself means forcing a mana circuit into a body not meant to have it.And the results—if I fail—would be catastrophic.
Still… if all the "pure-blooded" beings are descendants of divine lineage, and I'm an anomaly in a world that wasn't meant to have me… then what choice do I really have?
If I want to survive, I'll have to become my own system.
The system aside, I should also learn how magic here actually works.
Hmm… oh?
According to this section—for one to exert mana and shape it into power, a mage must first learn how to gather mana from their core.
A mana core... a separate lifeforce from the heart.
So basically... it's like having a second heart that doesn't pump blood, but energy.
The text calls the raw energy particles mana pearls—tiny, microscopic spheres that circulate through the body much like blood cells.
So in simpler terms, mana pearls are this world's version of red blood cells for magic.
When a mage trains, they learn to guide these pearls—concentrating them into a specific area of the body. Once gathered, the pearls are released through what's described as "invisible pores" scattered across the skin.
Each of these "pores" acts as a miniature outlet for mana flow—tiny gates that let power escape the body and shape itself into a spell.
As for how the magic itself takes form—that depends on one's affinity, the elemental blessing granted by the Gods and Goddesses.
So their magic isn't something you choose; it's something you're born with.
Fire, water, earth, wind, light, darkness—your element is predetermined by whatever divine being took an interest in your soul before birth.
Changing it? Nearly impossible.Though… the text hints that it could be done.
Apparently, the System the First Mage created allowed certain individuals to open new affinity paths, granting them additional elements through something resembling evolution or skill growth.
But since I don't have access to that system, I can only guess what it looks like.Maybe it's structured like a talent tree or evolution path, where you unlock new branches upon reaching certain thresholds.
That means the magic of this world is both limited and limitless—limited by divine origin, but limitless by human innovation.
And according to the next passage…
"The strength of one's race determines the density of their mana pearls and the width of their core's channel. The higher the purity of one's bloodline, the stronger their flow."
So even the capacity of your magic depends on your race and lineage.
In short:
The core is your second heart.
The mana pearls are your magical blood cells.
The pores are your spell outlets.
And your affinity is your divine label—your inborn element.
All of it sounds fascinating… but also unfairly rigged.
Because for someone like me—an outsider with no divine lineage and no system—I'm not even registered in the rules of their world.
If I can't be granted magic…then I'll just have to engineer it.