As he stepped inside the building, Barion noticed two things immediately.
One was a person seated at an elevated desk near the center of the hall, clearly positioned to overlook the entire library. The other was a heavily built man standing near the entrance, arms crossed, eyes sharp and unmoving.
A guard.
Barion walked past him without slowing down. The man didn't stop him, didn't even glance his way, which was already a small relief.
He moved deeper inside, quietly hoping the librarian wouldn't call him over to show some kind of identification. That would have complicated things far more than he liked. Fortunately, no such thing happened.
So he calmed himself and began browsing.
He made sure not to look nervous or hurried. Acting like a stumbling outsider would only draw unnecessary attention, and attention was the last thing he needed. Before entering, he had adjusted his scarf into a bandana-like wrap. It still obscured his face, but no longer made him look like a thief—or worse, someone dangerous.
The library itself was simple.
A single large hall, with five tall bookshelves pressed against three of the walls, and two more standing in the middle. The smell of old paper and dust hung faintly in the air.
After scanning two shelves without much result, he finally found what he was looking for.
Languages.
There were several books grouped together, each filled with unfamiliar symbols. He didn't understand a single spoken word yet, but that didn't matter. He carefully memorized the symbols instead, committing them to memory one after another.
Considering his training in that room, memorization at this level was trivial. Once he could associate sounds with symbols, learning the language would only be a matter of exposure.
There were ten language books in total.
He guessed there were probably many more languages in the world, but transportation and communication still seemed limited. Books like these wouldn't circulate widely yet.
He memorized all ten for best.
While doing so, he noticed something interesting. Nine of the books referenced symbols that were explained in the first one. That meant the first book was likely the base language.
The native tongue.
Satisfied, he didn't linger. Reading history or records would be pointless when he couldn't properly understand the language yet. He returned the books to their places and exited the library without being questioned.
By then, the sun was already beginning to sink. The heat in the air was still present, but it had started to ease slightly. Evening.
He headed toward the market, reasoning that this would be the best place to learn pronunciation. As expected, the streets were busy. People were buying food, tools, daily necessities—likely preparing for dinner.
As he walked, listening carefully, a thought crossed his mind.
More than ten hours had passed since he transmigrated. In the Earth sense, considering the planets sun position, he had transmigrated here around 10 AM.Yet now, it felt closer to six in the evening.
"So time's different here," he muttered quietly. "Or the days are longer."
He spent nearly two hours wandering through stalls, paying particular attention to children and vendors shouting item names. Signs with written symbols helped confirm meanings, and little by little, the language began to take shape in his mind.
Fortunately, the spoken language matched the first book he had memorized.
Internally, he was already mapping the remaining nine languages as branches from the same root.
His adaptability in this unknown world was frightening, yet understandable. It made sense. The Metaroom had shaped him for exactly this kind of situation.
"So the main language is Keron," he thought. "Basically the English of this world. Popularized through industry and trade."
He was still organizing this information when he felt it.
Someone was watching him. And approaching.
He didn't react immediately. If the intent was robbery, Damocles would have already warned him as robbers would have definitely bound by greed. Since it remained silent, he waited until they took action. Since he was more capable of controlling this body he would be able to perform many other martial arts so if it was any common person he could absolutely demolish them.
A voice spoke behind him.
"Here you are. I was about to send someone to find you. I told you to speak with the Grenha family, didn't I? What are you doing here?"
Barion turned.
The man speaking looked about the same age as him. He had golden hair, a refined face, and stood at roughly the same height. Two older men accompanied him, their presence heavy and controlled.
The young man's clothes were on another level entirely. Clean, perfectly fitted, and clearly expensive. Barion had thought his own outfit was decent, but compared to this, it felt insignificant.
More troubling was the familiarity in the man's tone.
They knew each other.
From the way he spoke, Barion could tell he was likely working for him—an assistant, or something similar. That explained the clothes. That explained why he hadn't been questioned earlier.
He sensed others nearby, hidden, but the sharp, scrutinizing gazes of the two guards made him abandon the idea of searching for them.
One of the older men leaned in and whispered something into the golden-haired man's ear.
The reaction was immediate.
The man's eyes widened slightly, then a genuine smile formed on his face.
"You…" he said slowly, almost in disbelief. "You awakened."
Barion frowned faintly.
"Huh?"
"What do you mean, 'huh'?" the man said, clearly surprised. "You literally awakened your mage technique. I was hoping you'd awaken near the same time as me. Do you know how much I worried about whether you'd awaken or not?" He paused for a moment, then smiled wider. "Come on, let's see it. Show me your technique, John."
Barion felt his head spin, though outwardly he kept his expression neutral.
The thoughts in his mind collided chaotically.
'Awakened, mage technique. So that was a thing here. And judging by the way the he's speaking, it isn't rare—but it isn't guaranteed either i think. So are they talking about the sword?' he wondered immediately.
'But that doesn't quite fit. He said 'mage technique', not weapon, not artifact, not anything tied to equipment. The way he phrased it made it sound internal. Something inherent to the person.'
'If that's the case, how do they know I awakened anything at all?' Even he didn't fully understand what Damocles counted as yet.
And then there was the name.
'John.' He almost sighed internally. On Earth, it was one of the most common names imaginable. Compared to Barion, which had felt… singular, this felt painfully ordinary.
'Great i went from one of a kind to one of many.' he thought dryly.
Still, he nodded slowly, giving the man a vague acknowledgment. Nothing too enthusiastic, nothing dismissive either.
The man frowned slightly at his reaction.
"Hey, what's wrong?" he asked, studying him more closely. "Are you feeling sick? Or is it related to the negative conditions of your technique?"
That sentence made Barion's thoughts halt. Negative conditions.
He kept his face calm, but internally, something clicked into place. He felt like he was suddenly enlightened.
'So techniques come with drawbacks, huh.' he realized. 'And not just general ones. He said 'your' negative conditions. That means, if mage techniques are personalized, perfectly tailored for each, Unique to the individual. Then obviously the side effects or negative conditions must also be unique to the person.'
'Great, great..Well isn't that great, i mean not technically but for me heck yeah, it's useful. Holy now i could easily get out of this predicament if i plan perfectly.'
That alone explained a lot. It also handed him a perfect opening.
He took a brief moment to respond, letting the silence stretch just enough to seem natural. In that pause, his thoughts raced with frightening speed.
'If techniques have inherent demerits, then it's normal for someone to be affected after awakening, or technique having sudden negative effects. If he already believes I awakened, then I don't need to prove it immediately. And if I claim the side effects are severe or unstable, he won't push too hard to detaily explain about myself. He would try to wait until I am able to speak with him, why one might ask. Because even though I am assistant he's acting more like a freind with me. So according to my understanding he would want to me have a breather and then explain. If he behaves just like i think then i could easily be able to understand my history, my position with him without trying to act like I have lost my memories.'
'More importantly...This man is valuable.'
'The way he's dressed, the guards, the authority in his voice, there is no doubt. High noble, or at least very close to one. And judging by how casually he spoke with me, we definitely weren't strangers. John was someone trusted.'
If he stayed close to this man, he'd gain access to information, protection, and time. Time to understand the sword. Time to understand this world. Time to search for whoever or whatever brought him here.
'I'm not becoming anyone's marionette,' he decided. 'But I can play along until I know the one behind the strings.'
And right now, the world itself had handed him a believable lie, tailor-made for the situation.
'Negative conditions,' he thought with a faint internal laugh. 'Yeah… that sounds about right.'
He had formed a formidable plan.
To be continued==>