Chapter 37
Ian sat next to the increasingly dimwitted librarian and drank coffee with him.
As the person in charge of a library, the coffee the librarian had made was quite good. He was definitely using the same instant mix, so Ian couldn't understand how the taste could be so different.
Could this count as a kind of anomaly too?
“Hmm.”
Ian wrote on the paper that the coffee the librarian had made was safe to drink, then turned to look at him.
“First of all, don't run in the library. No jumping either. Oh, and no crawling, and don't climb the bookshelves. If you do, I'll scamper over and snip your head right off.”
“I see. What's the next rule?”
Ian sipped his coffee and copied the rules the librarian gave him onto the paper one by one.
The extremely voluminous rules were summarized as much as possible. For example, a rule like ‘If you smear spit on the library's books or tear them apart, your mouth will split wide open and your body will be divided in two’ was shortened to ‘Do not deface the books.’ The rest were trimmed in a similar way.
If someone couldn't even recognize that and still insisted on destroying the value of the books, then that's a natural death. They were going to die somewhere else anyway.
Tap tap.
Ian rolled the ballpoint pen between his fingers and kept listening to the librarian's rules with a cigarette between his teeth.
“Ah! Smoking is prohibited in the library. If you smoke, I’ll have to slowly burn you to death, starting from your toes!”
“I'm fine.”
“Oh. Really? Okay, then...”
“More importantly, keep telling me the next rules. How many are left?”
“Uhh... 136 in total!”
“......How many after summarizing?”
“Then 7!”
“Then summarize them for me.”
“Yes!”
Time continued to pass. Ian quickly wrote down the rules the librarian explained, while the librarian did his best to keep his increasingly addled brain turning as he explained every rule.
Before long, the rulebook was complete.
A set of rules no different from a Napolitan ghost story. Because they had been condensed over and over, the contents were less extensive than expected. It didn't seem like it would be too hard to memorize.
But carrying at least a copy on him would likely increase his chances of survival even more.
“Leaving one here, just in case, wouldn't be a bad idea.”
Anomalies don't discriminate between the supernatural and humans. Ian had visited the library of his own accord, but there was no guarantee ordinary people would do the same. Regardless of whether they were magicians or espers, there would definitely be people who got dragged in.
To help raise their survival rate, it seemed best to leave a few copies in the library. He handed the rulebook he had written himself to the librarian and said.
“Could you copy this and place about five copies around the library? Give me back the original.”
“Huh? Why?”
“Everyone should know the rules. That way you can rest easy too.”
“You're right! I'll make copies!”
“Right. Also make an instruction sheet telling where each copy of the rulebook was placed. And from now on, don't pay attention to whatever I do here.”
“Got it!”
Ian left the cheerfully answering guy behind and walked toward the graveyard of vast tomes.
Bookshelves rose so high they seemed to touch the ceiling. He peered into one of them, looking for a decent book.
Most of them were malicious. The complete compendium of ways to harm humans ran to a staggering 2,000 pages. He had no desire to read it.
Still, they weren't all like that. There were ordinary novels like Don Quixote and the legends of King Arthur. He even saw a few famous stories from the real world. Knowing there was no penalty for reading, he opened them, but as expected, there was nothing special about them. Just novels.
'Looks like this place collects books from different worlds. Then maybe there are grimoires too.'
He returned the book he'd been holding to the shelf, took a grimoire in hand, and gave his shoulder a quick rub.
The grimoire Ian owned was on an entirely different plane from ordinary grimoires. Unlike normal grimoires written by human hands, its creator was a foreign god.
He didn't know exactly how powerful a foreign god was, or whether it could swallow Earth whole like in fiction. But at the very least, it was undeniably one of the strongest beings even on a cosmic scale. The magicians who were renowned on Earth would be insects before them.
So he wanted to check. The difference between a grimoire written by a magician and one written by a foreign god. How big the gap in quality was, and so on. If he knew in advance, it would give him an advantage in future clashes with them too.
“Hmm.”
Leaving the copy machine humming behind him, Ian roamed the library on foot in search of a grimoire.
After a long while, he found a single antique book that gave off a rather mystical air, unlike the others.
A thick volume with gold lettering on a blue cover. Ian checked the title and smiled.
[The Eighth Book of Moses]
Jackpot. Ian placed the Hand of Re-Creation on the table, sat in the chair, and examined the newly found grimoire.
The Eighth Book of Moses was a grimoire Ian already knew.
A book on par with top-tier grimoires such as the Lesser Key of Solomon, the Necronomicon, the Almandal, and the Book of the Duties of Spirits. The grimoire guidebook Seoa had carried also had an entry on it.
A grimoire whose main contents were destructive magic, such as bringing down rain through prayer or causing floods.
Although repenting for your sins and praying sincerely to God could nullify its magic, it was definitely an impressive grimoire. After pestering the librarian for another cup of coffee, Ian sipped it and flipped open the grimoire's cover.
“……?”
He tried to flip it open. But, as if glued in place, the cover wouldn't budge.
“No, what the hell is this?”
Unlike the other books in the library, the grimoire didn't budge an inch.
No, on closer inspection, the cover was trembling. It looked as if it were straining with all its might to stay shut.
“......Look at this?”
It had shown itself because it liked him, and now it was suddenly acting all aloof? What, was it trying to keep him on the hook or something? Did that even make sense?
......Ian's stubborn streak flared up.
[......Grrrk!]
The Eighth Book of Moses strained with all its might to keep from being opened. Its thick cover only twitched by a few millimeters and never fully opened.
“Come help me too!”
In the end, gasping for breath, Ian called to the Hand of Re-Creation. The foreign god's grimoire let out what sounded like a haughty sigh, fluttered once, then slowly crawled over and nudged the cover of the Eighth Book of Moses.
And then.
뻐어어어엉!!!!
With a tremendous roar, the Eighth Book of Moses exploded.
“……!”
The grimoire, torn to shreds and crushed, rained down onto the floor. Having turned into a corpse in an instant, it intermittently twitched before finally going limp.
It was dead. A grimoire that had just been in this world had been annihilated.
“…….”
Ian could say nothing as he blankly stared at what had been a grimoire lying on the floor. The grimoire that had once been capable of sinking an entire village and bringing disaster with a great flood had ended its life today.
The traces left by Moses, the great man of ancient times, vanished just like that. Ian let out a dry laugh and collapsed back into the chair.
[A grimoire written by a foreign god also affects its owner.]
Still staring at the grimoire's remains with a dumbfounded expression, the Hand of Re-Creation rose into his grasp and opened the page on its own.
[The owner of a grimoire is considered someone chosen by a foreign god. A magician in this state becomes an object of avoidance for other grimoires. The moment it is read, the self collapses and they die. However, higher-grade grimoires can withstand this.]
[However, if the target's compatibility is 100 percent, they are no longer a chosen pet but are regarded as a companion of the foreign god, and are effectively treated by other grimoires as the foreign god itself. And unless it's another foreign god's grimoire, every grimoire will be unable to withstand the foreign god's aura and will be annihilated.]
“......Ah.”
So, in short, the moment he picked up a foreign god's grimoire and became its owner, it meant no other grimoires could be used or even looked at. Ian scratched his head and stared at the snow-white, thick book in his hand.
The motionless grimoire seemed to be telling him not to even dream of another grimoire besides itself.
What, was it some obsessive girlfriend or something? Give me a break.
Ian let out a long sigh and set the grimoire down on the table.
“So, in the end, I can only examine grimoires written by the same foreign god.”
It was a pity he'd never be able to look at magician-written grimoires again, but he didn't want to go hunting for grimoires from other foreign gods. One clingy grimoire was enough.
He thought that and reached to the side to pick up his coffee.
But what his hand grasped wasn't the paper cup of coffee.
It was hard and rough, the texture of leather.
“……?”
He was sure he hadn't left any other book on the table, so what on earth had he just grabbed?
Feeling some inexplicable unease, Ian slowly turned his head. Then he checked what was in his hand.
It was a jet-black book. No explanation, no illustrations. Just red letters etched across the black cover.
[Deep Sea Chronicle]
An ominous-looking book had appeared. Ian immediately tried to pull his hand away, but his fingers moved on their own and softly flipped the cover open. Dense text packed across the snow-white pages reflected in his eyes.
[Deep Sea Chronicle]
[Author: Lord of the Outer Sea]
[This grimoire was written by the foreign god, the Lord of the Outer Sea, hereafter ■■■, and mainly records the method of summoning beings directly created by ■■■—]
WHAM!
When Ian unknowingly read through the familiar introduction, Hand of Re-Creation suddenly slammed shut the cover of Deep Sea Chronicle and pressed down hard from above.
“Aagh!”
At the searing pain as if the back of his hand were being crushed, Ian screamed.
[Wuuung!]
[Wuuuuung!]
The two grimoires strained with all their might to shove each other away, trapping Ian's hand in between. Ian grimaced in pain as though his hand were being crushed in a press.
“Ah, ah! Hey, it hurts! Aah!”