Chapter 7: The murky, yellowed liquor in the dark gray cup gave off a bitter malt aroma.

When Joseph saw Arthur again, the kid was hiding in a corner of his tavern, hugging his cup and wailing.

Blind drunk.

Watching the drunk mage, the old man’s rough, gnarled hands had itched for a long while.

He wanted to hit someone.

In the end, he simply dumped the passed-out sot into the back kitchen.

Arthur mumbled something.

And lay flat.

Old Joseph glanced over. Beneath the mage robe, something bulged at his waist, some treasure or other, apparently; even dead drunk, he kept one hand guarding it.

Old Joseph couldn’t be bothered to look.

The scent of ale drifted down the street, floral fragrance wrapped inside the smell of liquor, giving off a bitter sweetness that never faded. Voices gradually rose along the green-lined street; Lakeside Town, silent all night, was waking.

And the tavern was about to close.

“Out! Out! Out!”

It was the small hours now; apart from a few adventurers who’d stayed up all night drinking themselves rotten, the place was empty.

Old Joseph roughly threw the drunks out one by one.

From dawn until noon every day, Old Joseph’s tavern kept its doors shut.

Old Joseph sent Mary off, tossed the dull, dark cups into the back kitchen, and as he paced back and forth he heard the black-haired drunk in the corner mumbling, “…Secluded Forest… cold…”

The Secluded Forest?

Old Joseph laughed. “Don’t you even think about going to that damned place, kid…”

The Secluded Forest lay in the north of the continent; its full name was the Gloomy Forest. Shrouded year-round in mist and frost, its terrain was tangled and cramped, and the magic beasts within were terrifying man-eaters. Only after entering the forest was there the tiniest chance of following the river channels back out.

But this was not the true root of the Gloomy Forest’s dread.

A god had once fallen.

Its Divine Authority had scattered.

It became streaming light, became flowers and grass, became flowing rivers, became mountains, became the mourning birds of the sky; amid the sound of rain it melted into the continent, becoming a soundless curse.

It cursed.

It fell.

The Gloomy Forest was, in legend, the Land of the Fallen God, the Godforsaken Land.

All who could enter the Gloomy Forest necessarily bore sin and malice; the god’s curse dyed the forest in an air of mystery.

No one could pinpoint the Gloomy Forest; even those who entered and came back out would instantly forget everything connected to its location, which was why it remained the place that smugglers, assassins, thieves, and their ilk most longed to find.

Old Joseph pushed the tables together, sprawled his whole broad body across the tabletop, and draped his grimy apron over his belly.

His snores rolled on.

In the deepest, most remote reaches of that legend-riddled Gloomy Forest lay hidden an ancient, broken Divine Temple.

It was where Its divine throne had once stood.

In those depths where there was nothing but frost and howling wind, there had lately been a bit of commotion.

Wusu had hidden himself in the Divine Temple’s library, a little cloth in hand, huffing and puffing as he wiped the floor.

The System seemed to know Wusu didn’t know his way; while he was fretting over where the library was, a semi-transparent map unrolled before him.

Utterly blank.

Wusu pressed his lips together.

If it were I Don’t Eat Eggplant, he’d probably have been roaring by now.

How does a completely blank map have the gall to call itself a map?!

The System, evidently, had the gall.

Wherever Wusu walked, the map marked tiny script; later, when Wusu poked it open, he could read descriptions of those places.

So only after Wusu had walked the whole run-down temple did he discover that behind the main hall where the Bell-Chime Tree stood, there lay another vast expanse.

To the left of the great hall ran a long, dark corridor; along its walls burned unextinguished wicks, clear oil upholding the whitish flames.

Wusu entered the corridor, and the mottled, eerie walls seemed to shed wisps of shadow that dropped away behind him.

The temple’s ground seemed protected by some peculiar power; no flowers bloomed or grass sprang up along the paths Wusu walked, yet the dim colors seemed wiped away by some invisible great hand, and long-silent vitality stirred.

One hundred thirty-eight steps forward.

Then three hundred seventy-one steps to the right.

Then a sideways turn through a great door that was nearly falling off its hinges.

Behind the door lay a world of books.

[Congratulations on discovering the Outer Library.]

A line of small print reminded Wusu.

An air of decay and obscurity surged; vast sheets of darkness blanketed the entire room.

Wusu stood at the doorway, looking up at the dome.

Dim, yellowed bookshelves leaned against the walls, spiraling up toward the vault; a small ladder rested against the shelves.

The room was not large; it looked as though it could fit only two rows of long tables.

Wusu walked in.

In an instant, everything changed.

Those two rows of long tables seemed to unroll without end, into the endless depths; the cramped room unfolded in a breath, as if stretching after a lazy yawn, and the broad hall displayed books beyond counting.

Tak.

One lamp.

Tak.

Two lamps.

Tak.

Three lamps.

Lamps silent for who knew how many years leapt back to life, warm light washing over the completely transformed Outer Library.

A gleam of white drifted down from who knows where, sauntering among the Bell-Chime Tree’s broken petals.

In his tender white hands, Wusu pinched the handkerchief that had just appeared.

[Congratulations! You have obtained: Handkerchief x1, Water Basin x1]

[Please enjoy cleaning the Outer Library to your heart’s content!]

Outer?

Wusu tilted his head.

Wusu huffed and puffed.

Bending his little body, he began wiping the floor, slow and unhurried.

Even though the Outer Library’s tung-wood floor was as clean as ever, as if across these hundreds, thousands of years, time within the hall had simply frozen.

The swaying lamps blazed splendidly, proclaiming the Outer Library’s grandeur and breadth.

Books were the lifeline upward.

In every corner of this continent, not everyone could touch the edge of a book.

In the home of a down-and-out noble, a dozen or so volumes would be enough to trade for a lifetime of carefree wealth.

Books were rarefied things.

And this Outer Library overflowed with treasures that could drive a person mad.

After wiping several strokes, Wusu pressed his lips together.

Cleaning should mean scrubbing the dirty places clean, right?

He looked down.

Little feet on the floorboards.

Very clean.

Then where was the part that needed cleaning?

Wusu looked at the water basin in the corner.

[Water Basin: The basin holds clear water. It doesn’t seem to have any problems.]

He squeezed the handkerchief.

[Handkerchief: A perfectly ordinary handkerchief, ideal for wiping away grime.]

Hunched down before the water basin, Wusu scrubbed the handkerchief in the clear water; the snow-white cloth drank in the water’s sheen.

The Outer Library’s bright, glossy lines dimmed for an instant; obscure gloom gnawed away the lamplight bit by bit, sliced bands of visible light smothered under murk, and the shadow before Wusu seemed to deepen considerably.

Something sharp was grating against the nerves.

Gray-black monotony crawled first up the bookshelves before Wusu; the dignified brown faded bit by bit, bit by bit. Color… color was running, retreating.

The shadow behind Wusu began to writhe.

The air congealed little by little.

Pop.

Wusu wrung out the handkerchief.

[Moistened Handkerchief: Now imbued with an unnamed power, it can dispel the gloom.]

Wusu wiped the bookshelf.

That snow-white handkerchief was like a brushstroke; the chaotic gray-black lines were slowly, gently tidied and gathered in.

Color, color, color…

Just as the bookshelf’s colors lit up anew…

…the shadow behind Wusu arched its body, twisting gradually into an irregular, mud-like shape; throbbing, growing spikes slowly stretched out.

Closing in on Wusu.

What was being cleaned was filth.

But not ordinary filth.

Whoosh.

The sound of wind.

Wind brushed past.

(But the windows were all shut.)

And while it was at it, it gave Wusu’s hair a good ruffle.

Wusu puffed out his cheeks.