Rein had not finished the books
He had tried
He had sat at the edge of the bed with The Mystical System open in his hands and forced himself through the first few chapters. He had reread certain paragraphs three times. He had slowed down. Focused.
It did not help
The problem was not distraction. It was foundation.
He did not understand the terminology. The authors wrote as if the reader already knew the shape of the world. Concepts were introduced through metaphor instead of explanation. Words layered over other words. Definitions hinted at instead of stated.
He could grasp fragments.
He understood that rank mattered. That sanctuaries were built around spirit stones. That skills were granted, not learned in the normal sense.
But he did not understand enough to say he understood.
He did not get the gist of it.
What he did get though was mostly from the 'the basic history of the world' book. He understood that the lands currently here are ravaged by monsters after a war that took place almost a century ago, and that the humans were the losing side in the war.
But the history book itself was insultingly thin.
After nearly an hour of pushing through the text, Rein closed the book and set it aside.
He lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
For half an hour he did nothing.
He imagined what his life here could become. Not in detail, Just shapes.
Would he stay in this town? Would he leave? Would he fight more monsters? Would he awaken?
Would he survive?
The ceiling offered no answer
Eventually boredom pushed him upright
"If the books won't explain it, then I'll look at it myself."
He focused
The white screen appeared in front of him, translucent and steady
He exhaled slowly and began going through each section
He started with the relic
[A Certain Memory (Severer)]
A faint pulse passed through the interface as new text surfaced
---
[A Certain Memory (Severer)]: It is a painful yet dull memory of acceptance. Of the choice of change yet choosing to remain unmoved. The pride of the present or the fear of the future may define this memory best.
This sword has the ability to cut anything. Anything to everything. If the will that holds it is strong enough, it may even cut realms apart. But every cut comes with a heavy price. Tread lightly. You must lose everything you hold dear.
---
Rein stared at the final line
"You must lose everything you hold dear"
He let out a low breath
"Yeah, No."
The ability to cut anything sounded useful.
The price sounded catastrophic.
He had assumed the sword was his advantage. His path to strength. A direct route upward in a world that clearly ran on power.
Now he was reading about loss as a condition
The book had mentioned something called "the fate that balances." Every gift carried a weight. Every advantage demanded something in return
"So this is the balancing"
He rubbed his forehead
He had read about the law of balancing, it was something that says that for every power, there must be either a source to it, a reason to it or a sacrifice for it.
Though tha law wasn't exactly considered set it stone since there were many times that historians called powers 'unfair' and without a drawback.
So...
What exactly counted as a cut? He had swung the blade several times already. He had severed a ghoul's head.
Had that triggered anything?
Or was it only when he used the ability intentionally? When he willed it to cut something beyond the ordinary?
He did not have enough information.
That unsettled him more than the warning itself.
He dismissed the relic description and moved to the next.
Attributes.
[Opacity]
[Lake That Reflects the Sky]
He focused on the first.
---
[Opacity]: Grants the user the ability to perceive more than others and process information faster than most. Enhances clarity of sight and awareness.
---
"That's straightforward."
He had always noticed more than the people around him.
If someone looked at a painting for two seconds, they might remember the color. He would remember the brush strokes, the cracks in the frame, the faint tilt in the way it hung.
He never mentioned those details.
There was no point.
Observing more did not make conversations easier. It made them heavier.
He shifted to the second attribute.
---
[Lake That Reflects the Sky]: Your mind is vaster and deeper than most. What appears simple on the surface may conceal complexity beneath. What lies beneath that surface may reshape you.
---
Rein read it again.
Then once more.
He leaned back slightly.
"Nothing is simple."
He had known that long before coming here.
When he was younger, his mother would force him to spend time with other children. Group activities. Shared games. Socializing.
He had noticed how quickly conversations stalled. How long it took for others to process what he considered obvious.
It was not that he was smarter.
He simply processed faster.
He could write while listening to his brother ramble. He could follow two conversations at once. He could map patterns without trying.
He never told anyone.
It would only make him seem distant.
When you noticed too much, people became predictable.
Not boring, Just transparent enough that he could notice things that others didn't.
"Opacity," he murmured.
Maybe that was the point.
Opaque to others. Clear to himself.
He looked again at the phrase.
"Deeper and scarier than most."
He did not consider himself frightening.
He rarely spoke unless necessary. He avoided arguments. He preferred silence.
'Maybe it's not about personality,' he said quietly.
Maybe it was about potential.
The description mentioned the surface.
If what lay beneath could reshape him, then the danger was internal
He dismissed the thought before it grew too large.
Next were the Skills, or skill since he only had one
[Awakened Swordsmanship: Severing ★]
The text shifted.
---
[Awakened Swordsmanship: Severing ★]: The will of the world has reshaped what was meant to be. It has granted you knowledge that may be woven into destiny. Something that may alter the ripples of fate.
---
"The will of the world."
Both books had mentioned it.
Not a mind.
Something between primal desire and consciousness.
It shaped destinies, Granted skills when conditions aligned.
It was described as less than conscious yet more than mechanical.
Rein folded his arms.
The books described skills as fragments of instinctual knowledge, Not full mastery
Just nodes that Floated points of understanding, It was up to the holder to connect them, to bridge them together and weave them into something.
The skill did not swing the sword for you. It did not strengthen your muscles, It simply placed understanding within reach
Rein thought about that.
If the will of the world drew from past swordmasters, then every skill carried echoes of those who had come before
He let that sit in his mind
"Strangely comforting" he said in a low tone as he leaned back.
Guidance without presence
Then he moved to the next.
Mandate: [Dhyana]
The explanation appeared.
---
[Dhyana]: So long as your focus is sufficient, your strikes will pierce through.
---
"That's it?"
He stared at the short description.
Mandates were described in the book as laws applied to oneself.
Personal rules that bent reality in a limited way.
If his focus was strong enough, his strikes would pierce through.
Through what?
Armor? Flesh? Resistance?
He did not know. But the pattern was clear. Focus, Will, Clarity
Every aspect of his system leaned toward intent.
Nothing granted strength freely.
Everything depended on how firmly he chose
He closed the interface.
The room felt quiet.
He sat still for a moment.
Then he stood
"I'm taking a bath."
The inn's bathing room was small but clean. A stone floor. A wide basin carved from pale material that felt like marble under his fingers, though something about its texture suggested it was not ordinary stone
Cold water hit his skin
He inhaled sharply.
The shock cleared the lingering unease from his thoughts.
He washed carefully, letting the water run over his shoulder where the ghoul had struck him. There was no scar.
That unsettled him in a different way.
Eventually he lowered himself into the basin.
The water rose to his chest.
He closed his eyes.
For a moment he imagined nothing around him. No system. No relic. No destiny
Just an open stretch of water and sky.
He let his breathing slow.
After several minutes, he stood and dried himself
Back in the room, he sat before the mirror attached to the dressing table.
His reflection stared back.
Long black hair, damp and heavy. Sharp eyes. Expression neutral
He combed his hair and slicked it back. It reached the nape of his neck. Dense and Smooth. His hair was something that pleased him deeply
He studied it.
"…Nope."
He remembered what his mother always said to him
He set the comb down
"I'm not cutting it."
He dressed in same clothes that had been given to him and strapped his sword to his side.
When he stepped outside, the evening light had shifted slightly. Shadows stretched longer across the stone pavement.
He adjusted the collar of his shirt and began walking toward Midas's house.
Five hours had nearly passed.