Chapter 287: Unearth (7)
A small doubt tugged at me.
Why a library?
Of course, a library was part of the inner keep. It wouldn't have been strange if the passage had opened into a lord's office, a drill yard, or an armory. Castle designs varied, and as long as the secret path reached the inner keep, its purpose was fulfilled. Even so… something gnawed at me.
"…"
"Yeah. It's a library. What's strange about that?"
"Should it be strange?"
"If you think it's strange, then it is. Trust your judgment. You've died and lived through this more than ten times."
Isaac's tone wasn't mocking. He genuinely wanted me to judge whether this was unusual.
I looked around. Erast's Library was the place where Rubia said she spent most of her time, buried in books. I'd heard much about it, but this was my first time inside. The rows of shelves were vast enough for hide-and-seek. A great hourglass measured out a full day's cycle, sand trickling slowly. Someone had turned it within the past day.
A trace of warmth lingered in the air. From ceiling to floor, there was hardly any dust. The place was well cared for. Thousands of volumes lined the shelves and more beyond that. I recalled that Rubia had discovered a manuscript on necromancy, tucked inside a thick book titled On the Hair Color of Sovereigns from Seiron I to the Present Emperor. The accumulation of small changes hadn't altered that, but this library had housed something even more important.
A certain book's title rose to my lips. "The Grand Mage Trapped in the Cracks of Time…"
"Hm?"
"Do you know it?"
Isaac shook his head.
"It told of a mage caught in a dragon's time trap," I explained.
I recalled when Rubia had first mentioned it to me. At the time, I dismissed it as fantasy. After all, there were no dragons. But now I knew of the Lindbrum. I knew that Gith-Za-Rai had whispered the name in code, the mightiest of the ancient dragonkind. Suddenly, the book's weight felt different.
"Written as an essay, you said?" Isaac asked.
"Yes. From start to finish, it was a direct account of his experiences," I answered.
"But there haven't been dragons in four hundred years. You'd have to go back a thousand."
"Then…"
The conclusion was simple.
"Kevin Ashton may have written it a thousand years ago. Interesting, isn't it?" Isaac continued, "I've read another of his books that criticized customs less than a hundred years old."
There was no need to go back that far. Even a year from now, Kevin Ashton's name would appear again on a published scandal sheet in the capital. I had seen it myself: a yellow paper naming the marquis' illegitimate child.
It didn't have just the same name. Both books raised my Wisdom when I read them, and they were by the real Kevin Ashton. Two works pulled at me from opposite ends, stretching a thousand years of time like a taut rope.
"If he's the kind of mage I imagine, a thousand years is survivable. What matters more is what he really is."
"He could endure a thousand years?"
Isaac nodded matter-of-factly. "Even I could. Stockpile spare vessels. Enchant each one so that if a heart fails or a brain rots, my soul transfers automatically. A backup body for every collapse."
Another of Ashton's writings came to mind: Why search for a doll with its head cut off, only to force mine atop it?It's simpler to craft a flawless vessel and then pour the soul into it. Thus, we shall obtain pure bodies.
Man-shaped dolls. Perhaps it was the same method.
"That's… possible?"
"It requires dissecting the soul's structure. Only I could manage it. With my power sealed, even that's out of reach now." Isaac added offhandedly, "I've already burned through ten bodies."
"…"
"What? Are you awed by me? Respect blossoming for the depth of my research?"
I almost nodded, but another question pressed first. "You switched bodies ten times? Because of battles?"
"No, never. The original body always remained intact."
"Then why…"
"Idiot. There's a kind of pleasure in breaking your body over and over."
I cursed myself for asking.
Better to change the subject quickly.
"I'm going to look for Rubia."
Books aside, this was the library of a rural lord. Yet, here were Ashton's writings on repeating time… and the necromancy text that had drawn Rubia to my grave. The sickly daughter had lived among these shelves.
Could it all be a coincidence?
"What will you say when you see her?"
"Nothing… just confirmation."
"You came all this way and won't even greet her? At least offer a hello."
"But ghosts may be watching within the keep…"
"Pointless worry. Stay here."
The crow's eyes roved the room.
"See the hourglass? See the dustless corners? She comes here at least once a day. The girl likes books, doesn't she?"
I nodded.
Isaac smirked. "A reader's nerves are bound to their library. She couldn't leave it untended. I'll keep the ghosts away."
Isaac spread his wings wide, circling the air. After several minutes, his flight traced a slow, graceful melody.
"What did you just do?"
"Laid a ward. Anything touched by the Serpent's power subconsciously will find this place repulsive."
"Such wards exist?"
"Temporary. If my seal were broken, I could petrify them with a glance and turn them to dust. For now, this will suffice."
So if I wait here, Rubia might really appear…
Creak.
The door clicked open.
"Lucky. That was fast. Perfect timing. But she isn't alone."
Tap. Tap.
The sight that entered felt like light after dusk, and the rest of the world faded. I saw Rubia and a familiar figure standing behind her. That person was two heads taller than Rubia.
"Christina…"