Vincent grabbed Shirone’s shoulders and shouted.
Vincent: "Shirone! Why did you agree? This is dangerous! No—this is my fault! Your foolish father didn’t know better! We should refuse!"
Shirone: "It’s alright, Dad. As long as I don’t leak anything, I’ll be fine."
Vincent: "It’s not that simple! How can any secret stay hidden when humans are involved? This is madness! I’ll take responsibility and reject it!"
Shirone shook his head.
He was lucky to have such caring parents.
The sudden honorific left Vincent stunned—but what shocked him more were the tears streaming down Shirone’s face.
Vincent: "Sh-Shirone..."
Shirone: "Thank you."
With arms wide open, Shirone smiled brightly.
Shirone: "You’ve given me the greatest gift in the world."
Vincent broke down, forgetting all dignity. Had he ever seen his son’s face so full of joy?
Vincent: "Don’t worry, Shirone! No matter what, your father will protect you! Just focus on doing your best—I swear I’ll keep you safe!"
Shirone: "I will, Dad."
Vincent: "That’s my boy! My treasure!"
As father and son embraced, their mother, Olina, wiped away tears of happiness.
The Ozent family’s common servants arrived to collect Shirone.
Though the work would span over two years, Shirone’s belongings—a life lived humbly—fit into a single backpack.
Temuran had agreed to pay 20 gold per month—a fortune for a hunter, given their family’s monthly expenses had never exceeded 4 gold.
Would this house be a little more luxurious when he returned?
Shirone knew his parents’ nature, but he forced himself to imagine a brighter future, shaking off his reluctance.
The servants briskly finalized the contract, and before Vincent could properly say goodbye, Shirone was already in the carriage.
’This is where it begins.’
Contrary to his worries, Shirone’s mind was calm.
He hadn’t shown it to his parents, but now was the time for cold judgment, not emotion.
As he entered the Spirit Zone, he sensed his parents’ anxiety through his heightened perception.
The moment he willed those words, Vincent and Olina suddenly felt warmth in their hearts.
Vincent: "Shirone..."
It wasn’t magic—just a son’s heart reaching theirs.
As the carriage rattled forward, Shirone’s consciousness flickered in the Spirit Zone, but his eyes remained closed.
Entering the Ozent family was a double-edged sword—a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and a deadly risk.
Could he survive two years in the clutches of the powerful?
Surrendering to the unknown future, Shirone sank deeper into the Spirit Zone.
The Ozents were a military house, known for producing nationally recognized 3rd-grade swordsmen.
Servant: "The family head, Ozent Bishop, is a 4th-grade knight—the current military commander of Creas City. In short, he holds the real power here."
As the servant explained, Shirone stared at the mansion’s grand gates.
A colossal road cut through the estate like a streak of lightning—the Ozent family’s pride, the Great Straight Path.
’A road with no obstacles... fitting for their unyielding nature.’
Servant (smirking): "Scared already? Don’t be. The family members are even more monstrous."
Elderly Servant (snapping): "Watch your tongue. Want to lose your head?"
The older servant led Shirone not down the main path but through a garden detour.
The servants’ quarters were in a circular four-story building, where Deputy Butler Temuran awaited.
Temuran: "You’re here. Follow me—I’ll explain your task."
Shirone: "Yes. I’ll work hard."
Ignoring the greeting, Temuran grabbed thick documents and headed to the library.
When the old iron door creaked open, Shirone’s breath caught.
From the second floor to the fourth, shelves stretched endlessly, packed with knowledge.
The scent of paper filled his lungs as he clenched his fists.
This was worth risking his life for.
Temuran: "You’ll relocate these books to the new library. Your job is classification. Every week, I’ll give you a list—find and organize the books accordingly. Work hours are 9 AM to 6 PM. Outside that, you’re free—but you cannot leave the estate. The head servant will brief you on rules. Understood?"
Shirone: "Yes. When do I start?"
Temuran: "Tomorrow. Unpack and rest today. Memorize all rules by then."
The next day, Shirone realized why this job required only one person.
Temuran’s list contained hundreds of titles with subjective classifications.
For example: Should The History of Swordsmanship go under History or Swordsmanship?
’Temuran set the broad categories. I just need consistency.’
History was broad, Swordsmanship specific—so he filed it under the latter.
Establishing his own system took two weeks—but even this was enlightening.
All knowledge is connected.
Soon, he met deadlines effortlessly.
’Now... time to read.’
This knowledge would become his greatest weapon.
But with 10,000 books and barely two years, reading all was impossible.
’Where to start? Randomly?’
Then—inspiration struck.
Shirone: "Of course!"
Since knowledge is interconnected, mastering one field first would accelerate learning others.
The backbone of all knowledge—where religion, science, magic, war, and politics intertwined chronologically.
By his own catalog, the library held 850 history books.
’I’ll read all 850 in two years.’
He would build his spine of knowledge!
From that day, Shirone read past work hours, skipping roll call under the guise of overtime.
Truthfully, aside from Temuran, no servant cared about a temp worker.
History was brutal for a boy raised 15 years in the mountains.
Unfamiliar continents, names, and events refused to stick.
’Should I just memorize?’
’Understanding is faster than rote learning. Even one event must be fully grasped.’
Progress slowed—some weeks, he barely finished one book.
Exhaustion overtook him; he often collapsed in the library.
At 4 AM, Temuran entered with a lantern, watching Shirone—as he had every night.
His eyes fell on the book at Shirone’s feet.
Despite its simplicity, Shirone hadn’t progressed in half a month.
"Fool. Dreaming big with just literacy?"
Success required both intelligence and shrewdness—Shirone had neither.
Shirone grew efficient at classification and learned startling truths—like how nobles didn’t care if books leaked.
Their secrets were orally passed, and nobles had too many concerns to fret over missing books.
But that didn’t make things safer.
A noble’s indifference was upheld by servants’ fanatical diligence—one mistake, and they’d kill without hesitation.
The gap between nobles and commoners was staggering.
One afternoon, the library door burst open.
Rian: "Ugh, that damn old man! Can’t he give me one day off?"
Shirone blinked at the unfamiliar boy—Ozent Rian, the family’s youngest son.
Built like a warrior, he stood a head taller than Shirone despite being the same age.
Voice Outside: "Rian! You dare run? If I catch you, it’s 100 extra laps!"
Panicked, Rian ducked between shelves—then spotted Shirone.
Rian (grabbing him): "Hey! Don’t tell him I’m here!"
He hid under a shelf just as a towering old man stormed in.
Old Man: "Riaan! I know you’re here!"
White-haired but broad-shouldered, the man loomed like a giant, his piercing glare locking onto Shirone.
Old Man: "You! Seen a blue-haired brat the size of a peanut?"
Blue hair, yes—but "peanut"?
Shirone: "If you mean Young Master Rian... he’s under that shelf."
Rian (scrambling out): "You traitor! Wanna die?"
Old Man: "Good. Now—100 laps, boy."