PAF 06

Chapter 6

“Because of that incident, our librarian’s life force was completely drained, so she doesn’t have much time left. Would you look at that?”

The Head Librarian’s elegant, porcelain hand pointed upward toward the void. The grains of sand in the massive hourglass overhead were falling without pause, the lower bulb already packed tight. The remaining sand in the top half amounted to barely one-tenth of the total.

“What is that…?”

Kaellariatus silently gestured toward the Archive clutched in my hands.

Shhhhk.

The leather cover trembled, flipping its pages automatically to display a critical system stat:

[ Grace Period ]

Details: The active rental duration of the ‘Archive’.

Remaining Life Force: ♥ 10%

It matched the remaining sand in the divine hourglass to the exact percentage.

“The rental period was drastically reduced due to the failure of your last mission,” Kaellariatus murmured smoothly. “You wasted a terrifying amount of time in that narrative, didn’t you?”

“…I suppose so,” I muttered, my stomach dropping into a bottomless pit. “But still…”

“And that exact administrative power automatically healed the physical damage you sustained from the Spirit-Severing Venom back then. Our librarian only survived because of the vast reservoir of achievements she accumulated in the Archive over her long career. That passive recovery process is still actively draining your life force right now.”

The Archive, which had once held absolute interdimensional authority, was now running on fumes.

It had exhausted nearly all its stored power simply keeping my soul intact after I was poisoned, leaving it in this fragile, dormant state. The only reason I was standing here breathing was that I had been a high-performing workaholic in my past life.

“But what does my administrative rental period have to do with my literal lifespan?!” I demanded.

“My dear librarian…” Kaellariatus leaned down slightly, his lapis eyes locking onto mine. “…would you try saying your real name for me?”

“My name? All of a sudden…?”

I opened my mouth to shoot back a sarcastic retort, but the words instantly choked in my throat.

I… I couldn’t say it.

I had spent far too long in that story, decaying in the slums while possessing a nameless beggar.

By forcefully assimilating into that world’s narrative logic, I had lost too many pieces of my true self. My memories were fragmented, blurred at the edges like waterlogged paper.

That was why I couldn’t even recall the names or faces of the colleagues who had betrayed me.

“If you quit your job as a librarian right this second, I am required to retrieve the Archive I lent you,” Kaellariatus explained, his tone hauntingly gentle. “And if that happens… do you even know where you would return to?”

“…No,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I don’t.”

“Now you understand.”

“…”

My face hardened into ice. I dragged a trembling hand down my face, letting out a ragged breath.

The librarians of the Dimensional Library were originally ordinary mortals plucked from various dimensions. They simply stepped away from their original destinies for a time to work as administrative fixers.

Normally, every librarian retained a unique ‘home book’—the original world where their primary character resided.

But all I possessed was this borrowed Archive.

It was as if my true origin had been completely scrubbed from reality. I had no home book left to return to.

The fact that I couldn’t even remember something as fundamental as my own name was concrete, terrifying proof of my erasure.

If I resigned now, I had nowhere to go. To say I would wander an endless void until I died was an understatement; without a narrative anchor, my very existence would simply be erased from logic entirely.

“…Then how much real time do I have left?” I managed to ask.

“When you are not actively deployed on a mission, the Archive’s grace period decreases by roughly five percent per day.”

Then, by simple math…

‘Wait, what the hell?!‘

“I’m going to be dead by the day after tomorrow?!” I shrieked in absolute horror.

Kaellariatus tilted his head, answering with insufferable nonchalance. “Yes. It seems you were betrayed by a truly vicious set of colleagues. My poor, doomed librarian.”

“…”

Seriously, what kind of sick, infuriatingly unfair joke was this?!

After living like a starving beggar in a filth-stained alleyway for years, I finally managed to claw my way back to baseline reality—only to be handed a two-day eviction notice on my soul?!

✦ ✦ ✦

Ding!

Amidst my spiraling existential panic, a small, polite chime rang out from the Archive.

[ Grace Period ]

Remaining Life Force: ♥ 9%

…So I was literally going to stand here and watch my own lifespan tick down like a digital death clock?!

Shaking with pure, unfiltered rage, I couldn’t squeeze out a single word. It was true what they said—when you reach a certain threshold of fury, your brain simply shuts off speech. Just as a black hatred was making me want to summon a flame spell and burn this entire library to ash, a calm, polite voice interjected from beside me.

“…Head Librarian Kaellariatus.”

The Head Librarian and I whipped our heads around at the exact same moment.

Looking sharply at the man standing beside me, I found myself inwardly marveling.

The moment we had stepped into the library space, our clothes had automatically shifted into the simple, elegant garments worn by patrons of the sanctuary. His attire, too, had transitioned from the heavy, gem-encrusted robes of the Crown Prince into refined, high-collared dark civilian wear.

The shift made his sheer physical presence look even more absurdly breathtaking.

‘I thought he was handsome back in the book because of his royal background, but… was he always this ridiculously good-looking?!‘

Blond hair shimmering like liquid gold, striking turquoise eyes. His face was remarkably similar to the character in the novel, yet subtly different. If the royal Crown Prince had a sharp, impeccably cold aura, this version carried a more dangerous edge—as if he had endured far worse hardships than simple court intrigue. He was also visibly taller, his shoulders broader and more solidly built beneath the dark fabric.

The Crown Prince stood with one arm resting naturally behind his back, his posture impeccably straight. He offered the exact degree of formal respect a high-born noble would show to an ancient deity—the most courteous stance he could possibly muster.

“Please,” he said, his deep voice resounding through the starry void. “I implore you to tell us a solution.”

Those were the exact words I had been desperately trying to scream. He had spoken up for me while I stood there with trembling lips and a blank mind.

Kaellariatus’s lapis eyes narrowed as he looked down at the Crown Prince. While he treated me with playful, familiar teasing, his gaze toward the man beside me was intensely, freezing cold.

The Head Librarian didn’t even acknowledge his question directly. Instead, he turned his head back to me, completely icing him out.

“There are three available methods,” Kaellariatus said smoothly. “First: you simply have to remember your real name.”

‘Why is he ignoring him so ruthlessly?!‘ Feeling an awkward wave of sympathy for the Crown Prince, I snuck a glance at his stoic face before answering.

“…And I have to keep taking librarian missions until I do, right?”

“Of course! Of course,” Kaellariatus chirped. “If you don’t keep working, you die. Simple arithmetic!”

“What are the other two methods?”

“Second: find someone willing to share their core destiny with you.”

What kind of pie-in-the-sky, fantasy nonsense was that?!

Seeing the utter skepticism plastered across my face, Kaellariatus immediately elaborated with an amused grin.

“Locate a protagonist with a massive, overwhelming destiny and bind yourself to them as a permanent partner. Your fading soul will naturally intertwine with their narrative weight, allowing you to seamlessly assimilate into their world without dying. In a way, it’s a wonderful option, isn’t it? Our librarian gets to hand-pick the world she wants to live in for the rest of her life!”

“…”

The Head Librarian’s grin widened into something downright mischievous.

“I mean, that last world wasn’t half bad, was it? The imperial Crown Prince and a helpless slum beggar… it could have been the romantic drama of the century, don’t you think?”

I shot a quick glance at the Crown Prince standing shoulder-to-shoulder with me. He had every reason to explode in disgust at the suggestion, but he remained completely silent, a subtle, dark flush creeping up his neck.

“…Can’t you see I literally just escaped from that place?!” I groaned, waving my hands frantically. “Forget it! Just erase that option!”

So, regardless of who I originally was, as long as I found a comfortable story, I should just force my way into someone else’s plot and live happily ever after? Wasn’t that just telling me to become a high-level narrative parasite?!

“Isn’t there a more direct, violent option?” I growled, narrowing my eyes.

“Lastly…” Kaellariatus’s smile vanished, replaced by a dark, glinting gaze. “…use your remaining authority as a librarian to hunt down the traitor yourself. Bring them before me, and I will grant you absolute permission to dispose of them however you wish.”

‘Dispose of them however I wish.‘

Out of all three options, that one sang to my soul.

“You mean… I can completely erase that motherfucker?”

“Of course. Of course.”

Just as my own existence was currently walking the edge of erasure, I could turn around and wipe that traitor out of reality instead.

If I erased the traitor using administrative power, I could retroactively erase the fact that their betrayal ever occurred. Every trace of their existence in the Dimensional Library would vanish into nothingness. And once the narrative anomaly was corrected, my soul would naturally recover its original baseline—including my lost name.

Which meant that if I pursued the third method, the first method would be solved automatically!

“Then give me a deployment mission right now!” I snapped, stepping forward. “Before I literally drop dead standing in this lobby by Friday!”

“Oh, what a pity,” Kaellariatus purred, holding up a single finger. “There are currently zero active error deployments available for a librarian of your rank.”

Panic rising again, I summoned the Archive and thrust the glowing system record directly into his face.

“Then process my completion reward for this deployment! Use it to extend my grace period!”

Extracted Anomaly: Possessor (Bookworm)

Anomaly Grade: Beyond Classification

Calculated Reward: ?

I had captured an anomaly graded Beyond Classification! The reward was listed as a question mark because it was too massive to quantify, right?! I was expecting a massive life-force injection on the spot.

However, Kaellariatus’s reaction was frustratingly ambiguous.

“A Bookworm anomaly…” He tapped his chin with his book. “Calculating the administrative settlement for an S-rank threat like this will take considerable time. A few weeks, at minimum.”

“Can’t you speed it up?!” I stomped my foot, my voice cracking. “I am literally going to dissolve into dust in forty-eight hours!”

As I panicked, the Crown Prince—who had been standing silently beside me—suddenly spoke up again, his voice steady and resolute.

“Kaellariatus. How does one go about intertwining destinies?”

The Head Librarian turned his lapis eyes toward the Crown Prince, his expression entirely devoid of humor. “The other party must be genuinely willing to surrender their life force for my librarian.”

“Would I be able to do that?” the Crown Prince asked without a single second of hesitation.

I let out an involuntary snort. What on earth was I hearing?! Did he even listen to the condition? The person had to be willing to die for me!

When neither Kaellariatus nor I responded to his absurd question, the Crown Prince added smoothly, “Even a temporary transfer arrangement would suffice.”

Kaellariatus’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. “Even if it means I will be directly carving away your remaining human lifespan?”

“That is perfectly fine.”

“Wait! Crown Prince, what the hell are you—”

“Very well,” Kaellariatus declared.

✦ ✦ ✦

“Huh?!”

Permission was granted before I could even finish shouting my objection!

Kaellariatus snapped his long fingers once.

Snap!

Instantly, a blinding surge of golden light—like pulverized stardust—erupted from the Crown Prince’s chest. The radiant energy swirled through the cosmic air in a brilliant arc before plunging directly into the upper bulb of the giant hourglass floating above us.

A steady stream of shimmering golden sand poured into the top chamber, refilling the empty void.

I frantically opened the Archive to check the system readout.

[ Grace Period ]

Remaining Life Force: ♥ 40%

…The grace period had shot up by thirty percent in a single second.

The Head Librarian had actually accepted his lifespan sacrifice.