That was the first thing I noticed.
No burning lungs. No fractured ribs screaming every time I tried to breathe. No crushing weight pinning me beneath rubble or scales or failure.
Just emptiness.
I floated in the void, suspended in nothingness, my body weightless, my thoughts slow and hazy as they drifted back into alignment. The familiar darkness stretched endlessly in every direction, neither warm nor cold, neither welcoming nor hostile. It simply was.
Two outcomes immediately came to mind.
Either I had died in that world, or the world had been cleared.
I exhaled slowly, staring into the nothingness above me. If this was death, it was quieter than I expected. No judgment. No relief. Just… waiting.
“To find out,” I muttered, my voice swallowed instantly by the void, “I guess I wait.”
The void always answered eventually.
I didn’t know how much time passed before the darkness began to ripple, but it didn’t feel long. Light bled into existence ahead of me, threads of white cutting through the black like cracks in reality. The threads widened, interlaced, and unfolded into scenes, fragments of a story rearranging themselves into motion.
The void was showing me what happened.
Not what I saw.
What happened because of me.
The first projection bloomed into existence, hovering just beyond my reach.
I saw the battlefield from above.
The city was barely recognizable, entire blocks reduced to molten scars, buildings cleaved in half, streets cratered and burning. The red Frade loomed at the center of the destruction, its massive serpentine body coiled in fury as it lashed out at anything that moved.
And then-
I saw myself.
Small.
Insignificant.
A single figure darting through devastation, red and yellow spectrum energy flaring desperately as I dodged beams that could erase skyscrapers. The void showed every mistake I made. Every near miss. Every moment where I was seconds, or less from dying.
It didn’t soften anything.
It didn’t glorify me.
It simply showed.
The scene shifted.
The perspective pulled away from me and locked onto something else.
The blue Frade.
A towering beast rampaging through an industrial district, its body tearing through factories and warehouses like they were made of paper. Blue spectrum constructs erupted around it, barriers, blades, crushing limbs of solidified energy.
And then the black spectrum users arrived.
Elite agents.
Their presence alone warped the air. One hurled spears of condensed darkness that pierced straight through the Frade’s armor. Another moved like a shadow, sword strikes tearing through constructs with impossible precision. A third blurred in and out of sight, physical strength enhanced to monstrous levels, grappling the beast head-on.
The fight was brutal.
Efficient.
Coordinated.
They weren’t buying time.
They were executing a plan.
The projection shifted again.
The yellow Frade.
A charging monstrosity that flattened entire districts in seconds, its sheer momentum turning streets into trenches. Four different black spectrum users confronted it, each wielding darkness in terrifyingly distinct ways. One anchored reality itself, forcing the beast to slow. Another turned the ground beneath it into a swallowing void. Another reinforced their body beyond reason, meeting the charge head-on.
They struggled.
They bled.
But they held.
And then-
The void returned to me.
I watched as my body was thrown through buildings. As I staggered, coughed blood, forced myself upright again and again. As I stood between the red Frade and fleeing civilians, knowing I couldn’t win, and choosing to fight anyway.
The scene slowed.
I saw the exact moment I fell.
My body, finally overwhelmed, collapsing amid smoke and broken concrete. Demonic Instinct screaming uselessly as consciousness slipped away.
The projection didn’t end there.
It continued.
Elite SDA agents arrived.
Not one.
Not two.
An entire strike unit.
They moved with terrifying precision, layers of coordination I had never been part of. Combined spectrum techniques detonated across the battlefield. Suppression fields locked the red Frade in place. Black spectrum constructs tore into its core as coordinated strikes hammered it from every direction.
The dragon roared.
And then it died.
The final projection shifted once more.
This time, it wasn’t me.
Luis.
The protagonist.
I watched as he stood face-to-face with the mastermind behind it all, a gaunt figure cloaked in unstable spectrum energy, madness burning behind their eyes. Their battle was intense, focused, filled with purpose.
This was his arc.
Not mine.
The final image showed medics rushing onto the battlefield, lifting my unconscious body onto a stretcher, spectrum dampeners snapping into place as they worked frantically to keep me alive.
The projection faded.
The void reclaimed everything.
Silence returned.
I floated there, staring into nothing, my thoughts heavier than my body.
“…Did I die?” I asked nobody.
No answer came.
Last time, the void had shown me everything, how the ruined world continued, how the aftermath unfolded after I cleared it. Cities rebuilding. Survivors moving forward. The consequences of my actions rippling outward.
This time?
Nothing.
Just an ending.
Then...
Select your reward.
The voice rang through my mind, clear and absolute.
I frowned.
That meant I cleared the world.
But if I cleared it… why didn’t it show me the results?
“Damn,” I muttered, rubbing my face. “I don’t want to think about this anymore.”
A panel of light unfolded before me, reward options scrolling past in slow succession.
Unlike last time, the list was short.
Too short.
Most of the options were spectrum abilities tied to the three primary colors, Red, Blue, Yellow. Variations on blunt force, mobility, reinforcement. A few low- to mid-ranking Frades appeared as well, their descriptions bland and unappealing.
The Red Frade wasn’t there.
Not even a fragment of it.
Despite everything.
Despite the fact that I had been the one to stall it.
Despite nearly dying to it.
“Tch.”
I clenched my jaw.
“Filter out low-ranking Frades and abilities from the three primary colors.”
The panel shifted instantly.
Options vanished.
When the light settled, only three choices remained.
The first was a Purple spectrum ability, a conjured hammer formed from compressed force and resonance. Powerful, but straightforward. Not my style.
The second was a Frade.
One I recognized immediately.
A bastard I had nearly died fighting during my early rogue days.
I dismissed it without hesitation.
The last option made me pause.
A Green spectrum ability.
I frowned.
“I don’t remember seeing this one…”
The description hovered before me.
A wide-area release of spectrum energy designed to detect threats, hostile intent, dangerous entities, abnormal energy concentrations. It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t destructive.
But it was useful.
And flexible.
Blueprint-compatible.
I didn’t hesitate.
“I’ll take this one.”
The selection locked in.
Light consumed the void.
And the next time I opened my eyes, I was back in the Cross-World Library.
The familiar scent of old paper and ambient mana filled the air. Shelves stretched infinitely in every direction, quiet and eternal as always.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
“How was it?”
I turned.
Katherine stood nearby, arms folded, watching me with that warm expression she always wore.
“Weird…” I answered honestly.
She nodded, as if she’d expected nothing else.
“You might have many questions,” Katherine said, gesturing for me to follow her. She led me toward a small table tucked between towering shelves. “But let me explain something that might answer some of them.”
We sat.
“The world you were just in,” she began, “wasn’t a one-time dive world.”
I blinked. “So… I’ll need to go back to fully clear it?”
She nodded. “It’s a progressive world. Its full story is divided into segments, arcs. You just completed the first one.”
I leaned back slightly, processing that.
That explained the abrupt ending. The lack of aftermath. The unanswered questions.
“…Alright,” I said slowly. “That makes sense.”
I opened my book and turned it toward her.
“What about this?”
I pointed to the Demonic Instinct record.
“That,” Katherine said, eyes flicking over it, “is a personal record.”
“…I can make records too?” I asked.
“Yes,” she replied. “But only technique-based ones. Skills that rely purely on your body or mind. No magic. No spectrum. No supernatural systems.”
“…Huh.”
I turned another page.
“And this?”
The torn Draconification record hovered there, inert and frustratingly unreachable.
“A torn record,” Katherine explained. “Fragments that split off from existing records. Rare. Annoying. And mostly useless unless you have a blueprint that can accept them.”
“Can I sell it?” I asked hopefully.
She shook her head. “It’s stuck with you.”
I sighed and scratched my head.
Figures.
“Well,” Katherine said, standing, “enough about that for now.”
She raised a holographic panel.
“Would you like to know who you’ll be facing at the blue dome?”
My focus snapped to attention instantly.
“…Yeah. Who is it?”
The panel shifted, revealing an image of a brown-skinned man wearing a blue bandana, standing triumphantly atop the corpse of a massive sea monster.
“His name is Percy,” Katherine said. “He calls himself The Pirate King.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Predictable.”
She smiled faintly. “As you’d expect, his records revolve around piracy.”
“He looks strong,” I admitted.
“Very,” she agreed. “He’s cleared four story worlds so far.”
I exhaled slowly.
“Well,” I said, standing, “win or lose… experience is experience.”
Katherine’s smile widened just a little.
“You’ll do great.”
I wasn’t so sure.
But after everything I’d just seen, I was ready to find out.
News died quickly in the Cross-world Library.
Before my story-dive, I had been a name people whispered about. The rookie who cleared a ruined world on his first dive. I’d felt eyes on me everywhere, curious, skeptical, sometimes outright hostile. Now? I was just another bookkeeper walking through endless halls of knowledge and power.
People passed me without a second glance.
And honestly? That was a relief.
Blending into the background felt far better than standing under a spotlight I didn’t understand yet. With no one paying attention to me, I finally had the freedom to explore.
The main lounge alone was massive, far larger than it had any right to be. Rows of floating screens hovered in the air, each showing fragments of ongoing story-dives. Some bookkeepers sat alone, eyes unfocused as they observed distant worlds. Others gathered in small groups, quietly discussing strategies, records, or upcoming dives. There was an unspoken tension in the air, a mixture of excitement and calculation. Everyone here was gambling with danger, growth, and fate.
It struck me then.
Reading the actual book before diving into a story would’ve been the smart thing to do.
Instead of relying on a brief system summary and jumping in blind like an idiot.
I shook my head. Too late for regrets now.
Eventually, my wandering led me toward the commercial district of the library. Unlike the ancient, mystical atmosphere of the main halls, this place felt… normal. Almost unsettlingly so.
Shops lined the wide corridors, their glass displays filled with mundane items. Clothes. Shoes. Food stalls selling things that looked suspiciously like fast food. If I ignored the floating architecture and the occasional glowing rune, I could’ve mistaken it for a mall back home.
Almost.
Then I noticed the other shops.
Smaller, quieter storefronts tucked between ordinary businesses. Their signs were more subdued, their interiors lit with soft, colored light instead of bright fluorescents. Through the windows, I could see pages, actual book pages, floating in cases or pinned against enchanted displays.
Record shops.
Curiosity got the better of me, and I stepped into one labeled Bronze Rank Records.
The bell above the door chimed softly.
The inside reminded me of a stationery store, if stationery could rewrite reality. Wooden shelves lined the walls, filled with folders and binders instead of books. A few pages were displayed openly, hovering behind glass panels, glowing faintly with residual energy. The rest were carefully sealed away, as if even Bronze records were too dangerous to leave exposed.
I took one look at the price tags and immediately felt my soul leave my body.
Five thousand.
For a single Bronze record.
“God damn…” I muttered under my breath. “I don’t even have money.”
“You usually don’t,” a voice said casually. “Not at the start, anyway.”
I looked up to see an old man behind the counter. His hair was white and tied back loosely, his face creased with deep wrinkles earned through either age or stress, or both. He leaned on the counter like he’d been standing there for decades.
“What can I do for you, new guy?” he asked, eyes sharp despite his relaxed posture. “First time I’ve seen your face.”
“You remember every customer?” I asked skeptically.
The old man chuckled. “Definitely. This is a Bronze record shop, kiddo. Every bookkeeper comes here sooner or later. So when a new face walks in, it sticks.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” I said.
He gestured lazily toward a crystal pillar near the wall. “ATM’s over there. Just place your hand on the crystal. It’ll show your balance.”
“My balance?” I repeated.
“You get a thousand every week just for existing,” he continued. “Plus a hefty bonus every time you clear a story world.”
That caught my attention.
I walked over and placed my palm against the blue crystal. It pulsed warmly, and a translucent screen flickered to life.
Balance: 203,000
My brain stalled.
My eyes widened.
“Where the hell…” I whispered.
“I’m guessing you found more than pocket change,” the old man said when I walked back, still dazed.
“Didn’t expect that much,” I replied honestly.
He nodded knowingly. “Closed worlds usually pay thirty to fifty thousand. Open worlds more. Ruined worlds?” He whistled. “They pay very well.”
That explained a lot.
I glanced back at the records with renewed interest. “You got any recommendations?”
The old man laughed. “Easy there, kid. Don’t get too excited. Bronze records are mostly combination materials.”
“Combination materials?” I echoed.
He nodded. “You combine them with other records to create higher-ranked ones. They’re foundations, not end results.”
“And record sizes?” I asked.
“Depends on the base,” he explained. “If the base material has its record size waived, the final product might inherit that benefit. It’s all about smart crafting.”
I nodded slowly, absorbing the information. “What about note pages?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Ten thousand each.”
I nearly choked.
Ten thousand. For a consumable.
But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. Note pages were essentially temporary storage, lifelines for when your record size limit hit its ceiling. The higher your rank, the more invaluable they became.
“I think I’ll hold off,” I said finally. “Do some research first.”
The old man smiled, approving. “Wise choice. Money’s easy to spend here. Harder to earn back.”
As I stepped out of the shop, the weight of the library settled on me again.
This place wasn’t just a crossroads of worlds.
It was an economy of power, and I’d only just begun to understand how expensive growth really was.
My first dome match was still a few hours away, but there was no way I could relax knowing I hadn’t checked my blueprint yet.
I found a quiet corner of the library, one of the smaller alcoves tucked between towering shelves of sealed tomes and let my focus drift inward.
Would you like to submit compatible records?
The familiar, disembodied voice echoed in my mind.
Yes, I answered mentally.
The world in front of me dimmed slightly as the interface unfolded.
At the center of my vision, a title burned into existence.
Demon Lord of Calamity
For a moment, I just stared at it.
Then the line beneath appeared.
Blueprint Progress: 0 / 6
“Still zero?” I muttered under my breath.
Below the progress bar, six entries materialized one after another, each accompanied by faint spectral text and categorization markers.
Danger Sense (Diamond)
Threat Detection
- Spectrum Sonar (Silver)
Momentum Stockpile (Diamond)
Energy Enhancement
Dark Tendril (Diamond)
Dark Magic
Toxic Gas (Diamond)
Poison Magic
Demonic Strength (Diamond)
Physical Enhancement
- Complete Physical Enhancement (Bronze)
Demon Lord’s Authority (Diamond)
Authority-Type Ability
I frowned.
Despite the fact that I had already submitted records, the blueprint stubbornly displayed zero progress. No filled slots. No partial completion. Nothing.
“Something wrong?”
The sudden voice nearly made me jump.
I turned around to see a woman standing a few steps behind me. She had short, dark hair cut unevenly, like she trimmed it herself. Several scars marked her arms and neck, old, faded ones, not the kind that came from a single bad fight. These were the kind you earned over time.
“A blueprint issue,” I replied, gesturing vaguely at the interface only I could see. “I submitted records already, but it still says zero.”
She glanced at me for a second, then nodded as if that explained everything.
“You need either one Diamond-rank record or multiple lower-ranked ones to fill a single slot,” she said casually. “Submitting a Silver or Bronze alone won’t move the counter.”
That explained it.
I exhaled slowly. “So partial submissions don’t count.”
“Not officially,” she replied. “The blueprint tracks completed slots, not effort.”
She folded her arms, eyes narrowing slightly. “You should also be careful. Any record you submit to a blueprint is gone for good. Removed from your book. No undo.”
“I know,” I said. “It’s fine.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“I needed to make space anyway.”
At that, I summoned my book.
The familiar weight settled into my hands, pages fluttering as it opened on its own. I immediately noticed the change.
Three silver stars.
Two bronze stars.
I blinked.
“Huh.”
Either the rank-up notification had never appeared, or more likely, it had triggered while I was unconscious after the dive. I must’ve missed it entirely. Either way, the result was clear.
My record size had increased.
That alone made the pain, the near-death experience, and the confusion in the void feel slightly more worth it.
“Looks like you ranked up,” the woman said, glancing at the book.
“Yeah,” I replied. “Guess so.”
She hummed in acknowledgment, already losing interest. Without another word, she turned and walked away, disappearing back into the endless maze of shelves and bookkeepers.
I stared at the blueprint one more time.
Six slots.
Six paths toward something far more dangerous than what I already was.
And for the first time since waking up in the void, I felt a quiet, unsettling certainty settle into my chest.
This blueprint wasn’t asking if I’d commit.
It was asking how far I was willing to go.
Percy exhaled slowly.
This was his fifth dome match.
Not many, but enough that the nerves had dulled into something more manageable, anticipation instead of fear.
Talented rookie, they said.
He glanced at the figure across from him.
Jayden stood relaxed, almost careless, hands loose at his sides. No visible weapon. No obvious armor. Just a faint, unsettling stillness, like a predator pretending not to notice prey.
Percy didn’t underestimate him.
He couldn’t afford to.
Before coming to the Cross-world Library, Percy had been studying to become a marine biologist. He loved the ocean, its depth, its violence, its mystery. Long nights spent reading novels about pirates and sea monsters had shaped his imagination, and when the system offered him records, his path had felt… inevitable.
Pirate-themed.
Not as a joke.
As an identity.
The translucent screens between them flickered, projecting the Dome Rules in glowing text for spectators, but both combatants already knew them by heart.
One Ability Record
One Weapon Record
One Gear Record
Summons may replace any one slot.
Percy’s loadout was simple. Clean. Refined through trial and error.
His weapon slot was occupied by a flintlock pistol, black iron with silver etchings, its barrel faintly glowing with compressed energy. Every shot it fired detonated on impact, trading precision for raw destruction.
His gear slot was gone.
Replaced.
Above him, the air rippled.
A massive silhouette faded into existence, translucent, spectral, unmistakable.
A ghost ship.
Its tattered sails billowed in a wind that didn’t exist, cannons lining its sides, hull glowing with eerie blue light. It hovered impossibly in the sky, silent and patient.
And finally, his ability slot-
Water Jet.
A high-pressure burst of magic-infused water capable of propulsion, cutting, or impact depending on how it was shaped.
Percy rolled his shoulders.
Let’s see what you’ve got, he thought.
Across from him, Jayden’s loadout finalized.
There was no weapon manifesting in his hand.
Instead, the ground beside him rippled, and a familiar dark, glossy mass oozed upward.
His slime.
It pulsed once, reacting to the hostile environment, its surface shimmering faintly with unstable spectrum traces.
That replaced his weapon slot.
His gear slot activated next.
A simple ring materialized on his finger, unassuming, almost mundane.
Hero’s Ring.
Percy’s eyes narrowed slightly.
Gear that doesn’t look like much is always the dangerous kind.
Finally, Jayden’s ability slot locked in.
Red Spectrum: Piercing Shot.
No flashy buildup. No dramatic display.
Just raw, focused lethality.
The screens between them dissolved.
A bell rang, low and resonant, vibrating through the dome.
The match began.
Percy moved first.
Water exploded beneath his feet as he launched himself sideways, skimming across the arena floor in a spray of mist. At the same time, he raised his pistol and fired.
The shot screamed through the air.
Jayden’s instincts screamed louder.
He twisted sharply, Demonic Instinct wrenching his body out of the bullet’s path a fraction of a second before impact.
The round detonated behind him.
The explosion tore up stone and sent a shockwave ripping past Jayden’s back, heat washing over him as he slid into a low crouch.
Explosive rounds, Jayden noted instantly.
The ghost ship answered.
Cannons fired.
Three spectral cannonballs dropped from above, warping the air as they descended.
Jayden sprinted.
The slime surged forward ahead of him, expanding, its body flattening into a thick barrier.
The first cannonball struck.
The explosion engulfed the slime, its form rippling violently as chunks of its mass were blown away, only to reabsorb moments later.
The second cannonball detonated against the ground, throwing Jayden off his feet.
He rolled, came up on one knee, already raising his arm.
Red energy condensed at his fingertips.
Piercing Shot fired.
A thin, compressed beam tore forward, not wide, not explosive, but dense. It punched through the air straight toward Percy.
Percy cursed and triggered Water Jet beneath himself, launching upward as the beam grazed past his leg, tearing through the arena wall behind him and leaving a glowing hole in the barrier.
That was too clean, Percy thought grimly. No wasted energy.
The ghost ship rotated overhead, cannons tracking Jayden automatically.
Percy fired again.
Jayden didn’t dodge this time.
The slime surged sideways, intercepting the shot midair. The explosion tore through it, sending droplets of unstable mass splattering across the ground.
Jayden sprinted through the opening.
Hero’s Ring activated.
His movements sharpened, not faster, but more efficient. Each step landed exactly where it needed to. Each breath fed directly into motion.
Percy landed hard, skidding backward as Jayden closed the distance.
Too fast.
Percy fired point-blank.
Jayden slapped the barrel aside with his forearm as the shot went wide and exploded harmlessly behind him. His other hand slammed forward.
Red energy surged.
Not a beam.
A thrust.
The Piercing Shot fired at near-zero range.
Percy twisted desperately, Water Jet blasting sideways.
The beam punched through his shoulder.
Blood sprayed as Percy was hurled backward, crashing across the arena floor.
The ghost ship roared in response.
Every cannon fired at once.
The dome shook.
Jayden dove as the entire section of the arena was obliterated in overlapping explosions. Stone vaporized. Energy tore through the air.
The slime wrapped around him instinctively, absorbing, deflecting, bleeding energy in violent pulses.
When the smoke cleared, Jayden stood, breathing hard, coat torn, slime reduced in size but still intact.
Percy staggered to his feet, clutching his wounded shoulder, pistol shaking in his hand.
They locked eyes.
Both grinning.
“Yeah,” Percy muttered through clenched teeth. “They weren’t lying about you.”
Jayden rolled his neck once. “Same.”
The bell rang again.
Match over.
Winner: Jayden.
Percy let out a breath and laughed, collapsing onto his back.
“Damn,” he said. “Worth it.”
Jayden offered a hand.
Percy took it.
And as the dome reset, spectators buzzing with excitement, one thing was clear.
This wasn’t just a rookie match.
It was the beginning of something much bigger.