KamiKowa: That Time I Got Transmigrated With A Broken Goddess-Chapter 206: [] A Drunkard’s Ghost Story

"The fuck you want?" he growled, a bottle dangling from his gnarled fingers.

"They want to talk about the ruins," Jorven said. "Paid Karson’s tax and everything."

Ren’s single eye narrowed. "Nobody goes to the ruins. Nobody with sense, anyway."

"We need to find someone who might be hiding there," Xavier said, stepping forward.

"Then you need a burial detail, not a guide." Ren took a swig from his bottle. "Ain’t nobody in those ruins still breathing."

"We’ll pay," Naomi interjected. "Double whatever Lord Karson gives you in a month."

Ren barked a laugh that dissolved into a hacking cough. "Money won’t help you when you’re dead, girl."

"Please," Margaret said. "It’s important. Someone we care about is in danger."

Something in her tone made Ren pause. He studied each of them, his single eye lingering on Xavier and Calypso.

"You ain’t from around here," he said finally. "Don’t know what you’re asking."

"Then tell us," Xavier replied.

Ren sighed and beckoned them into his small room. Inside, a narrow cot occupied one wall, while the other held a desk covered in maps and bottles. He collapsed onto a three-legged stool and gestured for them to close the door.

"The ruins weren’t always ruins," he began, his voice dropping. "Used to be the Imperial Library—greatest collection of knowledge in the Westlands. Then came the Collapse."

"We know about the Cataclysm," Calypso said impatiently.

"No, you don’t." Ren pointed a gnarled finger at her. "What you know is stories. I was there. Saw it happen." He tapped his empty eye socket. "Paid for the view, too."

He took another drink.

"When the earth shook and the sky tore open, something came through. Not like the monsters and beasts you hear about. Something... older." Ren’s hands trembled slightly. "They sealed it away, the scholars did. Used their blood and knowledge to bind it beneath the library."

"What is ’it’?" Xavier asked.

"Don’t got a name. Not one humans can say." Ren shrugged. "Called it the Archivist, on account of how it collected things. Information. Memories. Souls."

Naomi exchanged glances with Xavier. This sounded increasingly like where Nolan would hide—a repository of knowledge with a dangerous guardian.

"The library stood empty for decades," Ren continued. "Protected by wards and fear. But lately..." He hesitated. "Lately the wards been failing. And what’s buried underneath is waking up."

"And our friend chose this place to hide?" Margaret looked horrified.

"If he’s the hermit everyone’s whispering about, then yeah." Ren nodded. "Showed up about a year ago. Skinny fella, talks to himself. Paid me to bring him supplies until winter came. Haven’t seen him since."

"Nolan," Xavier confirmed, pulling out the Resonance Compass. The needle pointed steadily toward the western horizon.

"We need to reach him tonight," Naomi said. "Before the Inquisitor does."

Ren laughed bitterly. "Good luck with that. The ruins are half a day’s ride, and that’s if you don’t get lost in the Shadow Woods."

"We don’t have half a day," Xavier said grimly.

"And I don’t have a death wish," Ren retorted. "The ruins are a death trap, but not because of the unstable magic. It’s what the magic woke up."

"The Archivist?" Calypso asked.

"Worse. Its servants." Ren leaned forward, his breath sour with alcohol. "Things that used to be human, once. Now they’re just... collectors. They gather knowledge for their master. They’ll peel your memories right out of your skull, layer by layer."

A heavy silence fell over the room. Even Calypso looked disturbed.

"We’re still going," Xavier said finally. "With or without you."

Ren studied him, then shook his head. "Your funeral." He stood, wobbling slightly. "But if you’re set on dying, might as well do it proper."

He stumbled to his desk and pulled out a weathered map. "Here. Old smuggler’s trail. Cuts through the Shadow Woods, bypasses the Empire checkpoints. Gets you there in four hours, if you ride hard."

Naomi examined the map. The trail was marked in faded red ink, winding between landmarks she didn’t recognize.

"Why help us?" she asked, suspicious.

Ren’s expression darkened. "Because the hermit’s the only one who ever listened. The only one who believed what I saw during the Collapse." He touched his eye patch. "If he’s still alive, tell him Old Ren says the dreams are getting worse. He’ll know what it means."

"And your payment?" Naomi pressed.

"Keep your coin." Ren turned away. "Just don’t tell anyone I helped you. Lord Karson don’t take kindly to people giving away information he could sell."

Xavier nodded. "We need to get Ashley and the horses."

"Go out the back," Ren advised, pointing to another door. "Jorven might’ve let you in, but others might not let you out. Not after curfew."

"Thank you," Margaret said softly.

Ren merely grunted, already reaching for another bottle.

As they slipped out the back entrance into a narrow alley, Naomi caught Xavier’s arm.

"You realize we’re heading straight for something that consumes knowledge and memories," she whispered. "With a scholar who can see the future."

"I know," Xavier replied grimly. "But what choice do we have? The Inquisitor’s already here."

"Just making sure we’re on the same page," Naomi said. "This isn’t just a rescue mission anymore. We’re walking into something much worse."

"We’ve faced worse," Calypso said, her eyes glinting in the darkness.

"Have we?" Naomi raised an eyebrow. "Because it sounds like we’re about to meet something that even the gods would rather stay buried."

Margaret shivered. "The question is, was Nolan drawn there by coincidence? Or was something calling to him all along?"

Xavier didn’t answer. The Resonance Compass glowed brighter in his palm, the needle unwavering in its direction.

Toward the ruins.

Toward Nolan.

Toward the Archivist.

Naomi pulled her cloak tighter, feeling the night’s chill settle into her bones. She’d bargained her way past Lord Karson’s lieutenant with nothing but words and confidence. But she suspected no amount of negotiation would help them where they were heading.

Some tolls couldn’t be paid with gold or promises.

Some required blood.