Outworld Liberators-Chapter 210: The Downplayed Library

After the raucous banquet, the attendants moved quickly to clear the tables, hauling away what remained of the feast.

Some of it was still fit to be warmed and served again.

Some of it had already been picked over.

None of it would go to waste. Hungry ghosts, true to their name, were never difficult to feed.

"Alright," Calyx said, raising his voice just enough to gather the attention of the new disciples.

"We will be heading down to the library now, but first I have a few reminders."

At once, the restless mood left the group.

"First, ask questions," Calyx said. "We are not ornaments to stand around looking wise. Once you begin cultivating a method, it becomes difficult to abandon it for another."

"Your meridians will start to form around that choice and attune themselves to it naturally."

He lifted a hand, as if shaping the thought in the air before them.

"Think of yourselves as raw steel fresh from the forge. The moment cultivation enters your body, the hammer has already begun its work."

"If you choose to become a knife, you cannot decide halfway through that you would rather be a sword. To change later, you would need to begin again."

"Do not waste years of your life on such a detour because you were too ashamed to ask at the one moment that mattered."

"When it comes to cultivation, there are no foolish questions. There are only foolish people who go on without the right answer."

The new disciples nodded, taking the warning to heart.

"Second," Calyx continued, "we will not steer you away from something without reason. Our knowledge stands on millions of years and the lives of billions of cultivators."

"If a method does not suit you, do not mistake that for malice on our part. It is in your best interest to choose what truly fits you."

"Countless people have already walked these paths long before you, even before your ancestors, and the ancestors before them, were ever born."

He let that settle for a breath before his tone sharpened.

"Lastly, do not ask your fellow disciples whether a path suits you, or whether one method is better for your body than another."

"That is one of the stupidest mistakes a cultivator can make. I do not care if that sounds rude. The heart of cultivation is your own body, your own spirit, and your own mind. Not your brother’s. Yours."

By then, the attendants had begun handing out bags of water and small packs of rations to each disciple.

"You may remain in the library for a maximum of fourteen days," Calyx said. "Do not squander that time on senseless chatter."

Then Eldric raised a hand.

With a sweep of his sleeve, a great opening split the ground ahead of them, wide and dark like a sinkhole cut straight into the earth.

"Everyone jump," he said.

Calyx went first.

He stepped into the void without hesitation, his robes billowing softly as he dropped into the darkness below.

The first to jump were Raj, Almsgiver, and Tabulae, brave young souls who had not yet learned to bargain too carefully with life.

After them came the three brothers, Sackmace, Reelfisher, and Lonequiver, hurling into the dark with grim resolve.

One by one, the rest followed until no one remained above.

Then the hole vanished as though it had never existed.

The new disciples fell for what felt like an hour.

For a long while, there was only wind, darkness, and the sickening sense that the descent might never end.

More than one disciple felt a cold shiver crawl across the skin, their hearts tightening at the thought that they might simply go on falling forever.

Only when the force of the drop began to ease did their fear loosen.

Then the library came into view.

It was no ordinary library.

There were no endless walls of paper scrolls waiting on shelves.

Instead, great pillars rose through the vast chamber, and upon them were set crystal slips of many colors and shapes, each one glowing with its own strange light.

Some shone in bright rainbow hues. Others glimmered in dimmer shades, even gray and black.

The entire place seemed alive with shifting radiance. This was the work of Oisin and Elsen, fashioned according to the vision Radeon had demanded for the library.

The new disciples stared in open awe at the crystals, but their eyes still searched instinctively for paper, for something familiar like the Workman’s Body Strength Codex.

Among them, Tabulae seemed the most uneasy.

Calyx’s earlier warning had clearly lodged deep in that young heart.

Again and again, those anxious glances drifted toward Radeon, toward the man now called father.

Radeon noticed. With a small motion of his hand, he beckoned the child over.

"Father," Tabulae asked, without the least trace of shyness, "I already cultivate. Will that cause a problem?"

The voice was not loud, but every disciple nearby widened their eyes at what they had just heard.

Tabulae looked around at them and waved both hands at once.

"He adopted me. I am not some hidden heiress," came the quick reply, followed by a little laugh.

At the side, Fay watched the exchange and felt that Radeon had become more welcoming with people.

Earlier had been the first time she had heard him joke so lightly.

’Maybe it is the Tiyanak’s influence,’ she thought.

Then Calyx raised his voice.

"Everyone listen. I will say this only once. All those crystals you are seeing are the cultivation manuals."

A wave of amazement passed through the room. None of them had ever heard of methods stored in crystal form.

Their horizons, already widened once today, were forced open even further.

"Since you each have a token," Calyx continued, "you can do this."

He lifted his hand and beckoned one of the crystal slips toward him.

The one that came was shaped like an ominous skull, its jaw clacking as it floated through the air.

Several disciples went pale at once.

Still, they gritted their teeth and stood firm. If they could not seize this chance, then what was the point of coming this far at all.

Better to die reaching than to live as someone ordinary. That was the resolve burning in each of them now.

Then Calyx showed them something that made them relax.

He lifted the skull to his face.

It did not scratch him. It did not bite. It did not so much as bruise his skin.

"These forms only reflect the kind of power they carry," Calyx said.

Then he pointed back to the place where the black skull had floated from.

"All of you, try calling the same one. Go on."

The disciples obeyed at once. One after another, they reached out with their tokens and beckoned the black skull over like a summoned friend.

It answered every call. Soon each of them had a clacking little skeleton hovering before them.

"This is my cultivation method," Calyx said. "It is called the Path of the Forgiving Phantasm. If you live long enough and cultivate far enough, this path can make you stronger than Eldric. But it comes with side effects."

He let out a weary breath, as though he had explained this too many times before.

"Press it to the space between your brows. You will understand more that way."

They did as told. At once, a torrent of images poured into their minds.

They saw a faceless figure at the Breath Tempering stage, moving through exercise forms and combat patterns with impossible precision.

Then the vision leaped forward. Cornerstone Setting. More forms. More battles. More refinements of body and technique.

It kept climbing, all the way to Mortal Apotheosis. The whole path unfolded in less than half a minute.

When it ended, the disciples gasped as though waking from a dream.

Most of them had not realized they had been holding their breath.

"Breathe," Calyx said dryly. "You do not need to stop breathing just because you are watching."

The disciples drew in air.

"That was called a Path Preview," he went on. "It shows what a cultivator may do along that road. Well then. How was it?"

"Senior Calyx, I thought I was the one in that vision," Almsgiver said.

Calyx gave a faint nod, unsurprised.

Then Handlefiddler cupped his fist and stepped forward.

"Senior Calyx, since we may choose so freely, would it be possible for all of you to narrow it down for me first? Perhaps ten paths, and I can choose from there."

"You can," Calyx said, stepping closer to him.

At the same time, Radeon merely cast Handlefiddler a single glance, then began calling out cultivation manuals one after another.

"Hands of the Heaven’s Thief."

"Strings that Stirred Fate."

"Heart of Heaven’s Faithless."

"Bindings of the Stars."

"Deceitful Justice of a Thousand Faces."

"The Covered Fate of Man."

At each title, Eldric, Calyx, Oisin, Elsin, Maeron, and Ewan exchanged looks and slowly moved farther away.

Then Radeon looked back at Handlefiddler.

"There," he said. "These six suit you."

Handlefiddler had no idea why the other six had stepped back the moment Radeon came forward, and he kept shooting them puzzled looks.

Calyx answered that doubt with a smack to the back of his head.

"Boy," Calyx snarled. "He created all these methods. Do you think we have the nerve to step forward after that? Where would we even put our faces?"

For all his gruffness, something inside Calyx felt oddly refreshed.

Handlefiddler’s mouth fell open. He stared at Radeon as though he were lord over everything beneath the heavens.

Then, without wasting another breath, he began pressing the crystal slips to the space between his brows one by one.

Hands of the Heaven’s Thief came first.

The name sounded unimpressive to him at a glance, but the moment the Path Preview began, his opinion changed.

He saw a cultivator moving faster and faster, snatching away every fortunate encounter as though fate itself had loose pockets.

In the final scene, that same figure stole a holy fruit while hundreds of gods on his own level closed in around him.

"Absolutely top-notch," Handlefiddler breathed.

Next came Strings that Stirred Fate.

This path showed a patient hunter, calm and watchful, laying threads through the world until enemies walked willingly into ruin.

Handlefiddler had already begun leaning toward Hands of the Heaven’s Thief, but then the vision turned monstrous.

The threads tightened. Gods and demons alike lost their heads in its wake. In the final image, even heaven itself was dragged down and rewoven into something new.

Handlefiddler thought that was incredible too.

Then came Heart of Heaven’s Faithless.

This one used a devouring method, feeding on lifespan and cultivation itself to grow stronger.

The figure in the preview would sit in eerie stillness, digesting what it had stolen, then rise again more terrifying than before.

Its combat style was even stranger, for it could call upon the tattoos of those it had consumed and wield their stolen powers as its own.

Bindings of the Stars followed.

This path shaped light into form, conjuring all manner of equipment from boots to blades.

As long as qi remained in the body, weapons and armor could be created without limit.

Compared to the others, its methods seemed simpler, yet no less deadly.

A sword of light that could lengthen without warning.

A bow that could extend and strike enemies from impossible distances.

It was elegant, direct, and brutal in its own clean way.

Then he moved to Deceitful Justice of a Thousand Faces.

The preview unfolded through one borrowed identity after another, each face using a different cultivation style, each mask hiding another blade beneath it.

It excelled at infiltration, deception, and the theft of information.

By the time the vision ended, Handlefiddler already knew one thing for certain.

This was exactly the sort of enemy he hated most.

Last came The Covered Fate of Man.

That one was colder than all the rest. It hid a person so completely that it felt less like stealth and more like erasure.

In its early stages, it moved through shade like a knife behind a curtain.

By the final stages, it had become so hidden that even the heavens lost sight of it.

The last image showed its cultivator passing through his own tribulation until the heavenly lightning simply dispersed, unable to find what it meant to strike.

When the final vision ended, Handlefiddler stood there in silence.

Now he had a problem.

Every one of them was excellent. Worse, every one of them suited the kind of techniques and skills he liked best.

For the first time since entering the library, he found himself trapped not by lack of choice, but by far too much of it.