Chapter 11: The Scent of Old Paper

I had been in so much pain. Now, I just wanted the hurting to stop.

The one who undisputed-ly disturbed my solitary happy hours the most was Zeimer. From what I heard, it seemed he didn’t have much to do at the Imperial Palace. After the war ended, there weren’t even five Archmages left on the continent, excluding the different races.

To keep Zeimer—the youngest and most brilliant among those few—tied down, Ilya had proposed the position of Magic Advisory Commissioner for the central government. Since the Empire had run perfectly fine for the last thousand years without a mage in the palace, it wasn’t exactly a critical post, but Zeimer seemed satisfied. He had some official schedules to keep, but he said the rest was his personal time.

Perhaps because he had time to kill, Zeimer volunteered to inspect all the materials entering the Imperial Library. As it was a place where all the world’s knowledge was gathered, the amount of new daily arrivals was formidable, yet Zeimer processed them all flawlessly.

Though he did it out of pure interest, Zeimer eventually ended up taking the position of Director of the Imperial Library. Aside from data inspection, the actual administrative duties were handled by aides, making it a titular role, but Zeimer didn’t seem to mind.

Still, he must have had plenty of leisure time because he visited me incredibly often. It was to the point where I suspected he wasn’t just spending his spare time on me, but specifically carving out time just to see me.

When I was sleeping all day, it didn’t matter if he was stuck to my side, but now that I was staying awake longer, his frequent visits began to weigh on me.

Zeimer smelled of old books. And the scent of dawn. Perhaps because he spent most of his time researching in the Imperial Archives, the library, or his study, the scent of aged paper seemed to have soaked into him.

Specifically, the Imperial Archives—which are off-limits to ordinary people—housed many ancient books and volumes written with high-quality ink. On days Zeimer came from there, he carried that subtle, mysterious fragrance.

Looking at Zeimer reading a book beside me, his white hair shining blue in the light was the first thing to catch my eye. I didn’t know what his original color was, but Zeimer always used magic to bleach his hair white.

The book in his elegant hands had complex patterns on the cover, likely a magic tome. Feeling my gaze, Zeimer looked up.

“Hm? What? Are you bored?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

“Human and… magic-engineering collab… oration? Pro, process—”

“Formal model of human error in human-magitech collaboration processes.”

Wow, that sounds incredibly boring. My expression must have given me away, because Zeimer let out a chuckle.

“It’s not fun. I’m just reading a thesis the Academy sent over. They asked me to review it before it goes into the library.”

If he had work to do, he should go to his lab; I didn’t know why he was loitering here. I knew he was worried, but there were always servants stationed nearby for emergencies, and more importantly, I wasn’t actually sick, so it was quite bothersome.

Receiving constant worry and care when I wasn’t truly ill was exhausting and embarrassing. But if that was the Goddess’s will, then every situation would appear that way by necessity anyway, so there was no point in trying to explain myself. I wouldn’t succeed. Besides, I was too tired. I didn’t want to do anything anymore.

After the war ended and he officially terminated his contract with the Magic Tower to become an Imperial Mage, Zeimer no longer wore the Tower’s uniform. He still wore a cape—a characteristic of mages—but since he hated clothes with too many buttons and cumbersome string decorations, he often wore light clothing underneath.

Zeimer’s reading speed was truly monstrous. It was a speed befitting the title of an unprecedented genius.

“No, really, you’re not bored? You’re just lying there doing nothing.”

“Zeimer, why don’t you read at the desk over there instead?”

“Does it bother you?”

“It’s not that…”

His face turned so pitiful in an instant that the words “Yes, it bothers me” died in my throat. Since I was doing nothing, my eyes naturally drifted to Zeimer sitting next to me.

He looked like an incredibly sensitive wildcat, yet he acted exactly like a puppy. He really is high-maintenance. I swallowed a sigh and spoke.

“Please help me up.”

When I reached out my arm, Zeimer closed his book, stood up, and naturally put his hands under my armpits to lift me.

“Are you okay?”

“I want to read a book too.”

“What kind of book?”

“I don’t know. A dictionary?”

“Why a dictionary?”

I fell silent, not knowing how to answer. There were only a few books on my desk. They were all I had. I had looked at my magic books until they were worn out and didn’t want to see them anymore, and my handwriting practice book wasn’t exactly reading material.

I often read the dictionary when my thoughts became too much. There were many difficult words, but no book was as kind. I would skim with my finger, pick a word, read the definition, and if I found another word I didn’t know, I’d look that up too. It was perfect for killing time.

Zeimer’s face crumpled as if he realized why I was asking for it.

“Why do you need that? You have me. I’ll teach you.”

That would be nice for me, but I wondered if Zeimer would continue to help without getting annoyed.

Zeimer liked smart, capable people. Or rather, he couldn’t stand stupidity. Perhaps that was why our first impressions of each other were the absolute worst. At that time, I was an incredibly slow, foolish person.

There are four elements involved in magic: the quantity of mana, the quality of mana, intuitive understanding of magic, and technique. Quantity and understanding were matters of talent, while quality improved the more you used magic. Technique was a matter of how well you utilized magic formulas.

At seventeen, thanks to the Goddess’s blessing, I had sufficient intuitive understanding and mana quantity, but I couldn’t perform magic because I knew nothing. Fortunately, because I was blessed in the realm of “talent,” the methods of operation flowed into my head just by haltingly reading through magic books. If the mages of the Magic Tower knew this, they would have been in an uproar. Operating methods weren’t something you could master so easily.

“You don’t like stupid people.”

“Who said that? Who said you’re stupid?”

“You did, Zeimer.”

“Hey, that was years ago! You’re still holding onto that?”

Zeimer huffed, his neck turning red. Zeimer was the only one who knew me when I was seventeen. I met everyone else for the first time on the battlefield.

“Just lie down for now. It’s still hard for you to sit up. I’ll read to you. What kind of books do you like?”

“Since I’m stupid, I haven’t read many books—”

“I-I’ll go get some on my own. Just wait.”

Since I listened intently, Zeimer began bringing a new book every time he came. Every book he read to me was interesting.

The variety was wide. Some had few words but many pictures, some were fictional stories, and some were about the ancient history of the Empire. There were even stories about the vast, deep waters called the “sea.”

They were different from any books I had encountered before. The only books I had known were handwriting primers made of low-quality paper tied with string, dense dictionaries, or magic manuals filled with incomprehensible proofs and formulas.

The books themselves hadn’t been interesting, and when reading alone, there were too many words I couldn’t recognize or understand. It would take forever just to read one line. Even when I looked things up in the dictionary, I often didn’t know the words used in the definition, leading to an endless cycle of searching.

Zeimer came every day and read to me in his low voice. As the days passed, I found myself waiting for his arrival more and more.

For the first time in twenty-four years, I realized that I liked stories. I wanted to learn to read properly. Of course, I knew how to read, but there wasn’t much I could actually decipher. With my fragmented knowledge, the words I could understand and write were limited.

The only word I could write with absolute confidence was my own name. The former Emperor didn’t want me to be smart, but he wanted me to sign various oaths and contracts impressively. The very first thing I learned upon entering the palace—and the only thing I learned by the Emperor’s command—was how to write my name in elegant cursive.

I waited until Zeimer closed the book before I spoke.

I told him I wanted to learn to read and write. Zeimer looked like he wanted to teach me himself, but apparently, his schedule wasn’t empty enough to teach a “serious patient” like me on a regular basis. After much thought, he replied that he would ask Felix to provide a tutor.

Felix brought it up the very next day, having heard the news. He said he would find a suitable teacher. He promised that if there was anything I wanted to do, he would let me do it all.

I wanted to start immediately, but I couldn’t argue with Felix when he coaxed me to wait a little longer, saying it was still too much for me to even sit up. My lessons were postponed, but the pile of books Zeimer brought me began to grow steadily in my room.