Chapter 159: The Forgetful Librarian

“Wait.”

He straightened up, narrowing his eyes. “System,” he said slowly, “why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”

The system didn’t respond right away.

Sage’s gaze hardened. “I wrote an entire Guide Book,” he continued, his tone sharpening with each word. “I stood before hundreds of Adventurers and explained dungeon mechanics, monster classifications, danger assessments, I laid out how they could survive.”

His fingers curled into fists. “And not once did you think it necessary to mention that every single one of them would be thrown into a dungeon alone?”

[The classification of monsters and danger assessment metrics already provide sufficient survival guidance.]

Sage stared in disbelief. “…That’s it?”

[Yes.]

A muscle twitched at his temple as frustration bubbled within him. “You realize,” he said slowly, “that I didn’t write a single line about forced spatial isolation? Not one! They’re expecting to move in groups, see familiar faces, expecting backup!”

His voice dropped low with intensity. “What happens if panic sets in? What happens when someone realizes they’re alone in a dungeon they thought they entered with twenty others? You think they’ll calmly open a page and check monster tiers?”

He swallowed hard. “They’ll think they were tricked or that something went wrong, and when they come out, if they comeout, they won’t blame the dungeon.”

He looked straight ahead as if peering through the walls themselves. “They’ll blame me.”

[There is no need to worry. The Guide Book’s strength classifications will allow them to determine engagement viability.]

Sage rolled his eyes so forcefully that he nearly tipped back in his chair. “Easy for you to say,” he muttered under his breath, “you don’t have to stand before an angry mob of armed Adventurers when something goes wrong.”

Sage exhaled sharply and waved a hand. “Let’s put that aside for now.”

He leaned in again. “By the way,” he added, “what happens to the Dungeon Pass after it’s used to enter?”

[It is consumed.]

Sage blinked. “…Consumed.”

[Yes. Upon successful spatial anchoring and entry authorization, the Dungeon Pass dissolves.]

His eyes widened slightly. “Then how exactly,” he asked slowly, “are they supposed to leave?”

The system replied instantly, as if the answer were obvious.

[By intent. When an entrant wishes to exit, they need only focus on leaving. The dungeon will generate an outbound portal at their current location.]

Sage froze. “…They just… think about leaving?”

[Correct.]

His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again.

“What.”

[Exit protocols are bound to conscious spatial intent. It is a standard dungeon function.]

Sage raised a hand slowly to his face, his palm meeting his forehead.

“Are you… serious right now?” he muttered, dragging his hand down his face. “You’retelling me they can leave at will, any time they want, just by thinking about it?”

[Yes.]

“And you didn’t think that was worth mentioning?” he snapped.

[It did not occur to me.]

Sage straightened abruptly. “Didn’t occur to you?” he repeated incredulously. “That’s not a minor detail! That’s the most crucial survival mechanic in the entire dungeon!”

He slapped the armrest in frustration. “Do you have any idea what Warriors believe about dungeons? They think once you enter, you’re trapped until you find your way back to where you came from! That escape is spatial, not mental! If they get lost….”

He gestured emphatically through the air. “And you’re telling me all they have to do is calm down and focus on leaving for a portal to appear?”

[Yes.]

Sage let out a single laugh that held no amusement; it was more of a precursor to a headache.

“Why didn’t you mention this sooner?” he demanded. “Why wasn’t it included in the Guide Book? Do you want them hunting me down and mounting my head on the Guild wall as some kind of warning sign?”

[…]

The system fell silent for what felt like aneternity before responding softly.

[I forgot.]

Sage stared blankly. “…You forgot.”

[Yes.]

Something inside Sage snapped as he rose to his feet so suddenly that the table rattled beneath him.

“Forgot? You’re a system designed to track dungeon cores and rewrite internal spatial laws, and you forgot to mention the single most important exit mechanic?!”

He ran a hand through his hair in disbelief. “What are you, a cosmic deity or a forgetful librarian? Do you have some sort of cosmic Alzheimer’s disease?”

[…]

“Do you have any idea how many people perish in dungeons because they believe they can’t escape?” Sage continued, his frustration palpable as he paced the lounge. “They think retreat is impossible, and panic convinces them that the only option is to push forward.”

He gestured emphatically, his finger slicing through the air. “And you just sat there with this vital information like, ’Oh, by the way, there’s a magical emergency door you can summon anytime; I just forgot to mention it.’”

[ … ]

He threw his hands up in disbelief. “Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable. A system capable of rewriting dungeon rules, and its biggest flaw is selective memory.”

[ … ]

“For the next two minutes,” Sage declared, his voice rising and falling as he launched into an uninterrupted rant, “I need you to grasp something very clearly. If anyone dies because they didn’t know they could just leave with a single thought, I will drag you with me to hell and personally explain to every judge that you are the most unreliable divine construct ever created.”

He paused only long enough to jab his finger at the air again. “You are a walking health hazard. A sentient omission engine. A forgetful disaster waiting to happen.”

[ … ]

“I plan while you sabotage. I write manuals; you hide footnotes. At this point, I’m not running a Guild; I’m babysitting a cosmic child with reality-altering powers.”

[ … ]

“Do you understand how much trouble I’ll be in if Gregor comes out furious? Can you imagine the look on his face if he thinks I deliberately sent him into a dungeon without warning?”

[ … ]

“Because I do know, and it involves a lot of shouting and probably something being broken.”

The system remained completely silent.

Which was infuriatingly theright response.

Sage finally stopped pacing. Breathing heavily now, he leaned forward, resting both hands on his knees before closing his eyes for several long seconds.

“…Alright.” He rubbed his temples as his shoulders sagged slightly.

“What’s done is done.” He straightened up again, though tension still coiled beneath his skin.

“I just hope,” he muttered with a distant gaze, “that those fools can figure things out on their own.”

His lips twitched faintly, though there was no humor in it, as he added quietly, “Especially Gregor. He won’t pass up a chance to make me suffer if this goes wrong.”

The Guildmaster leaned back against the couch and stared at the ceiling. For the first time since founding the Adventurer Guild, Sage realized something crucial he hadn’t accounted for in any of his plans.

The dungeons were no longer theoretical.

They were active.

And whatever happened inside them now…

He could no longer control directly.

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