Chapter 91: Midnight Ink

Flashback—Two Days Ago

———-

The room was shrouded in darkness, illuminated only by the soft amber glow of a single oil lamp. Its flame flickered gently, as if weary from the late hour.

Shadows stretched across the walls of Sage’s bedroom, long and uneven, creeping over shelves, the edge of the bed, and the scattered chaos of parchment that lay strewn across the floor like fallen leaves after a storm.

Sage reclined on his back atop the bed, still wearing his boots. One leg dangled over the side while the other rested comfortably bent at the knee.

A thick stack of papers lay on his chest, held down by one hand as his other moved steadily across the page,scratching, pausing, scratching again, as ink soaked into parchment with relentless patience.

The sound was rhythmic: scratch. Pause. Scratch.

Article One: On Guild Membership and Conduct.

Article Two: On Mission Allocation and Dispute Resolution.

Article Three: On Rewards, Penalties, and Revocation of Status.

Article Seven: On the Inviolability of Guild Arbitration and the Nullification of External Coercion.

Sage exhaled slowly through his nose, eyes half-lidded and expression deceptively calm. Anyone observing him writing rules by lamplight in the dead of night,might have mistaken him for a diligent administrator or perhaps even a responsible leader.

But they would have been mistaken. This wasn’t diligence; it was preparation.

He shifted slightly, rustling the papers as he adjusted their weight and scanned what he had just written. His handwriting was neat and controlled; each letter precise without being stiff, a style that suggested forethought rather than haste.

“Let’s see…” he murmured to himself. “Entry and exit conditions…”

His pen slowed to a stop as Sage’s gaze sharpened just a little.

Article Twelve: On Voluntary Withdrawal from the Guild.

He tapped his pen against the paper once, and then twice.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “…This one,” he said softly, “needs to be very clear.”

The pen resumed its movement as requirements were listed and numbers written down. Conditions stacked upon one another, each reasonable on its own but collectively overwhelming.

Sage read it back once, and then again. Satisfied with what he’d crafted, he nodded just as a familiar translucent glow flickered into existence above the foot of his bed.

The system window shimmered to life with lines of text forming rapidly as if agitated.

[Warning: Excessive non-structural administrative input detected. Clarification requested.] The system’s cold voice echoed in his mind.

Sage didn’t look up; he continued writing while ignoring its presence. The glow pulsed brighter.

[Purpose of current activity exceeds standard Guild construction parameters.]

Sage sighed before finally lifting his gaze toward the hovering interface. “You’re awfully chatty tonight.”

[This system is designed to assist in Guild construction, expansion, and management. It is not a publishing house.]

Sage snorted. “Oh, here we go again. I thought we already talked about this.”

He set the pen down on his chest and folded his hands behind his head, gazing up at the ceiling. “You know, for a supposedly omnipotent system, you complain a lot.”

[Complaints are a form of diagnostic feedback. You are attempting to convert handwritten administrative policies into mass-produced physical media.] The system replied coldly.

“Yes.”

[That is not within standard operational scope.]

Sage tilted his head slightly. “You turned my vague thoughts into a functioning Guild interface, real-time accounting, and legally binding contracts. But printing books is where you draw the line?”

[Those functions are core features. Printing presses are not.]

Sage closed his eyes for a moment before reopening them, calm as ever. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s talk scope.”

He sat up, papers sliding into his lap as he leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees. The lamplight cast sharp lines across his face, highlighting the thoughtful glint in his eyes.

“What is a Guild?” Sage asked.

[A structured organization facilitating Adventurer activity.]

“And what do organizations need?”

The system paused briefly before responding.

[Rules.]

“Good,” Sage said. “And rules that exist only in my head are useless.”

He lifted the stack of papers slightly. “Rules need permanence. Visibility. Legitimacy.” The system flickered as it processed this information.

[Digital interfaces provide adequate permanence.]

Sage smiled thinly. “Not to them.” He gestured vaguely toward the window, beyond which Greyvale lay asleep.

“They don’t trust what they can’t hold. They don’t respect what they can’t point at. A book,..” he tapped the papers,..”isn’t just information; it’s authority.”

The system remained silent.

Sage took that as encouragement and continued casually, “And besides, I’m not asking you to write it; I already did the hard part.”

He flipped open the stack of pages, letting them flutter in front of him. “I just need you to… materialize them.”

[You are requesting large-scale physical replication of a non-core asset.]

“Yes.”

[Denied.]

Sage blinked in surprise. “Denied?”

[This system will not allocate resources toward non-essential publishing endeavors.]

For a long moment, Sage stared at the interface before letting out a soft but weary laugh.

“You know,” he said mildly, “I was hoping you’d say that.”

The system’s glow wavered.

Sage leaned back against the bedframe, idly twirling the pen between his fingers. “Because now we get to negotiate.”

[Negotiation parameters are…]

“If you don’t print these books,” Sage interrupted pleasantly, “I won’t learn magic anymore.”

There was silence, absolute and stunned silence, as if time itself had paused for half a heartbeat.

[Excuse me?]

“You heard me.” Sage shrugged. “No spells, no mana training, no progression quests. I’m just going to run this Guild the old-fashioned way.”

[That would be suboptimal.]

“Oh, catastrophically,” Sage agreed. “For both of us.”

The glow intensified, and text began to appear more rapidly.

[Your personal growth is integral to Guild advancement.]

“And Guild advancement,” Sage replied calmly, “is essential for your own expansion protocols. Which means…”

He leaned in slightly, his eyes sharp now.

“we’re both stuck here together.”

[Threatening self-sabotage is illogical.]

Sage’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Never test a man who has nothing to lose.”

The pen came to a halt. “I have no noble backing, no family, and no safety net. If this Guild fails, I’m back to square one. So if you think I won’t drag myself through mediocrity out of spite..” he shrugged again, “…you clearly don’t understand humans.”

The system fell silent once more.

Sage exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting back to the papers.

“And for the record,” he added lightly, “I don’t care if I end up castrated, cursed, or magically neutered along the way.”

The system was silent when it heard what Sage said.

“I’m an irregular variable,” Sage continued nonchalantly. “Get used to it.”

Another pause followed; this one lingered longer than before. The lamp crackled softly as the wind outside shifted.

Finally, the system spoke.

[ One hundred copies.]

Sage’s eyes brightened with excitement.

[ Basic binding. Standardized formatting. No decorative enhancements.] The system replied it’s tone filled with a hint of irritation.

“That’s fine by me.”

[ This action will be logged as an exception.(

“Of course it will.”

[ Do not make a habit of this.)

Sage grinned widely. “No promises.”

The papers in his lap began to glow faintly as ink shimmered and pages thickened; covers formed seamlessly around them. One by one, pristine books materialized and stacked neatly at the foot of the bed, solid and undeniable presence.

Sage reached down and picked one up, running his thumb along its spine before opening it wide.

The first page stared back at him: The Adventurer Guild Rule Book. Authored by Sage Alistair: The Guildmaster.”

He closed the book slowly, a quiet smile spreading across his face, a look of satisfaction washing over him.

“This,” he thought as he lay back against the bed while the lamp flickered low, “is for when she comes.”

The weight of the book rested heavily in his hands as night continued its slow march forward.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep