Chapter 190: In the Ruins (II)

Ishiki and Nina now stood in front of the doorway which was blocked by a large section of the fallen wall.

He activated Ghost Blade and examined if there is any skeleton inside like before. But it was empty inside.

The chamber was very large just like a mini castle. Surprisingly enough… it didn’t have any hidden chambers inside… that was a relief.

Ishiki carefully made way past the blocking piece of debris and reached the door. It was a metallic door instead of a wooden one and it had rusted badly over time.

He tried pushing it but it didn’t bulge.

Finally he swing the Jian and let the purple flames consume the door… opening the way to the chamber.

Before he stepped inside he left the Jian close to Nina and instructed her. “Do not touch this… Okay. Its very dangerous and Wait here. I will call you in shortly.”

Nina nodded without saying anything. Although she was a little scared of being left alone in this creepy place… she didn’t complain.

He didn’t need the light source that’s why he left the Jian out. Ishiki activated [Ghost Blade] and stepped in.

The room smelled of age and decay. Not the sweet rot of organic matter, but something drier—the mineral scent of stone slowly degrading, paper turning to dust.

He looked around the door and found two lamps on each side. He brought out the lighter he had in his pocket and tried to lit them. It was precisely for moments like these.

But there was no candle around.

He sighed and put it away.

He stood in a wide dining area with a luxurious table at the center. The table’s surface bore the accumulated debris of scholarship—dried inkwells whose contents had evaporated into nothing, quills whose feathers had decomposed into fine powder, strange instruments. A compass sat at one corner.

There were 2 bedrooms inside which had nothing special. And a Bathroom and a kitchen.

’This place is like a hidden Villa.’

There were bookshelves on two of the walls.

Books filled the shelves in chaotic organization. Some stood upright, spines still visible despite centuries of neglect. Others had toppled over in domino patterns, creating avalanches of fallen knowledge. Many more lay scattered across the floor, their pages yellowed and brittle with age, covers warped by humidity that had somehow penetrated even these sealed chambers.

Ishiki crouched, while carefully picking up the nearest book. The paper was so brittle it threatened to crumble at his touch. He handled it with the delicacy of someone defusing explosives.

The text was in the old language. Dense script flowing across the page in columns, utterly unreadable to his eyes.

’That’s why I brought Nina.’

He walked out of the doorway and picked up the Jian. “Nina,” he called softly. “It’s safe. Come in.”

She was visibly relieved as she followed behind him and appeared in the hall. Her eyes widened as she took in the chamber’s contents.

“So many books,” she breathed, voice barely above a whisper.

“And we need to find the important ones.” Ishiki stood, gesturing around the room with Sorrow’s Edge. The purple flames traced patterns in the air, momentarily brightening before settling back to their steady glow. “Most of this is probably daily records or religious texts. But somewhere in here, there should be something that tells us about Aethelburg’s history.”

Nina nodded slowly, moving to the nearest shelf and examining the spines with careful attention. Her fingers hovered over the books without quite touching them, as if afraid they might disintegrate under direct contact.

“What language is this?” she asked.

“The same one you helped translate before. Can you read any of it?”

She squinted at the faded text using her skill, her lips moving silently as she worked through the unfamiliar script. “Yes I can read it.”

They worked in silence for several minutes. Nina examined books while Ishiki sifted through scattered papers and documents he could read, setting aside anything that looked potentially important.

The purple light from Sorrow’s Edge created dancing shadows that made the room feel alive.

Most documents proved mundane—records of prayers offered, donations received, ceremonies performed with meticulous attention to ritual detail. The bureaucratic detritus of religious administration, rendered meaningless by the passage of ages and the deaths of everyone who’d once cared about such things.

Then Nina made a small sound of discovery.

“Ishiki, look at this.”

He moved to her side, following her gaze to a book she’d pulled from the shelf. The binding was leather, darkened almost to black with age but still intact.

“What does it say?” he asked.

Nina opened the book carefully, scanning the first few pages. “It’s… a record of daily life. it says. Written by someone named…” She paused, working through an unfamiliar name. “Kelethis? I think. He was documenting everyday occurrences in the cathedral and the surrounding district.”

“Is there anything useful?”

She flipped through pages, reading passages aloud in fragments. “’The market was particularly crowded today, as rumors of the southern harvest’s failure have driven prices higher…’ That’s mundane.

He sighed and continued searching with renewed focus. Nina would call out when she found something interesting—historical records, personal journals, anything that mentioned the Emperor or the Angel or unusual events.

Ishiki moved to a section of the room where papers had piled against the wall, creating a drift of yellowed documents half-buried in dust. He crouched, sorting through them with careful attention.

Most were illegible—water damage or simple age had rendered the ink into meaningless smears. Others were intact but contained only lists of names, attendance records for ceremonies, etc.

Then his fingers closed on something different.

A single sheet, smaller than the others. The paper quality was finer, more expensive. And the text… even without being able to read the language, Ishiki could tell this was something other than bureaucratic record-keeping.

“Nina,” he called. “Come look at this.”

She hurried over, peering at the page over his shoulder. Her expression changed as she read, something complex and sad crossing her features.

“It’s a poem,” she confirmed quietly.

’In gardens where the golden flowers bloom,

We met beneath the Moon’s pale stare.

Your hands were soft, untouched by steel or tomb,

And in that moment, I believed we’d share—’”

Nina stopped, her voice catching slightly. She cleared her throat and continued.

“’But war came calling with its bloody teeth,

And duty pulled me from your gentle side.

I marched to death while you stood underneath

Death’s shadow, waiting for a tide—’”

“It’s torn,” she said, frustrated. “The rest of the poem is missing.”

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