Chapter 481: Forgotten History And Stolen Records

Haldric pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering, “Gods save us all…”

Damien stood.

Ravendan continued screaming until two guards lifted him under the arms and dragged him toward the inner district, leaving a trail of blood behind.

By the time they were gone, the entire yard had fallen into a stunned silence.

And then a wave of murmurs spread.

“Did you see that…?!”

“He bit off a noble’s hand!”

“And the White Wolf Rider just apologized like it was nothing—”

“No one’s ever shut Lord Ravendan up like that!”

“Serves the fool right—”

Damien ignored all of it as he walked toward the barracks.

Fenrir trotted behind him, completely unconcerned.

Luton bounced happily on his shoulder again, as if it too approved.

Haldric jogged to catch up, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You do realize,” the general said, “you just embarrassed one of the wealthiest nobles in the kingdom.”

Damien nodded. “He was annoying.”

“You also made enemies among the aristocracy.”

Damien nodded again. “They can wait their turn.”

“And you raised your standing among every soldier, scout, and hunter.” Haldric grinned.

Damien smirked. “That part’s fine.”

Haldric stared at him for a moment before exhaling deeply.

“…you are absolute chaos incarnate.”

Damien stopped, considering it.

He shrugged. “I don’t think I deserve that much praise.”

The soldiers at the barracks saluted him as he passed. Their eyes were shining, part awe, part amusement, and part admiration.

Damien hadn’t meant to earn their respect.

But it happened anyway.

When they finally reached the barracks courtyard, Haldric clapped him on the back and laughed.

“Rest up. You’ve earned it.”

Damien nodded and headed toward his room.

Fenrir followed quietly into the shadows beside him.

Luton bounced gently on his head and behind Damien, word spread like wildfire.

The mercenary who rode the White Wolf. The man whose slime devoured demons whole.

The one who made a noble scream.

Damien’s reputation had officially exploded.

~~~~~

The morning sun hid behind thin layers of clouds, its light filtered and softened as Damien crossed the upper district with Fenrir’s quiet steps padding behind him.

Luton bounced on his head in its usual half-sloppy, half-proud rhythm, drawing occasional startled looks from nobles and soldiers alike. But Damien ignored all eyes. He had one destination today.

The Grand Library.

Seliah had pointed him to its location earlier—a monstrous five-story structure carved from pale granite, its walls engraved with ancient text and murals. Great double doors of darkwood stood open at the entrance, but two armored librarians stood guard as though protecting a treasury of gold.

“Visitors may enter freely,” one of the guardians said, lowering his halberd slightly. “But no ink, blades, or magic tools may be brought inside.”

Damien nodded and stored everything besides Fenrir and Luton in Luton’s (Universal Space). The guardians hesitated at the sight of the slime and towering wolf but ultimately stepped aside.

“Try not to… eat anything inside,” Damien muttered to Luton.

Luton burbled innocently.

Damien stepped through the threshold and froze.

The interior stretched far wider than the building’s exterior suggested. Rows upon rows of shelves spiraled upward, lit by hovering orbs of soft blue mana.

Scholars whispered as they walked between towering bookcases. The scent of old parchment and ink soaked the air like perfume.

Damien couldn’t suppress a faint smile.

“Arielle would’ve loved this…”

He took a deep breath and headed deeper into the labyrinth of knowledge. He had a feeling this library had answers to some of his questions and he was willing to find out.

Maps occupied an entire section on the second floor. Damien sifted through atlases, annotated parchments, and 3D mana projections of the continent. He sought only the most detailed ones—specifically those referencing the islands off the Northern continent.

He took out the large map he had previously bought, then began comparing it to the historical ones.

The Forest of Twin Disasters appeared on every map as a blotch of dark green far to the northwest, surrounded by swirling warning symbols or black ink.

But the more ancient the maps were, the smaller the island appeared.

That alone was strange.

Islands didn’t grow larger.

He leaned closer and traced the changing outlines with his finger.

“Did someone add land to it?” he muttered. “Or… did the cartographers stop mapping the inside accurately?”

Fenrir sniffed the ancient parchment beside him.

Luton quietly ate a dust bunny in the corner even though Damien had warned it not to eat anything.

Damien folded the map and tucked it back.

One section down.

The third floor held a wing dedicated to war history. Damien scanned the spines of thick tomes, looking for one section in particular:

“Records of the Demon Wars.”

But when he reached the shelf, he stopped.

It was empty.

Not partially empty.

Completely barren. Every single book missing. Only labels remained.

Damien frowned. “Strange.”

He looked left. Then right.

Other shelves in the room were full.Every one except this one.

He grabbed a passing librarian. “Where are the demon war records?”

The old woman blinked at him. “What do you mean?”

“The shelf is empty.”

She sniffed, annoyed. “Impossible. Those books haven’t been removed for decades. They’re some of our rarest historical—”

She followed Damien to the shelf.

Her mouth opened.

Closed.

Opened again.

“That… that’s impossible…”

She frantically checked the catalog crystal embedded in the wall. Her hands trembled.

“All demon-war archives… are missing?”

Damien folded his arms. “No one saw anyone remove them?”

“No!” She shook her head rapidly. “No one is authorized to even request those books!”

Damien stepped closer to the shelf. Something felt off—too off. Not only did he feel like those books were erased… He felt like they had been erased recently.

“Who has access to the restricted archives?” he asked quietly.

“Only the commander, the king’s council, and high-ranking mages… but none have visited recently. The runes would’ve recorded it…”

She checked again, pale. “No entries. No traces.”

The space where knowledge should exist was now a void.

A forced void.

Damien exhaled slowly. “I see.”

Luton bubbled ominously, sensing his irritation.

Fenrir simply growled, forcing the librarian to back away nervously.

Damien left the floor with a cold feeling crawling down his spine.

Someone had erased history.

Recently.

Purposefully.

Next, Damien searched the arcane architecture section. He spent nearly an hour flipping through dusty scrolls, ancient texts, damaged manuscripts, anything mentioning dimensional constructs.

Nothing.

Not a page or a vague reference. Not even speculation.

No one had ever written anything about a sealed Gate like the one in Delwig.

Not even myths.

He found references to portals, teleportation circles, dungeons, but nothing remotely resembling what he had seen.

It was as if every record of such Gates had been wiped from existence.

Again.

“It can’t be coincidence,” Damien whispered.

Something wanted the world ignorant.

Something wanted him ignorant.

His irritation deepened.

If information was being erased… then he couldn’t trust anything present on the shelves.

So he turned to the oldest source he could find. The Forgotten Legends.

He nearly missed it.

A thin, brittle codex tucked between two irrelevant bestiaries. Had he not randomly pulled a nearby book and noticed the empty space behind it, he never would have found it.

The title was “Whispers of the Eternal Trials.”

Damien opened it carefully with its pages yellowed, cracked, and faintly laced with mana. Luton leaned close, curious. Fenrir sat beside him like a guardian statue.

The text inside was fragmented, but readable.

» In the age before kings, when the continents were without division, the Elders shaped trials for ascension.”

Damien’s pulse quickened.

» “Among them was the Island of Twin Trials. A land forged for those chosen by fate, where only the brave or blessed could walk.”

Twin Trials.

Twin Disasters.

His throat tightened.

He flipped to the next fragment.

» “Many were taken there by the Ancient Ones. Few returned. Fewer ascended.”

Ancient Ones…

» “Its forests were living tests. Its storms were weighing scales. Its beasts—harbingers of judgment.”

Damien felt a strange chill crawl down his arms.

This place…This cursed hellscape that nearly killed him as a child…

Was once sacred?

He flipped further, hungry for more answers.

» “It is one of many Ascension Lands.”

He froze.

Ascension Lands.

Plural.

» “Islands forged by beings whose names have been lost to time. Their purpose—forgotten. Their trials—abandoned.”

Another page torn out.

Damien clenched his teeth.

Of course.

The parts that mattered most were missing.

The last legible line struck him deeply.

» “Only the chosen were brought there. Only the favoured ones returned.”

Chosen.

Favoured.

Damien’s blood ran cold.

His father’s orders. Osbourne’s actions. His forced exile to that island.

Was it truly exile?

Or was it… selection?

No way his father knew about this. So it definitely was exile.

Damien shut the book slowly.

It wasn’t enough. But it was enough to confirm one thing.

His journey back to the Forest of Twin Disasters wouldn’t be simple training.

Something waited for him there.

Something old.

Something ancient enough that its memory had been almost erased.

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