The Nameless Extra: I Proofread This World

After filling his empty stomach, Ruvian went straight to the academy’s library. He did not spend much time at lunch with his circle of acquaintances.

He only ate enough to stop the hunger and left soon after.

The main reason was simple. He did not wish to remain seated there listening to Griffer’s constant and meaningless chatter.

Ruvian had neither the patience nor the interest to entertain it any longer than necessary.

So the moment his meal was finished, he excused himself without delay and made his way toward the quieter halls of the library.

The library sat near the east wing of Velthia Academy, a monolithic structure of polished white stone and tall glass panes.

From a distance, it seemed to radiate invitations. Anyone could walk in. Anyone could use it. That was the promise printed on the Academy’s brochures, at least.

Open to all scholars, regardless of years or class. It sounded fair. It was supposed to be that way. Knowledge should be accessible for all scholars, right?

But like everything else in Velthia, fairness only lived in the wording.

Ruvian stepped through the arching entrance, brushing past a pair of second-year uniforms and ignoring their side glances.

Inside, the first thing that hit him was the silence.

The lowest-ranked scholars still had access to the entire facility. They could walk in, browse the shelves, and sit where space permitted.

But that was where the equality ended.

The lowest-ranked scholars were not permitted beyond this section.

Especially, the central atrium, a vast open floor layered with mezzanines and spiralling staircases—lined with study pods, soundproofed glass chambers and enchantments that automatically adjusted lighting and temperature to the comfort of the occupant.

And those were always reserved.

A marble plaque near the entrance made it clear.

[Priority Seating: Class A & B Scholars and Faculty]

Ruvian walked toward the west wing, where long communal tables stretched beneath older chandeliers.

’Even the chairs here didn’t match.’

Ruvian wanted to laugh, but he was in no mood for that.

Even borrowing privileges followed a similar pattern. High-ranking scholars could check out grimoires, restricted materials, even personalised copies of certain tomes.

But what about the low-rank?

For Class E scholars, the list of available books, perhaps, was thinner than a pamphlet. So yes, the academy library welcomed all. But it never treated them equally.

Still, Ruvian had to come.

Because there was something useful he could obtain here.

[Cosmic Fountain Circulation]

A method of mana cultivation capable of refining and elevating one’s very Mana Essence.

For something so formidable, so ostensibly grand in scope, it was not preserved among the coveted upper-rank archives.

Instead, it was neglected in the lower-rank section, shelved between introductory treatises and outdated instructional manuals.

Ruvian never learned the full truth behind its placement. The novel, characteristically evasive, offered little explanation.

It was said that a few decades ago, there existed an instructor who harbored quiet resentment toward the academy’s rigid hierarchy—the stark divide between upper and lower ranks. Knowledge, in her eyes, had become stratified.

The reason was not ideological alone.

Shee had a single scholar—a student she cherished deeply, yet that scholar belonged to the lower rank. Barred from advanced resources. And so, the instructor devoted the remainder of her life to a singular endeavor.

She composed a manual on mana cultivation for that scholar of hers. And somehow, with her unwavering efforts, it became something else...

A concealed path to refining Mana Essence at a level the upper ranks would have guarded jealously.

But it was said that the manual could only be understood by that scholar. Because the real context was hidden. That was why no one ever touched it. Because to them, it was just any ordinary educational tomes.

To unlock its true purpose, you have to solve its riddle.

Yet, somehow, one day, the manual found its way into the hands of Zian. All because he accidentally channeled his mana while touching a book among the shelves.

’Lucky bastard.’

Ruvian couldn’t help but shake his head.

And against all probability, Zian managed to solve the riddle that had never been meant for him.

As he reached the inner shelves, his eyes drifted upward, tracing the curve of the vaulted ceiling. Towering bookshelves stretched so high that they needed a flying ladder to reach the uppermost volumes.

The view made him recall a similar photograph from his previous life, one he had seen in passing on social media.

The Trinity College Library in Dublin, the Bodleian in Oxford, and perhaps the long, echoing halls of the Library of Congress.

And yet, Velthia’s Library seemed like it dwarfs them all.

After a few minutes of searching, Ruvian managed to find the manual he was searching for.

[Cosmic Fountain Theory]

On the cover of the book, there was a crest with 9 spiral lines, curving softly, forming a pattern that gave the book a beautiful, yet mysterious look.

’This is it.’

He pulled the book from the shelves.

Then, steadily with no expectation of comfort, he found his seat. The light above barely reached the page, leaving the corners of the parchment soaked in gray.

Ruvian placed his palm against the cover and began to channel his mana.

Later, the leather beneath his hand responded. Faint ridges embossed into the surface began to glow.

A soft radiance traced their shallow grooves. The glow spread gradually, filling every carved line until the entire pattern shimmered in muted silver.

When the flow reached the proper point, Ruvian slowly withdrew his hand and opened the cover. The first page remained completely still for several seconds.

Then the ink began to move, and the sight was so strange that he could only watch.

The letters trembled gently in their places, and soon they slipped free and drifted across the page in slow motion, those entire words followed crossed into neighboring sheets whenever he turned a page.

Ruvian continued flipping through the manual in silent astonishment as the rearrangement kept going before his eyes.

At last the movement gradually came to a stop, and the wandering ink that had scattered everywhere began to draw together again.

Gathered little by little at the center of a single page until not one stray mark remained outside it.

There, formed from what had once filled an entire treatise, only one thing was left.

A singular riddle:

==========

I am born only after I am crushed.

The greater my weight, the steadier my light.

If you try to free me, I fade.

If you bind me tighter, I endure for ages.

I am not flame, for flame dies when smothered.

I am not lightning, for lightning fears the cage.

Yet the night is stitched together by countless things like me.

So, tell me, my dearest Evelyne... What am I?

==========

After reading the riddle carefully, Ruvian quickly understood what the answer was. The words on the page did not confuse him at all. In fact, the meaning felt familiar to him.

He had heard something similar in the past. The answer came to his mind clearly, as if it had never faded with time.

The riddle itself was not very difficult.

Anyone who truly understood the nature of science and light would be able to reach the same conclusion.

A small smile appeared on Ruvian’s face.

”A star,” he said softly.

But speaking the answer out loud was not enough. The answer had to be written with mana itself.

He raised his hand above the page and began to gather his mana at the tip of his finger. Slowly and carefully, he guided the flow forward.

And so, Ruvian wrote the answer gently.

──────── ✦ ────────

[Chapter 45: Cosmic Fountain Circulation]