CHAPTER 170: CHAPTER 170: CURSE_1

"I’ll have a look first."

"The items are all here; choose whatever you want," the old man said, then lowered his head to study something in his hands.

Lance didn’t actually walk straight to the pile of miscellaneous books but started from the first bookshelf, taking his time as he moved along.

Books were precious luxuries. This tiny bookstore had only three large, double-sided bookshelves and a few wall shelves. These weren’t even completely filled, as some space was taken by ink, white paper, and blank leather scrolls.

It was a means of diversifying the business; otherwise, it would have been tough to sustain the bookstore’s operation.

As his gaze swept across the shelves, Lance found quite a few items of interest. Though he was eager to take everything, he remained cautious and selected some more basic books.

"Extraordinary Creatures Compendium," "Spiritual Materials Detailed Analysis," "Rituals Real Record," "Introduction to Alchemy"—he just glanced at the table of contents for the others.

However, Lance noticed an interesting detail: all these books seemed ordinary. At least, in his eyes, they showed no Spirit Light.

It seemed that the books Tamara had mentioned, those containing "power," were not common, somewhat similar to what one might find in a school’s library.

After making a round, Lance stopped at the pile of old books.

These items seemed to have been in that spot for a long time; many of them were falling apart, unable to maintain their shape.

He handled them gently, wiping the dust off the cover of a book that appeared to be an autobiography. After briefly flipping through, he found it to be a Knight novel, which explained why it had been discarded there.

Lance wasn’t in a hurry. He organized the books and manuscripts. His method of judgment was rather crude, relying on the book’s title and a quick flip through its pages to look for any sign of Spiritual Essence.

Perhaps he was overthinking it. Any truly good items wouldn’t have waited for him. Still, he did find some worthwhile books unrelated to the Extraordinary.

"National Geography and Exploration," "Ancient Pompeii Ruins Essays," "Explorer Bell’s Wilderness Survival Guide," "I was an Adventurer, until I took an arrow to the knee..."

Suddenly, a noise from the front caught his attention. The shop door was violently pushed open, and an anxious-looking man barged in. He headed straight for the counter and showed the shopkeeper a book.

"I want to return this."

"Sorry, our bookstore does not accept returns."

"I want to return it!" The man seemed unable to bear it any longer, slamming the book on the counter, on the verge of hysterics.

But fear quickly consumed his features, and his attitude suddenly softened.

"SOB... Please... save me, I don’t want to die..."

"It’s no use. The Curse won’t stop until you die," the shopkeeper said calmly, as if he had encountered many such people over his long career.

"What’s going on?" Lance, too, was drawn over by the commotion. His eyes rested on the battered old book, its pages yellowed and curled with age, and he couldn’t help but ask curiously.

"Don’t buy books from him; they’re all Cursed!" The man looked somewhat deranged, clearly tormented by this book.

Yet, this reaction made Lance all the more curious, prompting further questions.

Soon, he learned the gist of the situation from the man. It was simple: the man had bought a book from the store. After taking it home, he discovered it had Cursed him. He found himself sleeping longer and longer, trapped in dreams he couldn’t escape, all while feeling his body grow progressively weaker.

The shopkeeper, however, showed little reaction, as if he were well aware of such occurrences, merely commenting leisurely,

"I warned you about the consequences; you insisted on buying it."

Upon hearing this, the man seemed to falter, at a loss for words, but the flicker in his eyes suggested his story was mostly true.

Perhaps feeling that Lance’s gaze made him lose face, the man defensively questioned the shopkeeper, "Why didn’t you warn me more insistently? You’re just an unscrupulous scoundrel, only after money!"

Lance had little interest in the man’s nonsensical ranting, instead reaching out to pick up the book.

The cover was made of some unknown leather, which felt strange to the touch. "The Boundary of Dreams" was written in an ancient script on its spine.

Just as he was about to open it, the shopkeeper interjected.

"Everyone who has read this book has fallen into a deep slumber and died in their dreams. I advise you not to open it."

Hearing this, Lance, who had no intention of opening it, simply pressed down on the cover. He then turned to the man and said, "Give it to me. Perhaps the Curse on you will transfer to me."

Both the man and the shopkeeper gave him peculiar looks. The man, however, reacted in the next instant. If some fool was willing to take it, that was perfect; he was out of better options anyway.

The man no longer cared about the book. He tossed it down, turned, and left, his relief palpable as he reveled in his apparent good fortune.

"Do you have more books like this?" Lance asked the shopkeeper, intrigued. The reply he received was somewhat unexpected.

"I’ve seen many arrogant young people. They each believe themselves to be a Child of Destiny, capable of gaining something from these books. But without exception..."

As he spoke, the shopkeeper glanced towards the door. "Just like that fellow earlier, they eventually come back crying to me. A larger portion, however, simply die in some unknown place. Only the books, after changing hands a few times, eventually find their way back to me."

"Aren’t you afraid of the Curse?"

"Afraid?" The shopkeeper looked up at Lance, his eyes filled with a deep resentment. "My inspiration is too low. I can’t even see the contents inside. The Curses don’t even deign to affect me."

Lance was unsure how to respond. He could even sense that the shopkeeper envied those who had been Cursed.

To have a constitution immune to Curses, yet desperately desire Supernatural Power—what a tragedy!

Well, I’ll be! Talk about unattainable desires! Isn’t this far more tragic than some sappy love story?

Indeed, this immunity was a talent in its own right. There had to be a reason he’d survived on this street for so long.

"Show them to me."

The shopkeeper, seeing Lance practically courting death, didn’t offer much dissuasion. He simply took out two boxes from a shelf behind him.

"Only two left. One explodes if you so much as glance at it, and the other melts if you look at it. That’s why that fellow chose the one that induces deep sleep; he thought it was the safest."

"How much are they?"

"Ten Gold Coins each. You bear all consequences. No returns or exchanges."

That cheap? Lance couldn’t help but blurt out, though he quickly understood the reason.