The fall seemed endless.

  One moment I was being shoved through a swirling portal by a smug librarian in a suit. The next, the ground vanished beneath me and everything dissolved into a weightless freefall. I braced for impact, pain, anything. But instead…

  I landed on nothing.

  A dark void stretched infinitely in every direction. Not a room. Not a world. Just a stage of pure emptiness.

  I wasn’t alone.

  Three other figures flickered into existence like silhouettes gaining color. They looked young, about my age, early twenties.

  The first was a guy with round glasses and short black hair that curled slightly at the ends. He carried himself nervously, fingers twitching like he was always expecting disaster. The second was a stunning blonde woman, icy blue eyes and an expression that screamed I am better than you. The last was a brunette with a high ponytail, toned like a martial artist, quietly observant.

  The blonde’s gaze slid over me like she was checking the price tag on a cheap item she had no intention of buying.

  “Must be a new guy,” she muttered, already bored with me.

  Charming.

  The guy stepped forward instead, offering a hand. “Are you okay?”

  I took his hand and stood, rubbing my head. “Yeah… I think so. Where are we?”

  “This is… basically the waiting room before deployment,” he explained. “We all start here before entering a story.” He tapped his glasses and gave a friendly smile. “Philip. Nice to meet you.”

  “Jayden,” I replied. “And I have no idea what’s happening.”

  Philip laughed sympathetically and patted my back. “That reminds me of when I first got here. Don’t worry, I’ll fill you in.”

  He pulled out a book from under his arm: Demonic Revolution. The cover crackled with an ominous glow.

  “In a few minutes, we’ll be sent into this world,” Philip said. “We’ll become characters that originally have no connection to the plot. Our goal is to get involved, to make ourselves relevant. The more we influence the story, the more points we earn. Points let us rank up.”

  I hesitated, then touched the book.

  And instantly-

  Information poured into me like boiling water rushing into a cold glass. I gasped as scenes played in rapid succession: a kingdom under siege, demons swarming cities, heroes falling one by one.

  And then the twist.

  The Demon King, after conquering humanity… destroyed his own kind too.

  A story with no survivors. No hope. A world destined to rot into silence.

  “That’s… impossible,” I breathed, heart pounding. “How do we even clear something like that?”

  “Clear?” the blonde scoffed, crossing her arms. “Did nobody teach you anything before throwing you in here?”

  Her tone cut sharp, but Philip stepped between us.

  “Lay off, Zoey,” he said gently. “They didn’t exactly give us warm welcomes either.”

  Zoey rolled her eyes and turned away, chatting with the brunette, who still hadn’t spoken a word, though her gaze flicked toward me, assessing.

  Philip continued, lowering his voice.

  “There are three types of story worlds we enter,” he explained, raising three fingers. “First, Closed Worlds, stories so tightly structured that nothing we do changes the ending. Protagonists there are… unstoppable.”

  He lifted another finger.

  “Second, Open Worlds. These have happy endings, but we can mess them up. Make them worse.”

  “And last,” his tone darkened, “Ruined Worlds. Stories destined to collapse. The villain is too strong. The conflict is too big. No canonical survival. Doomed from the start.”

  I stared at him. “You’re saying we’re heading into a Ruined World?”

  He nodded somberly. “Not the best place for first-timers… but the rewards are huge.”

  “Rewards?” I echoed in disbelief. “You mean points? Ranking up? Why risk a world that’s designed to kill you?”

  Philip sighed. “Because in a Ruined World, changing anything earns a mountain of points. Even a minor shift to fate is considered an achievement.”

  “But we could die,” I shot back.

  Philip shook his head. “Not really. Only our characters die. We wake up back in the Library unharmed.” He tried for a reassuring smile. “It’s not as bad as it sounds.”

  “That doesn’t make this any better,” I muttered.

  Because a thought gnawed at me:

  What happens to the people in the story?

  Do they stay dead?

  Do they know we abandoned them?

  Before I could ask.

  The void trembled.

  Light crackled at our feet, spreading outward in rings like ripples in a pond. The blackness turned crimson, then molten, as if reality itself was catching fire.

  Philip's expression tightened.

  “It’s starting.”

  A swirling rift exploded open beneath us, glowing with the bloody hue of a world on the edge of annihilation.

  Zoey smirked like she’d been waiting for this part.

  The brunette finally stepped forward, her voice quiet yet steady:

  “Try not to die too quickly, rookie.”

  And before I could respond, before fear could even settle.

  The void swallowed us whole.

  I awoke with a sharp inhale.

  No gentle transition. One moment, darkness. The next, a flood of thoughts, memories, emotions that weren’t mine slamming into my brain like a tidal wave.

  A small village.

  Smoke.

  Screams.

  A horned shadow towering over burning rooftops.

  Family-gone.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, clutching my skull until the agony faded. When I opened them again, a cracked wooden ceiling greeted me. The smell of damp rot and stale air filled my nostrils.

  So this is who I am now…

  A nameless villager-turned-mercenary.

  No achievements.

  No money.

  Just desperation and a talent for being ignored.

  “Not a very good one,” I muttered to myself.

  Apparently, he’d been at this mercenary thing for a year and still lived in a room that looked like a storage closet someone gave up on cleaning. Mildew stained the corners, and the flooring creaked under my weight like it resented my existence.

  Still, despite everything, calm rolled through me like a soothing tide. Maybe that was part of the Bookkeeper adaptation process. Or maybe losing everything twice numbed the panic.

  I dressed in simple leather armor, barely reinforced, and strapped on a cheap iron sword that felt more like scrap metal than a weapon. The belt sagged from overuse. I tied up fraying boots and pulled a thin cloak over my shoulders.

  Then I stepped outside.

  Immediately, a rush of sensation.

  A bustling medieval street stretched before me, alive with people shouting for wares or bargaining over bread. Carts rumbled past, wheels clanking over cobblestone. Vibrant banners fluttered overhead. The air smelled of baking pies… mixed with manure.

  Not exactly glamorous, but real. So real.

  I stopped for a moment, letting my mind anchor itself to the sights, sounds, and unfamiliar rhythms of this place.

  This was a world of swords and magic, a classic fantasy narrative where a young hero rises to challenge the darkness.

  Except here…

  the hero fails.

  Tries is the key word.

  Because the Demon King, Izanus, Lord of Calamity, isn’t your standard final boss. He is destruction incarnate. Three lesser demon lords serve beneath him, each powerful enough to dominate nations. But even they fall, slaughtered by their own king when their usefulness ends.

  Humanity’s only hope was a hero blessed by a sacred sword… and he still couldn’t land a killing blow.

  Everyone dies.

  Every kingdom burns.

  Hope is just a rumor.

  I took a shaky breath.

  And here I am, someone who couldn’t even survive his own world, expected to help fix this one.

  I forced myself to move, letting instinct guide my steps through the morning marketplace. I needed information. Context. Opportunity.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  “This must be the city of Avaro,” I murmured as memories aligned. The last safe haven before demon forces started sweeping the region.

  A place where adventurers gathered, mercenaries included.

  A bell tolled from a nearby tower as I approached a massive building shaped like a shield. A symbol of crossed swords hung above the entrance.

  Mercenary Guild.

  My workplace.

  Before entering, I paused, taking in everything again, the ordinary people living under extraordinary doom, unaware that fate had already sealed their end.

  They laughed. Shopped. Argued about prices. Made plans for tomorrow.

  A tomorrow they didn’t have.

  My chest tightened.

  No. I refuse that.

  Maybe I wasn’t meant to be a hero. Maybe I wasn’t destined for greatness. But if this place was doomed by default…

  Then anything I changed here mattered.

  Even just saving a single life would alter the narrative. Give me points. Give me strength.

  Give me a purpose.

  I tightened my grip on my cheap sword and stepped toward the guild doors.

  Time to see if a nobody could shake the script.

  Philip had been a bookkeeper for nearly two years now.

  He remembered his old life in flashes, late-night study sessions, celebrating graduation with friends, the screech of tires on wet asphalt… then darkness. Waking up not in a hospital, but in the Great Library between worlds. It should have been horrifying, yet somehow, Philip found himself drawn to this strange existence. Every book was a door, and every story an entire world.

  He had entered five so far.

  His current rank: two silver stars and three bronze.

  A hundred and forty points total.

  It sounded impressive, especially to newcomers, but in truth, it was still beginner level. Barely enough to secure one decent recorded skill, and even that was modest.

  Wind magic.

  Nothing rare or extravagant, but he had practiced it every day. His control was… decent. Enough to survive, though not enough to boast about.

  Still, Philip took pride in it.

  He stood now on a dirt path leading away from the city walls, just beyond the guarded gate where the farmland ended and wilderness began. Rolling hills stretched outward, dotted with patches of forest and rocky slopes. The sky glowed orange with early morning light.

  This wasn’t a big mission. Not some grand quest to change the fate of the world.

  Just routine extermination: weak monsters that threatened travelers.

  Philip checked the small guild request posted to his journal:

  “Clear out the greenhorn imps along the eastern road.” Reward: 4 copper.

  Not glamorous. Just necessary.

  He tightened his grip on his old wooden staff, a prop given to his character, but his real strength lay in the magic coiled around his fingertips.

  A rustle.

  A tiny creature, like a hairless goblin with needle-sharp teeth, leapt from a bush with a nasty hiss.

  “Ah! W-Wait-!”

  The imp lunged. Philip flinched, then inhaled sharply.

  Wind swirled around his outstretched hand.

  “G-Gale Push!”

  A burst of compressed air slammed into the imp, sending it tumbling across the dirt. It skidded, screeched, and scrambled upright again, beady eyes filled with hatred.

  Philip swallowed, heart racing.

  He could run. He always thought about running.

  But he steadied his staff and forced a breath.

  “Okay… okay. You can do this. Just… like we practiced.”

  The wind gathered once more. His hair lifted slightly in the swirling current.

  This time, he stepped forward instead of back.

  “Wind Cutter!”

  A thin blade of air whistled from his palm. It sliced through the imp cleanly. The creature collapsed, dissolving into dark motes that scattered into the wind.

  Philip lowered his arm, breathing heavily… then smiled softly to himself.

  “One down. Three more to go… probably.”

  He always added “probably.” Just in case.

  Despite his nerves, he scanned the horizon. Farmers lived nearby. Merchants passed through here every day. Clearing even small threats helped someone.

  And that was enough reason for him.

  Philip brushed dirt off his robes, adjusted his glasses, and muttered with a gentle optimism he always tried to hold onto:

  “Let’s do our best today.”

  With cautious steps, but a determined heart, he continued his patrol, the breeze trailing faithfully at his side.

  With this city destined to be destroyed tomorrow, I made my preparations to leave.

  There was no point pretending bravery. No amount of wishful thinking would matter once the demons arrived at dawn and wiped this entire region from the map. It had happened in the original story, and nothing I did, at least with my current strength, could change it.

  I tightened the straps on my character’s leather armor, slung the worn mercenary pack over my shoulder, and stepped onto the dusty main road leading out of the city.

  “I won’t achieve anything if I die here,” I muttered to myself. “Not when I only have ten points… and no idea how any of this works.”

  I barely understood my own bookkeeper’s manual, and this was my very first story world. I didn’t even know how to summon my book properly half the time.

  As I approached the city gate, someone called out to me.

  “Hey, where are you going?”

  I turned to see the brunette bookkeeper who entered this story the same time I did. She stood with her arms crossed, brown hair tied back in a loose ponytail, eyes sharp and questioning.

  Giselle.

  I didn’t know her well, but she carried herself like someone who’d been doing this for a while.

  “Leaving this city,” I said simply.

  “Why?” Her brows furrowed. “We just got here.”

  “This city is going to be destroyed tomorrow.” I held up my book helplessly. “I have no power yet. No skills. Ten points to my name. I don’t even understand how half of this system works.”

  She stared at me for a long moment, long enough that I wondered if she thought I was crazy.

  Then she sighed.

  “Come with me.”

  I blinked. “Uh… where?”

  “Just follow,” she said, already turning around.

  I hesitated… but followed her anyway. Not like I had a better plan.

  We left through the eastern gate and walked into the forest beyond the farmlands. Once the trees swallowed us from sight, Giselle stopped, drew her sword, and summoned her book.

  A green tome appeared in her hand, carved with the embossed image of a mountain range. It glowed faintly, stable, solid, seasoned.

  The front cover displayed four silver stars and one gold star.

  I nearly choked. “What-seriously? You’re that high ranked?”

  She ignored my shock and opened the book to a specific page. The parchment shimmered, displaying the image of a sword: fine craftsmanship, runic etchings, its origin and history recorded in perfect detail.

  “Whenever you record anything,” Giselle began, “you need to consider three things.”

  She tapped the page.

  “First: Record Size. You already know we all have a limit based on our rank.”

  “Yeah. I’ve got ten.” I felt pathetic saying it aloud.

  “I have two hundred and ten,” she said. “And before you say anything, no, it’s still not enough. Not if you record blindly.” She shut the book lightly. “If I wasn’t careful, I’d only be able to record four decent things total.”

  I frowned. “So… there’s a way around the limit?”

  “There are several,” she confirmed. “For items, the Record Size becomes smaller if the story rewards them to you. Achievements, quests, milestones. Anything earned naturally.”

  “Ah.” That made sense. Like the story ‘accepting’ you having it.

  “What about magic? Monsters?”

  “For magic, the Record Size drops if you actually learn it yourself while inside the story.” She shrugged. “Every world comes with its own gimmicks. Magic, aura, divinity, whatever. Use them. Learn them while you’re here.”

  “Right. Got it.” I nodded.

  “As for monsters…” She paused, lifting a finger. “Two options. One: make contracts, like a tamer. Cheapest, most efficient method for beginners. Two: raise them yourself.”

  “Raise them? Like… while I’m here?”

  She shook her head. “Even after you record them, they keep growing. They can evolve. Change. Become completely different beings, and their Record Size never changes from the moment you first wrote them.”

  I let that sink in. “That’s… insanely broken.”

  “It is,” she admitted. “But it requires patience. Years, sometimes.”

  “So basically,” I rubbed my chin, “I need to think long-term.”

  Giselle nodded approvingly.

  “The second thing you need to understand is Record Rating. Everything you record has a quality score from one to ten. Higher rating means better performance. Straightforward.”

  “Yeah, I figured.”

  “And the last thing,” she said, “is Rank of the record. Like us, your records evolve. They grow stronger based on how much use, battle experience, and refinement they’ve gone through.”

  I slowly nodded as each piece clicked into place.

  A system built for growth.

  For progression.

  For strategy.

  Finally, I looked at her directly. “…Why are you teaching me this?”

  She slid her sword back into its sheath and closed her book.

  “Because,” she said bluntly, “I felt pity. You walked around looking like a lost puppy.”

  My eye twitched. “...Thanks?”

  “Giselle,” she added.

  “Right. Thanks, Giselle.”

  She gave a short nod, then stepped past me, returning toward the city.

  “Try to last as long as you can,” she said over her shoulder. “Tomorrow will be messy.”

  She walked away, book fading into light.

  And I stood alone in the quiet forest, clutching my ten-point book like the most fragile thing in the world, mind buzzing with new information and a growing resolve.

  If I was going to survive tomorrow…

  I needed to start becoming stronger today.

  After getting a crash course on how the Recording power worked, I headed straight into the forest. My goal was simple:

  Find a weak monster. Record it. Start building my foundation.

  It wasn’t just because Giselle said monsters were the best investment, though that mattered. It was because monsters grew the fastest, changed the most, and offered the greatest long-term advantage for someone like me.

  Weapons? I could buy or earn them in any world.

  Magic? Learning it here would give me a reduced Record Size anyway.

  But a monster… A monster was a partner I could bring everywhere.

  So I pushed deeper into the forest, relying on the memories of the character I inhabited. His shallow experience as a mercenary gave me a faint map of the area, just enough trails, watering spots, and monster territories to not get myself killed immediately.

  For nearly an hour, I waded through bushes, crossed under hanging vines, and listened to distant howls from creatures I had no business fighting.

  Finally, after circling around a moss-covered boulder and stepping into a clearing, I found them.

  A dozen slimes lazily hopped around the damp grass like globs of half-melted jelly.

  Exactly what I was looking for.

  One of the weakest monsters in any fantasy world.

  Their translucent bodies jiggled with each bounce, tiny cores floating at their centers like suspended marbles. They were harmless individually, but annoying in groups. Perfect for beginners, perfect for tamers, and perfect for Recording.

  I exhaled in relief. “Thank god.”

  With a focused thought, I summoned my book.

  The green glow wrapped around my hand as the tome materialized, opening itself to a blank page. I aimed my thoughts at the nearest slime and felt the world shift slightly, as if my mind and the book synced for a few seconds.

  Information poured into my head.

  Slime

  Rank: Iron

  Record Size: 10

  Individual Rating: 4

  “Exactly ten,” I whispered. “Perfect.”

  If the price was anything higher, I’d be screwed. My limit was ten and only ten. No room for mistakes.

  The recording process itself was surprisingly smooth. I just needed to focus on a target, and the book would probe it, pulling information directly from its existence. Like a scanner mixed with a magic encyclopedia.

  But there was a problem.

  The first slime’s rating was 4.

  Not good enough.

  I wanted the best possible start, so I spent the next several hours going through every single slime in the clearing.

  Each time I focused on one, my book fed me its rating.

  Time crawled on. The sun crawled across the sky. Sweat beaded on my forehead, and bugs bit at my arm, but I kept going.

  This was my future. My long-term strength. I wasn’t going to settle.

  Finally, as the sun dipped lower and the shadows stretched long, I found it.

  A slime whose core glowed faintly brighter than the others, vibrating with subtle energy.

  Rating: 10

  My eyes widened. “There you are.”

  Without hesitation, I mentally hit Record.

  The book flashed once, quietly, almost anticlimactically, and the blank page filled with ornate script, diagrams, and detailed data. No explosion of light, no dramatic music. Just clean, sophisticated magic doing its job.

  I flipped through the page, noticing something interesting.

  The recorded pages worked like a magical tablet. I could zoom into diagrams by dragging my fingers. I could scroll down to see behavior patterns, digestion efficiency, mana attributes, potential evolutionary paths…

  Which confirmed exactly why I chose a slime.

  Slimes grew by devouring. Materials, monsters, treasures, anything. And whatever they consumed could influence their evolution.

  Their potential wasn’t just high, it was nearly limitless.

  And now I had one.

  I closed the book. The recorded slime’s presence faintly tugged at my mana, like a small creature waiting to be fed.

  “Time to get to work,” I muttered as I drew my trashy sword, the kind of blade only a bottom-of-the-barrel mercenary would use.

  If I wanted this slime to evolve, I needed materials.

  Bones. Herbs. Scrap monsters. Minerals.

  Food for growth.

  And with the city’s destruction coming tomorrow, this might be the only chance I had to prepare.

  The forest suddenly felt quieter.

  Heavier.

  Like the world already sensed the calamity approaching.

  I tightened my grip on the sword.

  “Let’s go feed my new pet.”