God of Crafts.

A week had passed since my last visit to this shop.

No matter how many times I swore to never step foot here again, I always found myself drawn back.

This time, I came with a purpose.

Who was Amon?

What was the deal with the monocle?

And what did that seraphim mean the last time I was here?

With these questions weighing on my mind, I stepped onto the doormat—a Grade 3 artifact, of all things—took a deep breath, and walked inside.

Nothing had changed.

The store still had that same dim lighting, that same dusty air of forgotten things.

I headed straight for the spot where the pocket watch had been displayed before, only to find it gone.

Frowning, I glanced around, and that's when I noticed it—a new section.

It hadn't been there before.

The shelves were lined with books, their spines worn yet strangely ominous.

Curious, I picked one up.

The moment my fingers touched it, my ability screamed—

Tactical, tactical, tactical!

My breath hitched. A Grade 3 artifact.

I flipped through the pages. Each one was filled with images—scenes that, at first glance, told a story. But as I looked deeper, something felt... off.

This book wasn't just a book. It was a puzzle, a repository of secrets.

And not just this one. Every single book on this shelf radiated the same energy.

Just then, the shopkeeper emerged from the back, carrying a heavy stack of books.

"Ah, you're here again."

I could only nod.

There were people out there who didn't even know what an artifact was. And then there was this man—casually hoarding Grade 3 artifacts like they were old magazines.

I forced my voice to stay steady.

"What's all this?"

The shopkeeper set the books down with a thud. "Figured I'd make a little side income running a library," he said, completely serious. "Great works, this whole lot."

As if.

These weren't just books. If he told me he was planning an invasion, I would've believed him more than I did this ridiculous excuse.

Still, I kept my polite smile in place.

Finally, I gathered the nerve to ask, "Do you have more of those gold coins?"

The coin he gave me had saved my life, but I wasn't sure if all of them were the same. I needed to test it.

He shrugged. "Buy an item, and you get a gold coin as a souvenir."

My gaze fell back to the book in my hands.

"...How much for this?"

As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted it.

A Grade 3 artifact—there was no way I could afford it. I started to put it back, already bracing for an absurd price, when he casually said—

"Four silver coins."

I froze.

Was he insane?

My mind blanked as I stared at him, standing there like he hadn't just offered me something priceless for pocket change.

What kind of shop was this?!

The next minute didn't make any sense at all.

Here he was, trying to convince me that he wasn't overpricing the book—rambling about how much of a masterpiece it was.

Of course, I knew it was a masterpiece.

This wasn't just any book. It contained secrets—classified knowledge. The kind that made it a Grade 3 tactical artifact despite being nothing more than words on paper.

Did this shopkeeper not know these were artifacts?

No. That couldn't be right.

Everything he sold was an artifact.

The sheer absurdity of it all made my head spin. But I held back my confusion, completed the transaction, and handed over four silver coins.

In return, I received:

1. A Grade 3 artifact book.

2. A gold coin, potentially worth around a hundred silver coins—if not more.

If anyone saw this, they'd call the shopkeeper a fool.

Imagine paying money to sell your goods. That's exactly what was happening here.

And what's more… I still hadn't confirmed the properties of this gold coin.

The last one had saved my life. This one… had a faint trace of charm magic.

What the hell was going on in this shop?

I barely remembered why I had even come here in the first place. My mind was still tangled in a mess of thoughts as I left and made my way back to my dorm.

By the time I arrived, I had already forgotten about Amon, the monocle, and even the seraphim.

Sarah and Sasha were away on a mission.

Lance and Mark had gone off to do "a man's thing."

I set the book on my desk, put on my glasses, and started flipping through the pages.

Then, I noticed something.

A paper was stuck between the first few pages.

I carefully pulled it out and unfolded it. The words were written in bold, sharp strokes:

"Praise! He who arises from Death!

The being who doesn't belong here!

Ruler of the System Origin—

Leader of Every Artifact!

The Cursed God of Crafts."

I stilled.

For some reason, just reading those words sent a chill down my spine.

________________________

"Trust me. Don't speak a word unless I tell you to."

Two men walked into the shop.

Luthian barely glanced up. Oh? Customers.

Despite the obvious guns in their hands, he didn't look the least bit bothered.

The two men flashed their badges—cops.

One was Mark, a familiar face.

The other was Lance, a stranger to him.

Mark spoke first. "Luthian, I heard you've been distributing books lately."

Luthian leaned back in his chair. "Oh yes, a beautiful business opportunity, you see."

Lance didn't look amused. "Did you know everyone who's come into contact with your books has ended up… mysteriously dissatisfied?"

There was an edge to his tone—wary, uncertain.

Mark looked like he had seen a ghost.

Luthian frowned. "Look, I assure you, the books I give out are completely safe. If you don't want to return one, just say so. There's no need for all this roundabout questioning."

The cops didn't look convinced.

Lance finally spoke again, his voice firmer this time. "You should follow us for an interrogation."

Just as Luthian stood up, a blinding light filled the shop.

The next moment, Mark and Lance froze.

Their eyes went blank. Their stiff postures relaxed.

Then, without another word, they turned and walked out of the shop.

Mark blinked, looking around in confusion. "Why were we here?"

Lance scratched his head. "I don't know… Weren't we getting ice cream?"

"Nah, that shop's closed till tomorrow."

"Hmm."

They disappeared down the street, completely forgetting why they had entered the shop in the first place.

Luthian watched them go, tapping his fingers against the counter.

"…Huh."