The First Step to Knowledge

The days passed in a monotonous cycle, each one identical to the last.

Ethan would wake up in his damp shack, his stomach aching from hunger. He would drag himself out onto the cobblestone streets of Cordoba City, make his way to the library's backyard, and rummage through the discarded piles of parchment, broken quills, and tattered book covers. After gathering whatever seemed remotely valuable, he would take his haul to the marketplace, where he haggled for a few copper coins. With that, he bought the cheapest bread he could find before returning to his shack, eating in silence as he stared at the parchment scraps under the dim glow of a candle, trying to make sense of the foreign symbols.

It had been a full week, and while the process was grueling, he had made progress.

By comparing the symbols on different scraps, he identified patterns. Some words appeared repeatedly, and he learned to associate them with familiar concepts. "Bread," "coin," "prayer," "law," and "God" were the first ones he recognized.

But reading was still far beyond his grasp. He could match symbols to sounds in his head, but the larger sentences remained meaningless. It was like trying to decipher an ancient script with no reference.

"If only I had a proper book… or a teacher."

That thought lingered in his mind as he stepped into the familiar alleyway behind the Cordoba City Grand Library, prepared for another morning of scavenging.

Just as he bent down to pick up a discarded parchment, a voice rang out behind him.

"And what do we have here?"

Ethan's body tensed. His mind immediately ran through possible escape routes, but before he could react, the voice spoke again.

"If you're planning on stealing, you're doing a poor job of it."

Ethan turned to face the speaker, already preparing an excuse.

The man standing before him was middle-aged, with graying hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His dark scholar's robe was worn and stained with ink, and a quill was tucked into one of the many folds of fabric. His expression was neither angry nor amused—just curious.

Ethan recognized the robes immediately. A scribe!

Damn. This is bad...

If the man decided to report him, Ethan could be thrown in the city dungeons or worse—beaten by the guards for trespassing. The Holy Dominion didn't take kindly to vagrants lurking near places of learning.

Thinking fast, Ethan straightened and dusted himself off. "I'm not stealing," he said, keeping his voice level. "I just… needed some parchment."

The scribe raised an eyebrow. "To sell, I assume?"

Ethan hesitated, then nodded. Lying outright wasn't going to work.

The man sighed, shaking his head. "You're not the first beggar I've caught digging through our scraps, you know."

Ethan tensed again, expecting the inevitable "Get lost before I call the guards!"

Instead, the man studied him closely. His gaze fell to the parchment scraps tucked into Ethan's belt, and his expression shifted slightly.

"You've been collecting writing."

Ethan remained silent.

The scribe folded his arms. "Do you even know how to read?"

Ethan's jaw clenched. This was dangerous territory. If he admitted he was trying to learn, it could raise suspicion. Peasants weren't supposed to be literate unless they were clergy, nobles, or merchants.

But lying wouldn't help him either.

After a moment, he exhaled. "Not yet."

Something in the scribe's face softened. He glanced at the worn cloak draped over Ethan's thin frame, the faint bruises on his arms from weeks of malnourishment, and then let out a long sigh.

"What's your name, boy?"

Ethan hesitated before answering. "…Ethan."

The scribe rubbed his temple, then muttered, "Gods help me."

He took a step closer. "Listen, Ethan. I could have you thrown out, but I won't."

Ethan blinked. "You… won't?"

The man shook his head. "I don't see a thief. I see a starving kid desperate to learn."

Ethan kept his expression neutral, but his heart pounded.

"If you truly want to be around books, then do something useful," the scribe continued. "We could use a cleaner for the first floor."

Ethan's breath caught. A job? In the library?!

This was more than just a way to earn a few coins—it was a way inside!

Careful to keep his excitement hidden, he nodded. "I suppose that's better than starving in the streets."

The scribe snorted. "I like that attitude." He extended a hand. "Marcus Brown. Senior scribe."

Ethan shook it.

"Report tomorrow morning," Marcus said. "And one more thing—" His eyes sharpened. "No touching books without permission. No questions about forbidden knowledge. Do your work, and you'll keep your job."

Ethan forced a polite smile. "Understood."

But deep down, he was already planning.

He wasn't just going to clean. He was going to learn.

Ethan left the library with a grin he couldn't suppress.

For the first time since waking up in this world, he felt like he had taken a real step forward.

Sure, it was just a cleaning job. But it was inside the library.

"I'll be around scholars. Around books. Around knowledge."

That was worth more than any handful of copper coins.

Feeling unusually lighthearted, he made his way to the market square.

Normally, he would buy the cheapest food possible—a stale bread roll or a half-rotten apple. But today, he allowed himself a small luxury.

He stopped by a bakery stall and handed over his hard-earned coppers for a fresh, warm loaf of bread. It was soft, golden brown, and smelled of butter.

A real meal.

With his prize in hand, he walked back to his shack, feeling something strange—satisfaction.

Not just from the food, but from the knowledge that he was moving forward.

Back inside, he sat down at his rickety wooden table and took a bite of the bread. It was the best thing he had eaten in weeks.

For a long moment, he simply enjoyed the silence, savoring the taste.

Then, his eyes drifted to the parchment scraps he had collected over the past week.

Slowly, he reached out and spread them across the table. The candle flickered, casting long shadows across the inked symbols.

"This is just the beginning."

He traced one of the letters with his finger, determined.

"I have my way in. Now, I just have to use it."