Kays Translations
Just another Isekai Lover~
Chapter 31: The Book of Aery
Does a Book Worth One Hundred Thousand Lants Even Exist?
Without a shadow of a doubt, such things do exist. Ancient forbidden spellbooks passed down among archmages, grimoires of the Dark Arts, or a collection of risqué ukiyo-e painted by a court artist during the dark ages—all of these can easily surpass a value of one hundred thousand Lants.
But a decrepit paladin, clad in battered armor and rusted helm, hawking an unknown book for one hundred thousand Lants in the middle of a bustling street?
What kind of joke is that?
Did he honestly think everyone else was a fool, a rich idiot blindly handing over their coins?
Banmubuk Street—this very street—was the hub where the most elite scholars and literati of White Sand City gathered. Were they unaware of the value of books?
Moreover, people had already seen the book the old paladin clutched to his chest. Though the book did use exquisitely expensive paper and its cover was crafted from the hide of a magical beast, reinforced with silver corners, every single page inside was utterly blank. Not a single word marred the pristine sheets.
“Only the truly wise can see the words hidden within The Book of Aery,” the paladin would declare, his tone solemn, as if he were stating an undeniable truth.
Indeed, the mysterious tome the aged paladin guarded so fervently was called The Book of Aery. In this world, it was destined to be a joke with no punchline.
The Book of Aery?
It had never appeared in any registry of books valued over one hundred thousand Lants!
Yet, just a few days ago, the old paladin appeared in White Sand City, parading along Banmubuk Street in an attempt to sell this mysterious volume for one hundred thousand Lants. And suddenly, all eyes were on him.
On the very first evening he tried to sell it, a few petty street thugs attempted to snatch the book, but they were swiftly incapacitated by the paladin—his bare hands proving far deadlier than anyone anticipated.
The next day, a wealthy young heir, bored out of his mind, dispatched someone to summon a high-ranking priest from the True Knowledge Sect. The priest secretly cast Detect Lies on the old paladin after examining the book.
And the result? The priest confirmed, astonishingly, that the paladin’s words were true: “Only the truly wise can see the words in this book.”
This revelation suggested that perhaps, just perhaps, the old paladin’s The Book of Aery really did conceal some hidden secret.
Yet the high-ranking priest hastened to clarify:
“Detect Lies can only discern the truthfulness of words spoken. Whether the secrets the paladin claims exist within this book are real… that, only the gods know.”
His words sounded profound, but the meaning was simple: The old paladin believed that only the wise could decipher the book’s secrets. This belief could pass the Detect Lies spell, but it didn’t guarantee reality—it could just mean the paladin had been duped, perhaps thoroughly.
In this era just emerging from a world war, stories like this—steeped in curiosity and mystery—quickly attracted journalists from every major newspaper in White Sand City. They also drew scholars, pseudo-scholars, and self-proclaimed men of culture, all eager to witness the spectacle.
The journalists cared only about breaking the story. The authenticity of the paladin or his book mattered little.
The scholars, however, sought knowledge—and the prestige of seeing such a strange artifact firsthand.
Through careful examination by these reputable scholars, all agreed that the blank pages of the paladin’s Book of Aery were indeed from a tome dating back at least fifteen thousand years to the Dark Ages. Yet, not a single scholar could decipher its secret.
Even this morning, the famous vampire banker and scholar, Sols Chason Claude, who was overseeing the relocation of his bank headquarters to Banmubuk Street, took interest. He wagered he could uncover the secrets hidden within the book.
Alas, in the end, Sols failed. The old paladin, however, won the peculiar privilege of camping and “selling” his book on Sols’ newly acquired three-hundred-square Lants headquarters site—at least until the book was sold.
This latest development drew an even larger crowd of self-styled connoisseurs of culture to Banmubuk Street. They crowded around the old paladin, scrutinized the Book of Aery, and attempted, in vain, to uncover its mysteries.
And yet, nobody succeeded.
The scene persisted until Marlon, after much effort, pushed his way into the innermost circle of onlookers.
“May I… take a look at it?” he asked quietly, stepping in front of the sorrowful old paladin after observing for a short while.
The paladin, half-crouched on the cobblestones, didn’t even lift his eyelids. “Young one,” he replied, his voice low and weary, “if you wish to understand the secrets in my Book of Aery, wait until your hair has grown in fully.”
His words prompted laughter from the surrounding crowd. Indeed, as the old paladin said, Marlon looked far too young.
Even the long-lived, widely read vampire banker, Sols, had failed to discern the secrets of The Book of Aery. How could this small, immature child hope to succeed?
Marlon’s face burned crimson from the humiliation.
“Oh, this boy turning red is simply adorable! I just want to pinch his cheeks…”
A giddy young woman in the crowd whispered.
Yet, despite his flushed cheeks and fragile appearance, Marlon did not retreat. He fixed his gaze steadily on the old paladin and the Book of Aery.
“Whether I can see the secrets of this book has nothing, not a single penny’s worth, to do with whether my hair has grown! Some are born gifted, knowing things naturally; others live hundreds or thousands of years in ignorance and remain little more than human-shaped loaf worms! Who are you to judge, to laugh at me, Marlon Lister?”
His words struck the crowd to silence. The laughter vanished, leaving only the weight of his conviction.
“‘Marlon Lister?’”
A reporter murmured the name, then gasped. “Ah, I remember! A few days ago, Ivna, president of the Emerald Crest Publishing House next door, invited me and several journalists to read excerpts from a story called The Little Prince—written by a reportedly prodigious young author. That genius, signed at five hundred Lants per ten thousand words, is… Marlon Lister!”
“Five hundred Lants per ten thousand words?!”
Someone gasped in astonishment. “No wonder he’s so confident! No wonder he says some people are born wise!”
“Impossible! Those who earn five hundred Lants per ten thousand words are famous best-selling authors with years of experience. How could a child like this receive such a rate?”
Doubt rippled through the crowd.
“Please, let me see it!” Marlon said again, ignoring the whispers and without confirming his identity. He pointed to the old paladin’s Book of Aery and added firmly, “Don’t worry—I will follow your rule. I’ll only look at a single page.”
The old paladin hesitated briefly, then slowly, cautiously, opened the book and laid it before Marlon.