Math Is Magic Chapter 19: CHAPTER 19: The Royal Library

Read chapter 19 of Math Is Magic by iminchoo on NovelPedia.

After changing out of his sweaty clothes, Mirac moved silently through the castle's corridors, heading toward the royal library. It had been seven years since he last set foot in the library, and the memory of its location had faded, reduced to a collection of hazy fragments. The only thing he remembered clearly was that it was on the second floor of the castle, just like his bedroom. “It should be around here somewhere, if I’m not mistaken…” He advanced cautiously along the corridors, trying to recall the route he had taken as a child. After a few minutes of searching, Mirac noticed a door that stood out slightly from the others. Looking more closely, he recognized several familiar details: the golden handle, the intricate woodwork design, and its spatial placement within the castle. “This must be it! Let’s give it a try,” he murmured to himself, a faint smile curling his lips. Before hesitation could take root, Mirac grasped the handle and turned it decisively. A soft creak filled the air as the door swung open, revealing a faint golden glow that seemed to greet him like an old friend. But before he had time to examine the room—beyond the closest shelves near the entrance—a deep, authoritative voice, charged with unexpected vigor, shouted: “Damn it! Before entering, you knock!” Mirac spun sharply to his right, his heart pounding from the sudden reprimand. At the wooden counter to the right of the entrance sat an old man, draped in a long black robe of shiny, silky fabric, adorned with intricate golden patterns depicting arcane symbols. The cuffs, collar, and a sash wrapped around his torso were embroidered with gold thread, lending him an almost regal air. The skin of his face, thin and wrinkled, bore the marks of a life spent among scrolls and forgotten volumes, each wrinkle a testament to the passing years. His white beard, coarse and flowing down to his chest, intertwined with strands of sparse, silvery hair peeking out from beneath a medieval linen cap adorned with small embroidered details. ‘It’s him! The librarian from seven years ago! Or at least I think so..’ hypothesized Mirac, a spark of astonishment mixed with a shiver running down his spine. However, unlike the first time he had seen him, the old man’s meticulous attention was not focused on the book he held firmly in his hands. On the contrary, his gaze was fixed on Mirac—piercing and annoyed. His eyes, the color of aged bronze and framed by black, round glasses, gleamed with an inquisitive light. His silvery eyebrows, furrowed in a stern crease, heightened his scrutinizing expression, making every move Mirac made feel like an invisible interrogation. “Wait a moment!” the old man began, his eyes widening in surprise. “You, you are...” The words hung in the air, as though the thought itself had slipped away. Sensing the moment of uncertainty, Mirac decided to take control of the situation. “I am Mirac Strongold!” he proclaimed with a voice both firm and youthful, pride resonating in every word. “Son of King Arthur Strongold and Prince of the Kingdom of Ardorya!” There was no real need for him to introduce himself so formally. Simply stating that he was the Prince would have sufficed. But the thought of making such a theatrical declaration amused him, as if it were a small rehearsal for future official ceremonies. However, noticing the librarian’s irritated expression, Mirac quickly added: “Oh, right! I almost forgot… I apologize for not knocking and for any disturbance I may have caused.” To further emphasize his words, Mirac modestly bent his torso in an elegant bow, attempting to soothe the old man’s irritation. The latter, observing the gesture, seemed to calm his anger. A simple huff accompanied his response. “Hmph! Apology accepted, young Prince…” he said indifferently, before turning his attention back to the book in his hands, its yellowed pages worn with time. On the counter beside him lay a bronze monocle, its surface catching the light of the setting su