"Art books can also be opened."

"Books on mathematics, physics, chemistry, biology, and so on—some of them can be opened, some cannot."

"Could it be that the different rules of the world make it impossible to open them? But when I recall similar knowledge I've learned before, at least up to the university level, I can still remember it, and it hasn't been blocked."

The books that can be opened are mainly at the junior and senior high school level. However, a university comprehensive library certainly wouldn't collect high school textbooks—just some scattered teaching research materials and medieval papers of a similar level for students' reference.

There were many books in the library. After browsing only a small portion, Logan Bennett already noticed these issues, but couldn't be sure, nor figure out the reason.

Having just recovered from a serious illness, Logan Bennett's body was very weak, and his mental state was poor as well. After reading through quite a few books in a row, his mind was muddled, and he could no longer sense the library.

Forcing himself back to bed, Logan Bennett fell into a deep sleep. Only by regaining his energy and health could he face tomorrow. Logan Bennett would not forget that he had only one piece of black bread left—survival always comes first.

Half-asleep, a series of squeaking sounds and the sharp, grating noise of gnawing wood reached Logan Bennett's ears, waking him from dreams of delicious food and a warm, soft bed.

"Rats?"

Still drowsy, Logan Bennett turned over, intending to keep sleeping, but the sound of rats gnawing on wood and stone grew louder and more piercing. In the deep, quiet night, Logan Bennett's senses were especially sharp, and he tossed and turned, unable to fall back asleep.

He waited a long time, but the gnawing sounds didn't stop. Logan Bennett had no choice but to pull the blanket over his ears, but the noise seemed to penetrate from all directions, making it impossible to sleep in peace.

"What kind of damn life is this!" The increasingly irritable Logan Bennett couldn't help but curse. He felt he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown—eating the worst, sawdust-fermented black bread, wearing the roughest linen clothes that chafed his skin, covering himself with a blanket that barely kept him warm and whose original material was unrecognizable, and now he couldn't even find peace in sleep to temporarily forget all his troubles. Squeak, squeak, squeak, squeak—as if there were thousands upon thousands of rats.

Gritting his teeth in frustration, Logan Bennett listened carefully for the direction of the rats. Since he couldn't sleep anyway, he might as well get up, find these rats, kill one or two, and scare off the rest. He silently cursed and vowed:

"I must get out of this life as soon as possible!"

Tilting his ear, Logan Bennett tried to distinguish the direction of the gnawing.

Squeak, squeak, squeak, squeak... Sob, sob, sob, sob...

Just as Logan Bennett focused his attention, he realized the sounds he was hearing weren't from rats at all, but rather a series of eerie, hollow sobs.

Sob, sob, sob, sob...

In the quiet of the night, there were no more rat squeaks or gnawing—only the desolate, mournful sound of crying.

Logan Bennett's heart suddenly pounded violently, his brain flooded with blood, and his senses became extraordinarily sharp. He seemed to hear the cold night wind blowing through the crack under the door, while the sobbing sounded like a distant, ethereal song—half real, half illusion.

With a turn, Logan Bennett got out of bed, instinctively opened the crate, and grabbed his last piece of black bread as a weapon. No matter what, in terms of hardness, it was enough to knock out a thief.

Thump, thump, thump, sob, sob, sob... Thump, thump, thump, sob, sob, sob...

Logan Bennett wondered what the thumping sound was, but quickly realized it was his own heartbeat, pounding so loudly in his ears.

A chilling wind blew through. Logan Bennett gripped the black bread tightly, unable to suppress his fear: "This is a world with magic and divine arts—could it really be a vengeful spirit or ghost?"

Fortunately, having experienced transmigration, and after witnessing divine arts and the terrifying sight of a living person being burned to death earlier that day, Logan Bennett didn't go weak in the knees or blank out in this terrifying atmosphere. Though his nerves were taut, he slowed his breathing and forced himself to calm down.

Step by step, he moved toward the door, trying to pinpoint the direction of the sobbing.

The crying was full of sorrow, so clear in the quiet of the night, yet all the neighbors around seemed lost in dreams—no one made a sound.

"This crying... seems to be coming from beneath the right wall." The closer Logan Bennett got to the door, the clearer the sobbing became. "Wait, isn't the right side of my room where the burned witch used to live?"

Logan Bennett was startled: "Didn't the church burn down her place? Could there be a hidden cellar or secret room, hiding her vengeful spirit or something else?"

Thinking of a hidden chamber, all the novels Logan Bennett had read flashed through his mind—"adventure," "treasure," "magic notes"—a bit of greed began to stir in his heart.

Sob, sob, sob, sob...

The crying seemed to grow more shrill, making Logan Bennett involuntarily shiver, his mind suddenly clearing: "Even if there are treasures and magic notes, they're guarded by this weeping spirit."