Chapter 2
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: The Protagonist Appears
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‘Ever since then, I’ve made every effort to discover what that soul was, but I found nothing.’
Why it tried to possess him.
Why him, of all people.
How it possessed such memories.
He still couldn't figure it out.
‘Focusing on something with no immediate answer is a waste.’
In the end, Pernyan had set aside his thoughts on the soul and possession and lived his life.
After all, time flows on.
“Where is today’s paper?”
Having finished his musings, Pernyan held out his hand. Hyde placed a newspaper upon it.
“Here you are.”
Pernyan unfolded the newspaper.
“……”
The moment he spotted a certain name in the paper, a peculiar emotion flickered in Pernyan’s eyes.
“Gongjanim? Is something wrong?”
“It’s nothing.”
The attendant had asked upon seeing his strange expression, but he brushed it off lightly.
‘He’s finally appeared.’
The Prophecy Book didn't reveal everything about the future.
Most of it was locked away, so apart from a few things, what Pernyan could perceive at the moment was limited to a specific point in time.
And the name in the newspaper belonged to the most important person within that brief content.
“...He actually enrolled.”
I’d used it well for the guild's business, but I had hoped this part, at least, wouldn't be true.
“Who are you suddenly talking about?”
“Hyde.”
Pernyan cut Hyde off.
“Yes.”
“Do you think there’s a chance I could be excommunicated from my family and become a beggar?”
“Why the sudden question?”
“Just answer the question.”
“There are no absolutes in this world, so I suppose there’s a one-in-a-million chance. Like you being struck by lightning out of a clear blue sky. But from my perspective, I can’t possibly imagine you losing all your money, Gongjanim.”
“Yes, I feel the same.”
Me, excommunicated from my family and becoming a beggar? A future like that can't possibly exist. Hahaha.
*Crumple—*
The newspaper crumpled in Pernyan’s grip.
“Gongjanim?”
“I’m about to find that out.”
“Find out?”
“The Southern Wetlands.”
“Pardon?”
“I need to make a quick trip to the Southern Wetlands.”
Pernyan rose from his seat and put on his coat.
The moment he had been eagerly awaiting since he was struck by lightning had finally arrived.
‘Most of the prophecies revolved around the Armian Imperial Academy.’
Through the one clearly identified in the Prophecy Book as the protagonist.
He didn't know why the Prophecy Book took the form of a novel, or why it centered on the academy.
‘That’s not important.’
Through numerous cross-verifications, Pernyan had concluded that the prophecies were half-true, but the truly important content began now.
The moment the so-called protagonist enrolled, the story of the Prophecy Book would begin in earnest.
Verifying this protagonist had to be the top priority.
“I’ll go alone. Prepare a horse.”
“Will you be alright on your own?”
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
The attendant brought out a glossy thoroughbred. A moment later, the horse, with Pernyan on its back, began to gallop down the main road.
The Imperial Academy was a vast domain built on Bardian, an island in the empire’s inland sea.
Its expansive grounds were an artificial environment created by magic, and to the south lay a vast wetland.
As Pernyan headed south, fragments of memory surfaced in his mind. Three stories that remained the most vivid.
The future where Pernyan Fallenberg is excommunicated.
The future where Pernyan Fallenberg is ruined.
The future where Pernyan Fallenberg becomes a be—
“No, that’s not it.”
The future where Pernyan Fallenberg becomes a beggar.
The future where the 72 demons summoned by King Collomo a thousand years ago stir once more.
And the story of the Prophecy Book’s protagonist.
Among them, the one he needed to pay close attention to now was the third: the story of the protagonist.
*After finishing the entrance exam, Aint didn’t return immediately but headed for the Southern Wetlands.*
*He had come to the academy to follow the trail of a map left to his family by the first emperor.*
“Aint Armian. The first emperor’s arr— Ugh.”
A terrible headache struck him the moment he recalled the contents of the Prophecy Book, nearly causing him to fall from his horse, but he barely managed to regain his balance.
Clutching his throbbing head, he continued his thoughts.
The two figures mentioned in the Prophecy Book were individuals no citizen of the empire could fail to know.
The great founding emperor, who was the last king of the Armian Kingdom and established the empire with five neighboring kingdoms.
And Aint Armian, a descendant of the Armian family, which had lost all the authority of that brilliant imperial line, left with only its honor.
If the Prophecy Book was accurate, he was indeed the most suitable person to save this world from demons.
“To think the first emperor’s arrangement is hidden in the academy. No one has uncovered it for the past thousand years…”
*Damn it, if I had found it, how much would that be worth? I could have uprooted the last remaining pillar of the Armian family.*
In any case, if the Prophecy Book was to be believed, Aint Armian’s importance would be elevated significantly.
He wouldn't just be a relic left with the honor of the old imperial family, but a dark horse who had obtained the first emperor’s arrangement.
*Having packed food and weapons for several days, Aint arrived at the edge of the wetlands, where the first thing to greet him was a Croker, a swamp alligator.*
*It was unexpected. He had heard it was rare for a Croker to venture this far out to the periphery.*
“...Damn it. This headache that comes with recalling the prophecies never gets any easier to bear.”
The Croker was an apex predator of the swamp. Its hide was tough, its teeth strong, and its jaw powerful enough to crush steel.
A monster that even a decent knight would struggle to face. It was originally a monster intended for third-year students and above.
Why a creature that normally inhabited the center of the swamp had come to the outskirts was a mystery, but things in this world rarely go as planned.
Just like how he had been struck by lightning.
‘If the Prophecy Book is right, it might not be bad luck, but fate.’
According to a fleeting memory of the Prophecy Book's content, the boy was always running into incidents and accidents.
However, that was not a particularly important matter for now.
*Aint had talent, but his family's swordsmanship, which had become meager after most of it was lost, couldn't bring it to full bloom. The Croker was clearly an opponent too formidable for him to handle at his current level.*
*He endured his injuries and barely managed to escape.*
“So far, it’s real.”
Pernyan muttered calmly. Having already profited from the Prophecy Book several times, he wasn't particularly surprised.
The Croker was gone, but its traces remained. In the distance, the smell of the monster’s blood mingled with a gamey stench.
*Grit—*
However, his mood wasn't exactly pleasant.
For each prophecy that came true meant that the future where he became a beggar was also drawing closer.
*Aint’s injuries were severe. He had administered first aid with a potion he’d brought, but monsters, drawn by the scent of blood, began to swarm.*
*Aint ran. Not aimlessly. Even in this dire situation, he checked the map.*
*And at the location marked on the map, there was a tiny hole. A small opening with no magical aura, one that seemed impossible for a human to enter.*
*He wondered if this was right, but bloodthirsty Lizardmen were closing in from behind.*
*‘Do not doubt, and throw yourself in.’*
*Recalling the phrase written at the bottom of the map, he gritted his teeth and threw himself in. And there, he found a dungeon.*
Pernyan circled around the Lizardmen, who were distracted by the Croker, and followed Aint’s tracks.
He must have fled blindly; bloodstains were scattered among the starkly visible tracks.
And at the end of them, he found a hole.
A small burrow that seemed impossible for a person to enter. It was more like a rabbit hole, but according to the Prophecy Book, this was the entrance to the dungeon.
And next to it.
“...Huh?”
“...Huh?”
He came face-to-face with Aint, who was clutching a wound on his chest and struggling toward the hole.
What the.
Why is this bastard here?
‘...Damn it, did I come too early?’
It seemed so.
He had been so eager to verify the protagonist that he had acted too hastily.
* * *
It was completely unexpected.
Pernyan’s plan had only been to follow Aint after he entered the dungeon to confirm the facts.
He only knew that Aint obtained the first emperor's arrangement on the day the entrance newspaper for new students was published, but not the exact time.
That had led to the current situation.
He never imagined Aint hadn't even entered the dungeon yet.
After a moment of hesitation, Pernyan decided to act confidently.
“Aint Armian. The entrance exam should be over. What are you doing here? This area isn’t permitted to you.”
As they say, when both parties are flustered, it’s best to strike first.
Aint was visibly flustered by his words.
“...You know me?”
“There is no one within the academy I do not know. Be they a current student, a professor, or a prospective freshman who passed the entrance exam. Besides, you’re far too famous.”
Aint flinched under his cool gaze.
“...If I may be so bold, might I ask who you are?”
“Pernyan.”
“Pernyan...? Per...nyan Fallenberg...?”
“That is my full name, yes. But you seem to have forgotten the ‘Sunbaenim.’”
Aint’s eyes widened. He likely never imagined he would meet him here, just as Pernyan had never thought he’d run into Aint.
“I-I apologize.”
“It’s fine. I don’t mind. Just answer my question. The entrance exam should be over. What are you doing here? This area isn’t permitted to you.”
“...Well.”
“You’re injured.”
Pernyan’s gaze shifted to Aint’s shoulder. A considerable amount of blood was flowing from beneath his half-shattered armor.
“Did the Lizardmen get you?”
“...I ran into a Croker.”
“A Croker at the entrance? Unlucky. To experience something that only happens once or twice a year.”
Pernyan, pretending to ponder for a moment, pulled a potion from his subspace.
“Take it. It’s a top-grade potion.”
“I don’t have the money to buy a potion from you, Gongjanim.”
“Do I have to spell it out for you to call me Sunbaenim?”
“...Yes, Sunbaenim.”
“I don’t need money. But it’s not free, either. This is an investment, Aint Armian.”
“An investment, you say?”
Aint's eyes widened at the sudden remark. Watching him, Pernyan explained as if it were nothing.
“Fallen they may be, and even if they're the ‘former’ imperial family, they’re still imperial. You won’t amount to nothing, at least.”
“……”
“Are you going to take it or not? Bleed a little more and you’ll be kissing the ground.”
“...I will be sure to repay this kindness next time.”
Aint took the potion and poured it on his wound. The flesh sizzled and regenerated rapidly.
Money really is great. If this had been a low-grade potion, he would have needed to pour about ten vials.
“I won’t ask why you’re here. Everyone has a secret or two.”
“……”
“But don’t expect to be lucky enough to run into me twice. Go back. This place is still too much for you.”
“...Yes. But Sunbaenim Pernyan, why are you here alone?”
“I came to gather herbs. A very expensive and rare herb grows only in this area.”
“You’re gathering them yourself?”
“Because only a mage can harvest it properly.”
“Ah...”
“I’ll see you around. It’s dangerous, so get out of here quickly.”
“Yes, thank you for the advice, Sunbaenim.”
Pernyan rode off on his horse and disappeared.
When he was out of sight, Aint let out a sigh of relief.
“...That was a close call.”
To run into someone right before entering the dungeon, of all times.
“Pernyan Fallenberg.”
The eldest son of the Fallenberg family, rumored to be a money-grubbing fiend.
“He didn’t seem like that much of a fiend.”
That’s how rumors are. They’re usually exaggerated and malicious, turning people into trash.
Aint knew all too well what kind of gossip and disregard had circulated after the Armian family lost the throne.
It had been etched into his family’s bones for generations.
“In any case, I will repay this debt.”
Even though it was an investment in his family rather than him, it still felt good. It meant he was worth that much.
More importantly, healing his injuries in a situation where he didn't know what might happen in the dungeon was no different from having his life saved.
After checking his surroundings once more, Aint threw himself into the hole.
He vanished.
* * *
“It really is a dungeon.”
Pernyan, who had been hiding his presence, peeked out.
“By the way, why is he so clueless? He’s completely different from the guy I met in my dream.”
What in the world happened between then and now for him to change so drastically?
*Tsk.* Pernyan clicked his tongue, stopped his musings, and turned his gaze back to the dungeon entrance.
“Once inside, you just fall straight down.”
*Aint swallowed a groan from the impact of the fall. His whole body ached, but to survive, he drank all of his remaining potions. Even so, his wounds were severe and the potions were of such low quality that he wasn't fully healed.*
*He pushed forward, enduring the pain.*
Afterward, Aint would have advanced while injured, but now that he had met Pernyan, the story would be a little different.
“A top-grade potion...”
It was a bit of a waste, but if the Prophecy Book was real, it was a worthy investment.
His first impression had already changed, so it felt like he had properly fastened the first button toward changing his future for the better.
A long time passed. As the sun began to set, Pernyan threw himself into the hole.
Without any resistance, the world turned upside down.
“It’s been cleared.”
The fact that a dungeon that only responds to the imperial bloodline was now reacting to anyone meant that the dungeon had fulfilled its duty.
*Thud.* Pernyan landed lightly and stared straight ahead.
There were no enemies or traps. Just a long, straight corridor stretching forward.
The interior was brighter than expected, thanks to the faint magic lamps installed intermittently.
“So many magic lamps, yet I can barely feel a trace of mana?”
Pernyan levitated to inspect a magic lamp.
“I’ve never seen this kind of engraving before...”
He could tell it was absorbing a minuscule amount of ambient mana. He realized it was a semi-permanent magic lamp.
The exquisitely carved patterns gave it an antique elegance.
Pernyan frowned.
“It makes me question whether Aint Armian is truly the person from the Prophecy Book.”
He pulled out the magic lamp. Even so, the lamp did not lose its light.
“The future of this world rests on a fool stupid enough to just leave these behind?”
Only darkness remained where he had passed.