Chapter 48: The Secret
"Magic really is amazing."
After the chaos, Yuglatsil lay in ruins. Kim Sung-tae had offered his overwhelming strength to aid in the reconstruction, but now he watched in wonder as debris floated through the sky, returning to its original buildings.
"Most buildings have restoration magic woven into them by default."
"I see. That's why they recover so quickly."
To think magic could achieve this. It was far faster than any modern reconstruction effort.
"Alright, let's lift them up."
A few mages first levitated the debris with magic. Then, using the spells engraved on the fragments, they identified which building each piece belonged to and sent it back.
"All the pieces for this section are gathered."
"Shall we restore it, then?"
Once the debris assembled, the mages activated the spells on it. The fragments reverted to their original form—no need to rebuild from scratch. Any pulverized parts could be supplemented separately, making recovery even faster than in the modern world.
"By the way, Aurelie, when will the White Tower be restored?"
"It'll probably take a few days. It collapsed right in place, so we don't need to source debris, but huge sections vanished without a trace—not even dust. We're gathering materials to fill those gaps."
Sung-tae hadn't seen it, but the tentacles' attack didn't just topple buildings. Anything touched by those darkness-made tendrils was sucked into the abyss, irretrievable without recreating the materials. With the White Tower's wealth, though, they'd procure everything soon enough—a minor inconvenience.
"Got it. Hmm... Mind if I look around a bit?"
"Of course. Feel free."
"Lady Aurelie, we need to discuss the materials issue."
Aurelie left to confer with other mages on the tower's rebuilding. Sung-tae and Garba wandered the White Tower's rubble, surveying the surroundings.
"My lord? Is something wrong?"
"Just feeling empty. A tower that tall crumbles in an hour. Even a building with centuries of history is powerless before overwhelming force."
Garba could say nothing to the lonely figure of Sung-tae. She knew what his strength meant to him from her confession. The White Tower, enduring ages, shattered by raw power—it must have struck him deeply. No words could comfort him unless one matched his power.
Changing the subject, Garba said, "But they'll restore it soon. Don't be too disheartened."
"Yeah, you're right. Magic really is amazing—reassembling rubble in seconds."
As Sung-tae's group strolled the debris, he spotted something and headed toward it.
A sharp corner peeked from the rubble. Grasping it, Sung-tae pulled out an object from the pile.
"Ugh, it's all torn up."
It was a portrait. One from the corridor outside Aurelie's room, depicting past White Tower lords. Yanked forcibly amid the collapse, it was shredded beyond recognition—no trace of whose it was.
"Whose picture is this?"
Which lord's? Before returning it to Aurelie, Sung-tae checked the frame for clues, then noticed something odd.
"......"
The back of the frame. The front was ordinary, but a small hole pierced the rear.
Peering through, he saw not the other side, but a strange basement space.
"What the...?"
Pulling away, Sung-tae reached in. The hole widened automatically, large enough for a person to enter if bent low.
"Garba, watch this. Hold the frame steady so it doesn't fall."
"My lord, it looks dangerous. Perhaps you shouldn't—"
"Nah, it'll be fine. Feels good somehow."
Since arriving here, Sung-tae had pondered much. Before coming, he'd learned isekai worlds existed, heard a god-like voice in the white void. He'd confirmed elves, dwarves, demon kings, mages, heroes—fantasy novel stuff. But he didn't see himself as special. Just a lucky human who'd stumbled into this chance.
So, hadn't others like him come before?
"As I thought..."
Entering, Sung-tae wrinkled his nose at the musty air and examined the room beyond.
It was as spacious as Aurelie's quarters, remarkably modern. Magical devices resembling machines. A sleek desk, carpeted floor. Ceiling orbs like lightbulbs, walls lined with paintings and bookshelves.
"I recognize that painting."
His gaze fixed on one: a woman smiling faintly. Even Sung-tae, indifferent to art, knew it.
"The Mona Lisa, right?"
He glanced at the others. He didn't know names, but they'd all appeared on TV—world-famous works.
Examining them carefully as he paced, seeing Earth's traces stirred odd feelings.
At the room's end, on the desk: strange items.
"This is..."
A red book like a diary. Beside it, a cylindrical flask with a fly suspended midair, preserved.
Sung-tae's eyes locked on the diary. Its cover read:
"Interdimensional transfer."
Reading the title again confirmed it. A word unknown here—even advanced science might not yield it. Born from Earth's SF movies and novels. Sung-tae, no avid reader, still associated it with fantasy tales.
Of course, a White Tower making pocket dimensions like secret rooms might conceive it purely. But those paintings...
"An Earthling?"
He took in the masterpieces again. One or two similar? Coincidence. But identical? Even an art novice would cry, "That's the famous one!" Dozens hung here—coincidence defied logic.
Thus, "interdimensional transfer" screamed Earth origin.
"The first White Tower lord, probably."
Aurelie's tales of the founder flickered by. No name, no info survived. A mysterious figure making a secret lab behind his portrait? It fit.
"Then..."
Cautiously, Sung-tae opened the red cover. Musty age wafted; pages brittle, nearly crumbling. He turned gently.
"Mold."
The first pages were blue-fuzzed, illegible. More followed, water-damaged and moldy.
Closing it, he eyed the side—third blue, rest clean. He opened there.
"This part's okay."
Mold-free, faded but readable. Sung-tae began:
Failed again. The void between dimensions is far worse than I imagined. Time distorts there, losing constancy—not uniformly, but variably. If only that. I'd endure eons to cross. But space distorts too. Odds of reaching my target dimension: zero.
Regret. I want to go back. If only I'd never started—no false hopes.
"Hm."
The author regretted deeply. Why? Sung-tae turned the page. Later entries: regrets, incomprehensible science-magic terms. Unreadable.
Finally, comprehensible:
Do miracles exist? I thought them the desperate wish of the powerless for unattainable outcomes. Today, that changed.
First interdimensional transfer: failure. Couldn't cross, so summoned from there. No reaction; voids prevent passage. But this morning—the device activated unexpectedly.
"Device?"
Sung-tae scanned the room. Context screamed interdimensional device. None visible.
Probably destroyed.
Dusty, untouched for ages. Owner long gone, special gear smashed upon leaving.
Gazing at the light, awaiting an otherworldly guest. Heart raced like first arrival. But... only a fly came.
"That's the fly."
Sung-tae stared at the desk's preserved specimen—vibrant, time-frozen in glass.
From that world? Nearly wrecked the lab. Without me, a city would've vanished. Though without me, no reason to come here.
Faded beyond there. Thick book, but entries stopped midway.
"End here."
Last page, lengthy, ink blurred by time:
Earth. Want to go. Can't return. Longing for unvisited home chokes me. Know it rationally, unexperienced. If mere fantasy utopia, wouldn't cling. If only... God... development... This won't do. Last resort. But possible? Here... from Earth I... unknown law. Wait quietly. Perhaps... no need for such worries.
"...What did it say? Wish I could read it clearly."
Closing it softly, mold scent hit. Placing it back carefully, Sung-tae shut his eyes, imagining the first lord. No details—vague wizardly figure.
"Not like me."
The writer longed for Earth—not "return," but visit an unseen place.
"Reincarnation? Lucky rebirth, memories surfaced, talent built the tower. Reincarnate might confuse Earth knowledge with isekai personality."
But paintings too precise for vague recall. Perfect memory suggested adult reincarnation—adaptable, no severe homesickness. Unless he hated it here. Possibilities swirled, unsatisfying.
"Dunno. If alive, I'd love to meet."
Sole person to share Earth stories. Stranger or not, good talk.
Heading out, he checked the entrance portrait—intact but hole-obscured face.
"Can't see the face because of the hole."
Not an Earth masterpiece. Linked to outer portrait: a lord's, likely founder's.
Unlike others, name below frame.
"Unique name."
"My lord, finished looking?"
"...Yeah. Nothing special."
Can't tell Garba. No one. Keep as personal Earth secret.
Emerging, he crumpled the frame like tissue.
"My lord?"
Man-sized frame crushed in his grip. Tossed to ruins, Sung-tae strolled leisurely.
"Let's go. Reconstruction'll take time—better head back."
"Yes, my lord."
Garba followed unquestioning. Sung-tae gazed at clear post-rain sky, murmuring the name.
"Lucifer, huh..."
＊＊＊
"Hm."
Deep in a dark forest, untouched by herbalists or adventurers, a man uttered a small groan.
A mental thread snapped—linked by mana. Eyes sharpening, he turned somewhere.
"Destroyed."
He was an ancient creation that had remained long unwatched by the eyes of the world, a forgotten sentinel of a bygone era. For ages, he had faithfully kept a silent vigil nearby, ready to intervene just in case the balance was disturbed, but now, the time had finally come for him to venture out and step into the world beyond.
He recalled White Tower mages—strong ones. Its ruin meant a powerful foe.
"Demon king? Hero? Whoever. No longer needed."
Gazing into a deep pit, fresh-dug, hellish haze rose—screams within.
"No need to return now."
No regrets. Lingered for "what if." Frequent outings prevented watch; planned self-destruction soon.
Someone saved trouble. Grateful, whoever.
"Unnecessary now."
Looking skyward—cloudless blue, yet staring intently. Blinking repeatedly, tears traced cheeks, wetting dry earth.
"Farewell to the Red Tower too. Sorry, everyone. Was fun, in its way."
Wiping tears, bloodshot eyes fixed on pit. Plan near end—execution meant parting all. Didn't want tears, but emotions overrode reason.
Not unwelcome. Unexpected joys satisfied.
"Now, to elsewhere."
His robe billowed as he walked slowly. Could fly, teleport anywhere—but no. Boring. Savoring the world was fun.
People call this adventure? Understood abundant adventurers now.
"Wonder who."
His mutter echoed into the pit.
"Destroyed my portrait."