House. (2)
Yeriel opened her eyes.
Snow white as fresh linen fell from the dark sky.
Sa-grak...sa-grak...
The silently approaching snowflakes touched her face.
Yeriel closed her eyes. She wiped away the damp snow and opened them again.
The landscape visible before her was nothing but snow. The sky, the ground, the horizon—all of it was snow.
"...".
Yeriel rose slowly and gazed far into the distance, beyond the curtain-like veil of snow mist.
In that pristine white world stood an old mansion. Its roof and window frames were buried under the snow.
Yeriel blinked in the world of snow.
"Where'd the retainers go?"
That was her first question. The four retainers who had come with her were nowhere to be seen.
After pondering, Yeriel headed first toward the only place not covered in snow.
Bas-rak bas-rak...
Her feet crunched through the snowfield.
Her footprints marked the pristine snow.
"...Everyone! You there?!"
Reaching the mansion's door, she called out first. No answer came, and shaking the handle did nothing—the door stayed shut.
"Ah."
Realizing, Yeriel pulled a key from her pocket.
She jammed it carelessly into the locked door. No need for a keyhole.
Just insert and turn—kki-iiik—the door swung open.
"Everyone... here?"
The interior was ordinary.
The kind of scene anyone could imagine for an old mansion.
Tadak—tadak—
The crackle of logs in the fireplace. The rich aroma of tea. Drawn like a moth to flame, Yeriel walked toward it.
"...?!"
She froze the moment she reached the parlor.
Near the fireplace, in a rocking chair, sat a familiar figure.
"Deculein?"
He turned to look at her. One hand held a teacup, the other rested on the armrest as he spoke.
"Yeriel."
"...".
Yeriel tensed.
If Deculein was here, there could only be one reason.
"...You already knew?"
He shook his head.
Her serious question got a bizarre reply.
"I am not Deculein."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"I am your diary."
"...What?"
Yeriel furrowed her brow at the blunt nonsense.
Deculein—or rather, the Deculein-like diary—explained.
"I am the guide to welcome those who enter this place, a magically designed learning intelligence, and the manifested form of an artifact."
Thud—he set the teacup on the table.
"That is what I am."
"...Huh?"
Yeriel was stunned for a moment, but it made sense.
An artifact created by no one less than her father, Dikailen.
Magic at the archmage level—at least in the realm of artifacts—was a domain no ordinary mage could even comprehend.
"What about my retainers?"
"Those without the key have been temporarily 'recorded' by the security mechanism."
"...Recorded?"
The diary held out four notebooks. Yeriel hesitated, then took them.
"This is...".
The plain cover of one bore the title Roel.
The name of her longtime butler retainer.
"Read it, and you will know."
"...".
Yeriel flipped open the first page.
Sa-grak sa-grak—
Sentences were being recorded in real time within the notebook.
[I don't know where this is. But when I opened my eyes, I was in this world... Is it even a world?]
Horror dawned in Yeriel's eyes as she read on.
[...More than anything, I'm worried about Lady Yeriel. If this space is inside the diary, I have no choice but to find her first.]
Yeriel looked up. The 'artifact' in Deculein's form sipped its tea calmly.
"What the hell is this?"
"They have been 'recorded' into memory by the security mechanism. You possess the key, so you are protected from it instead."
"These sentences... are their thoughts?"
"Indeed. They have been entirely 'recorded'."
"...".
"You look shocked."
Yeriel read another notebook, that of her guard knight David.
[I must move quickly. Only by preparing and advancing can I be of help to the lady...]
The others were head maid Rachel, and mage Regillon...
Their thoughts, reduced to mere words.
"...".
Yeriel pressed a hand to the nape of her neck. Her neck ached, her head throbbed like it might split.
The diary spoke.
"Magic, when it reaches a certain realm, functions as true magic. Far beyond telekinesis or fireball. I approach what one might call truth."
"How do I revert them?"
"There is a way. They are not dead, so worry not. Merely caught by the security mechanism."
Yeriel steeled herself and spoke resolutely.
"Then, I intend to view Deculein's memories."
"As you wish."
He rose from his seat. Yeriel followed.
They walked out of the parlor into the 'right' corridor.
The long corridor walls were lined with countless picture frames.
"All of this is Deculein's memories. Peer into any one."
"...Really?"
"But it consumes mana."
Yeriel stopped before one frame.
A familiar yet off-kilter 'study'. Familiar as the Yukline lord's castle, unfamiliar due to the rearranged furniture.
"Just press my eyes to it?"
"Yes."
"...Okay."
Yeriel leaned in close to the frame.
—Your grades are excellent.
A voice echoed in that instant. Yeriel looked toward it.
"Ah."
A gasp escaped unwittingly.
In the study were her father Dikailen and Deculein.
—But only your grades. Your academic performance outside the tower is abysmal.
Father sat in a chair, admonishing Deculein, who bowed his head and listened.
—As a child, I thought you a prodigy.
Deculein said nothing. He simply stood still like a sinner.
At this rate, perhaps Yeriel would be—
—No.
The moment Father mentioned her, Deculein snapped his head up.
Yeriel stared blankly; Father sneered.
—If you know, then show better.
—I shall. I swear it.
—No need for oaths. Take this.
Father handed Deculein something.
—Deculein, this is your choice. It will feel like your heart shattering, but you won't fear mere pain, will you?
—...Yes. Of course.
The first frame's memory ended there.
Yeriel pulled away and looked at the next frame.
—...
This time, not the study but a corridor in the Yukline lord's castle. Deculein stood by the window, gazing out.
Beneath that sunlit gaze was young Yeriel.
Herself.
"Why're you staring at me?"
Yeriel grumbled curtly. Then Deculein turned.
"Yo?"
Perfect timing. Startled, Yeriel unwittingly corrected her speech.
—...Young Master Deculein.
"!"
Then, a cherished voice rose softly. Shocked, Yeriel whipped her head toward it.
Adel.
Deculein's stepmother—and her own birth mother. Yeriel swallowed the surge of emotion.
—Are you alright?
Adel asked. Deculein gave no reply. She smiled bitterly and approached him.
—...If Yeriel wounds you—
—Begone.
Deculein turned away as if he refused to hear it.
The second memory ended there.
"Ugh... haa. Need recent ones..."
Just two memories observed, yet Yeriel leaned against the corridor wall, catching her breath.
Mental fatigue and mana exhaustion filled her body.
"I knew someday you two would visit me."
Then, a voice drifted from the corridor's end.
Yeriel looked.
"You knew?"
The 'diary' turned to her. He stood alone in the parlor.
Yeriel furrowed her brow and pressed.
"Wait, 'you two'?"
He nodded and handed her a notebook.
Horror filled her eyes.
* * *
...One hour earlier.
The magic tower's late dawn.
After finishing class prep, reviewing professors' projects, and daily tasks, I belatedly pulled the diary from my desk drawer.
[ ]
A blank notebook holding memories.
But this is not my diary. Even Understanding reveals it as Yeriel's Diary.
I don't know why she stole my diary, but the cover is odd.
Chal-lang chal-lang—
The pages ripple like liquid. Like ripples on water, particles cling to my finger.
"...I figured it wasn't an ordinary artifact."
I peered in with Understanding's eyes.
The diary itself held human mana circuits and even a fragment of soul, resonating together.
Probably Yeriel's doing.
"A paired artifact, then."
My diary and Yeriel's are linked.
Given their near-identical structure and function, they were crafted as a set from the start.
"Similar to a portal in function, but..."
I turned off Understanding. The brief analysis consumed 2,000 mana.
"Too risky to enter alone."
Concluding that, I stepped out of the office first.
In the dark hallway, [Assistant Lab] appeared. Light still shone through the glass beyond.
"...".
I approached and peered in.
The vast lab held only Ifrin. Her desk overflowed with magic theory books, but she lay buried in them, asleep.
I opened the lab door.
"Whiiiu... huu..."
I watched her steady breathing, then drew a pendant from my pocket.
"Whiii... huuuu..."
A beaming young Ifrin and a stern-faced man.
Still vivid in my Lokralen memory, the future archmage was undoubtedly Ifrin.
"Whii... huu..."
Did my existence as the player twist the worldline, making her an archmage?
Or was that her original path?
I recalled the two archmages I met as the 'player'.
Creator Sylvia, and the last fairy Adrienne.
Only three archmages can exist in an era.
"You..."
I looked at Ifrin.
Too warm, she'd shed her robe. But the tower's 77th floor would chill at night.
"Still full of mysteries."
I picked up the carelessly draped robe and covered her back with it.
Then.
"...".
A good idea struck.
She might provide some help.
I glanced between the diary in one hand and Ifrin.
And.
Snap—!
I snapped my fingers, extinguishing the light.
In the darkened lab, I left a note enhanced with Midas' Hand under the lamp, then returned to the [Head Professor's Office].
And...
...10 minutes later.
"...".
Ifrin, forehead planted forcibly on her desk, slowly opened her eyes. She cautiously glanced around, then lifted her head gingerly.
"...What."
In truth, she'd woken the moment Deculein opened the door. His oppressive aura did that.
"What the heck. Covers me with my robe too... ughhh."
Chills wracked her body. Ifrin scratched her back furiously, recalling his words.
—You... still full of mysteries.
"Ughhh."
More chills—no, a full-body shiver. Mysteries. And that gentle tone.
"Why does that professor... what's this?"
Ifrin spotted a small note on her desk. Strange scrap of paper. Tilting her head, she crept out of the lab.
Light blazed from the [Head Professor's Office].
"Ahem."
Ifrin schooled her face to sleepy confusion, clutching only the note, and grasped the office door handle.
"Yaaawn~"
Forced yawn, eyes half-teary, she staggered in...
"Professor. I just woke up like three minutes ago. What's this note...?"
Peering inside.
No Deculein in the office. Just a notebook on the desk.
"Huh?"
Ifrin blinked innocently.
* * *
The diary's interior was a world of nothing but snow. White snow and the distant old mansion—nothing else existed.
Thus, approaching that weathered building was instinct.
"...Yeriel opened it."
The door was already ajar. I straightened my attire and entered.
A fire crackled in the empty parlor.
Thud—
Footsteps echoed then. I turned.
"You... resemble me."
A man who looked like me stood there.
He nodded impassively.
"I am the diary."
"...Whose?"
"Yours. Your memories are recorded in me."
I pondered, then asked.
"Where is Yeriel?"
"Touring your memories."
He pointed to the right corridor.
"Is she safe?"
"Yeriel has the key."
I didn't know what the key was, but it meant she was fine.
I glanced left.
"Right is mine, so left is Yeriel's memories?"
"Yes."
Then, chii-iiik—! The fire dimmed. Snowstorm and darkness surged in.
Despite closed windows.
In that eerie space, I eyed the madman who called himself the 'diary'.
"You are filled with death variables."
"...".
He spoke.
"Hide."
I replied.
"Do you know? Death surrounds me. Every particle visible to my eyes. But you..."
The diary's face, voice, aura.
Death variables bubbled like foam from each.
"Full of killing intent."
The diary showed no expression. Merely nodded calmly.
"Perhaps."
I smiled faintly.
He resembled me, but wasn't.
More precisely, his model wasn't me.
His original was someone I resembled—no, someone Deculein resembled.
"Your model is Dikailen, not me."
"...".
The diary's brow twitched.
"As his creation, naturally."
The silently listening diary finally nodded.
"Yes. I am Master's work. A magical personality for succession."
"Yukline's succession?"
"Indeed. Master had no intention of deciding it lightly. He did not trust you."
"...Did not trust."
"Yes."
"Sad words."
In that moment, a quest rose in my retina.
House
As I read the quest summary, the diary spoke. Face dripping malice.
"Hide."
"...".
I gave no reply.
Whiiiik—!
Darkness and snowstorm twisted into form. The diary spoke again.
"Hide."
"I do not hide."
His expression changed.
"...Hide. The security mechanism approaches."
"No need."
He fell silent.
Of course, I had no special counter. The entire mansion brimmed with death variables.
"Then. You will be recorded too."
The diary's lips twisted.
I stared steadily into his eyes.
Whiiiing—!
Dark snowstorm whipped into a gale. The raging wind swallowed my body.
*
...The snowstorm subsided, the parlor quieted.
The 'diary' gazed coldly at the notebook on the floor.
"I knew someday you would visit me."
As he murmured.
"You knew?"
Yeriel emerged, having viewed two frames.
Mana-drained, she sighed from exhaustion, then caught the phrasing.
"Wait, 'you'—who else besides me?"
In answer, the diary handed her a notebook. Yeriel's eyes widened at the name.
"...Of course Deculein."
Deculein had become a notebook.