The Trial of the Unconscious
"This device is the Brainwave Explorer for Demonic Engineering."
Yeon-an Theater.
I showed the cylindrical machine and helmet to all the adventurers. It was the brainwave explorer I had once used myself.
"This explorer contains a test I created. It will activate a magic circle using your mana and blood as materials. Explore within it successfully, and you pass. Fail, and you fail."
This brainwave explorer was already highly refined, but now enhanced with Midas' Hand, it was more than capable of crafting an entirely new realm of the unconscious.
"Simple enough."
Thus, the test of mental fortitude was straightforward.
The participants would entrust their consciousness to the machine.
Once the subject gave internal consent via mana and signed my magic circle with their blood, a phenomenon akin to Karal's Authority would manifest.
To be precise, it mimicked Karal's Authority, but whatever.
"There are 433 adventurers gathered here. Challenge it whenever you wish. You may withdraw midway, of course."
I surveyed the adventurers. Red Garnet, Blue Heads, Green Fin—quite a few renowned adventure parties.
For reference, any party name with a "color" was no small fry.
"......I got a needle allergy though?!"
At that moment, a warrior in traditional garb waved his hand dramatically, bellowing.
"Kuhhuhuhu. What now?"
Karal's brother, Jakal. His grinning face quickly drew all eyes.
"Blood's kinda gross though~"
A thick bloody stench wafted from his mouth, his aura far more vicious than before.
No wonder—his raw power seemed doubled, at least.
"Then get out."
Suddenly, Ganesha cut in. Jakal smirked and rose, slinging a long katana over his shoulder.
"Don't wanna?"
"......Then."
Ganesha glared at Jakal. He didn't avert his gaze.
"Wanna die?"
Jakal's smile froze.
Her twin tails whipped sharply.
"......Fine. Wanna go?"
The air grew heavy. Flickers of mana shards rained down.
The masters' auras filled the theater, and the adventurers watched with keen interest—until then.
"Jakal."
I called his name. He turned to me. I nodded toward his seat.
"Sit."
"Heh heh. Can't sit? This crazy bitch started the shit-talking—"
"Karal is dead?"
"......"
Jakal froze. My lips twisted naturally.
Karal and Jakal always moved as one. But now, only Jakal remained. The implication was clear.
I added one more line.
"Or dying."
His grip tightened viciously on the demon blade.
"I shan't say it thrice."
I smiled, eyeing his face.
"Sit."
"......"
A variable of death spread from Jakal.
Red mist uncoiled like leeches, slithering toward my feet.
"If you wish to save your sister."
It halted.
Jakal's half-lidded eyes trembled.
"......Hey. Professor."
Jakal spoke. His voice rippled with dark impulse and murder.
"You know?"
A short, simple question.
"Jakal."
I shook my head, fixing the impudent warrior with a steady gaze.
"Know your place."
"......Place."
"I understand you've lived like an ignorant brute till now."
Thud—I tapped the podium with my cane. A small echo rippled outward like waves. Jakal's long hair fluttered.
"Distinguish between people."
"......"
He fell silent, glaring with empty pupils.
At last, he spoke.
"Professor."
He sat.
"Don't know? You'll die."
His muttering face was grotesquely free, ghostlike. His eyelids blackened entirely as he glared murderously.
I replied.
"Correct your speech henceforth. Before I rip that mouth apart."
"......"
"Adventurers wishing to take the test, submit blood and await."
......Lately, the imperial knights' atmosphere was dark and tense.
Outwardly, the empire and throne grew stronger by the day. The citizens felt the progress in their bones.
But the knights' core value of meritocracy teetered perilously.
"Merit? Fuck that noise. Catch the professor's eye, you rise; piss him off, you're done. Even the external audit head for senior knight exams is Guard Captain Deculein. Cross him, and you won't pin senior knight before getting booted."
"His Majesty sides with the professor too. Guard knights outrank imperial ones now. Gotta stick to the professor somehow. Delik—that old fart Delik—is proof."
Vice Commander Izac's heart ached, hearing the Voice's corrosion in the dim annex corridor.
"Best we go. A guest awaits."
Gawain, equally shadowed, spoke. Izac nodded and opened the secret room door.
Creeeak—
A reception room built to counter the Voice.
Inside sat a blond mage, arms crossed.
"......Ihelm. Long time."
Court mage Ihelm. He brushed off Izac's greeting and pointed outside.
"Skip the pleasantries. That's why you called me? Deculein swallowing the imperial knights?"
"......"
Izac nodded silently. Gawain shut the door.
"Indeed."
"So it's real? Asking me to oppose Deculein again? Forgot I got crushed in the chairman exam?"
"......We plan a hearing."
Izac spoke grimly; Ihelm looked incredulous.
"A hearing?"
"Every spring, audits and hearings target firms, guilds, noble houses. Many old ministers fear Deculein's growing power. A proper check could curb his recklessness—"
"Nah, can't do it. Anything Deculein-related, I'm out. Why not serve the Round Table instead?"
"......The Round Table can't enter the palace. Poor relations with Her Majesty."
"Oh?"
Ihelm eyed Izac narrowly. Izac looked unusually troubled.
"So...... you're saying. Recruit a noble mage who knows Deculein's flaws well enough and wields sufficient influence to oppose him?"
"Yes."
Gawain answered for him.
"The imperial knights' situation is dire. Connections, not skill, dictate everything."
"......That bad?"
"Yes!"
Gawain slammed the table at Ihelm's question.
"The knights split into Delik faction and anti-Delik. But it's no faction—it's hierarchy. Delik's side scorns and excludes the rest. All key posts and missions go to Delik's—Deculein's—people."
"......Really?"
"Yes! This turns the imperial knights into Deculein's private guard."
"......"
Ihelm nodded ambiguously.
"Sure, could be. But I'm out."
"Lord Ihelm! The knights' fate hangs— I retire soon, but the imperial knights serve throne, Her Majesty, empire. If Deculein devours us, the future darkens. We're palace kin, Ihelm."
Izac's eyes welled.
"Don't look at me like that. Creepy."
Ihelm waved him off.
He knew Izac was that kind of man—prioritizing empire, knights, justice over self. If Izac said so, Deculein truly threatened.
"Anyway, no."
"Lord Ihelm!"
"Fellow palace folk, so your words stay secret from Deculein."
"Lord Ihelm!"
"Enough. If you insist, there's another. A house with clout to drag Deculein to hearing."
"......House? Which?"
Izac's eyes widened. Ihelm replied reluctantly.
"Ilayde."
"......"
"......"
"......"
Silent trio.
Exchanging glances, Ihelm spoke again.
"Still hate Ilayde?"
"......Ahem."
Ilayde repulsed that much. Their Verhert antics, madman Gilteon's temperament—infamous.
"Gilteon might backfire."
"Then save his daughter."
"......Daughter?"
"Sylvia."
Ilayde's Sylvia. Knights knew little of the archmage prodigy.
Knights weren't gossip hounds, and mages? A den of betrayal, backstabbing, no loyalty or manners.
Too filthy to glance at.
"Is Sylvia that promising?"
"That?"
Ihelm scowled at Gawain's question.
"Thaaat~?"
His drawn-out tone dripped disbelief. Gawain and Izac coughed awkwardly.
"Kuhhuhuhu. No wonder you lag. Shitty intel, no politics. Knights gonna knight."
Ihelm laughed heartily.
"Know what the Round Table says of Tri-Color Sylvia?"
Izac and Gawain leaned in.
"......Sylvia's talent might be divine."
Divine.
Godlike power, in other words.
Chills raced over Izac and Gawain.
"Many call her a fragment of the divine age. Deculein likely knows—why he cast her out."
"......Cast out?"
"Yeah. Intelligence tracks her now. Deculein's in charge."
"Hah."
Izac coughed dryly.
Deculein, that chillingly meticulous man—how far ahead was he?
"Then......"
"Sylvia, as Ilayde, likely resents Deculein...... That's all from me. I neither hate nor like him. Our old grudge and friendship canceled to zero. Handle the rest."
"......Understood. Thanks, Ihelm."
"Dismissed."
The three nodded and rose.
Opening the door—
Their hearts exploded.
"......"
"......"
"......"
Literally.
Shock froze them, breath caught, muscles cramped.
One reason.
"......Hm. I see. Knew you'd think that."
The continent's most noble being, stroking her chin before the door.
"......Y-Your, Your Majesty."
Emperor Sophien. Izac murmured blankly, knees buckling—not by choice, legs failed.
Gawain and Ihelm followed suit.
"Wh-what brings you here......"
"On inspection. You lot too quiet today."
"Ah......"
"So, putting Deculein on trial?"
Their minds blanked. Vision blackened. Nothing seen, heard.
"Answer."
The emperor's word snapped Izac alert.
"Y-yes. Deculein—Professor Deculein seeks to devour the imperial knights. If unchecked, he'll harm even Your Majesty......"
"Hm. Is that so."
"Yes."
"Why?"
Izac swallowed; Gawain stepped up.
"The imperial knights prized skill and chivalry above all. Conviction, integrity, justice, prowess. Only knights balancing all rose. But Deculein's meddling changed that. Now, sycophants to him dominate. No healthy order."
Gawain's phrasing odd—fixing word order amid crisis?
"......Deculein turned imperial knights into his connection cabal?"
"Y-yes."
"Hm."
Sophien nodded. The three struggled to grasp.
"Makes sense."
"......?"
Odd turn; question marks hovered over their heads. Sophien smirked.
"Intriguing. Fetch Ilayde's daughter. Then, I'll consider the hearing."
Yeon-an Theater, 433 adventurers and named ones gathered.
In the hushed tension, all donned helmets.
"All 433 entered the test."
Ifrin said. She'd come mid-prep with her team.
"But......"
She scanned the helmeted adventurers, seated like sleepers.
"This test hard?"
"Hard."
"Really?"
I nodded.
"Designed to fail as many as possible."
"......Pardon?"
"I don't know details inside."
Their helmets housed an unconscious world forged by Midas' Hand.
In other words, no longer my domain—the trait's.
"Prepare, Ifrin."
I told her.
"Prepare what?"
"For the Island of Voices."
Ifrin's eyes widened. She coughed, pointing at seats.
"......These people?"
"Leave to Julia, Drent, Maho."
Julia, Drent, Maho patrolled, checking adventurers.
Their task: sever test links if danger arose.
"Julia's commoner, but Drent's sharp—they'll manage."
"Julie's great too? Nobility irrelevant."
"Hm."
I straightened my tie.
"Prepare anyway. You'll come to the Island of Voices with me."
"......Sure, I'm fine."
"Quite dangerous. Tense up at least."
"......"
Gulp—Ifrin swallowed late, rabbit-scared at one word.