The Drama Topic (3)

The Gallery was in complete disarray over the contents of the book I had posted.

Undying King, Balkan Kingdom, Holy Kingdom—none of that meant a damn thing to me. The only thing that mattered was information relevant to my survival. Hidden historical truths weren't worth a single calorie.

Raving about it on the Gallery won't change anything anyway.

Even if the controversy spilled over into the outside world, I couldn't care ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠less. There was only one scenario where it would matter to me: when I managed to escape the Forest of the Four Seasons. Even if the Holy Kingdom threw a massive fit over this revelation, it couldn't affect me in the slightest right now.

Though it might ruffle the main moderator's feathers a bit.

The Holy Kingdom was a theocracy devoted to its goddess, and our orange-tag moderator, Asella, was a devout believer. Having truths that rattled the very foundations of her nation dropped right in front of her would naturally be uncomfortable. If she asked me to take the post down, I was more than willing to delete it. The story had already spread far and wide anyway, and the physical book was safely in Allfather's possession. All I had to do was sit back and watch quietly. I had zero personal interest in the Undying King.

Not that many people outside will believe it easily, either.

Unless Allfather published the book to the wider public, rumors originating from an anonymous forum were difficult to take seriously. Furthermore, reactions would depend heavily on the Holy Kingdom's current public standing. If their reputation was already tarnished, it would blow up into a scandal; if they were beloved, people would likely dismiss it as absurd slander.

Any organization made of people is bound to have dirt behind the curtain.

Just as stagnant water breeds rot, people gathered in massive institutions inevitably decay. Even when founded on righteous intentions, time always exacts its toll. Unless the water is completely flushed and replaced, no collective remains clean forever.

Well, that's just how human history goes everywhere.

It was a mess for the people living out there to resolve on their own. Stuck at the bottom of the Forest of the Four Seasons, I had no business meddling in continental politics. After skimming through the surge of posts criticizing and condemning the Holy Kingdom, I closed the Gallery interface in silence.

It looked like deciphering the survival-related portions would take a bit more time.

Still, this confirms there's at least some chance other survivors exist...

Finding those remains had taught me an important lesson: there was a very high probability that other corpses lay scattered across this endless forest. Unlike the remains of the victim who had clearly been mauled and eaten by an Owlbear, the book's owner had maintained an intact skeleton and preserved gear.

Anyone significantly stronger than me would have survived far longer.

The author of that diary was the Balkan Kingdom's last scribe—a scholar of the pen rather than the sword. While he might have grown somewhat stronger while adapting to the forest, he lacked access to the Gallery. Without this interdimensional forum, even my own survival wouldn't have lasted a month. That distinction alone was a massive divide.

I'll need to thoroughly sweep every cave I come across from now on.

No one had the luxury of building a leisurely log cabin out here, so natural caverns were the obvious shelters of choice.

And it wouldn't just be humans who stumbled in, right?

With enough luck, I might encounter other races. Demons and elves possessed a vastly higher baseline of innate power compared to humanity. Spells that humans had to spend years wracking their brains to memorize came to them as naturally as breathing. Even without the Gallery, someone gifted with potent magic would possess an incredible survival advantage.

Though by their standards, I'm practically brain-dead, so magic is out of the question for me.

I had abandoned magic long ago. The moment I heard wizards conceptualizing fire through advanced thermodynamics and calculus, I walked away without a second thought. I would rather manifest magic through pure physical violence than solve differential equations to throw a spark.

If there really is another living soul out there...

Just knowing another person existed would be an immense comfort. Up until now, I had believed I was entirely alone in this desolate expanse. Could I really uncover fresh traces of living people? It felt as though a small, tangible objective had taken root in my chest. If escaping was the ultimate goal, tracking down survivor traces was the immediate stepping stone.

Didn't someone mention that most people thrown into the Forest of the Four Seasons were convicts?

Felons sentenced to brutal mutilation before exile, criminals with records so horrifying they had no place left under the sun, or reckless explorers acting on suicidal arrogance—whatever their background, the odds of crossing paths were astronomically low. This mythical forest was said to be the size of an entire kingdom.

Still, no reason to throw away hope.

A fresh sliver of optimism stirred within me. With enough luck, maybe I really could meet someone out here.

Exhaling a long breath, I rose to my feet.

No point daydreaming when I could be training.

There was still time before dinner. Rather than wallowing in idle sentimentality, running sword drills was far more productive. Raising my blade and shield, I set to work polishing the rough edges of my forms, one strike at a time.

Whoever it is... I just hope someone is still breathing.

It was a modest wish.

Kadir was a man driven by an insatiable desire to know everything under the heavens.

Whether it concerned sorcery, mortals, or forgotten epochs made no difference. Nothing fascinated him quite like the unvarnished truths veiled behind the shadows of history. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Such intellectual hunger often courted ruin, but Kadir was no ordinary scholar. He was the Wizard King, Master of the Magic Tower, the sovereign who had unlocked every circle of the arcane arts. No matter how grand or terrible the secret, to him it was merely an entertaining diversion.

"Lyse Kraone."

[......]

The moment Kadir spoke the name in a tranquil cadence, the solitary skull sitting upon the table stirred. Within its hollow eye sockets, twin pinpricks of emerald light flared to life, as though an ancient consciousness had suddenly awakened.

"Do you recognize that name?"

The skull conversing with Kadir was a specimen normally kept locked away in a chilled containment chamber. Yet the mere fact that it had repeatedly demanded the mercy of death proved it was far from an ordinary relic.

[How do you know that name?]

A somber, resonant timbre leaked from the bone. It was not a voice produced by vocal cords and vibrating air, but a direct telepathic intent echoing through the mind. Kadir—known on the Gallery as Allfather—did not flinch before the spine-chilling presence. Instead, a serene smile touched his lips.

"So the records in the chronicle were authentic after all."

[I asked you how you know that name!]

When the archmage failed to provide a direct response, the skull—or rather, the Undying King—let out a low rumble of rising fury. Simultaneously, a ghastly emerald aura surged from the bone, billowing upward like an infernal conflagration. It was the undiluted manifestation of necromantic death. Even reduced to a severed cranium, the authority of the Undying King had not entirely faded.

"I came across it entirely by chance," Kadir remarked smoothly. "From the look of things, your royal scribe managed to flee into the Forest of the Four Seasons."

[......]

"If you answer my inquiries in earnest, I shall gladly reveal where and how I acquired this intelligence."

The deathly miasma cloaking the cranium gradually subsided—a tacit consent to hear the scholar out. Kadir's amused grin faded, replaced by genuine gravity as he posed his question.

"Why did you conceal this truth from the world?"

[Because our kingdom was weak, and because we were defeated. Does that suffice?]

It was a cynical response, yet one that laid bare the brutal laws of the world. The weak were stripped of everything by the strong, and the truth was never an exception. History, after all, was written exclusively by the victors. The chronicles of the vanquished were destined to be distorted or erased into oblivion.

Kadir stroked his beard, a slow nod acknowledging the answer.

"I have long known the Holy Kingdom was rotten to the core, but I never imagined the depravity ran this deep. Seeing as you cleansed their leadership once thirty years ago, is their current state supposed to be an 'improvement'?"

[......]

"No, hardly. Even after that, they went ahead and exiled their own Hero... Tsk, tsk. It seems they haven't learned a single lesson."

The public reputation of the Holy Kingdom of El Dorado was dismal, even by generous standards. Originally established on the sacred pledge to subjugate the Demon King, that noble purpose had eroded into an empty shell with the passage of centuries. In recent times, the demon realm had become so engrossed in competitive sports that they paid no attention to human lands, turning their eyes instead toward art and leisure; to them, the Demon King was viewed as little more than a nominal head of state.

An organization that lost its founding purpose ought to disband, but El Dorado was an entire sovereign nation. In forcing disparate factions together without a true enemy, the waters had stagnated, and the stagnant reservoir had festered into unmitigated ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠rot.

[Now answer my question. How did you learn of this?] the Undying King demanded, his telepathic voice dripping with grim impatience.

Kadir snapped his fingers. A thick, weathered tome materialized instantly in his grasp.

"From this. The historical records left behind by Lyse Kraone, the last royal scribe of the Balkan Kingdom."

Kadir politely flipped open the first parchment page and held it forward. Though he possessed no physical eyes, the king's emerald soul-flames tracked the cursive strokes across the sheet. Recognizing the native script of his motherland after decades of darkness, the Undying King exhaled a sharp, disbelieving breath.

[Preposterous. I ordered him to flee into the Forest of the Four Seasons.]

"And this was retrieved directly from that very forest."

[Impossible. The Forest of the Four Seasons is an inescapable labyrinth from which no soul returns.]

"That is normally true," Kadir conceded. "However, I was not the one who went in and found it."

Kadir provided a concise summary of the bizarre circumstances: how a strange man named Grylls had tumbled into the mythical wilderness, how he inexplicably possessed access to the dimensional Gallery, and how, through sheer grit and absurd luck, he had stumbled across the scribe's cave and recovered the skeleton and its texts.

The Undying King listened in silence before muttering heavily.

[Inconceivable.]

"Every word is the truth. So, what do you wish to do?"

[What do you mean?]

Kadir gently fanned the translated pages, his tone laced with razor-sharp calculation.

"I am asking if you wish to land a retaliatory blow against the Holy Kingdom. I happen to find them quite distasteful myself."

[......]

"The Previous Generation Hero who fell in mutual destruction alongside you was a dear friend of mine," Kadir said, his voice dropping into somber gravity. "That final clash occurred only because he could no longer bear the intolerable moral extortion of the Holy Kingdom... In truth, he was murdered by their hand."

[Do as you please. But I have one condition.]

"A condition?"

Kadir raised an intrigued brow. The skull locked its emerald gaze onto the archmage, offering a plea weighed down with total resignation.

[Kill me.]

"We shall discuss that later."

[Damn you.]

Hearing the flat rejection, the Undying King spat a quiet curse. For a man who had once ruled a sovereign realm, it was remarkably coarse language, underscoring his profound exhaustion.

"Do you have another request?"

[I wish to know who recovered those chronicles.]

"I already told you: I acquired them through the Gallery."

[Then grant me access to this 'Gallery.']

"What a ridiculous notion. You are an—"

Kadir paused mid-sentence as a delightfully wicked idea struck his mind. Ordinary undead were soulless husks devoid of self-awareness, little different from ravenous beasts. But the Undying King was a legendary anomaly. Even with his mortal vessel reduced to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a bleached cranium, his ego and intellect remained fully intact. If his soul possessed such staggering coherence, could he not theoretically establish a spiritual link to the forum?

[You are making the face of a degenerate.]

"Ah. Forgive me. A most intriguing proposition just crossed my mind."

[So will you assist me?]

"Naturally."

[Even knowing I could reveal my coordinates to the world?]

It was a half-hearted threat, and an inherently foolish one. Kadir let out a dry chuckle, countering with effortless logic.

"Who under the heavens would believe that the dread Undying King, who once drowned the continent in terror, is currently locked inside my personal refrigerator?"

[......]

"Make no mistake, I have no intention of setting you free. I am merely granting you permission to browse an online forum."

The Undying King pondered the archmage's bizarre proposal for a long, heavy silence. At last, having reached his decision, he repeated his solemn plea.

[Please... Just kill me.]

"Later."

It remained a request that Kadir had no intention of granting anytime soon.