The Study
The Study
Bookshelves crammed the room, every inch of their shelves packed tight with books of every kind.
The room's purpose felt immediately clear: a study.
'Spatial expansion.'
It was noticeably larger than the space the exterior suggested.
Massive enough to call it a building rather than a room.
Most of that space was filled with bookshelves that reached all the way to the ceiling, giving the place the atmosphere of a forest made of books.
'It's old.'
The shelves, standing in dense clusters, held every sort of volume.
I approached the nearest one. I let my fingertips brush over the covers of the books tucked inside.
The will that permeated the mansion had preserved them immaculately, yet the weight of the years soaked into them was plainly perceptible.
Running my fingers across a curiously rough-textured cover, I slid the book out.
- Wooooong
It had the same powerful security I'd felt at the door, but the key made it yield without resistance, gliding smoothly free.
On the cover, I found a date: Year 12 of the New Era Origin.
'Year 12... that's early even within the Chaos Period.'
The long, long Chaos Period that had descended upon humanity right after the Great Cataclysm, an event that completely overturned the world's foundations.
The early Chaos Period was such a brutal, dark time that some called it the Age of Darkness.
Mana and unique abilities had manifested in humans, as if in answer to the threat of monsters and dungeons.
But back then, there was no knowledge, no experience to draw on.
No records left by ancestors who had walked the path before them. No road that someone else had charted out in advance.
An uncharted road was thick with darkness. Calling it a road was even wrong. There was only darkness—an unknown. The superhumans of that era had to blaze the trail themselves.
That was why so many people were swallowed by the unknown and died. So much was lost.
Most of the records from the early Chaos Period were destroyed, so much of what we know now survives only as oral tradition.
I swept my perception across the shelves for a moment.
My hand skimmed over covers while I expanded my Observation in a tight sweep, checking each book on the shelves.
'Hmm...'
History, magical science, philosophy, psychology, literature... there were fields you might find in my old world, and also a great many books specific to this one: dungeon geography, monster analysis grimoires, and the like.
'There's a lot related to biology.'
Biology was the largest category.
For now, I didn't examine the contents in depth, only ran my perception over the covers and titles.
'The Origin and Evolution of Life, Ecology, Genetics, Plant Growth and Development, Animal Ecology and Behavior, Deep Anatomy, Physiology, The Hidden Side of Natural Selection, Biological Immune Systems, Growth, Evolution... wait.'
Midway through sorting the accumulating information, my hand stopped on a book.
Among the waves of data, one piece seized my attention and pulled hard.
I halted all movement. For a moment, I re-examined the information, then strode over.
A bookshelf in the corner of the study.
The shelves and books themselves were utterly untouched by decay thanks to the protective will, but by focusing the precision of my Observation, I could perceive the age permeating the objects.
This corner shelf was one of the oldest in the study. The worn look of the books it held only confirmed that.
'This is...'
On top of that, it carried much stronger security than the other shelves—such formidable protection that even throwing all my power at it seemed unlikely to leave a scratch. And yet, with the key before it, it simply slid open without a hint of resistance.
I promptly pulled out one of the books.
Its green cover showed clear signs of being well-handled.
The edges were worn smooth and glossy, and small scratches marked it all over.
Even the outside looked like this.
I quietly checked the title.
『Siyoram Establishment Plan (A)』
'A handwritten account?'
An establishment plan. At least a century old.
I checked other books one after another.
The shelf was filled with various handwritten records.
『Siyoram Blueprint - Artificial Island Formation』
『Siyoram Blueprint - Site Formation』
『Siyoram Blueprint - Comprehensive Spell Formulas』
『Siyoram Blueprint - Defensive Spell Formulas (A-2)』
『An Annotated Edition - Child-Protecting Heavenly Wall』
From the initial plan to establish Siyoram, to the purpose and process of creating the artificial island, to constructing the grounds atop it, to what spell formulas were engraved where and by what method overall...
'Good heavens, the Child-Protecting Heavenly Wall is...'
As I skimmed the records, I found myself inwardly aghast at the section where the actual spell formula inscriptions were recorded.
It included not only the defensive magic applied to Siyoram's facilities but also the barrier encircling the island... the Child-Protecting Heavenly Wall.
The barrier that had never once been breached until now. The Child-Protecting Heavenly Wall.
The wall that had stood firm even as the Tower Masters began their invasions and launched assault after assault.
The powerful shield that even the 11th Iteration had only barely managed to pierce.
And here, laid out in excruciating detail, was its entire structure: the elements and positions that formed its axis, and even the methods to break through it.
'No way...'
Right now, my knowledge was too meager compared with the barrier's level to fully grasp it all.
The information was so advanced and excessive that my head ached.
Not a headache, exactly—just a strange, dull pressure. I pressed a hand to my head and frowned.
But I could memorize it. Or I could simply take this book with me when I left.
- Hoooh...
I heaved a deep sigh, as if to vent my tangled feelings, then strode toward the spot I had been deliberately ignoring.
On the wall facing the door, instead of a bookshelf, there sat a large wooden desk.
It was cluttered with a mess of magic tools, papers and books strewn about haphazardly. A lamp-like magic tool cast orange light down over the desk.
I shifted the focus of my Observation from there. On the wall above the shelves, I found the portrait of a beautiful woman.
A portrait so large it announced itself as the owner of this study.
She leaned comfortably against the back of a chair, the curves of her body clearly expressed even beneath the loose flow of her attire.
Two pale, slender hands rested demurely on her lap.
Her hair cascaded like a waterfall of clear ripples, and her eyes—even though this was only a painting—seemed to gaze straight through you, the color of amethysts.
'......'
A mansion where the Headmaster had resided.
In its study were handwritten records detailing Siyoram with precise thoroughness.
Records that laid out, in intricate detail, the establishment plan and process—things even most insiders wouldn't know—along with Siyoram's overall structure.
A portrait hung in such a study.
The author's name written in those handwritten records.
'Neriel Claidia.'
The name of Siyoram's Headmaster, the Tower Master of Growth.
'What in the world...'
Faced with evidence I couldn't possibly deny, I studied the portrait with complicated feelings.
Neriel Claidia.
The person who had established the strange system called Special Admission. The person who had left that position an empty, unreachable dream for over a century—and then abruptly seated me in it.
And now, the person who had vanished somewhere, unseen, leaving me the mansion where she had once lived.
In that mansion's study, she had left behind these various handwritten accounts.
She had left her portrait, and the records about Siyoram.
She had even left records about Siyoram's protective barrier. How dangerous was that? It was exhausting just to explain.
Sure, they had strong protective measures on them, but the mere act of leaving such records was an enormous risk.
And she had arranged it so that I could uncover this crucial information with such ease.
As long as I had the key, I could enter the estate and the mansion without hindrance, walk into the study, and pull these books out.
It was far too dangerous an act.
Siyoram was an irreplaceable place in this world.
For symbolic reasons, of course, and for practical ones as well.
The work a single fully-realized superhuman could accomplish was limitless. And Siyoram, which turned out hundreds of such superhumans every year, was one of the indispensable pillars of this world.
And amid all that, she had placed such vital information—things that should be treated as top secret—into my hands.
What if I harbored ill intentions?
What if I went and found the barrier's axis right now and destroyed it?
Even if I simply handed this information to someone else, just letting them exploit it would plunge Siyoram into a chaos it couldn't easily recover from.
'What exactly does she trust in me?'
How did she even know about me, someone who wasn't from this world to begin with? How did she know I would cross over here? What am I, that she would seat me in this position and give me this kind of support?
'What do you want from me?'
What does she hope I'll achieve? Does she want me to grow? What does she want me to do once I've grown stronger? Do you know what's going to happen later, too? Is that what you want me to stop?
'You...'
I observed the portrait absently.
I broke it down into elements, analyzing every detail.
It was only a flat painting, but through analysis via Observation, I meticulously imagined the figure's appearance.
'She looks like her...'
She resembled the Vice Headmaster. The color of her hair and eyes were similar. That deep violet, evoking amethysts, seared itself vividly into my perception.
But their overall features were entirely different.
Where the Vice Headmaster was rigid and cold, like a block of iron, the Tower Master of Growth—despite her outwardly blunt appearance—radiated softness and an embracing quality.
This was someone whose appearance I'd confirmed for the first time just now.
And only through a portrait left as a painting, not even a written description.
Part of a deeply buried memory surfaced.
I compared the person in that memory with the figure in the portrait.
They were different. The hair color, the length, the eye color—all different.
But the features and build were similar...
'No.'
Nearly identical. So similar that there was barely any difference.
Even the atmosphere faintly visible through the painting matched.
That soft yet unyielding presence... that impression seared into my senses resembled that person.
It wasn't a distant memory.
Nor was it a detailed memory.
It was a memory I didn't want to recall if I could help it.
A memory of rushing in like a moth to flame and being struck by a car.
'She looked like her.'
She looked like the person I'd pushed aside and saved.
In a vase set on one corner of the desk, a purple flower was in full bloom.
* * *
[The Tower Master of Growth remains silent]