A Staircase of Books Is Not Sturdy
The staircase built from books was not sturdy. I climbed it with painstaking care, and soon a window came into view. Gripping the sill, I hauled myself up and poked my head through. The scene beyond made my breath catch.
“…This.”
It was wrong. The landscape Leah had described was ordinary outdoors. What I saw was not outdoors at all.
“H.” The second room I had entered. According to the journals, this was the view from the final room.
Why? A device capable of this clearly existed for a reason. There had to be a purpose in showing me that room through such a high window in this one.
The question had no immediate answer, and my pathetic strength could no longer support me. I released the sill.
“Uh—uhh…!”
When I dropped onto the pile, the makeshift staircase shuddered. I fought for balance, but the whole thing was already toppling.
“Uwaaaah—!”
I fell and rolled across the floor. At least I hadn’t injured myself.
“…Hm?”
Pressing my palm to the floor, I felt something strange. I made a fist and tapped lightly. The surface felt hollow.
“What is this?”
I grabbed one of the fallen books and slammed it down with everything I had.
CRACK!
The wooden planks splintered, exposing the space beneath.
“This is…”
A safe. The very same small safe Leah had found inside the hidden mechanism.
Why was it under the floor? What kind of contraption would place it here?
Thinking about it would yield nothing, so I shoved the question aside and lifted the safe. The metal box was heavy, but I could carry it.
“…Hmm.”
No time like the present. I placed my hand on the safe and invoked my specialty—Memory Magic. The moment the password had been entered was still imprinted on the object. In modern terms, it was like lifting fingerprints from the worn keys.
I channeled my mana. Only then did I notice how much it drained me; I had used so little magic since arriving that the sensation felt new.
The memory surfaced cleanly. I punched in the numbers.
19781031.
The lock clicked. The safe swung open, revealing a small journal.
Another one? I pulled it out and began to read.
The brief entry contained truths that hit like a hammer. An experiment that converted humans into magic stones. In truth, the practice dated back to ancient times. Only those who could move mana at will became mages, yet ordinary people still possessed mana—sometimes even more than low-tier mages. The difference was that they could not imbue it with intent or shape it into spells.
So why not harvest them? That was where the idea began. Early trials simply extracted mana, but the yield and purity proved insufficient. Then someone discovered that human sacrifice could produce a blood-red stone of far greater efficiency. They called it a Blood Stone.
Blood Stones were three times more effective than ordinary magic stones. They sold furiously. Almost no one cared about the lives consumed in their creation—especially when the victims were slum children. In those districts, one or two disappearances raised no alarms.
Two hundred years ago, however, a mage rose in outrage and eradicated every Blood Stone in existence. He swore no one would ever create them again, then founded an academy to ensure it. That academy was Veritas.
“Running Blood Stone experiments in a place like this…”
The director had to be utterly insane. After reading the journal, I finally understood why the third floor had never been opened to students. Still, one question lingered: if the place held such damning secrets, why not simply demolish the building? The Rose Pavilion was already a crumbling wreck. Why preserve it?
“This building has far too many secrets.”
The rule book, the bizarre events unfolding now, and now the third floor on top of everything. Solving one mystery only uncovered more, each one tangling tighter in my mind.
“Worrying about it now is pointless.”
I brushed myself off, tucked the journal into my uniform, and stood. It might prove useful later.
“Now… how do I get out of here?”
While I stared blankly at the door, another deep rumble began.
Ruuuuuumble—!
The floor shook as though the entire structure was rearranging itself. I had grown used to the sensation. I sat down and waited for it to stop.
Two or three minutes later the movement gradually subsided. When everything fell silent, I approached the door with a trembling hand and opened it. The familiar corridor waited beyond.
“Whew…”
Brown hair filled my vision. Clarice had appeared beside me without a sound. Her expressionless face studied me for a moment.
“…Huh?”
Before I could ask what she meant, Clarice simply stared at me with that blank face, then turned and walked away. I watched her retreating back, utterly confused, and finally shook my head.
Time to check the next room. Leah and Rhea might be there.
But when I opened the door, neither of them was inside. Given how long I had been trapped, they had probably already finished exploring. Confirming the room was empty, I stepped farther in.
This space felt like a young girl’s bedroom. Room A had been filled with dolls and nothing else, but this one—presumably Room G—was packed with colorful furniture and trinkets that would delight any child. Yet in the back stood a single gloomy bookshelf that clashed with everything else.
I pulled the familiar-looking journal from its shelf and began to read.
The children were sent back. Those fools caused an incident. I specifically ordered them to manage the magic stones carefully, yet they suddenly began behaving strangely. Whether infected by the mansion’s curse or simply driven insane, they started shouting that I had performed forbidden experiments.
What utter nonsense. Were they not the ones who suggested bringing the children here to live?
It was a curse. The final surviving researcher sacrificed his own life to throw it at me.
What exactly went wrong? That I had no choice but to sneak into this place and continue the work? Or that I failed to notice the researchers had lost their minds? Dying as I am, I will never know.
“…What is this?”
The content completely contradicted the previous journal. I frowned. The author had clearly changed. The writer of entries A through F must have died, after which the laboratory director continued the record. That would mean he had also written H… Then what did “censored” mean? The entry claimed all the children had been sent back. So what remained…?
“The researchers.”
The corpses. The bodies frozen with stasis magic. Were they all being studied to understand the phenomena occurring inside this mansion? Or did the success of the experiment somehow depend on those corpses? That was as far as I could reason for now.
I slid the journal back onto the shelf and left the room. That was when it happened.
“Kyaaaaaaaaah—!”
A raw, throat-tearing scream echoed through the corridor. The girls who had been inside the other rooms came pouring out at once.
“What—what was that? What’s happening?!”
“Wait… someone’s missing, aren’t they?”
“Ariel and… Ophelia?”
An ominous chill raced down my spine. The girls gathered in front of the one room from which no one had emerged.
“…I’ll open it.”
Leah, the oldest, gripped the doorknob and slowly turned it.