Why Is 'The Tyrant Crown Prince's Secret and Hot Obsession' Written in the Ancient Grimoire? (1)

The sizzle rose from the highest-grade magic charcoal grill as a prime cut of Varcia Empire black cow tenderloin cooked to perfection. Beads of red juice glistened across the surface as I laid a pat of butter on top, releasing a rich, nutty aroma that danced with the salty sea breeze along the private beach and tickled the nose. I lifted the tongs, flipped the steak with practiced ease, and carefully rearranged the asparagus and mushrooms beside it.

“Ilario. They say the way a person grills meat reflects their character. By that standard you must be a cold-blooded monster without a drop of blood or tears. The outside is seared beautifully, yet the inside is still bright red and raw.”

Clotilde stepped out of the open-air bath, slipped into a light silk robe, and lounged back on the sunbed with a teasing grin.

“The highest compliment I’ve received all day, my lady. It’s precisely because I survived this cruel, merciless world as a cold-blooded man without blood or tears that we can sit here in this peaceful paradise slicing into perfectly cooked steaks.”

I was just about to slide the freshly grilled steak onto her plate when—

Zzzzt— Beep!

The magic communication orb on the table, which had gone dark when the monster horde breached the walls earlier, suddenly crackled to life with a burst of static.

“Huh? I thought the broadcasting station’s mana antenna had been smashed to pieces, but there’s still a live line?”

Clotilde paused with her knife halfway to the steak and leaned forward, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

The blurry image sharpened through layers of harsh noise. The angle and altitude made it clear this wasn’t a reporter’s handheld camera. It had to be footage from a high-altitude reconnaissance drone—the so-called Magic Eye—hurriedly launched by the Imperial Magic Department’s situation room.

What the drone’s lens revealed of the Lumiere Empire’s capital was literal hell on earth.

The proud second defensive wall crumbled like tofu beneath the crude clubs of the giant orcs. The silver-armored holy knights, who normally boasted one-against-a-hundred prowess and lopped off monster heads with ease, had fallen into total chaos. Their commander, Kael, had completely lost his mind clutching a five-gold “discharged glowing lump of iron”—the fake Holy Sword—collapsing the entire chain of command.

In one corner of the screen, Kael swung the smoking scrap metal through empty air, howling desperately. Beside him, Saintess Fiora—her face blackened by soot—sat collapsed among the ruins, coughing and shrieking.

A massive gargoyle dove toward Fiora with razor-sharp claws extended. Then—

Rumble—!!

The tens of thousands of monsters pouring beneath the wall froze mid-charge. Even the diving gargoyle halted in mid-air as if swatted by an invisible giant hand before plummeting to the ground.

An overwhelming, violent pressure of mana crushed the atmosphere so powerfully it could be felt even through the communication orb. The ominous Blood Moon sky vanished beneath roiling clouds of deep purple mana.

At the eye of the storm, on the highest terrace of the Imperial Magic Tower—the tallest structure in the capital—a man with dazzling silver hair floated gracefully into view, cape fluttering.

The Master of the Imperial Magic Tower. The continent’s greatest genius archmage. Unlike the brainless sword-obsessed Kael, he filled the role of the “intellectual, arrogant obsessive” among the female lead’s devoted sponsors.

Elias von Bergmann.

His voice, amplified by expansion magic, thundered across the capital’s night sky, thick with murderous intent and arrogance. Even the monsters flattened themselves against the ground, unable to advance against the crushing aura of a 9th-circle master.

“Ooooh—! It’s the Tower Master!”

“We’re saved! Sir Elias!! The archmage has descended!!”

Citizens and knights who had been fleeing in despair now wept with joy, greeting their savior. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Saintess Fiora clutched her soot-covered face with both hands, gazing up at him ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with tearful, adoring eyes.

Enjoying their fervent reaction, Elias snapped his fingers arrogantly while still floating in mid-air. A geometric magic circle split the space before him, and a massive, thick hardcover book bound in brilliant golden chains slowly materialized. Even through the screen, one could almost smell the ancient parchment and dense magical power radiating from its heavy, time-worn pages.

“Consider it an honor, you worms.”

Elias reached toward the floating book. With a clear ringing sound, the twelve layers of golden chains unwound themselves and scattered into the air. He stroked the thick leather cover with a solemn expression, as though handling the most sacred and dangerous taboo in existence.

“I shall now unseal the forbidden book that has lain in the deepest part of the Magic Tower’s underground vault for hundreds of years—the Ancient Grimoire of Akashic!”

The survivors in the capital erupted in frenzied cheers. This was the crystallization of absolute knowledge, readable only by successive masters of the Magic Tower since the dawn of continental history. Legend claimed the very terrain of the continent would change the moment it was opened.

“With the essence of the 9th circle—the wide-area annihilation spell Meteor Strike—I will erase every last one of you without leaving a single speck of dust!”

It was the perfect climactic scene: a genius archmage breaking the seal on forbidden power to save both the empire and the woman he loved from absolute crisis. A noble, dazzling finale.

“…Huh?”

Yet Clotilde’s reaction, as she watched from her sunbed at the resort, was entirely different from that of the Lumiere citizens. Her hand, which had been elegantly poised to cut the steak, froze in mid-air. She slid her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose and stared fixedly at the cover of the so-called Ancient Grimoire of Akashic that Elias held aloft with reverent hands.

Her brow twitched faintly, as if struck by a terrible sense of déjà vu.

“Wait a second, Ilario.”

“Yes, my lady? Is the meat not to your satisfaction?”

“Not the meat. That. The book.”

Clotilde pointed at Elias on the screen with her silver fork.

“Ancient Grimoire of Akashic? A forbidden book sealed for hundreds of years? That… looks awfully familiar. Red dragon-leather cover with gold corner accents. That’s the one, isn’t it?”

She drew in a sharp breath as though recalling something horrific.

“It was last autumn, wasn’t it? When you asked me to help with that so-called ‘cultural translation project for the Saintess.’ You had me smuggle every book out of the magic archive and replace all the covers with identical leather… That special project. It’s that book, right?”

Her voice, heavy with disbelief, rang out beneath the parasol. Her memory was as flawless as her political intuition. After all, she had personally overseen the grueling work of stripping and rebinding over ten thousand volumes using the ducal family’s secret printing press in the slums. There was no way she could forget.

I sliced a piece of the perfectly grilled tenderloin, dipped it generously in the premium truffle sauce waiting on the plate, and slipped it into my mouth with deep satisfaction. The burst of savory juices and the intense, earthy depth of the truffle wrapped around my tongue like pure bliss.

Chew, chew.

After swallowing the steak at a leisurely pace, I dabbed my lips with a napkin and allowed a distinctly wicked smile to curve my mouth.

“Your eye is as sharp as ever, my lady.”

I raised my glass—still swirling with the last of the champagne—toward the archmage on screen, who was striking a dramatic pose about to cast Meteor Strike.

“The very book the Empire Publishing Ethics Committee labeled an ‘absolutely prohibited forbidden title’ because its content was far too explicit… that legendary 19+ third-rate hardcore romance novel.”

Hundreds of years of accumulated magical knowledge from the Magic Tower? A miracle from the archmage? The incantation that would summon a world-ending meteor?

None of those things remained inside the book Elias now held. The genuine original Ancient Grimoire of Akashic was already serving as a core textbook at the brand-new magic academy I had anonymously founded just beyond the Varcia Empire border. It was busy collecting astronomical tuition fees from wealthy noble scions across the continent.

The real title of the book that the continent’s greatest archmage, Elias von Bergmann, was solemnly holding aloft beneath the live drone broadcast for the entire nation to see was only one.

It was going to be a truly dazzling and romantic night. I could hardly wait for his “passionate 19+ reading session” to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠echo across the capital through amplification magic in front of tens of thousands of survivors.