The Constellations' Game [Laika]

The moment the message from Leo arrived—

Yeah, I'm busy. Oh boy.

...I've been stuck at Level 22 for almost a week now, my friend.

There's a sad story behind that...

"The Ghost Aqueduct?"

"Let's check it out sometime next week."

"You'll drive the bus for me, right, Leo?"

What made my blood boil even more was the fact that his deception carried not a shred of malice. It was pure, innocent scheming—and that purity was precisely the irritant.

Still, Level 28 already? While his hyung-nim here hasn't managed to gain a single level...

I'd known the guy was extraordinary ever since our first party play together. He was the kind of guy who shattered my expectations every single time. Only a week since leaving the Beginner's Island, and he was already Level 28. That was faster than even the final run of my beta playthrough.

So this is what they mean by a "talent freak," huh?

Which meant that watching him grow like a weed did nothing but good for me. Once this interminable class main quest was over, I'd have myself a bus driver on call. With a fresh reason to grind out Level 30 as fast as possible, Leo was bound to be a massive help.

That said, right at this moment... verifying the fruits of last week's grueling labor was a far more pressing matter.

"Raphaël! It's almost your turn. You ready, right?"

The real reason I could afford such ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠idle thoughts, however, was this—

"Yes, I'm ready. Don't worry."

Reward A. Securing three SP had been the final step under my control, and with that, the progression of this chained quest had passed out of my hands.

What do I mean by that?

Back when I'd been grinding through the Drake labor, I had synced with his body. This time, the quest progressed by syncing simply with his memories.

In plain terms: right now I was seeing the world through Raphaël's eyes, feeling his senses as my own—but I had no control whatsoever over this body.

And so all I could do was watch, a detached observer.

Meanwhile, something was beginning.

"Raphaël! Step forward."

'The Sage of Platinum,' Martel. The headmaster of the academy, and Raphaël's teacher. The moment his voice rang out—

I—no, Raphaël—walked forward with a grimly resolute expression and took his place before the dais.

"Art thou prepared to forge the 'Vessel'?"

"I am, Master."

Stepping up onto the stone platform, Raphaël drew out the prepared materials and began to inscribe a magic circle.

Vwoooong— vwoooong—!

An intricate arcana began to take shape upon the pristine white stone, and I found myself spellbound by the sight. And not merely because I lacked control of this body.

A magic circle ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of golden, rippling light carved onto a blank white canvas. The sensation of drawing it with one's own hands was nothing short of awe-inspiring—enough to raise goosebumps.

Laika is not a game.

A self-evident proposition, perhaps—and yet many players forget it from time to time.

How could they?

The reason was simple. Ten years had passed since the first Gates opened. In that time, the players who had given up on pushing their limits simply stopped testing them, settling instead into the comforts of the real world. As long as they strictly observed the "Gate Safety Code," the world of Laika posed little real threat to them.

What's more, the "System" went out of its way to help players adapt smoothly to Laika's world. Almost as if it dreaded losing its users—like a commercial free-to-play game desperate for retention.

So perhaps it was only natural that most players came to think of Laika as nothing more than a "very realistic" game.

Indeed, some among the self-proclaimed "Gate research societies" went so far as to argue that everything experienced inside a Gate was merely an illusion. Monsters that spilled out into the real world were undeniably real—but the events unfolding within, they claimed, were phantasms generated in a virtual space, unreal until the moment they crossed the threshold.

Give it even a moment's thought and the claim collapses—and yet, absurd as it was, far ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠more people wanted to believe it than you'd expect. Perhaps it was an evasion of instinctive dread. A kind of self-defense mechanism.

Me? I had never entertained such a thought for a single instant, not even while playing the beta server.

Because of the scene unfolding before my eyes at this very moment.

Anyone who had experienced this even once could never, ever think that way.

This vivid sensation, channeled through Raphaël Estère—the mana writhing within his body erupting in an instant and being sucked into the heart of the formula. This uncanny feeling could never have been counterfeited.

GoooOOOO—

But a short while later, I made a rather amusing discovery.

"...!"

I was not the only one watching Raphaël's unfolding craft with reverence.

"It... it cannot be."

"That's the Sigil of the Dragon Soul...!"

Every 'Seraphist' observing the development of Raphaël's formula stood frozen, their stunned gazes riveted to the white stone slab. Even Martel—headmaster of the academy and the greatest Seraphist of the age—had his eyes stretched wide.

"A vessel truly capable of containing the 'Will of the Dragon'...?"

Martel's white beard trembled with astonishment, while Raphaël, utterly indifferent to the reactions around him, poured himself wholly into the unfolding of the formula.

And then, a moment later, with a powerful resonance—

Vwooooong—!

A single small soul awoke atop the light-drenched formula.

Grroowl—

Hold on, though.

Drakiel...?

Even I had never heard that name before.

Why Drakiel, and not Drake?

Its whole body glittered, sheathed in scales. But unlike the Drake I had met at the dragon vein... this small, lizard-like creature bore not silver scales but scales of gold.

Still, not being Drake did it no harm.

No. Quite the opposite—it was tremendously encouraging. Because as I studied the creature closely, one conviction crystallized in my mind:

This Drakiel, without question, was a strict upgrade over Drake.

How could I be so sure?

Because this one looked more like a true Dragon.

It still feels like an evolution in progress, sure... but it has every hallmark of a pureblood dragonkind.

There were several tells, but the biggest one was the wings. Drake, wingless, read more like a lizard than a dragon. This creature, by contrast, had small wings rising from its back—the unmistakable feel of a hatchling of the highest order.

Could the product of a Seraphist's transmutation actually be sold? If it was a dragon, the moneyed magnates would lose their minds over it. The bidding would start in the billions, surely.

"..."

The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠moment my thoughts reached that point, a flurry of questions raced through my head all at once.

Hmm.

Wait—could this transmutation business be performed unlimited times, as long as you had the materials? Summons sold for staggering prices. And a dragon... wouldn't even the base price start at a billion?

Grroo— grrooowwl—!

My transfixed gaze drifted naturally toward Drakiel's face. And the instant my eyes met those golden orbs—

Ziiiing—!

My vision warped with static, and a fresh system message bloomed before me.

A splitting headache crashed over me without warning.

This... wouldn't happen to be punishment for my impious(?) thoughts just now, would it?

And then, in the very next instant, came messages that left me even more dumbfounded.

...Huh?

It just... ends, that abruptly?

What on earth was happening?

Even in the middle of my spiraling confusion, the reward messages registered with impossible clarity. Three SP, sweetly pocketed—and on top of that, a Fragment of the Primordial Dragon's Bone. Sweet didn't begin to cover it; this was cavity-inducing.

Don't tell me it's account-bound...?

And while that thought was still rattling around—

The moment I confirmed the final quest reward, my vision cut to black.