No Tea This Time – Rite of the Spacetime Salon
────── Spacetime Salon: Rite. Entering the Spacetime Salon. ───────
If I were an ordinary class, I'd be grumbling about what the hell this skill effect even means. It was not just unfriendly—it was downright cryptic.
Spacetime Salon.
But what was my class again? The king of unfriendliness, Demon Hunter. And with the prior knowledge I'd gained from experience, a seasoned pro like me could make a decent guess.
If it's a rite, it's probably similar to the exorcism ritual.
Rite. Thinking back to the exorcism ritual, there wasn't much issue. Inside the exorcism ritual, even the flow of time ran separately.
If the exorcism ritual is a rite that only Demon Hunters and demons can enter... then the Spacetime Salon must be a rite that only Transcendents can enter.
That thought alone made my shoulders tense up involuntarily. It felt like I'd become some kind of VIP. That kind of vibe?
Even so, I couldn't help but flinch.
Anyway, you always end up making good on every word you spit out.
I'd boasted to Harcon, full of bluff. Asking if he'd trust me. Even though I had zero solutions at the time.
But now that I'd acquired [Spacetime Salon], I had found the one and only option to make good on those words.
The Spacetime Salon. There was a chance I'd meet the Sword Saint, Shreyg—a fellow Transcendent like me.
Shreyg considered demon hunting a pointless endeavor.
Engage in conversation with Shreyg and discern the truth of his actions.
📍 ─ Encounter Shreyg. (In Progress)
The quest left by the Quirnburk Mechanical Tower, of course.
─ Defend Antonium. (In Progress)
And who knows? I might even succeed in the main quest objectives.
But there was barely any information. Especially since I knew there had to be rules, I couldn't act rashly.
Just like the exorcism ritual, there must be rules.
The rules of the exorcism ritual were simple enough. Superior mental strength dominates everything in the rite.
But this was a rite for Transcendents only. The rules wouldn't be that straightforward.
I wanted to scour the internet if I could... but there was no way any related info existed.
"No social gathering is more important than work."
Yeah, yeah, sure it isn't.
I'd only submitted leave to the Mage Tower. The documents piling up on the desk in the Yusra Kingdom office were a separate matter, according to His Lordship Grandfell.
As I scanned the documents, I flinched.
Material from the AAU...?
There was a word that particularly caught my eye.
[Veteran Community].
Only after poring over the contents did I realize.
...This is talking about the Spacetime Salon!!
Thanks to that, I learned the rules of the Spacetime Salon's rite.
And for me, there was no hesitation.
As the sun set in the evening, I stood before the mirror.
I donned [Duke Swallin's Prized Possession], straightened my attire, and aligned my brooch.
If someone asked if I was dressing up just to enter the salon, I could answer firmly.
"This is no pleasant affair."
...A long-forgotten, cringeworthy backstory bubbled up.
The heir of a great house. In high society, Grandfell was like an oasis or mirage in the desert. He rarely showed himself, disliking social events. Yet when he appeared suddenly, he drew every eye...
Seriously. My toes curled so hard I wanted to chop them off...!
I tried to be generous and understand it, but I couldn't. Just say he was popular. It could've ended simply.
Why so specific and detailed?!
Unaware of the attention he receives, yet in truth, he is the object of envy for multitudes, to the point of having followers...
Storm-and-stress period. Nothing but blatant wish-fulfillment in those settings.
I was so embarrassed I could barely look in the mirror.
Of course, Grandfell was as shameless as ever.
Soon enough, I spoke nonchalantly.
"Yet if it cannot be avoided, it must be enjoyed."
Please, just... And I prayed fervently.
May my dark history not replay itself.
*
Clack—
The sound echoed through the hall.
All eyes focused.
They could guess whose unfamiliar presence it was.
The Sword Saint, Shreyg's eyebrow twitched.
The one who cast an upper demon king into hell.
Upper demon king. A being beyond specs that even he—no, even the Transcendents gathered here—could not dare challenge.
Yes. The owner of this presence was the one who had single-handedly cast such an upper demon king into hell.
I couldn't believe it even seeing it.
The evaluators of a new Transcendent's qualifications were the existing Transcendents here.
Thus, they checked the newcomer’s achievements upon arriving at the Spacetime Salon after so long, and were shocked.
And cast their unanimous votes of approval.
An unprecedented unanimous pass.
To think such a capable one remained on the continent.
As expected of the vast Arcana Continent?
Shreyg was more shocked than by the news of the elves appearing.
The birth of such a Transcendent was surprise enough, but for him to come straight to the salon was unexpected.
Someone spoke up about it.
"Some take years just to enter."
The Spacetime Salon. This place wasn't a real space.
It was a space ruled by the rite—one had to realize its existence and access it through enlightenment.
And even realizing it...
One wouldn't dare enter easily.
Stepping into a space with Transcendents of similar—or greater—caliber wasn't easy.
Of course, hostile acts were forbidden in the salon.
Setting rules aside.
As seen, the Transcendents rarely mingled unless in special cases.
They could guess each other's personalities and abilities to some degree.
They knew well there was no gain in conflict.
But one can't know without experiencing it.
Shreyg himself had learned that rule through experience.
Drawing his sword in a quarrel here and getting expelled from the rite.
"A remarkably confident newbie."
Yes. Entering so rashly fast was a show of confidence.
Above all, the approaching footsteps were bold.
Clack—
Soon, amid all the attention.
The new Transcendent revealed himself in the salon.
The chandelier on the ceiling gleamed brilliantly.
Beneath it, his silver hair didn't fade—instead, it shone softly.
Indeed, the silver-haired man showed no hint of intimidation.
Quick to grasp the situation. As expected of one with such achievements.
Not even wearing equipment.
...More importantly, what region's attire is that?
It was clothing unseen on the continent.
Yet it didn't feel out of place.
The fitted top and bottoms clung just right, like a second skin.
Plus accessories that exuded presence without excess.
The man was enough to draw all eyes with his appearance alone.
And he held the overwhelming achievement of slaying an upper demon king?
Perhaps that's why a halo seemed to shine behind him.
But the most surprising was...
"……!"
His natural demeanor.
Even in this rite space, what was seen and felt was no different from reality.
In the opulent, grand salon unseen in Arcana, one's eyes might wander...
Clack—
Yet the man barely glanced at it all.
As if utterly familiar.
He began crossing the salon.
Minds whirred everywhere.
To feel so at home here, he must be nobility or royalty. I couldn't not know such a figure...?
A being that piques curiosity. What transcendent might makes one solo an upper demon king?
No, beyond familiar...
...Isn't he utterly unhesitant?
The murmurs turned to puzzlement.
This was surely his first visit to the Spacetime Salon.
Yet he pierced through it all.
As if he had a purpose.
The man didn't waver.
Minds halted.
I'd rather avoid him.
If his purpose involved me? Absolutely no entanglements.
If this were Arcana Continent, maybe.
I could gauge the gap.
But the unassailable salon rules forbade all hostile acts.
Thus, one couldn't gauge power or might here.
More accurately, the concept didn't exist to sense.
Can't sense, but achievements exist.
An achievement no one else has matched.
The first unanimous pass.
Clack—
Concern mixed with interest in his steps.
Then the man sat.
So, why had he come to the Spacetime Salon?
In the tension.
All eyes awaited his lips parting...
.
.
.
Damn it all.
My dark history never failed me.
His Lordship Grandfell, who claimed zero interest in high society, carried on unperturbed.
But I felt the pouring gazes.
...I really can't win against my past self.
What, oasis and mirage of high society?!
With this much attention, how could he not know? Seriously!!
Clack—
I could swear it. No rift was more burdensome than this salon.
Not just the all-time cringiest dark history hitting home.
These folks here were clearly no ordinary beings at a glance.
The gear alone screams veterans.
[Veteran Community].
The AAU info specified it as such.
A provisional name for a concept, but the setup was obvious at a glance.
[Veteran Community]: Including NPCs. A special place for ultra-high-level players with specific qualifications. Rules are as follows...]
Slot in "Transcendent" for specific qualifications?
No different from the Spacetime Salon.
As expected of the AAU. Not for nothing do they probe the Creator's fragments, as Grandfell said... but...
...Why a salon, of all things.
On one hand, resentment welled up.
Anyway, don't stop walking if possible. And don't look around.
Helpful in times like this.
Posture ramrod straight anywhere.
Thanks to that, I sat in the luxurious chair, ignoring the gazes.
Then gazed at the naturally appearing message.
All facilities in the Spacetime Salon are free per the rules.
Per the rules, everything in the Spacetime Salon was free.
Back when Arcana was just a game, I'd have shrugged it off as a service for veterans.
But knowledge is power.
Now I think I get why.
No substance.
Rite. Ultimately, nothing here had real substance.
That's why it's free. A cat passing a fishmonger, a sparrow a mill—unmissable.
I—Grandfell—examined the message.
Free aligns perfectly with incorruptibility.
That said.
"Hmm."
Don't look so glum, Grandfell.
No way green tea exists here. Especially not teabag green tea.
[Order canceled.]
...Yeah. And who drinks tea in this situation anyway.
I have a clear purpose for coming to the salon.
I wasted no more time.
The vast salon.
Deep blue hair.
Clear blue eyes.
I looked at the Sword Saint, Shreyg.
And opened my mouth.
"Shreyg."
Surrounding Antonium. And destroying the Quirnburk Mechanical Tower on top.
An act devoid of even a speck of pride.
Naturally, no kind words would come from my mouth.
"I ask thee."
"……?"
"Dost thou know thy sins?"
"……!"
...Even so, hurling a fastball out of nowhere.
Definitely touchy from no green tea, Grandfell.
But I couldn't take back the words.
"From now, think wisely and answer."
I continued in a voice colder than ever.
"Thy disposition shall be decided by thy reply."
"!!!"