Chapter 8

‘All ten treasures are impressive.’

Masterworks of Hermai Merhes, the empire’s chief mage.

Their power and mystery rival even the most storied relics.

‘But they’re not worth coveting. No need to go overboard to get them,’ I thought.

I, Shion Pollinglight, a hero who regressed nineteen years.

Having experienced the deepest mysteries and stood at the highest peaks, the ten treasures didn’t stir much excitement in me.

They held value in determining the next emperor, but as objects, they were merely decent.

‘Except for one.’

Only one treasure wasn’t Hermai’s creation.

It was forged four hundred years ago, during the Succession War of the Golden Emperor’s era.

Over four centuries, no one had found it, so it was passed down through the ages.

‘That one truly deserves the name of treasure,’ I reflected.

I knew its name and its formidable power, a secret no one else had uncovered.

‘Alright, let’s awaken the library’s treasure.’

* * *

Behold the grandeur of the Cordis Imperial Grand Library!

Six hundred thousand books in the empire’s common tongue, four hundred thousand in foreign languages.

A staggering total of one million volumes, an almost unbelievable number and that’s just the paper books—only the great archive of the Silver Dragon Magic Kingdom could compare.

The vast collection wasn’t the library’s only boast.

Ancient tomes of leather or scrolls slumbered through the ages, and some said even clay tablets from antiquity were preserved here.

Rare manuscripts and mystical grimoires were, of course, included.

What bibliophile wouldn’t adore this place?

What scholar or mage wouldn’t salivate?

For this reason, the Imperial Grand Library’s security was exceptionally tight.

But for me, Zionis, the Fifth Prince, it posed no issue.

Even if treated poorly, I was still a prince, the Great Emperor Continua’s own son.

“Good evening, Your Highness Zionis,” a guard greeted.

“You too,” I replied, giving a light wave.

At first, the guards were awkward around me, but after my daily visits, we’d grown familiar.

As I touched the door, a blue light flashed.

Some unknown magic verified my identity and opened the gate.

Near the entrance, a group in matching uniforms scribbled with pens.

I approached one of them naturally.

“Laires, returning these,” I said.

“Finished already, Your Highness?” Laires asked.

“I read all day,” I replied.

Laires, the man called, smiled and took the books.

“Heard the news? Their Highnesses the First Prince and First Princess each found a treasure already. In just fifteen days—impressive, right?” he said.

“Does that concern me?” I asked.

“It’s not entirely unrelated,” Laires replied, adjusting his glasses.

He was a junior librarian at the Imperial Grand Library, but he spoke to me casually.

I didn’t mind keeping things friendly. Our shared taste in books helped.

“So, how were they? Pretty good, right?” Laires asked.

“Yeah. The ending was especially great. I nearly cried when everyone I’d saved showed up one by one,” I said.

“I did cry,” Laires admitted.

“Over that?” I asked.

“It’s classic, so it hits hard,” he said.

We exchanged a few light words.

Which books were fun, which parts stood out—stuffy topics hard to discuss elsewhere.

Soon, Laires’s hand paused.

He’d finished processing the return of my books.

“Shall I recommend something, Your Highness?” he offered.

“No, I’ll browse today,” I said.

“Very well, enjoy your time,” he said, sending me off with a smile.

I returned a smile.

Outside, the Succession War had everyone on edge, but this place felt like another world.

I moved my feet slowly.

‘That librarian is one of Leniar’s informants, isn’t he?’ I thought, sensing eyes on me and smiling subtly.

He was a real librarian but had been bribed to watch me.

No problem, though. I was confident I could fool even a trained spy, let alone an ordinary librarian.

‘After such a friendly chat, he won’t suspect a thing,’ I assured myself.

I moved forward, weaving through the shelves, heading somewhere more secluded.

The librarian didn’t pay much mind.

He already saw me as an eleven-year-old kid.

He’d probably keep up his half-hearted surveillance and submit a half-hearted report, just like yesterday.

‘Alright, time to get to work.’

* * *

The Imperial Grand Library had ten floors.

Seven above, three below.

At least, that’s what was known.

The higher the floor, the rarer the books. Grimoires imbued with power started at the fourth floor.

Even as a prince, I’d need special clearance to access them.

A dean of the Imperial Academy of Magic might have standing permission.

But I had no interest in such things.

‘No business upstairs. Where’s the fiction section…?’ I wondered.

I scanned the shelves.

Not here, not there, maybe this one? No.

After passing a few, I stopped. ‘Imperial Fiction.’

I examined the section closely.

Being short, I felt a bit embarrassed dragging over a stepstool.

‘Found it! Pilgrim of the AbyssVolume One! Author, Artis Atea, confirmed,’ I noted.

Now, where was the second volume?

I tucked the book under my arm and darted around.

With a clear goal, it didn’t take long.

Soon, I gathered seven novels, all by the same author.

“Artis Atea’s seven-volume series. Found them quickly,” I said.

I looked for a suitable spot, somewhere out of sight.

I passed a couple in a romantic moment but ignored them.

Bold of them—damaging a rare book would get them sacked.

Whistling as I walked, I spotted a place.

Shaded and cool, secluded and cozy.

Someone had left a chair there.

As an eleven-year-old Zionis, I stacked the books and hopped onto it.

“Reading aloud feels embarrassing, but here goes…” I muttered.

I’d come to this hidden spot to read aloud. Getting caught would be awkward and suspicious.

“…I, Artis Atea, had a strange experience in the Draco Mountains. I declare this story is based on true events…” I began.

* * *

“…Hmm. My first time with Artis Atea’s novels, and they’re just as I heard,” I said.

Artis Atea’s books weren’t thick.

Reading all seven aloud took only three hours.

But they were enough to wear down my mind.

“…Utterly, disgustingly dull!” I exclaimed, setting the books down in frustration.

Unrelatable characters, stiff and lengthy sentences like a thesis, and a plot so disastrous it deserved the term!

How could someone write seven volumes without improving?

Finding a decent part was rare.

“How did this even get published?” I wondered.

Checking the back, I saw, ‘This book was self-published.’ No surprise there—I sighed.

I examined the books I’d set down.

“I brought seven, but now there’s eight,” I noted, smiling faintly.

That was why I’d read these painfully dull novels.

“Found it. The hidden eighth book,” I said.

Its cover was black.

Even the pages were pitch-black, with no content written.

Only the title and author were in golden ink, written in ancient Hotus script.

The author, as expected, was ‘Artis Atea.’

The title, short and blunt: ‘Key.’

No hint of what it unlocked or how to use it—utterly unhelpful.

Without regressing from the future, I’d never have guessed.

That’s why I knew how to use this book.

‘Few know Artis Atea is Sen Sorti’s pen name,’ I thought.

Sen Sorti, the chief mage during the Succession War four hundred years ago.

A novelist with zero talent but enough grit to churn out seven books.

The library’s treasure was his creation. I picked up the black-covered book, grumbling.

‘No wonder it went unfound for four hundred years. Reading seven awful novels aloud in the library to find it? Who’d try that?’ I thought.

In a way, it was the hardest trial.

“Anyway, if I slot this book here… There we go,” I said.

A rumble echoed as the bookshelf opened.

Stone stairs led down, deeper down.

I shoved Artis Atea’s novels haphazardly into a nearby shelf to hide my tracks.

“Just as I heard. It’s down there,” I said, smiling at the stairs.

Without hesitation, I stepped forward.

“The treasure of treasures, the Mana Armor Valziart!”

* * *

I descended the dark stairs for a while.

“…Ugh. This unease is definitely…” I muttered.

A strange but familiar sensation.

Like my soul’s strength was being drained.

“…A magic suppression field. Still this strong after four hundred years? No wonder even Hermai couldn’t touch it,” I said.

Chief mage, optimus magus.

The prestigious title bestowed on the empire’s greatest mage of an era.

The Grand Dean of the Imperial Academy of Magic, a six-star mage, Hermai Merhes.

But above that, a more glorious name.

First Mage, primus magus!

The greatest across all lands and times.

Reserved for one mage alone.

“Who else but Sen Sorti would be called the First Mage?” I mused.

No mage was, is, or will be greater than Sen Sorti.

“Though he had no talent for novels,” I added.

If Sen Sorti, alias Artis Atea, heard that, he’d be furious.

But what could he do?

He wasn’t here to hear it.

‘Writing something that dull is mental pollution in its own way,’ I thought, my mind still scarred from those seven novels.

“I want people to read your work, but making it a trial? How’s anyone supposed to find it?” I grumbled.

The absurdity hit me again.

Read seven novels under a pen name aloud to open a door?

No one would figure it out!

No other prince or princess but me could.

I shook my head, certain of it.

“Unless they heard it straight from Sen Sorti!” I said.

Sen Sorti was from four centuries ago.

Yet he was still alive, living carefree under another name, still writing novels.

I wished he’d quit.

But thinking of him made me miss him.

“We were pretty close. If not, I wouldn’t have heard about Valziart or its trial,” I reflected.

That was before my Regression, of course.

Nineteen years back, Sen Sorti wouldn’t know me.

The thought made me a bit wistful.

“We’ll meet again. For now, Valziart…” I said.

A click sounded, followed by sharp whooshes. I ducked quickly as ice spikes grazed where my head had been.

The click, click continued.

“…The traps are still active?” I muttered.

After four hundred years?

As if answering, the floor opened, revealing a pit of spikes.

I leapt back, dodging it.

Then spears shot from the wall.

I barely avoided them, but a long scratch marked my arm.

“This might be a bit tiring for a kid’s body,” I said.

The traps kept coming.

Rolling boulders, flying arrows.

Classic, almost archaic, but dangerous for it.

“…A bit of exertion makes for a good warm-up, right?” I said.

I vaulted over a boulder and dodged arrows.

No need to tap into my first Secret yet. I rubbed my chin, unfazed.

I hadn’t lived a soft life to be rattled by this.

“Hup,” I grunted.

A spear retracting into the wall was wooden.

Four hundred years couldn’t spare it entirely.

As expected, it snapped with a tug.

I gripped it tightly. Heavy for a child, but manageable under my arm.

Even if not a warrior, I had some martial training.

My best weapon? The lance.

Old and plain, but better than nothing. I swung the spear, grinning.

“These traps? I’ll breeze through them like they’re nothing.”

* * *

I passed the traps.

Like they were nothing, just as I’d said.

That was truly it.

“Phew. Tougher than I thought,” I said, wiping sweat and setting the spear down.

“But a quick whoosh and swish made it simple,” I added.

A few scratches remained, one deep on my right hand.

I tore my clothes to bandage it.

Pies would’ve fainted seeing me ruin fine garments, but he wasn’t here.

So, it was fine.

The stairs ended, and a large stone door appeared.

“If Sen Sorti was right, this door’s the last hurdle… Something’s written on it,” I noted.

Faint golden light shimmered above the door.

On closer look, it was text in ancient Hotus script. Hard to read in the dimness and unfamiliar script, but I made it out.

[Answer. Who am I, whom no one can know?]

“Oh, a clichéd riddle!” I exclaimed.

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