The Kingdom of Hispanya is a maritime power occupying the Iribia Peninsula to the west of the empire.
True to its nature as a nation raised on land surrounded by sea on all sides, even the empire could not easily rival its naval strength.
Huana was Hispanya's one and only princess.
Hair that seemed to hold the sun within it, and eyes that carried the blue of the Iribian sea.
And a talent far exceeding her years. There was no reason for anyone, inside or outside the royal court, not to cherish her.
Her answer to those expectations was unambiguous.
First place in the entrance examinations at Porca Academy.
The center of the enrollment ceremony naturally gravitated toward Huana.
She drew more attention than even Ofilienne, the Crown Prince's betrothed — truly worthy of being called the protagonist.
The moment the ceremony ended, people swarmed toward her as though they had been waiting.
Amid the rustle of elaborate formal wear and the mingled scents of perfume and sea breeze, greetings came pouring in one after another.
"Congratulations on placing first, Your Highness."
Huana gave a light nod.
Her smile was shallow. Her gaze did not linger.
"His Majesty the King must be overjoyed. Ah — I am Robert von Hetlgeng, the eldest son of House Hetlgeng."
He bowed deeply at the waist.
Huana, out of courtesy, let her eyes drift down to take him in briefly, then answered in a few words.
"I imagine so."
"As expected of Valentía! I, Karl, always knew Your Highness would take first place."
"You've grown even more beautiful since we last met, Your Highness."
"Your Highness!……"
"Princess Huana…"
The more the praise continued, the further Huana's gaze drifted.
Not one of those who approached her came from a lowly house.
They were the sons and daughters of families whose names carried weight across the empire and beyond — people with power and bloodline at their backs.
And yet their words were all the same.
Refined speech, calculated smiles, eyes holding expectations that mirrored one another.
'How tedious.'
Huana muttered inwardly, brief and flat.
She adjusted the gloves in her hands and repeated only the most perfunctory replies.
She was not young enough to be unaware that their interest lay not in her, but in the name and position she held.
Instead, her gaze wandered beyond the crowd.
Through the people, along the front rows near the podium, even to the students just beginning to leave.
'Where is he? He was sitting in the front row.'
Matyos was nowhere to be seen.
The familiar presence she had sensed throughout the ceremony had, at some point, simply vanished.
'Don't tell me he left already?'
For a moment, her brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.
Huana stepped back and swept the area again. Still nothing.
Her lips pressed into a slight pout. Even at a moment like this — placing first in the entrance examinations — he had disappeared without a single word of congratulation.
On the off chance he was with his sister, she glanced toward Ofilienne.
Ofilienne was in the middle of a conversation with imperial nobles. Matyos was not beside her either.
Glance. Glance.
It seemed Ofilienne was also looking for him — even mid-conversation, her grey eyes kept drifting this way and that.
'Where on earth did he go.'
Irritation rose all the way to the back of her throat.
Huana rolled her shoulders once, as though steadying her breath, and muttered under her breath.
"…If I see him next time, I won't let it go."
"Would you care to join me this even— pardon?"
"What."
"Th-that, ah, it's nothing."
The noble who had been about to invite her to dinner swallowed involuntarily and stepped back.
* * *
Skills and items are assigned grades.
Common, Superior, Exceptional, Legendary.
Take, for instance, one of my sister's traits — 'Bloodline of Moretti.'
That belonged to the highest grade: Legendary.
Huana's 'Eternal Flame' was the same.
Legendary grade was the kind of thing only one or two people in an entire generation were born with.
In terms of probability, it bordered on the miraculous, and the standing of such abilities went without saying.
Power capable of shaking the world, or talent capable of altering the course of history.
And then there was something that existed entirely apart from that entire grading system.
Hidden was not a grade.
It was an exception — something that refused classification altogether.
Something that could never be obtained through any established route, and could only fall into one's hands through the layering of multiple playthroughs, choices, failures, and sheer coincidence.
'Getting moderately strong won't be nearly enough.'
Given my position, there was no way to avoid getting entangled in the events ahead.
I needed to grow stronger, and fast.
I made my way to Porca Academy's most celebrated landmark — the Compendium of Wisdom.
The reason such a grandiose name had been attached to what might otherwise seem excessive was simple.
This was humanity's very first library.
I wandered through the Compendium of Wisdom alone.
I had come straight after the enrollment ceremony, so there was no one around. Probably just me.
Shelves without end stretched in orderly rows, and books carrying centuries of history stood quietly in their places. The towering stacks seemed almost to bow their heads and look down at me.
The smell of books permeated the air.
Ink and paper, and the scent of time itself.
Just breathing it in made my mind feel clearer.
Even without having read a single thing, I had the odd illusion of having grown slightly smarter.
'Now, whereabouts would it be…'
Among the countless classification labels, I found the section on architecture.
The thing I was looking for was stored under that heading.
'Found it.'
The book was shelved far above my head.
I reached up, but couldn't touch it.
I tried a light jump, but the result was the same.
I looked around, then dragged over a ladder. The sound of wood scraping against the floor shattered the library's silence.
I climbed the rungs and carefully pulled the book free.
At last, I had it in my hands.
A worn, shabby cover. The corners were frayed and the pages ragged. It was thin enough that it would never catch the eye among so many volumes.
On the cover, in clumsy ancient script, it read only: 'Architectural History of Herna.'
'Hah…'
Yes.
This was exactly what I had been looking for.
*
I had the librarian approve the loan and brought the book back to the dormitory.
I looked around my room.
"Spacious."
The words came out on their own.
This room was a single-occupancy dormitory.
There were two ways to enter Porca Academy.
One was the entrance examination; the other was admission through a letter of recommendation.
I had not sat the examination.
It was thanks to the letter of recommendation my adoptive father Servan had written for me.
For reference, my sister had received a recommendation letter and still sat the examination.
And placed first.
At any rate, single rooms were provided to students admitted by recommendation and to those who scored in the top thirty percent on the entrance examination.
The stated rationale was to cultivate a focused environment and draw out the desire to learn.
I went to the window and drew the curtains.
With the outside light completely blocked, the room fell quiet.
I sat at the desk and lit the lantern.
A small flame cast a round glow across the desktop.
I opened the borrowed book.
— Following the ridge of the Almans Mountains down, one reaches a region called Herna…
On the surface, it was exactly what the title suggested — a record of the architectural history of a place called Herna.
Herna was a name that had already vanished from the map. It was called something else now, and so much time had passed that even its precise location was no longer known.
Fwip fwip fwip!
I flipped through the pages quickly.
The smell of old paper rose up.
Midway through the latter half of the book.
— …a young man with red hair came to their aid…
Red hair. In the long, winding text, it was hardly a remarkable phrase.
But it was the line I had been searching for.
I bit down on my thumb with my canine tooth.
Crunch.
A drop of blood welled up.
I let it fall carefully onto the words 'red hair.'
Drip — the moment the blood touched the text, the book trembled.
Fwwwsh!
The pages turned violently, as though swept by a gust of wind. The letters lifted from the page and twisted in the air, then rearranged themselves into an entirely different configuration.
Thud.
The book fell shut.
The worn outer cover was unchanged, but the title had shifted into ancient script.
— Rosuka's Epic
I steadied my breath for a moment and opened to the first page.
Completely different text appeared.
— [You who read this — I am Rosuka of Egasi. One who was once called a hero.]
The characters were written in an ancient tongue that had since become a dead language.
Fortunately, I had been educated in ancient script.
I read through the book in fits and starts.
This book was an epic written by Rosuka of Egasi himself. It contained his entire life.
'The forgotten hero.'
A thousand years ago, in an age of savagery and war where the law of the jungle was simply the way of things.
Rosuka had slain countless hardships and demons and been revered as a hero.
'But in the end, he could not overcome the demons.'
Countless demons had fallen at Rosuka's hands.
When even the mighty Archdemon was defeated, the demons changed their strategy.
Since they could not kill him themselves, they let time do it for them.
Rosuka was powerful, but he was mortal in the end.
Time passed, he died, and the demons buried everything that was Rosuka in oblivion.
His name, his face, his techniques, his secret arts — none of it was passed down to future generations.
But Rosuka had known.
And so, just before his death, he left behind a book containing everything he was.
'This book is that book.'
This kind of information was only obtainable after clearing the game multiple times.
Without that, it could never be found. It was knowledge only I possessed.
Naturally, Taibeon wouldn't know of it either, so it wouldn't affect the story.
It was Hidden, after all.
— [You who read this will know nothing of me. I was born in Egasi. My father was a hunter, and my mother was the daughter of a woodcutter.]
The handwriting trembled faintly.
It looked like the writhing of something that refused to be forgotten.
— [With me were a family I loved, dear friends, and a beloved.
Because they were there, I was happy. I took up the sword. I took it up for the world they would live in.
I cut down evil, I acted with justice, and I protected the weak…]
As the pages went on, the handwriting grew more violent. His inner state bled through into the script.
— [But I lost everything. A lord who envied me schemed to poison me, but my younger sibling died in my place. My parents were struck with grief and took to their beds, passing away within a few days.
My beloved was violated and killed by that lord.
What is this, exactly?
I took up the sword for the sake of the world. I struck down evil and did good.
But is this the reward for that?
The world has returned the help I gave it with a blade.
I hate it. What reason have I had for raising my sword until now — if anyone knows, please, answer me.]
What followed was revenge.
Cold, relentless slaughter unfolded across the pages.
— [All my vengeance is complete. Yet what remains in me is only the grief of regret, and I have no reason left to live. I have become a madman and a murderer. No different from the enemies I once faced. I am evil. No one praises me any longer.]
— […I was able to leave this epic behind by asking a dear friend. I do not want to be forgotten. I want to leave proof that I breathed in this world.]
— [You who read these words now.
I ask of you. Please use my techniques rightly. Rosuka of Egasi — or, if you prefer, Rosuka of the Red Hair.]
I turned the page with a heavy gaze.
From after the epilogue, everything of Rosuka's was laid bare.
Rosuka of Egasi.
The secret arts of the forgotten hero.
— [I set down the secret arts into which I poured my entire life. I have great confidence in my method of mana cultivation. I say this plainly: it will not fall short of the secret arts of any high and mighty noble house.
A dear friend once told me that my mana shines like the ink-black color of the night sky. Do not misunderstand. Dark does not mean evil. It is simply a color.]
'…Hah. To think I actually obtained this.'
Rosuka's secret arts were among the most prized skills even within the game.
'The absolute pinnacle — a Tier 1 mana cultivation method.'
I focused and read on.
— [Ordinary practitioners accumulate mana within the body and condense it in the heart. But mine is different. The framework of condensing it in the heart is the same, yet the process and the result will be entirely distinct. You will accumulate it not only in the flesh, but in the soul as well.]
I settled comfortably onto the floor.
I followed along with what the epic described.
I breathe in and recall the contents.
— [The crucial point is to empty both flesh and soul, creating the most purely vacant space possible. Close all senses, and draw your consciousness down to the point where only the beating of your heart and the breath of your lungs exist…]
Honestly, even just reading it, this was absurdly difficult.
I was at the point of questioning whether what I was reading was even words.
'…Let's try it anyway.'
I didn't give up.
Whether it turned to gruel or rice, I had to at least make the attempt.
I closed my eyes.
I shut out my hearing.
I felt the beating of my heart and the breath of my lungs.
Thud — thud —
'…Is this it?'
I knew instinctively.
I drew my consciousness down to the point Rosuka had described.
— [Below that, all emotion, memory, and intention will vanish. That is the primordial void.
If you successfully feel the void, you will experience a cold sensation as though you have fallen into a lake, and a fleeting feeling of your breath stopping.]
My body is cold.
My breath stops.
— [If that is so, you have succeeded. You who have entered the void can do anything. However — you must first dismantle what you have built up until now. If you are prepared, then dismantle it.]
To lay a new foundation, the existing one must be torn down.
The 2nd Circle currently coiled around my heart — that is what must be broken.
That is precisely what Rosuka demands.
'I made my peace with this.'
The effort and time I had spent cultivating up to the 2nd Circle was a shame to lose, but compared to Rosuka's secret arts, it amounted to nothing.
In the state of void, my Circle was visible to me in concrete form. Two rings, turning.
I dismantled them.
Crack!
"Hgh…"
The Circle condensed in my heart shattered, and the impact struck my body.
My muscles and bones shuddered. Tendons and sinew vibrated from the shock. The pain was enough to make me double over.
It was only this much because it was the 2nd Circle.
Had the Circle been even slightly higher, it would not have ended at mere pain.
"Hah… hah…"
I quickly steadied my posture.
Bleeding and sweating, I initiated the mana cultivation.
— [Now that you have broken it, what comes next is what matters. Do not mourn the wreckage that was yours — cast it away. Cast all of it away. Compared to what you are about to build, it is nothing but refuse.]
I discarded everything that had composed the 2nd Circle. It came out through blood and breath.
— [Now your flesh and soul are at their most pure. Upon that, you build new mana. And thus, the most pure mana will accumulate.]
I followed Rosuka's words without doubt.
How much time had passed?
[You have acquired a Hidden Skill.]
What I had long awaited had arrived.