The Grand Library of Ryou Royal Magic Academy stood tall and silent, its marble pillars reaching toward the heavens like ancient guardians of knowledge. Within its vast, dim corridors, Hotaro Tsuyuki sat hunched over a thick, dust-covered tome. The air was stale with age, and only the sound of flipping pages echoed through the hall.
He had been there for hours—searching.
"Come on… there has to be something about them…" he muttered, eyes scanning every line for any trace of a certain group.
A group of masked figures.
A group with demonic red-horned masks that haunted his memories.
But book after book, shelf after shelf—nothing.
The sun dipped below the horizon, casting golden light through the stained glass windows, but Hotaro remained fixated. Frustrated, he slammed the final book shut.
Hotaro (sighing):
"Fuck man… nothing in this damn library."
He shoved his hands into his pockets and left the library, the flickering crystal lanterns lighting his path back to the dorms. That night, sleep evaded him. The next morning, without informing anyone, Hotaro slipped past the Academy gates.
He had a mission of his own.
---
The capital city of Ryou Kingdom buzzed with life—markets, blacksmiths, scholars, nobles. But Hotaro had no interest in the usual attractions. He moved through alleys, questioned strangers, and poked around suspicious corners.
But no one—no one—knew anything about the masked group.
Hope dwindled.
Eventually, Hotaro stumbled across a shadowy bar tucked away behind layers of alley walls. It wasn't listed on any map. The wooden sign above creaked with the wind, and the place stank of secrecy.
He stepped inside.
Only a few patrons sat scattered in the gloom. Hotaro made his way to the bar and sat down quietly.
Hotaro:
"Apple juice, please."
The old barista raised an eyebrow at the odd request but complied.
Hotaro (softly, while receiving his drink):
"Sorry to ask, but… do you happen to know of a group wearing red-horned demon masks?"
The barista froze. He glanced left, then right, then leaned closer.
Barista (quietly):
"150 Zera for that kind of question."
Hotaro blinked.
What the hell? Information has a price now?
Still, he reached into his pouch and placed the coins on the counter.
The old man pocketed the Zera, then pulled something heavy from under the bar—a thick, aged book bound in cracked leather. He slid it across.
Barista:
"Everything you're looking for is in there. You're new, huh? Next time, the price goes up. This one's a discount—call it a welcome gift."
Hotaro thanked him with a nod and returned to the Academy under cover of dusk.
---
Back in his room, he flipped open the book and began reading.
Hotaro (to himself):
"So there's an underground information network in this city... crafty bastards."
He read deep into the night.
What he found chilled him.
> The group that attacked him... was real.
And far more dangerous than he imagined.
They were known as "Demon Mask"—a revolutionary force from the age of demons. One of five surviving noble demon factions, Demon Mask had once been at the heart of a devastating civil war.
Their leader: Julian, a former Supreme Judge of the demon world.
Once respected, Julian had opposed the new laws imposed by the Demon King.
He was exiled, dishonored. But he didn't fall. He gathered followers. Built an army.
He and his elite commanders—known as The Four Calamities—declared war against the Demon King's regime. The civil war that followed became the bloodiest in recorded history. Demon vs Demon. Noble vs Noble.
> It lasted for a thousand years.
Then, came the birth of humanity.
Civilization rose during the next thousand years,
And the war raged on—spilling into the human world.
Until, suddenly—100 years ago—it all stopped.
The Primordial Dodecarium, the twelve ancient Dungeons that connected realms, sealed shut. Both humans and demons were divided. Worlds separated.
But not all demons vanished.
Some—like Demon Mask—survived.
And they were still here.
Still watching.
Still waiting.
---
Hotaro stared down at the final page, fingers tightening around the book's edges.
Hotaro (softly):
"So that's who you are…"
He closed the book and leaned back.
There would be no turning back now.
Not after this.....
Hotaro let the heavy tome fall shut and tucked it safely inside his dimensional ring. By the flicker of the lone lantern in his room, he traced the rough sketch of that uncharted ruin—an Ancient Dungeon whispered to lie beyond the western highlands.
He slipped on his cloak, fastening his belt of arcane tools, and scribbled a hurried note for Yukino:
> "I'll gone for a day or week, don't worry about me"<
Before first light, he slipped out the academy's back gate and mounted Zero on a grassy knoll. With a flap of great silver wings, he soared westward, leaving the city's spires behind.
---
Hours later, the dragon banked low over a wind–bent forest. Hotaro let Zero glide to a hidden clearing, then dismounted. The air was chill, the sky overcast with rolling clouds.
He consulted the book's sketch beneath the muted dawn, then pressed on through twisted pines and jagged boulders. Every footstep carried him farther from safety—and closer to the past.
At last, the ground gave way to a stone-carved arch half-hidden by moss. Faded runes curled around its frame, identical to those in the secret book. A gust of stale air hissed from within.
Hotaro's heart pounded.
Hotaro (whispering):
"This is it… the Demon Mask's old stronghold."
He lifted his left hand, the silver ring glowing faintly, and with a steady breath, stepped beneath the arch into the Dungeon's yawning maw.
Darkness swallowed him—and the real hunt began.
"Rest now, friend." With a quiet command, the dragon shrank and slipped back into Hotaro's Dimension Ring, sealing away his four wings for the journey ahead.
Drawing a steady breath, Hotaro stepped under the archway. A long, narrow corridor stretched before him—its walls lined with countless Ancient Runes glowing faintly in his orb's blue light.
He traced a fingertip along the nearest inscription and froze.
I can actually read this…
The runes spoke of forbidden history: warnings from the demon era against the deceit of corrupt rulers and their ministers. This dungeon was built as a sanctuary—a last refuge against a cataclysmic assault.
Hotaro's brow furrowed. "What attack could have been so devastating they raised a fortress of magic this size?"
With renewed purpose—and the luxury of a semester break—he smiled. "At least I've got weeks to explore this place."
Minutes later, he came upon a colossal door carved with the same red-horned mask motif he'd seen in the hidden book. A giant lock sat at its center.
Of course—there was a key.
Hotaro remembered the enormous iron key he'd discovered deeper within the lower chambers. But impatience won out.
"Ah, screw it."
He thrust out a hand and whispered the incantation. Technology Magic crackled through his gauntlet before erupting in a controlled explosion. Stone and metal shattered, clouds of dust drifting aside to reveal a vast hall—either a boss chamber or a treasure vault.
Hotaro stepped forward, uneasy. "Something's not right…"
Before he could react, a thunderous boom sounded behind him.
"WTF!"
He whirled to see a three-headed Giant Demon rising from the rubble, each head snarling as it hefted a massive sword.
"Demon, where—!" Hotaro shouted, rolling aside to dodge the first sweeping strike.
Blades clanged against stone as he danced between the heads' horizontal slashes. When a final blow nearly caught him, he sprang into the air—Angel Wings blooming in a burst of heavenly light—to put distance between them.
Do demons these days really love jumpscares?
High above, Hotaro set his gaze on the creature below. "Stop wasting my time!" he called, gathering focus.
"Light Magic: Heaven Judgment!"
A spear of pure light formed above the chamber, its brilliance igniting every painted rune. Hotaro hurled it downward—and as it impaled the Giant Demon's triple skulls through to its spine, shards of light ripped open the heavens. A bolt of celestial lightning struck in tandem, reducing the beast to sparkling motes of luminescence.
Hotaro (exhaled)
"Sigh—even minor demons insist on ultimate moves now?"
he muttered, shaking his head.
With the guardian dispatched, he landed softly. The fallen key lay half-buried in dust at his feet—reminding him that true treasures often waited behind locked doors.
Wiping soot from his cheek, Hotaro turned back toward the deeper shadows of the dungeon.
Hotaro:
"Let's see what other secrets you've been hiding."
And with that, he vanished into the corridor's darkness once more.