After hesitating for a moment, the Craft Essence "Spell Tome" appeared in Bell's hand. In that instant, the Craft Essence transformed into a thick book, with the words "Spell Tome" written on the cover in Chinese—as if the author had been worried he wouldn't be able to read it. The thoughtfulness of it left Bell slightly speechless. Honestly, he could read the script of this world just fine.
When he opened the tome, the contents were entirely in Chinese. Every character was in Song font, perfectly legible. It was only after reading the text that Bell truly confirmed the tome was genuine.
'So aside from Divine Constructs, Three-Star Craft Essences can include surprises like this Spell Tome. It might be a good way to make money, but something priced on par with a first-class weapon really isn't easy to sell. Trying to offload something like this is asking to be targeted.'
Though the idea lingered in his mind, once he considered the practicality, Bell dismissed it and turned his focus back to the Spell Tome.
The text on the page quickly caught his eye.
[Magic is divided into two types. One is innate, rooted in racial qualities. The other is acquired, awakened through the grace of the gods.]
The words seemed to etch themselves into Bell's vision, disappearing rapidly as he read.
[Acquired magic, simply put, is self-realization. Interest, recognition, hatred, admiration, awe, longing, desire—the trigger to unleash it always lies within oneself.]
As this string of explanatory text concluded, Bell's vision was suddenly flooded with a blank white field. The words he'd just read guided him toward the right path—toward his own trigger, the source where his magic would be awakened.
[Now then, let's begin.]
The white world shifted into a vivid, modern one. Bell looked around at the familiar scenery, heard a voice in his ears that he hadn't heard in a long time—not the voice of this world, but his voice from before. At the same time, a plain, unremarkable version of himself appeared before him.
"You are..."
[It's me.]
The figure before him smiled—barely, awkwardly—forcing an expression onto an otherwise emotionless face. The result was eerie, but Bell didn't feel any discomfort. Because the one standing in front of him was himself.
[So, what is magic to us?]
'We...?'
Bell was slightly taken aback by the phrasing. He wasn't sure why he used the word "we"—shouldn't it have been 'I'?
The other Bell seemed to understand his confusion. With a snap of his fingers, another person appeared in this unique cognitive space—and their presence left Bell utterly stunned.
"Bell Cranel, you... you've been here all along?"
The Bell Cranel standing before him wore simple linen clothes, his face lit with a pure, innocent smile. So pure, in fact, that Bell couldn't help but feel a pang of shame. Maybe it was because he had taken the place of the one person he couldn't face—the one he had replaced.
"Replaced... is that really what you think?"
The other Bell Cranel suddenly spoke, and something in his tone made Bell sense a deeper meaning behind those words.
"What do you mean?"
"I failed."
"Huh?"
That abrupt statement—'I failed'—left Bell momentarily stunned. But the other Bell continued without pause.
"The Black Dragon subjugation. In the end, all I found was failure. We... Hestia Familia met the same fate as my grandfather and the others. We were completely wiped out."
Bell's eyes widened. He couldn't believe what he was hearing—couldn't believe that those words were coming from the mouth of Bell Cranel. The man standing before him had spoken of the Black Dragon subjugation, but that shouldn't even be possible. The story hadn't progressed that far yet. Which meant... the Bell Cranel in front of him was one who had failed to defeat the Black Dragon.
"Failed... you're the Bell Cranel from the future."
"Don't say that name so casually. It's not just mine—it's yours too."
"But it's not my name."
As Bell voiced his denial, the other Bell suddenly appeared right in front of him, eyes brimming with mocking amusement.
"Eh~ you didn't seriously think you were the only one who transmigrated, did you? That this was your first time crossing over?"
The words made Bell go cold. He could tell—the man was completely serious. And worse, it sounded like this transmigration had happened many times already. The Bell standing before him gave a wry smile, reluctantly affirming the thought.
"That's right. Our transmigrations were never accidents. Stop thinking of them as random. They're just part of fate. Again and again, we reincarnate—until we finally defeat the Black Dragon. Even though we're different individuals, we all share the same identity."
"The original Bell Cranel was the first. Then came us—his counterparts from other worlds. We're all Bell Cranel. Even though our identities and appearances differ across worlds, the truth doesn't change. At first, there were quite a few of us. But with each failure, more and more fell."
"And those of us who failed—faced true death. We're irrelevant to the parallel worlds, with no effect on their flow. We're like grains of sand in a desert—unseen, unnoticed. The world doesn't care whether we live or die. Only we, the parallel versions of Bell Cranel, are caught in this cycle—endlessly repeating and endlessly failing."
"As long as this loop continues, our souls will stay trapped in it, never free."
Bell was fully calm now. The truth of transmigration, of the endless cycles and countless parallel worlds, had been laid bare.
"So... it's my turn now?"
He grinned.
"Exactly. That's our fate. The failure to defeat the Black Dragon, the refusal to accept Hestia Familia's annihilation—that unwillingness bound all of us across parallel worlds. Every version of us with the right conditions is sent into another world, carrying our shared will to resist death."
"Maybe it started for the world's sake, but now... it's just for ourselves. Originally, this cycle was meant to go on forever. Reincarnation, failure, death—over and over. I once believed that too—that this was our purpose. To repeat the process and reset the world doomed to ruin."
"But then we realized something—our countless selves... were no longer countless. That was when we knew fate had reached its final threshold. Either we accept that the world will be destroyed... or we accept our own end."
"Maybe, for us... this really is the only way to break the cycle of suffering."