The wooden door creaked open, revealing two young men stepping inside—one with blond hair, the other with long black hair.Promet and Hadelus had come to the academy's library to rest and tend to their wounds.
Looking around, they saw only elderly people—those who no longer had the strength for anything else. Only they had the calmness to read in a situation like this.
Promet limped toward a bookshelf. It seemed he still couldn't recover properly; otherwise, he would have recklessly thrown himself into other missions already.He pulled out a book and glanced at its title: Twilight of the Gods – Dawn of the Vampires.
Hadelus followed after him, carrying an entire stack of books on mana theory—a muscular bookworm.
Neither of them said a word as they sat down at an empty table by the window, where an overcast, gloomy sky stretched outside.
"…So do you believe what I said?" Promet broke the awkward silence.
"About earlier?"
"…Yeah."
"It sounds unbelievable, you know that?"
Hadelus held up the book in his hand: Introduction to Temporal Mana and Branching Laws.
"You're saying something is messing with the perception of time for this entire place? Hard to believe, isn't it?"
"Not perception—temporal spatial branching," Promet corrected him.
"What's the difference?"
"There is a difference, listen—"
"Alright, alright, listen, my friend." Hadelus cut him off, took a deep breath, then asked:"Is there anyone here capable of distorting something like that? At a festival with ten academies, royal soldiers, and top experts all gathered?"
"…Honestly," Promet rubbed his head, "I don't even understand anything anymore."
"If someone really could do that, we'd be dead already. So what's the point of thinking about it?…"
"Mm…"
Promet inhaled deeply. He tried recounting various details with Hadelus—and realized everything matched up in strange ways.
They spent more than an hour questioning each other about the events before, just to make sure Promet's paranoia wasn't baseless.
Promet had broken his leg earlier. They had tried to stop him from participating in the tournament but failed. Then he was injured, eliminated early, sent to the medical ward, and on the morning of the second day, the terrorist attack happened—and now it was the morning of the third.
"So, in your opinion, who's behind all of this? I mean—the terrorist attack?"
Hadelus calmly explained, looking very much like a teacher tutoring his student.
"Isn't it obvious? Terrorists?"
Promet—like a stereotypical protagonist, or perhaps not—responded with the first thing that came to mind, earning a long sigh from the "teacher."
"Well… You're not a noble, so it's understandable you don't know. In fact, even nobles aren't certain about this."
He pulled out a piece of paper and scribbled on it—his handwriting so terrible it was barely legible.
"These are the conservative eastern noble factions."Hadelus circled a cluster of names.
"These are from the northern economic council."He circled more names, then continued adding and circling until there were four separate groups in total—each representing different noble families.
"None of these families have any representatives here."
Pointing to the page, Hadelus added:"When some noble students were invited as representatives for the tournament, every single one of them refused and left quickly."
He pulled out another sheet, marking groups and writing rapid notes.
"There were also accusations years ago that some nobles were involved with the underground world. But the ruling council dismissed them at the time…"
"Aren't nobles usually involved with the underworld anyway?" Promet asked.
"To some extent. That's why the royal family and the high court rarely act unless there's solid evidence. None of this is new."
Promet stared blankly, then asked:"So they knew but didn't report it—which means—"
"Either they're involved, they're being forced, or they're staying silent for their own interests."
Hadelus pointed at Twilight of the Gods – Dawn of the Vampires and continued:
"You know the history of underground organizations, right?"
"Who the hell has time for that?"
"…Basically, everything traces back to the post-divine era, when empires began to form after humanity and the other races lost divine protection."
He took Promet's book and flipped it open.
There were illustrations of ancient symbols, each era carved onto massive stone pillars.
"Different organizations were created under royal patronage. They were originally tools to strengthen nations—like The Seer."
He flipped to another page, showing a symbol—Over Moon.
"Over Moon, now called The Old Star, belonged to an ancient empire. They fell more than 1,200 years ago, but the organization remains active."
"The reason is simple—they're supported by nobles from other empires. But their nature and ideals still belong to the old empire."
"And then?" Promet asked.
"War, fragmentation—organizations splitting, merging, influencing politics, economics, society… It's hard to find anything that hasn't been touched by them."
"And now—"
Thump.
Hadelus shut the book abruptly. He couldn't say more—Promet was still just a commoner, and Hadelus sensed something.
"…One of the ancient organizations—The Seer—was renamed The Card, a failing underground group in the present…"
Footsteps approached.A gaunt, unsteady old man with freckles across his long face, dressed like a laborer, stepped forward.
"…They represent the will of ancient gods… to resurrect the Lord… and drive out the invaders of reality…"
He extended his hand with a smile.Promet and Hadelus tensed immediately, drawing their weapons.Promet grabbed the book and hurled it at the old man's face, blocking his vision.
A bright flash erupted around them, blinding the space.
"TERRORIST!!"
BOOM!!
The entire library burst into flames—unnatural, consuming everything at once—before collapsing entirely.
Behind the strange old man lay an unconscious young man.Lifting the youth onto his shoulder, the old man left, walking through the sea of fire.
He held the book Promet had thrown—Twilight of the Gods – Dawn of the Vampires.One page inside was open, showing an image drawn in blood:
A figure seated upon a throne—long black hair disheveled, a gaunt face twisted in a demonic way.