The first thing he noticed was the scent, something faintly sweet, like aged paper and polished wood.

  The second was the pressure on his left hand.

  His fingers twitched. Someone was holding them tightly.

  Above him, crystal light fractured across the ceiling, caught in gold trim and velvet curtains.

  He didn’t remember falling asleep in a place like this. Nor did he recall the old man in a tailored suit adjusting his monocle as he examined his left palm like a priceless artifact.

  The room was larger than anything Aren had seen in this world so far. Though all he could truly discern was the brilliant white light and the ornate designs tracing the ceiling with obsessive precision.

  Actually, now that he thought about it… it felt like a lucid dream, one where he was fully aware he was dreaming.

  ‘Hmm…’

  Aren drew back slightly. Could he really sigh this realistically in a dream? Or perhaps his consciousness was returning.

  Whatever the case, fragments of memory had begun to resurface.

  He had gone to bed last night in turmoil, sneaking bandages from Miss Mira’s medicine box and wrapping his left hand tightly while clutching the black stone.

  He remembered accidentally falling asleep with it still in his palm. Then it had been pressed against his belly… and there had been that strange, internal struggle between forcing himself awake or simply surrendering to the numbness.

  Such a bizarrely difficult choice.

  He still remembered the tingling in his left hand. He remembered the weight of the stone, far heavier than it looked. Its surface had been smooth, like a river pebble kept as a souvenir.

  “Fascinating.”

  The sudden voice jolted him from his thoughts.

  “Wh-What?”

  Aren’s heart shrank. His breath quickened as his gaze swept across the room once more.

  Despite the technological advancements of this world, the architecture still clung to gothic grandeur, walls painted in deep red, gold, and ivory tones. Paintings, old maps, swords, and pieces of armor adorned the walls like trophies.

  In the midst of his observation, Aren noticed the two women who had brought him here. They still hadn’t introduced themselves. Worse, they had called him things like “poisoned” and “cursed.”

  Honestly, he thought they were scammers. He had… experience with that sort of thing.

  Shifting his gaze leftward, the first thing that drew his attention was his hand, or more precisely, the stone upon it.

  What had once been pitch-black was now completely clear.

  Where it touched his skin, dark purple veins had spread outward, clinging to the stone as though it had become part of his body.

  ‘Damn that clown. He even asked for two hundred Aurel,’ Aren cursed silently.

  The old man adjusted his monocle again as he examined the stone. His face twisted and elongated in the reflection of the nearly translucent surface.

  He withdrew his gaze, straightened his back, tightened his tie, and coughed elegantly.

  “You have regained your consciousness. It was faster than expected, but fortunately, I have completed my analysis.”

  His voice was not hoarse. In fact, it was patient and sharply soft, like a blade piercing through cotton.

  ‘Analysis?’

  Now that he recalled, the old man had used some kind of incense to make him fall asleep.

  Aren glanced at his hand again. The pulsing purple veins throbbed like beating drums, yet somehow he felt no pain at all. Still, he was deeply concerned, considering he had picked up that stone from the vomit of the clown’s dragon.

  He took a deep sigh.

  ‘Hope this doesn’t cause some infection.’

  The old man walked a few steps to a nearby tea table and prepared four cups of tea. Apparently, things like tea, coffee, and chocolate existed in this world, though under different names in their language.

  Aren moved to a seat and accepted the cup.

  The old man sat on a simple chair, while the lady with beautiful blue hair sat upon the ornate sofa. The lady with the sword remained standing beside her, sipping her tea without ever taking her eyes off Aren.

  Slightly unnerved by the atmosphere, Aren turned back toward the old man.

  “Ah, my apologies. It seems none of us have introduced ourselves,” the oldman said.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  His gaze turned respectful as he glanced at the lady on the sofa. He bowed slightly, his voice becoming solemn.

  “She is Princess Lunaria Azurein, the seventh heir to House Azurein, the ruler of the clan known as The Ninth Principle.”

  ‘A-A princess!’

  Aren stiffened, failing to react in time. The sword-bearing lady behind her narrowed her gaze, causing Aren to flinch.

  The old man coughed twice, casting him a sidelong glance.

  Realizing his mistake and recalling the etiquette from the books he had read, Aren stood up and bowed properly.

  “I am honored to meet you, my lady. I—I am Aren… Wyrd.”

  He still had not grown accustomed to his new family name.

  “It is indeed a pleasure, Mr. Wyrd.”

  Lunaria returned the greeting with flawless royal etiquette.

  The old man nodded and adjusted his monocle again, as though it were a habitual gesture.

  “The sorcerer behind the princess is Lady Melissa.”

  She finished her tea, her hand returning to the hilt of her sword. Her slightly dark skin carried a majestic glow, harmonizing with the atmosphere of the room. She inclined her head subtly.

  “And lastly, I am a mage in service to the princess, Magnus.”

  “A mage?” Aren asked. “Is that different from a sorcerer?”

  Magnus nodded knowingly.

  “You lack sufficient knowledge regarding the nature of Mana. I must first explain Mana before addressing the condition of your body.”

  ‘Ah, is it that bad? Damn it… what have I done to my body now?’

  Aren felt his heart tighten as he studied Magnus’s expression.

  “To answer what a sorcerer is, I must take you back to the generation of the first sorcerers, the first and last group of humans who were granted Mana by the Dragons. They are what we now call the First Generation. After receiving Mana from the dragons, they awakened their Archetypes.”

  “Archetypes?”

  “Think of it as a unique class of sorcery. Each human is different, and so are the Dragons. Every Archetype is distinct, granting its user different supernatural powers.”

  ‘Huh? So they’re like classes in classic RPGs. But instead of warrior or magician, they’re all unique.’ Aren nodded to himself.

  “As for a mage like myself, think of me as someone who failed to awaken his Mana but learned to manipulate it to some extent. We aren't capable of battle, but our primary purpose lies in assisting a sorcerer’s spellcraft.”

  Aren nodded.

  “I see. But I fail to understand what this has to do with my situation,” he said.

  Magnus finished his tea and polished his monocle.

  “You see, the problem began with the passing of generations. Mana came from dragons, and it is not truly ours to keep. Perhaps that is why our bodies began sealing the Mana inherited from our ancestors. However, there are two ways to awaken this dormant Mana. The first is to experience death, or something close to it. That shock may break the seal. The second, and safer method, is to introduce a small amount of Mana into the body.”

  ‘I see. But I am not from this world, and so I haven't inherited Mana from the first generation.’

  Aren nodded as understanding why he failed that day.

  “But that is also the problem,” Magnus sighed. “Foreign Mana is poisonous. In fact, this method is often used in torture. During the Dragon King Festival, the glowing rocks transfer a small amount of Mana stored within them since the time of the First Generation.”

  His monocle reflected Aren’s face upon its surface.

  “But the stone used to transfer Mana into your body did not merely contain a high dose. It… it…”

  He hesitated.

  “It is corrupted.”

  He spoke the final words like a physician struggling to announce a terminal illness.

  Aren’s heart sank at the word corrupted.

  As a reader of fantasy novels from Earth, he was no stranger to such terminology in a world of magic and dragons.

  “So… am I going to die?” Aren asked. His voice trembled, but he managed to finish the question.

  Magnus glanced at the two ladies, then back at Aren when neither responded.

  “There is no treatment on this planet. You do not have sufficient time to travel to the central planets. Even there, I doubt you would find an effective cure, unless you sought aid from a truly powerful clan.”

  “How much time do I have left?”

  Aren’s voice grew quieter and deeper.

  “An hour,” Magnus replied.

  In his heart, Aren cursed himself for panicking in desperate situations and seeking out shady individuals. He should not have trusted the joker. He should have searched for other options first.

  But it was too late now. His death was drawing closer with every passing moment.

  “So… what will happen now?”

  Magnus pondered for a moment.

  “Hmm. You will either awaken your Archetype… or die a painful death.”

  “I see,” Aren said quietly.

  He knew as someone from another world death was the only option.

  Magnus fell silent.

  “Stones like that are illegal. If you do not mind telling us where you acquired it, then…”

  Aren nodded and explained the situation.

  Magnus recorded it swiftly before glancing at the lady and guiding Aren outside.

  The servants of the mansion brought forth a dragon-pulled carriage and watched as he departed.

  *****

  As the grand hall fell silent in the presence of a princess, a sorcerer, and a mage, the young lady seated elegantly upon the sofa began to blur.

  Her entire being turned translucent, as though she were nothing more than a reflection in a mirror, before shattering into fragments of light.

  From a shadowed corner of the hall, a young woman with majestic light-blue hair, dressed in a beautiful gown, stepped forward.

  As she revealed her true presence, the sorcerer and the mage bowed respectfully.

  “It is gratifying to see the artifact functioning perfectly,” Magnus said.

  “Perfectly? All I could do was sit and greet him in the most simplistic manner,” the princess replied.

  “Well, it is not complete yet. I told you it is merely a prototype,” Magnus answered.

  “Anyone with common knowledge of artifacts would discern its flaws in no time.”

  “Oh my, your silence earlier truly felt unnatural. I must say, I have grown far too accustomed to your usual self,” Magnus laughed lightly.

  “Are you implying that I speak too much?” the princess frowned.

  “For a princess, I would have to say yes. A young lady of your age should be capable of captivating a young man like him instantly. Yet I didn't even see a flicker of interest in his eyes toward your beauty, my lady.”

  “You possess quite a sharp tongue for a century-old geezer,” she replied coldly. “And I doubt someone facing imminent death would be particularly interested in beauty.”

  “You are mistaken, my lady. A man will always choose beauty, no matter what stands in between.”

  Magnus laughed again, though his gaze soon shifted to Melissa, who stood solemnly, still watching the boy’s carriage disappear into the distance.

  “What do you think about that boy?” the princess asked.

  “There is a slight possibility of him becoming a sorcerer,” Magnus sighed as his eyes followed the departing carriage. “But we both know that only a very small number of humans carry the bloodline of the First Generation. For clans, preserving the sorcerer’s bloodline is far more important than battling the Shadow Gate.”

  Magnus retrieved a report from the tea table and opened it.

  “Still, there is a possibility. His records are so thoroughly concealed that even we cannot uncover them. His true identity must be a significant secret.”

  He looked back at the princess.

  “Was it wise of you to let him go?”

  The princess remained silent for a long moment before answering.

  “Melissa will follow him. If the worst comes to pass, grant him a painless death.”

  “And what about the girl we are searching for?” Magnus asked.

  “We will find her soon. The Gate is about to open. That girl from another world will not be able to hide for long.”