[Volume 2 | Chapter 69: Unveil]

Sunlight shattered across Acacia's face, forcing his eyes open before his mind was fully prepared to face the day. For a moment, he lay still in bed, disoriented and adrift in a sea of fragmented dreams. Slowly, reality reasserted itself, and with a groan, he rolled onto his side and pulled the blankets up as a shield against the dawn.

7:23 AM.

He overslept, but honestly, he felt like he had a rather good excuse.

Yesterday's events raced through his mind, disjointed flashes of memory. The discovery that Alaric was the one who had the Modern Tome. The confrontation at Windsor Preparatory's library that ended with him and Noelle being ejected by the security guard. The long walk home afterward, leaving his thoughts in a chaotic whirlwind.

Whatever that book contained had transformed Alaric, and not for the better.

Acacia rose, uncharacteristically purposeful, ignoring the protest from muscles still recovering from Noelle's "gentler" training regimen. The pain felt distant and irrelevant against the growing certainty that Windsor faced a threat far more immediate than political machinations or noble squabbles. He swiftly dragged on his regular red and white baseball jacket, white shirt, and jeans and headed downstairs.

The door suddenly swung open before he could reach it.

"Morning, sleepyhead! I was just coming to wake—" Noelle paused, taking in his fully dressed state and the intensity etched across his androgynous features. "You're… up."

From the doorway, Acacia could see that she was dressed in oversized pajamas with a pattern of little sheep dancing and playing trumpets. Her hair was a mess of tangled curls, and her eyes held a bleary, half-awake quality that suggested she had also just risen.

Oh my days... training starts at 7 AM and she was still sleeping! How the hell did she expect me to be awake by 6:30?!

"I need to get to Windsor Prep," Acacia said, regardless, clipped and precise. He attempted to step around her, but Noelle blocked his path, arms outstretched to fill the doorway.

While she was still smiling, her eyes told a different story. There were the eyes of an Inquisitor-in-training.

"Whoa there, mission man. You can't just storm out again like you did last night."

"I don't have time—"

"You went straight to bed without saying a word after we saw that boy at the library. No explanation, no discussion, you just locked yourself away for hours. That's not how this works, Acacia."

Acacia's eyes narrowed at the sudden shift in her tone. So direct confrontation wouldn't work; Noelle had been entrusted with his supervision, and her sense of duty to Pandora clearly ran deep.

However, that duty could be redirected.

"That was Alaric Ptolemy," he conceded, watching her expression carefully. "Heir to the House of Ptolemy, candidates for elevation to Sovereign status."

"...Really? What's a noble like him doing at that library?"

Acacia let out a small breath. This was working. Noelle had taken the bait, and now her curiosity was engaged.

"That's what I need to find out. He was carrying something... a book that shouldn't exist outside secured archives."

"What kind of book?"

He hesitated.

Yes, that was the logical course of questioning, but he couldn't afford to let slip anything about the Modern Tome. Bismarck's mission remained his alone, and the fewer people who knew about the Dead Sea Scrolls, the better. Noelle's cooperation was necessary, but so was discretion.

"I can't tell you that. It's not because I don't trust you, but because knowledge of this artifact carries a bunch of political implications that would compromise your position as Pandora's subordinate."

It wasn't entirely a lie. If the Viceroy's manipulations were exposed, everyone connected would face consequences as far as he knew.

Noelle's brow furrowed.

"That's... surprisingly considerate of you, but I'm still not comfortable with you running off alone—ESPECIALLY not when it involves nobles and restricted materials."

"Then help me investigate."

A perfect counter.

"As Pandora's temporary ward, I shouldn't be left unsupervised in potentially dangerous situations. As her representative, you have a duty to investigate potential security threats to Windsor. Also, as an Inquisitor-in-training, I'm assuming, this is just the kind of fieldwork that would demonstrate your initiative."

He watched the calculations play across her expressive face, arguments and counterarguments forming and dissolving in real-time. Finally, she seemed to reach some internal equilibrium, and her posture relaxed.

"What would you have me do?" she asked finally.

"Alaric must have been researching something beyond Windsor Prep. Check the other public libraries—the Windsor Town Square Library, the Rosenhein Collection, stuff like that. See if anyone remembers a blue-haired teenager with noble bearing visiting in the past week. Find out what he was researching."

"What'll you be doing?"

"Returning to Windsor Prep. Whatever he was looking for, he found it there. I need to fully talk with the staff."

A slow smile spread across Noelle's face, erasing the last traces of suspicion.

"Just promise me you'll stay out of trouble, okay? We'll meet at Cloudcrest Café at noon to compare findings. Call me immediately if you encounter anything dangerous." She extended a finger, jabbing it toward his chest. "I mean it, Acacia. Pandora would flay me alive if something happened to you on my watch."

"Agreed." He nodded. "And Noelle?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you."

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Noelle blinked.

Despite having met the boy for only a day, she understood at least somewhat that Acacia was not one to just say 'thank you' to just anyone. He was cynical, distrustful, and pessimistic to a tee. For him to show even an ounce of gratitude devoid of self-deprecation was a veritable miracle.

And to that, she didn't know how to respond. Should she admonish him? Say something in a sarcastic or humorous way? Or should she just smile and thank him?

She couldn't say anything because Acacia had already walked past her, and now he was in the living room, putting on his shoes and walking toward the front door.

Jeez... this guy's gonna be the end of my sanity.

Windsor Preparatory rose before him like a cathedral to higher learning with all polished stone and gleaming glass. A shrine to privilege disguised as a place of enlightenment. If walls could speak, these would probably recite classical literature with perfect pronunciation while subtly reminding you of your "inferior breeding."

Well, perhaps that was the Irregular in Acacia talking, but he couldn't deny the building had an intimidating air. The last two times he'd been here, he was too busy with either the prospect of getting put on tomorrow's news as a headline or trying to chase Alaric.

It was 8:03 AM, so the library was open; thankfully, no students were that dedicated enough to study during the summer holidays, so the entrance was empty and Acacia could enter the library without drawing attention.

He approached the front desk where the same middle-aged librarian sat cataloguing returns.

"You again."

Not a question, but a statement weighted with mild disapproval.

The interaction triggered a cascade of analytical threads in Acacia's mind. She remembered him clearly from yesterday's brief, somewhat confrontational exchange. Which meant that whatever ability Alaric possessed to manipulate memories, it was neither automatic nor passive. It required active implementation.

Selective memory erasure? So what are its limitations? Range? Duration? Does it require physical proximity, eye contact, or verbal commands? Wait, with Cassius, he needed to say what he wanted in order for the command to manifest... but what other conditions does he need to meet?

Most intriguingly: why hadn't Alaric erased Acacia from the staff's memory? Maybe Alaric hadn't seen him observing yesterday's library visit. Maybe the ability had temporal limitations, requiring immediate implementation.

Or perhaps—and this thought sent a chill through him—Alaric wanted him to investigate, to follow breadcrumbs toward some predetermined conclusion.

He didn't expect Alaric to be that meticulous, but he had to take precautions. The Ptolemy heir was not someone to be underestimated anymore, not after his sudden growth in the span of a month.

Not only that, if Alaric hadn't returned between yesterday's sighting and now, where was he keeping the book? Even if he didn't know that what he was holding was the Modern Tome, it surely had a lot of value to him. So was it in his estate, or somewhere else?

"Young man, if you've come to stare at our ceiling, I must inform you that we have actual patrons who require assistance."

Her tone snapped him back to the present moment. His behavior yesterday—distracted, demanding, borderline rude—would have left an impression. Social capital was a resource like any other, and he'd squandered it needlessly.

Acacia instantly made a light bow.

"I apologize for my conduct yesterday. I was preoccupied with a matter of some urgency and failed to observe proper courtesy."

The librarian's expression softened marginally, though she still appeared rather suspicious.

"I'm Acacia Belmont," he continued, offering the name that still felt like borrowed clothing rather than his identity. "I'm researching for a summer project on notable Windsor Preparatory alumni. I was hoping you might have information about Alaric Ptolemy's academic interests."

A cover meant to maximize information yield with minimal investment.

The librarian—Ms. Harland, according to her brass nameplate—considered him for a moment before gesturing to her colleagues shelving books nearby.

"Liam, Ophelia... do either of you recall Alaric Ptolemy's research patterns? Mr. Belmont here is conducting an alumni study."

The two junior librarians approached, both in their early twenties. They seemed to have graduated about half a decade ago. The young man—Liam—spoke first, though his tone suggested that knowing the noble was more of a "by-proxy" relationship than a personal one. He was rather skinny, with dirty blonde hair and thick-rimmed glasses.

"Ptolemy was here constantly during term time. Always in the restricted section with special permission from his father." Bitterness colored his words. "Noble privilege and all that."

Ophelia concurred, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind her ear.

"He practically lived here during finals period. Though come to think of it, I haven't seen him at all this month."

"Not since graduation. I assumed he'd moved on to whatever privileged nobles do after school. Private tutoring at the family estate or a university in another province, probably."

Acacia's mind stuttered.

That's... impossible! I literally saw him walking out of this library with that damn book!

Yet three separate staff members, including one who clearly harbored no love for the Ptolemy heir, unanimously agreed they hadn't seen him in weeks.

"You're certain that he has visited at all since the term ended?" Acacia pressed, trying his hardest not to sound accusatory.

Ms. Harland shook her head definitively. "The restricted section requires a staff escort and registration. I personally maintain those records. Mr. Ptolemy hasn't signed in since his Advanced Thaumaturgy final on May 28th."

The contradiction between observable reality and documented fact created a gaping logical chasm that irritated Acacia to no end. Either his own eyes had deceived him, or Alaric's ability to manipulate perception was far more extensive than he'd imagined.

"Has anyone else accessed the restricted section recently? Perhaps someone conducting research similar to Alaric's previous interests?"

Ms. Harland consulted her ledger as her finger traced down neat columns of handwritten entries.

"Only Professor Adelworth from the Thaumaturgical Theory department. He was researching curriculum updates for next term. No students have been granted summer access."

"I see. What subjects particularly interested Alaric? Any patterns to his research?"

"Mostly advanced Elemental Thaumaturgy," Liam offered, seeming more comfortable discussing academic matters than the person himself. "I guess also some experimental stuff on Interference Thaumaturgy and cognitive manipulation. Not really my area."

"He also checked out a lot of historical texts. Old family genealogies, noble lineage documentation... reeks of blue-blood obsessions," Eliza added.

It wasn't anything that immediately connected to ancient tomes or prophetic texts, but the cognitive manipulation angle resonated with his observations of Alaric's strange influence over others.

"Thank you for your assistance, you've been most helpful," Acacia said, recognizing that further questioning would yield diminishing returns.

Ms. Harland highly doubted that, but she kept her thoughts to herself as she curtly replied, "Will there be anything else, Mr. Belmont?"

"No, thank you. I appreciate your time."

Acacia promptly turned and exited the library.

That was... a lot harder than I thought. How does Pandora do this as a job?

Frankly, the investigation had yielded a lot more questions than answers. Essentially, Alaric possessed an ability to selectively edit perception or memory—that much seemed clear, but the scope and mechanics remained frustratingly opaque. If the librarians genuinely believed they hadn't seen Alaric in weeks, despite his presence yesterday, the implications were seriously troubling. It meant the Modern Tome, if that's what the book truly was, had been hidden in plain sight all along, which was what Bismarck previously inferred. Frustratingly enough, it was also accessible only to the one person who could manipulate the cognition of others at will to conceal his access. The perfect security system was literally the simple fact that no one remembered there was anything to secure.

But why allow Acacia to witness his departure with the book? Was that an intentional oversight? A test? Or did his ability have limitations that prevented him from affecting Acacia's perception?

But then... if he remembered what Pandora said, Interference spells apparently don't work on Irregulars because their Subjective Reality was "too weak," so was that it?

No... a spell that could freely wipe the memories of others would be surely be classified as Strategic Class and Magnum Order if it can affect that many at once, and Alaric shouldn't be capable of casting one at that level... So, it has to be a Birthright, right?

Well, whatever Alaric's secret was, it certainly wasn't sitting around the library that was going to uncover it. Acacia needed a new approach, and that meant confiding in her to some extent.

What a damn mess.

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