“Is this what you’re trying to obtain?”
“Yes.”
A cave in the snowy mountains, deep within, where a massive hollow lay.
Alon nodded in response to Evan, who had followed him, while gazing at the object before him.
‘It’s nice to see this again after so long.’
An item he always carried while playing Psychedelia.
‘Connected Circular Dance.’
Two rings intertwined with a chain that emitted an eerie glow.
As Alon silently observed the Connected Circular Dance, Evan, standing beside him, spoke.
“It doesn’t look all that special.”
“Does it?”
“Yes, while having two rings connected by a chain is a bit unusual, the design of the chain and rings themselves doesn’t seem particularly unique.”
“Well, the appearance itself isn’t that remarkable.”
“So, what is it used for?”
[Hmph— Do you not even know that?]
It was not Alon who answered Evan’s question but Basiliora.
“Then do you know?”
[Do not mistake me for an ordinary being like yourself.]
“Then what is it?”
[Why should I tell you?]
“If you’re not going to tell me, why butt in, you snake-head?”
[Hmph— It was merely to mock a pathetic human like you for your ignorance.]
As expected.
The moment a conversation started, it quickly turned into an argument over trivial matters.
Watching the all-too-familiar scene, Alon soon turned his gaze back to the Circular Dance.
The Connected Circular Dance, often referred to simply as Circular Dance among players, was essentially a magic conversion adapter.
It had the ability to convert the mana of the wearer’s partner into their own.
‘Of course, there are limitations.’
As Psychedelia progressed toward the later stages, the player’s magic damage significantly outpaced that of their companion characters.
While warriors had little use for it, most mage players relied on this artifact.
Despite its limitations, it helped prevent mana shortages for the player.
Especially for glass cannon mages who focused solely on maximizing magic damage rather than balancing it with their mana pool, this item was indispensable.
…In some ways, it had been necessary for Alon from the very beginning.
Yet, he had only now chosen to retrieve it.
The reason was simple: the Connected Circular Dance was an item that only made sense within a game.
To use this artifact, there had to be someone constantly by his side.
And while transferring mana, that person would be left in a completely defenseless state.
In other words, it essentially turned someone into a walking mana battery.
With the risk of an ambush at any moment, protecting a defenseless person while engaged in battle was an immense challenge.
Moreover, while it was manageable in the game, in reality, finding someone willing to be chained within its limited range and always wear the ring was extremely difficult.
In the game, it was easy to equip it on party members.
But in real life, finding a person who trusted Alon enough to transfer mana to him without hesitation during an intense battle was nearly impossible.
Especially when the chain’s range barely extended even one meter.
With all these restrictions, Alon had only now retrieved the rings.
They were impractical for combat.
But for fueling the magic of “Footsteps of the Past,” which required someone else’s mana to function, they were quite useful.
With that thought settled, Alon glanced at Evan and Basiliora, who were now glaring at each other as if ready to kill.
“Seriously, I always wonder—how do you know all of this?”
“What do you mean?”
Evan, who had been grinding his teeth while arguing with Basiliora just moments ago, now looked at Alon with curiosity.
It was a natural reaction.
Because the cave they were walking through—
“This place is a labyrinth.”
It was a maze.
Alon instinctively shifted his gaze.
The sight of dozens of stone bridges, meticulously laid out like a massive puzzle, would leave anyone unfamiliar with The Maze of Vertigo utterly speechless.
To make matters worse, the cliffs below and surrounding areas teemed with monsters native to the Frozen Mountains.
They were not as strong as those found in jungles, but still clearly classified as mutants, adding to the overall sense of despair.
Yet, despite these threats, Alon remained completely unfazed.
Because he knew the way through the Maze of Vertigo.
In truth, calling it a strategy was an overstatement.
The Maze of Vertigo had an extremely simple solution—
From the moment you entered, if you only kept going right, you would eventually reach the end without any difficulty.
Because of this absurdly simple strategy, Alon had no hesitation in entering the cave.
“You just have to keep going right.”
“That’s… not what I was asking, but… well, whatever.”
“What do you mean, ‘whatever’?”
Evan looked like he wanted to ask something but simply shrugged in the end.
“I just forgot for a moment that I should stop questioning things and just accept them.”
Alon found Evan’s reaction oddly amusing, having not seen it in a while.
[Meow?]
From inside his chest pocket, Blackie tilted its head cutely.
###
After emerging from the cave—or rather, the Maze of Vertigo—Alon boarded a carriage bound for Caliban.
“We’ve finally arrived in Caliban.”
After a journey of nearly a month, Alon once again stood in Caliban.
As he took in the knowledge he had gained from his journey to the north, he began to organize his next steps.
‘First, I need to reach Rank 5. Then, I need to ask Kylrus about the Horizon and Reversal of Heaven. And finally, I should visit the Colony to have the Rubies repaired by the Dragonkin.’
As he laid out his plans, Alon also found himself contemplating a particular term that had been lingering in his mind over the past few weeks.
“Aberration…?”
When he first heard the word, he had brushed it off.
But after hearing it again at the Horizon, it had started to weigh on him.
Even Alon himself didn’t fully understand why it bothered him.
It was just—
Like something stuck in his throat, no matter how much he tried to ignore it, it kept resurfacing in his thoughts.
And then—
Alon felt it.
He realized that this word was incredibly important to him.
Moreover, recently, he had started to feel a strange sense of déjà vu whenever he heard the word “water.”
Just like the feeling he had when he saw Yutia standing amidst the fully bloomed evening primroses.
What on earth was this?
Alon fell into brief contemplation.
“Master—!!”
Thud!
The moment he stepped down from the carriage, he felt someone crash into him.
With arms wrapped tightly around his waist, he couldn’t even see the person’s face.
[Meow—]
Even Blackie, nestled in his chest, let out a bizarre sound at the unexpected ambush(?).
However—
“…Seolrang?”
Recognizing that lively voice, Alon had no trouble guessing the person’s identity.
“Master! It’s been so long!”
As if she had been waiting for him to recognize her, Seolrang wrapped her arms around his neck and rubbed her cheek against him like an excited puppy.
Alon patted her head affectionately, though his expression showed clear curiosity as to why she was in Caliban.
It had been six weeks since he had returned from the north.
###
Northwest.
A towering wall stood between the Allied Kingdom and the Empire.
In a small forest before it, there was a quaint little house.
A house that looked like it belonged in a fairy tale, surrounded by breathtaking scenery.
Inside, two individuals faced each other.
One was Thousand-Year Ice, a warrior from the Northern Barbarians and one of the Seven Strongest Fighters often spoken about in the Allied Kingdom.
Opposite him sat a girl with large fox ears drooping naturally, appearing to be just around twenty years old.
Her long silver hair cascaded down to her hips, and she wore the traditional attire of the Eastern Nation.
With her signature indifferent expression, she gazed straight ahead.
Watching her silently, Thousand-Year Ice scratched his head awkwardly before speaking.
“Uh… am I an unwelcome guest?”
“No.”
Her short, emotionless reply came as she naturally placed her fluffy fox tail onto her lap.
“You’re welcome.”
“…Are you sure you mean that?”
“Yes.”
Another flat, monotone response.
Thousand-Year Ice scratched his head again, his expression turning conflicted.
She said she welcomed him, but—
From his perspective, understanding her true feelings was nearly impossible.
She had always been completely indifferent to everything.
Did she even have emotions…?
As he pondered this, Thousand-Year Ice glanced around the house.
“Still living in the same place, I see.”
“I have no reason to move.”
“…Wouldn’t life be easier if you just joined a faction instead of living out here in the forest? With your abilities, the kingdom would gladly welcome you.”
He wasn’t wrong.
Even though she was currently living alone in the forest—
She was still a fighter on par with Thousand-Year Ice.
In fact, among the Seven Strongest, there were only two who could even match her.
She was, without a doubt, one of the three strongest warriors.
“For someone saying that, aren’t you living alone too?”
“Well, that’s because I serve someone. I don’t even know if the others are still alive, and the few people I can contact all have their own reasons for being where they are. But you—you don’t have any obligations.”
The girl didn’t move a muscle as she replied.
“It’s just too much hassle.”
“Then why not return to the Eastern Nation? There, you wouldn’t have to deal with any hassle. You’d be treated like a noble the moment you arrived.”
At that, Historia, the Sword Saint, quietly stared at him.
And then—
“So, why are you here?”
Her voice broke the silence.
It had nothing to do with the conversation they had just been having.
The shift in topic was abrupt, but Thousand-Year Ice merely shrugged, knowing he had no choice.
The fact that she was dodging the question— meant she had no intention of discussing the subject any further.
Accepting that, he moved on.
“I came because I have something to ask you.”
“About what?”
Historia tilted her head.
Thousand-Year Ice began recounting the events that had taken place during his recent encounter with Eliban.
“Anyway, that’s the gist of it. A guy that shouldn’t exist has appeared, but there’s no information on him. So, I came to see if you knew anything.”
“I haven’t left this place in over ten years.”
“I know that. But I meant—did you ever hear anything about him before? I’ve been investigating, but his past doesn’t add up for someone with that kind of power.”
Muttering to himself, Thousand-Year Ice added—
“I figured you might know something. Even if you don’t move around much, you’ve met a lot of strong people. And someone that powerful wouldn’t just appear out of nowhere.”
After a long silence, Historia finally asked—
“What’s his name?”
“His name?”
“Yes. If you don’t tell me anything, I won’t even be able to think about it.”
His name…
Recalling the information he had received from his contact, Thousand-Year Ice began to answer.
“I think his name is—Elib—”
He couldn’t finish his sentence.
Because Historia, who had been idly sitting there without a care, had suddenly sprung to her feet, kicking back her chair.
“!?”
On top of that—
Her ears perked straight up, and her eyes widened in shock.
Thousand-Year Ice was stunned.
Never—not even once—had he seen her express this much emotion.
Not just in front of him.
But in front of anyone.
Even Black Tiger, who had known her the longest, had never seen her express emotions or show any change in her demeanor.
And yet, now—such a vivid reaction.
‘She definitely knows something…!’
Thousand-Year Ice was certain that Historia knew Eliban.
More than that, he was convinced that Historia had some deep connection to Eliban—one far beyond mere acquaintance.
Otherwise, there was no way she would have reacted so strongly.
With that in mind, Thousand-Year Ice eagerly asked—
“Do you happen to know anything about him?”
“I only know the name.”
“…?”
The unexpected answer left him momentarily bewildered.
“…You only know the name?”
“Yes.”
“…If that’s all you know, then why did you react like that?”
That didn’t make any sense.
Such an intense response couldn’t be from just knowing a name—
“Alon.”
“…What?”
A single name suddenly left her lips.
Historia perked up her ears and repeated it once more.
“Do you know anything about Alon Palatio?”
Thousand-Year Ice was now even more shocked than before.
Swish, swish—
Historia’s long tail swayed excitedly, as if filled with anticipation, unable to stay still.
Cliche Novel 