As the ancients said: “The stronger the item, the weaker the item.”
Starting things off by giving him ten free resurrections—the kind where you didn’t even have to watch an advertisement—made it blindingly obvious that this mission was not going to be simple.
After reading the description of the Regression Anchor, Ian wanted to pack his bags and run away immediately.
He had experienced near-death sensations before, but he didn’t actually want to die.
This temporary item provided ten free chances to resurrect.
Didn’t that mean that in the System’s calculations, he was expected to die at least seven or eight times?
‘System, can we skip this Dalina? I’m afraid of dying…’
Before Ian could finish his thought, the System gave him an answer.
**[You can…]**
‘Oh!’
**[But the plot will veer into the unknown. It is suggested the Host prepare for his funeral in advance.]**
Ian: “…”
While Ian was weighing whether it was more cost-effective to die a few more times or watch the world end, a scene was unfolding at the Connaught Ducal Mansion.
Having also achieved excellent results, Sherivelle had been granted a holiday.
At this moment, she was asking her father, Frederick Connaught, for permission to consult the ancient grimoires.
“Father… I want to look at… the ancient grimoires. I want to make up for my shortcomings in the competition. Is that alright?”
The Duke of Connaught looked at his daughter’s “frail” yet determined face, feeling a sense of relief in his heart.
He was naturally happy that his daughter was taking the initiative to learn and grow stronger.
In particular, seeing her act as if she had truly “returned to normal” on the field, capable of cooperating and communicating with others, gave him even more confidence in Ian’s “mysterious treatment plan.”
However, as a Grand Duke of the Empire, Frederick oversaw the Connaught family’s ancient and dangerous treasury of knowledge.
He was not completely blinded by his affection for his daughter.
Those ancient grimoires, especially the high-tier sections, contained powerful but extremely dangerous—even forbidden—magical knowledge.
To put it simply: ‘Reading too much could easily lead to a mental breakdown.’
Sherivelle had only just “recovered.”
If she were to rashly come into contact with those things, the risk would be too great.
“Sherley, I am very pleased that you have this heart,” the Duke of Connaught said in a gentle voice.
“You may, Sherley. This is a pass for the first three floors of the library.”
The Duke’s arrangement was made with great care; it satisfied his daughter’s thirst for knowledge while restricting her to a relatively safe range.
Sherivelle took the pass from the Duke of Connaught’s hand and lifted her skirt.
She performed a standard lady’s curtsy, thanked him, and then departed.
A pass for only the first three floors meant she could only borrow ancient texts up to the third tier, but for “them,” that was already enough.
That was right—”them.”
A few days later, in the Philemons Mansion, inside Otillia’s “secret room.”
In this secret room, which was lined with various restraint tools and dangerous materials, there was now a table set with an out-of-place, exquisite tea set and many fine desserts.
Otillia looked at Sherivelle, who was sitting opposite her, with ice-blue eyes and cut straight to the chase: “So? Did you find it?”
Sherivelle shook her head, set down her teacup, and said slowly:
“Mr. Cat is simply too much of an outlier. Even after looking through every third-tier grimoire I could find, I didn’t discover a single method to stably imprison him.”
Hearing this, Otillia sighed and took a helpless bite of a pastry.
“With our current means, it is probably impossible to tie Mr. Cat down. I think we need some other methods…”
“Other methods?”
After finishing her pastry, Otillia licked the remaining cream from her slender finger.
“Exactly. Perhaps we should look into some ruins. Maybe we can find something to bind Mr. Cat there.”
Sherivelle picked up a handkerchief and gently wiped the jam from her lips.
“Ruins? Do you mean the Dungeon? But with our current strength, we can’t go below Floor 30. And we don’t need anything from above Floor 30…”
Otillia slumped onto the table dejectedly, her chest pressed into a startling depth.
“Hmph, just because we can’t go to Floor 30 doesn’t mean others can’t…”
Sherivelle looked at Otillia’s startling “abyss” and turned her head away in annoyance.
“Hmm? Do you want to post an adventure commission? Wouldn’t that expose us?”
“Who said I was going to post a commission? Aren’t we still teammates in the same party?”
“Do you mean you want to use Ian and that ‘certain someone’ to take us below Floor 30?”
“Exactly. It just so happens that the Academy’s practical training is coming up soon. With that someone’s status as an Imperial Prince and his strength as the Hero, it won’t be a problem at all for us to descend below Floor 30.”
Sherivelle placed her empty milk glass on the table and let out a soft milk-scented hiccup.
“That is indeed a good method. In that case, the only things we need to prepare are tools for scouting and storage.”
Otillia sat up, her beautiful blue eyes flashing with anticipation.
“Mm-hmm…”
Sherivelle ate the last piece of dessert, and the two girls continued to discuss the finer details of their Dungeon ruins exploration plan.
***
Meanwhile, on the side of the story’s protagonist, Amivie Loswether.
The recent reports from the Capital Patrol were placed on King William’s desk.
The reports detailed the recent performance of Arthur Reinhardt—also known as Amivie Loswether—within the Capital Patrol.
Case One: In the outskirts of the Imperial Capital, Amivy, who was working even while on break, encountered a habitual robber she had once let go.
This time, the moment she saw the criminal pull out a poisoned dagger, she killed him on the spot.
She no longer listened to the robber’s lies.
Case Two: Amivy assisted in the interrogation of a captured cultist.
The cultist was extremely skilled at lying and disguising himself, having kidnapped ten young children to sacrifice to an evil god.
This time, Amivy did not believe his lies about being ill and allowed the interrogator to use mental magic to extract information directly.
…
King William closed the report and leaned back in his chair, his eyes full of relief.
His silly daughter, whose head was filled with nothing but “justice” and “kindness,” had finally changed a little.
It was not in vain that he had spent so much effort trying to correct her—from letting her grow up in the slums to having her undergo practical military training.
“Cough, cough, cough… Grow up quickly, Vie… Your father’s time is running out…”
After a violent bout of coughing, William Reinhardt looked at the dark-red blood in his hand.
He leaned back in his chair dejectedly, staring blankly at the ceiling for a long time.
***
The five-day holiday passed in the blink of an eye.
The Imperial Royal Magic Academy became lively once again.
Behind his mask, Ian arrived at the training ground yawning, sporting two large dark circles under his eyes.
Sherivelle and Otillia had arrived early and were huddled together, whispering secrets.
When they saw Ian walking over, the two girls glanced at him, bowed in greeting, and then went back to their whispering.
Ian nodded in response.
He didn’t have the energy to eavesdrop on them.
The content of the third task had already left him exhausted.
It was hard to say if he would even make it back alive.
While the three people on the training ground were each lost in their own thoughts, the protagonist, Amivie Loswether, brought them a “surprise.”
“Everyone! Good news! My father has granted us special permission to begin our ‘practical training’ early!”
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