Player 0.4 [You have died.] [Reset in progress.]

[ Walk forward past 56 windows. ]

I had activated the Passage Finder skill but did not quite understand its instructions.

What windows?

There wasn’t a structure in sight. No walls. No buildings. Just an unobstructed view of the horizon that stretched endlessly beneath the eerie orange sky. The ground beneath my feet was still that same dark, glossy liquid, rippling faintly as I shifted in place.

However, despite this, I began walking forward. And something caught my eye. I cocked my head and squinted into the puddle.

At first glance, the surface behaved like water—smooth, reflective, and difficult to gauge in depth. Yet my shoes remained dry, supported by an invisible resistance just beneath the shimmer. It felt as if something thin but unbreakable separated me from whatever lay below.

I crouched down for a better look.

And there it was. Beneath the liquid surface—embedded like a pane of glass—was a window. Not metaphorical, but an actual window, its edges barely perceptible unless viewed at the right angle. And beyond it—

I recoiled.

The image beneath my feet was unmistakable.

“Kleave,” I murmured.

Only his faded pink hair confirmed it. The rest of him was unrecognizable—his body swollen, broken, reduced to ruined flesh. A noose cut deep into his neck, suspending him mid-air while black birds tore into what remained, their wings beating and screeching faintly through the glass. The sounds from within were muffled and distant. But it was far too real.

I jerked back and stumbled forward, heart pounding. I inevitably ended up looking at another window.

This one showed a different corpse. Though in contrast to the bloodied Kleave, the man’s skin was pale, stretched tight across his bones. Darkened veins spiderwebbed beneath the surface, and his face was frozen in a mask of pure agony. His mouth was half-open, his eyes sunken and unfocused. Whatever had killed him hadn’t been pleasant.

I froze.

A hand entered the frame of the window—missing two fingers and the skin scarred. It reached into the dead man’s coat and withdrew a small, deep purple velvet sack. The hand tipped it, and phoenix eyes spilled out into his other hand, clinking softly against one another before vanishing from sight.

“Jackpot.” A hoarse voice sounded from within.

My stomach dropped.

I hurried forward, faster this time. But my gaze betrayed me, flicking downward to the next window despite every instinct screaming not to look.

Luckily, this third one had a much less disturbing view. It showed Lisa’s shop. There were shelves of books, and the view shifted slowly, down to an open, large tome.

I exhaled without realizing I’d been holding my breath, relieved at the benign view.

I continued walking forward, passing windows. Thankfully, the views were of more books. Stacks upon stacks.

Then—

Fire.

A view of Leona blasting a blaze of fire that consumed the entire window in brilliant orange and gold. It was my grandmother’s villa.

“Oh.”

I continued walking forward, but the meaning of the windows and the significance of their views had dawned on me.

These weren’t random views. These were all memories. My memories. Blocked away and buried deep in my subconscious.

My gaze snagged on another window.

A man stared back at me.

He had shaggy, unkept hair and a wild beard. His golden eyes looked forward, dulled by exhaustion. What little luster there remained in the gold of his eyes did not extend to the rest of his face. He lifted a green bottle of liquor, the absence of his ring finger and pinky unmistakable.

I felt nauseous.

The person on the other side of the glass, who could have fit in rather well sitting among other beggars on the street… that was me.

Before The Order. Before the Game. Before becoming a Player.

I knew my life after the Frey household fell into ruin was bad. I had simply… forgotten how bad. And the lows that I had sunk to.

I tore my gaze away and pushed forward, forcing my eyes ahead, refusing to look down as the memories continued to move and churn beneath my feet.

The surface rippled with my movement, but the thin, glittering layer held firm—keeping me separate from the dark liquid below.

The stench didn’t reach me.

Thank goodness.

After passing window after window—bottles upon bottles, with hands reaching for more—I finally understood what the giant puddle really was. It wasn’t water.

It was liquor.

My refuge. My escape. My temporary salvation from the horrors and trauma of my original life. The thing I’d used to drown memories I couldn’t bear to face.

I broke into a run, the surface shimmering wildly beneath my steps.

I now understood what even this thin shimmering layer atop the puddle was. It was the Ignorance is Bliss affliction, protecting me from the dark puddle and shielding me from the truth beneath my feet. From the memories sealed behind the many windows.

[ Turn right and walk past 23 windows ]

The instructions said to walk, but I desperately needed to get out of here. I ran.

Views of more books flashed beneath me—merciful, tolerable images. But also the views of the gruesome work of my past profession. Blood. Innards. The work of hands that didn’t hesitate to cut despite the screams, which were thankfully dulled.

It was strange, really. How someone with no stomach for blood had ever ended up doing work that required so much of it. That was why I ultimately found so much solace in the bottle.

[ Jump through the portal. ]

My feet stopped, having passed the required number of windows.

Below me was yet another window, but this one was of a rather recent view. It was the terrace upon which the bizarre and impromptu test had been started by the Red Royal Mage. It was evidently the exit out of this maze that I needed.

I took a deep inhale and readied myself.

I had half a thought to linger in here, and explore and regain memories that I had forgotten. But another part of me, the one that ultimately won out, wished to be freed of this space that encapsulated all of my trauma and horrors. I had a strong suspicion that the Passage Finder skill had identified not only the fastest path out, but also one that avoided exposure to unnecessary trauma.

“Here goes nothing, I suppose.”

And I jumped in.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

“Hmm.”

Augustus sighed, tapping his index finger against his chin.

At a glance, the boy hardly seems dangerous.

The three students were suspended within the protective cocoon, bodies held perfectly still, frozen in place with their eyes shut. Of the three, however, only Luca Frey truly held his interest.

First impressions were not infallible, but they were rarely useless.

And Augustus’ first impression of Luca was… underwhelming.

Luca had followed along with his two friends, despite evident hesitation regarding the whole matter. He also came across as lacking the spark of ambition, failing to take seriously the opportunity this test presented for his future career.

Augustus paced around the cocoon, his green eyes inspecting and cataloging details of the unconscious Luca Frey.

Based on his appearance alone, Luca appeared to be a well-pampered young master. His hands bore only faint calluses—the sort earned from recreational sword practice rather than actual necessity. His frame was slim, almost delicate, unmarred by any real scars or signs of hardship. His skin was smooth, his posture decent.

There was a slight disarray to him: untidy hair, a slight carelessness in presentation. But that was a common flaw among academy students from comfortable backgrounds, stripped of servants and attendants they had never learned to live without.

But he was not the son of a noble house; the name Frey carried no weight.

Augustus straightened.

Perhaps he simply comes from a wealthy family, without any titles to their name?

A merchant family, maybe. Or relations whose fortunes had risen quietly and recently.

Having exhausted the visual inspection, Augustus stifled a yawn.

He produced his pocket watch from his red robes and clicked it open with a soft metallic sound. The thin golden hands swept across the numbers on the perimeter.

From experience, a mage of high potential could get out of the maze of nightmares within an hour and a half. A rare genius might take an hour.

Anyone who lingered longer than that… wasn’t worth a second consideration in their application to the Royal Red Mages. And he intended to terminate the test if it dragged on past the hour-and-a-half mark.

Which left him with the unfortunate reality of waiting.

And most distressingly, with no good novel on hand to pass the time.

His gaze drifted past the terrace wall, down into the city below. Nestled between two white-brick buildings sat a small bookshop, its display window cluttered with uneven stacks of books.

Augustus’s eyes flicked back to the three cocoons.

His green eyes glanced between the bookshop and the three students.

Diving into the subconscious mind had its own dangers, but the most acute danger of conducting this test was that the body was immobilized. Hence the cocoon.

The barrier surrounding the students was not some academy-grade precaution. It was equivalent to the protections Augustus himself would deploy around the royal family during periods of unrest and turbulence. It could withstand siege spells, assassination attempts, and catastrophic interference. Nothing short of a calamity would breach it.

Augustus snapped his watch shut.

It’ll only take me two minutes to get a book and teleport back. Five at most.

It was considered a faux pas to leave someone unattended in the test and the cocoon. Still, the cocoon was designed with a failsafe. Should the test conclude or an hour and a half pass without Augustus’s presence, the barrier would evaporate automatically.

It was a necessary precaution in case something happened to Augustus, to avoid the entrapment of the test takers.

He pursed his lips, glancing once more at the three motionless forms.

Well, it’s not like any of them will finish the maze in the next couple of minutes.

Satisfied, Augustus traced his hand in the air and opened a portal onto the street below. He stepped through without another look back.

***

The errand took longer than planned. Eight minutes in total, with Augustus getting stalled in some much-needed exchange of pleasantries with the bookstore owner to secure the book for free.

I should have expected it. But no matter.

Augustus reopened the portal and returned to the terrace, already engrossed in the novel. He barely made it through the first two sentences of the murder mystery before a voice sounded.

“You’re back.”

Augustus looked up sharply.

There, beside the other two cocoons, sat Luca Frey.

Augustus fumbled for his pocket watch and snapped it open.

Twelve minutes. Only twelve minutes had passed since the start of the test.

“When—” He caught himself, then tried again. “When did you exit the maze?” he asked, unable to fully mask his surprise.

Luca tilted his head, thinking.

“I’m not sure,” Luca replied. “A few minutes ago?”

A few minutes ago?

Augustus studied him in silence, irritated at himself for the lack of a precise record.

But whatever it was, it was a record.

***

“State that his mana core exceeded the thousand range,” Augustus said, having returned to the bar. “And that’s why the measuring device couldn’t record it.”

Ronan was still seated where he’d been left in the bar, having finished his own mug and was currently halfway through Augustus’ mug of beer.

“What?” Ronan blinked. “Are you serious?”

Augustus nodded. “Completely.”

Ronan rubbed his temple. “But—”

“Drop it,” Augustus cut in smoothly. “I’m taking him on as an intern. He’s to be my protégé.”

Ronan’s mouth parted, then closed again.

“…Alright,” he said at last. “If you say so.”

Augustus trusted Ronan’s judgment. He truly did.

But escaping the maze in mere minutes was no small feat. Whether Luca Frey achieved this through some sleight of hand, unfounded mental fortitude, or due to an immeasurable mana core, it frankly didn’t matter.

In fact, if it was sleight of hand, even better.

After all, the most vital skill a mage of the Royal Red Mages could possess wasn’t raw power. There were plenty of capable and talented mages to go about.

What really mattered in a protégé, at least to Augustus, was someone who could manipulate perception and capture the imagination of the public. And someone who could do that would do wonders for his own standing in society.

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