The mansion’s library was a cathedral of knowledge.
Ayanokoji stood in the center of the vast room, his eyes scanning the towering shelves that stretched up into the shadows.
Thousands of books, scrolls, and manuscripts filled the space, their leather spines gleaming in the soft light of magical lamps.
The air smelled of old paper, ink, and dust—the scent of accumulated centuries.
It was perfect.
Puck floated beside him, his tiny form glowing faintly.
“Roswaal said you wanted to learn.
Well, this is the best place for it.
Everything from basic language primers to advanced magical theory.
Just don’t touch the restricted section on the third floor.
That stuff will melt your brain.”
“Literally or figuratively?” Ayanokoji asked.
“Yes,” Puck replied with a grin.
Ayanokoji had been at the mansion for two weeks.
In that time, he had established a rigorous daily routine.
Mornings were spent with a language tutor, a stern old woman named Beatrice who seemed perpetually annoyed by his existence but was undeniably effective.
Afternoons were dedicated to physical training—he had found an empty courtyard where he could practice his martial arts without interruption.
Evenings were for observation, attending dinners with Emilia and Roswaal, listening to their conversations, cataloging every piece of information.
But the library was his true domain.
He had learned to read the common script within days, his White Room-honed mind absorbing the new symbols with mechanical efficiency.
Now he was devouring everything he could find: history books, political treatises, maps, and, most importantly, works on magic theory.
Magic in this world, he learned, operated through a system of gates and elements.
Each person had an affinity for one or more elements—fire, water, wind, earth—and could manipulate mana through their “gate,” an internal organ that regulated magical energy.
The strength of one’s gate determined their magical capacity, while their affinity determined what types of spells they could cast.
Ayanokoji found the concept fascinating, but also frustrating.
He had no way to test his own magical aptitude.
He couldn’t sense mana the way native inhabitants did, couldn’t feel the flow of energy through his body.
It was like reading about color when you were blind.
“Do I have a gate?” he asked Puck one afternoon.
The spirit tilted his head, considering.
“Everyone has a gate, technically.
It’s part of the soul.
But whether yours is functional after crossing worlds?
That’s another question entirely.
You’re an anomaly, kid.
Your soul is…
different.
Like it’s been through something that changed its fundamental nature.”
The White Room, Ayanokoji thought.
It changed me.
But did it break something too?
He pushed the thought aside.
Even if he could never use magic, he could understand it.
And understanding was its own form of power.
The other topic that consumed his attention was the Royal Selection itself.
He had learned that Lugunica was one of four great nations, protected by a covenant with a divine dragon.
The dragon had recently declared that the kingdom needed a new ruler, and five women had been chosen as candidates.
Emilia was one of them.
The other four were:
Priscilla Barielle: A noblewoman of immense wealth and arrogance.
She believed herself destined to rule and made no secret of her contempt for the other candidates.
Anastasia Hoshin: A merchant princess who had built a trading empire from nothing.
She was cunning, pragmatic, and saw the Selection as just another business venture.
Crusch Karsten: A military leader and the head of a powerful noble house.
She was stern, honorable, and believed in strength through unity.
Felt: A mysterious wildcard, a young thief from the slums who had somehow been chosen by the dragon.
Her background was unknown, but her potential was apparently immense.
Five candidates, each with their own power base, their own agendas, and their own weaknesses, Ayanokoji analyzed.
Emilia is at a disadvantage.
She has Roswaal’s resources, but she lacks political connections and public support.
She’s also a half-elf, which makes her a target of prejudice.
He had learned about the Witch of Envy, the being whose name was synonymous with terror in this world.
The Witch had been a half-elf, and the mere mention of her legacy was enough to make people flinch.
Emilia, with her silver hair and elven features, was often mistaken for her.
That’s the real battle, Ayanokoji realized.
Not just political maneuvering, but public perception.
Emilia needs to overcome centuries of fear and hatred.
That’s a challenge that can’t be solved with force alone.
The thought intrigued him.
It was a problem of psychology, of narrative, of social engineering.
It was exactly the kind of puzzle he was built to solve.
One evening, as he was deep in a tome about the history of the Witch’s Cult, the library door opened.
He looked up to see Rem enter, carrying a tray with tea and small pastries.
“You missed dinner,” she said, her voice soft.
“I thought you might be hungry.”
Ayanokoji blinked.
He had been so absorbed in his reading that he had lost track of time.
“That was…
considerate of you.
Thank you.”
Rem set the tray on a nearby table, her movements precise and graceful.
She didn’t leave immediately, instead hovering near the bookshelf as if uncertain whether to stay or go.
“Is there something you need?” Ayanokoji asked.
“No, I…” She hesitated, her blue eyes flickering to the book in his hands.
“You’re reading about the Witch’s Cult.
That’s…
unusual.
Most people avoid the topic.”
“Fear doesn’t make something disappear,” Ayanokoji said.
“If anything, ignorance makes it more dangerous.
I prefer to understand my enemies.”
Rem’s expression shifted, something flickering in her eyes.
“You consider the Cult your enemy?”
“I consider anyone who threatens Emilia-sama’s goals an enemy.
The Cult is the primary threat to the kingdom’s stability.
Therefore, they are my enemy.”
Rem was silent for a long moment.
Then she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.
“The Cult killed my village.
They slaughtered everyone I loved.
My sister and I only survived because Roswaal-sama found us.”
Ayanokoji set down the book.
He had not expected this level of personal revelation.
“You have a personal stake in this fight, then.”
“More than you can possibly understand.” Rem’s voice was cold, filled with a quiet fury that seemed to radiate from her core.
“If it were up to me, I would hunt them all down and tear them apart with my bare hands.”
Interesting, Ayanokoji thought.
Beneath the polite maid’s exterior is a cauldron of rage.
She’s a weapon waiting to be aimed.
“What about your sister?” he asked.
“Does she share your feelings?”
Rem’s expression softened slightly.
“Ram is…
different.
She lost something that day too, but she processes it differently.
She doesn’t talk about it much.”
“And you?
Do you talk about it?”
Rem looked at him, her eyes wide.
“No.
Not to anyone.
I don’t know why I told you.
Your presence is…
strange.
Like I can say things without being judged.”
Ayanokoji nodded slowly.
“I’m not here to judge.
I’m here to help Emilia-sama succeed.
If that means helping you get revenge on the Cult, then so be it.
We can work together toward that goal.”
Rem’s eyes widened further, surprise and something like hope flickering across her features.
“You would…
help me?”
“I would help Emilia-sama.
If your revenge aligns with her goals, then helping you is simply efficient.” He paused.
“But I need to understand what we’re dealing with.
Tell me about the Cult.
Everything you know.”
And so Rem sat down, and for the next hour, she talked.
She told him about the Witch’s Cult, their fanatical devotion to the Witch of Envy, their seven Archbishops, each representing a different sin, and their leader, the enigmatic figure known only as the Witch of Gluttony.
She told him about the attack on her village, the monsters that had emerged from the shadows, the screams of the dying, and the terrible, world-shattering moment when her sister Ram had lost her horn.
Ayanokoji listened without interrupting, his mind filing away every detail.
The Cult was not just a group of fanatics; they were a force of nature, a plague that had been devastating the kingdom for centuries.
They were the ultimate enemy, the thing that everyone feared but no one could defeat.
They’re also a perfect common enemy, he thought.
If Emilia can position herself as the one who will destroy the Cult, she could unite the kingdom behind her.
But that’s a dangerous game.
The Cult is not to be trifled with.
When Rem finally finished, she looked exhausted but also somehow lighter.
“I’ve never told anyone all of that before,” she admitted.
“It feels…
strange.”
“You’ve been carrying a heavy burden alone,” Ayanokoji observed.
“That’s inefficient.
Burdens should be shared, or they become weapons against you.”
Rem’s lips quirked into a small, tentative smile.
“You have a very cold way of being kind, Ayanokoji-kun.”
“I’ve been told that before.”
She stood, gathering the empty tea tray.
“I should let you rest.
Thank you for listening.”
“Thank you for the information,” Ayanokoji replied.
“We’ll talk more later.”
As Rem left, Ayanokoji leaned back in his chair, his mind racing.
The conversation had been more valuable than a dozen history books.
He now had a direct line to someone who had experienced the Cult’s brutality firsthand, someone who could provide insights that no academic text could offer.
But he also recognized the danger.
Rem’s hatred was a weapon, but it was also a vulnerability.
The Cult could use it against her, could manipulate her into making mistakes.
He would need to be careful about how he used her.
Another piece on the board, he thought.
Another variable to control.
He returned to his reading, but his mind kept drifting back to the conversation.
The Witch’s Cult was a larger threat than he had initially realized.
They were organized, fanatical, and apparently had access to powers that defied conventional understanding.
If they decided to target Emilia—and they almost certainly would, given her resemblance to the Witch—then he would need every resource at his disposal to protect her.
I need to accelerate my preparations, he decided.
I need to understand magic, even if I can’t use it.
I need to know the Cult’s weaknesses.
I need to build alliances with the other residents of the mansion.
He looked around the library, at the thousands of books that surrounded him.
The answers were here, buried in centuries of accumulated knowledge.
He just needed to find them.
The game was getting more complex by the day.
And Kiyotaka Ayanokoji was exactly where he wanted to be.