The Regressed Prince Holds Many Secrets

Chapter 9

Deep beneath the Imperial Grand Library lies a treasure of the Succession War.

The masterpiece of the First Mage, Sen Sorti, crafted four hundred years ago—the most powerful and ancient treasure, the Mana Armor Valziart.

After reading seven painfully dull novels to unlock the door to the underground, I breezed through the traps with a whoosh and a swish.

And then I faced a single question.

[Answer. Who am I, whom no one can know?]

“The final hurdle is a riddle. Talk about disgustingly clichéd,” I scoffed.

A riddle waiting at the end of the traps.

If you couldn’t prove your wisdom, you couldn’t pass… Even for a trial from four hundred years ago, this was unforgivably trite.

I shook my head, muttering.

“Well, with the kind of taste that wrote those novels, what can you expect?”

If Sen Sorti were here, he’d have grabbed me by the collar in a rage.

But he wasn’t.

So what?

Feeling a bit smug, I chuckled.

“It’s not hard at all. It was a phrase Sen Sorti always had on his lips,” I thought.

Who am I, whom no one can know? I already knew the answer.

The moment I heard the question, it came to me.

I, Shion Pollinglight, placed my hand on the door.

“I don’t know you. That’s my answer.”

Rumble—! The door opened.

For an ancient mechanism, it was understood well.

Then again, it was Sen Sorti’s work.

Without waiting for it to open fully, I slipped through.

“If no one knows you, how could I? Lame wordplay,” I muttered.

Beyond was a small chamber.

A statue of a robed mage caught my eye first.

Its features felt familiar.

A four-hundred-year-old statue, yet a face from my memories.

“I came to the right place,” I confirmed.

Carved at its base: ‘First Mage Sen Sorti.’

“Then that must be…” I said, looking ahead.

At the chamber’s center, a black sphere pulsed.

“Mana Armor Valziart!”

* * *

Mana Armor Valziart. Sen Sorti’s masterpiece.

It was said to be a shadow metal that bonded with its master.

Fluid like water, sharp like a blade.

An armor that could shift freely into weapons or shields!

But that was only a fraction of the truth, laced with distortions.

I knew Valziart’s true nature.

So, placing my hand on the black sphere, I intoned, “Awaken, Valziart.”

“……”

The black sphere didn’t budge.

I scratched the back of my head in irritation and pulled a small knife from my pocket.

A meat-cutting knife, but enough to draw a bit of blood from my finger.

I let a drop fall onto the sphere and shouted, “This is the blood of Cordis. Don’t ignore it—fulfill your duty!”

“Tch.”

A playful giggle echoed.

Cheeky and innocent.

“Well, aren’t you clever!” the voice said.

The black sphere pulsed more intensely, and slender white hands and feet emerged.

Valziart transformed—from an inorganic black sphere into a black-haired girl in a fluttering skirt.

“Yep, that’s right! I don’t know where you heard it, but you found me!” she chirped.

Her black skirt swished as she laughed.

Her hair and eyes were pitch-black too.

As she pranced about, her skirt and twin braids danced, dizzying my vision.

“I’m Valziart, the treasure of treasures, born of the First Mage Sen Sorti!” she declared.

She grabbed her skirt and bowed politely, her etiquette flawless, straight out of the Cordis imperial court.

Seeing her pale neck, I smirked.

“Not even human, yet acting like one,” I said.

“Oh my. Nameless princess, why so sharp?” she teased.

“…I’m a guy,” I corrected, my face dead serious.

“No way! With that face? What a shame!” she exclaimed, covering her mouth dramatically.

She squealed and pranced toward me.

“If your hair were just a bit longer, you’d shake the empire! Such dazzling blonde hair, such radiant eyes—and a boy!” she gushed.

She leaned close, reaching for my face.

I swatted her hand away.

“Don’t touch me,” I warned.

“Wow, so prickly,” she said, laughing playfully.

I didn’t laugh back.

Anyone who knew her true nature would react the same.

“Fine, fine. I’ll humor the lovely but impatient prince,” she said.

She spun gracefully, moving as if dancing.

“Let’s hurry up and have the talk we need to have,” she said.

Her black braids swirled, her smile deepened.

Her slender limbs moved grandly, her demeanor theatrical.

“Prince, oh prince,” she whispered.

“Why have you come for this Valziart?”

“To claim you,” I answered.

“Oh my! So bold! I’m flattered, but if it’s you, prince…” she squealed, her voice rising.

My face twisted beyond deadpan. Her theatrics were grating.

“And why do you want to claim me?” she asked.

“Claiming treasures is a prince’s duty in the Succession War,” I said.

“Wow, a flawless answer!” she said, giggling again.

“Prepared or not, that was perfect. You’re just too splendid, prince, no matter how I look at you,” she added.

Her lips curled slyly, her smile carrying hidden intent.

“But, you know…” she said, her tone shifting.

“This Valziart has a good nose.”

The doll-like armor mimicked sniffing, her face playful.

“You can’t hide it, even if you try. It’s faint but clear. You, prince, have a smell,” she said.

She mimed covering her nose.

“The smell of blood, tears, screams! And…” she continued.

Deep in her eyes, something black lurked.

Her dark, shimmering gaze and upturned lips made her doll-like features eerie.

“…Above all, the pungent smell of lies!” she declared.

“……”

“Lies, lies, lies! Your soul reeks of lies!” she said, grinning broadly.

“You’re a keeper of secrets, prince,” she added, cackling and clutching her stomach.

“What secrets are you hiding behind that pretty face that stinks so badly?” she asked, peering at me.

“To speak of worthiness while reeking like that—how laughable.”

She saw through the soul of Shion Pollinglight, hidden behind an eleven-year-old Zionis’s body, glimpsing my secrets.

Even just sensing something was enough to know it didn’t suit a noble prince.

“Sorry, prince. A secret-keeper like you isn’t fit to be emperor,” Valziart said firmly, her black dress fluttering.

“I refuse to become yours.”

* * *

“Oh, but it breaks my heart!” she exclaimed.

Even after refusing, her dramatics persisted.

“It’s rare, so rare, to meet a beauty like you, prince. Do you know how it pains me to refuse?”

she said, her eyes glistening as if shedding tears.

“But I’m a treasure and guardian of trials! I can’t allow myself to be a threat to the empire. That face is a pity, but…” she trailed off.

I let her ramble.

Only when she quieted did I burst into laughter—a clear sneer.

“Such heartfelt nonsense. Four hundred years locked away, and all you did was practice acting?” I mocked.

“…What do you mean?” she asked, feigning ignorance.

Her pretense only deepened my sneer. I jabbed, “You don’t care about the empire one bit.”

“…How rude,” she said.

“Drop the shoddy playacting, mud lump,” I snapped.

“……”

For the first time, her face hardened.

Her smile froze, as if something black might burst from her mouth. I laughed at the sight.

“Valziart, I know you. I know your situation,” I said.

Sen Sorti had described the Mana Armor Valziart: ‘An armor woven from hundreds of thousands of shadow metal strands.’ A lie.

Valziart wasn’t some living armor.

It was something far more sinister, chilling and dangerous.

“I know how a noble of the shadow realm ended up being leashed by a human,” I said.

“……”

She looked like a girl but wasn’t.

She mimicked human form but wasn’t human.

A higher being, akin to demons, descended from another dimension to devour human souls.

Yet defeated by a human mage, reduced to a tool—how laughable.

“Sen Sorti’s leash must feel tight,” I said.

“……”

“Become mine, Valziart. I’ll set you free from here,” I offered.

“Huh… You even knew that,” she said, lifting her head with a sly laugh.

“Suspicious secret-keeper. How did someone like you come from Cordis’s bloodline? Or is it because of that bloodline?” she mused, her laugh sticky and dark.

Her face remained cute, but it felt like it could collapse into black mud.

This felt more natural—far more than her human mimicry.

“But, prince, you’re mistaken about something,” she said.

Her lips twisted unpleasantly. She no longer hid her monstrous nature.

“You say you’ll free me, but you just want to put me on a new leash, don’t you?” she accused.

“Can’t deny that,” I admitted.

“Then this Valziart must, regretfully but firmly, refuse you again,” she said.

She was done with servitude.

She grabbed her skirt and bowed, her etiquette still perfect.

“A refusal. Well, that’s your choice,” I said.

“Oh, you understand?” she asked.

“It’s your will,” I replied, glancing sidelong.

Something dripped from beneath her skirt.

“But even if you refuse, why are you letting your shadows loose?” I asked.

More kept dripping—*plop, plop*.

“They look pretty ferocious,” I noted.

Black, writhing like living mud. That must be her true form in this dimension.

“Oh, prince. So clueless,” she said, covering her mouth with a laugh.

“I refused because I’m tired of servitude, but I can’t miss a chance after four hundred years,” she added.

The mud coalesced into a smooth shape, writhing like tentacles, their tips hard and sharp like blades. She raised several toward me.

“Don’t worry. I’ll just borrow your body a bit,” she said.

“Humans die if their bodies are taken,” I pointed out.

“I know,” she said, her eyes glinting darkly.

“You came to enslave me, didn’t you?” she accused.

“True enough,” I admitted, nodding.

“So you’re resorting to brute force?” I asked.

“If you’d surrender your body willingly, I wouldn’t have to,” she said.

“No chance of that,” I replied.

“Then I have no choice,” she said.

We faced each other, laughing—*hahaha*.

“Now, prince…” she said, her eyes turning black and viscous, like ancient mud.

“…I’ll take that body!”

* * *

“Oh, what a beautiful day!” Valziart exclaimed, elated.

“Four hundred years, hahaha, finally—!”

No wonder.

Trapped by Sen Sorti, four centuries had passed.

The grueling time without a decent meal was finally ending.

A prince’s body wouldn’t trigger Sen Sorti’s wards.

“And that face, soon to be mine…” she said.

No point hiding it—she was picky about her host’s appearance and my looks were very much to her taste.

That straight nose, long lashes, delicate air!

A boy with such a face—she couldn’t resist!

“…I really can’t resist!” she declared.

Her shadow tentacles lashed out.

They belonged to the shadow realm.

Ordinary forces couldn’t counter them.

I seemed to prepare something, but shadows engulfed me quickly.

“…Hmm,” I muttered.

“Heh. Too easy, prince! And you thought you’d claim this Valziart!” she taunted.

She sniffed the mana’s echo and smirked.

“Not even a mage, no magic tools,” she noted.

My mana’s echo was faint, barely there.

Any magic I could wield would be rudimentary.

“How did you think you’d reach me?” she mocked.

Without magic, touching the shadow realm was near impossible.

To her, I posed no threat.

Simple, then.

Take this beautiful prince’s body and escape.

“Easy, so easy, prince! Almost too easy!” she crowed.

I vanished completely, smothered by mud-like shadows.

They hardened like steel, far stronger.

Without a miracle, a boy’s strength couldn’t break through.

“Hahaha, wait, Cordis! I’ll tear you apart with your own bloodline!” she laughed, drunk on victory.

“Sen Sorti, I’ll turn your precious empire into hell!” she vowed.

“That’s a problem,” a voice leaked from the shadows.

“I need to reach the Imperial Throne,” I said.

I was still trapped, wrapped in layers of black shadow.

Yet my voice remained calm.

“Hmm…?” she murmured.

Did she hold back to avoid damaging my face?

She frowned, tightening her grip.

But my voice didn’t falter.

“And for that, I need to claim you,” I said.

“…Ugh!” she gasped.

The shadow prison tore apart.

I stood at the center.

The steel-hard shadows ripped like trash—*snap, crack*—and flew away, melting into the darkness.

“…Eek!” she squealed.

Her tentacles lunged again but were blocked futilely.

By what?

She didn’t know.

The blocked tentacles shattered.

Still, she couldn’t tell why.

Something unfathomable stopped them.

“Why are you screaming, Valziart?” I asked.

“What’s there, prince…?” she demanded.

“As you see, nothing,” I replied.

“…Lies!” she cried.

Strange.

As a shadow realm being, she could see even non-physical entities.

Yet she couldn’t sense the power I wielded.

“You’re right. It’s a lie,” I admitted.

“Ugh—!” she groaned.

She drew power from deeper within, tougher and stronger, closer to her soul.

“You can’t tell? It’s futile,” I said.

The tentacles tore apart uselessly. She groaned in pain, unable to grasp what was happening.

“You can’t grasp a fantasy, even if you want to,” I said.

“Fantasy…?” she echoed.

“Yes. This is a fantasy, Valziart. I conjured power from nothing,” I explained.

Born of the seven secrets.

The seven Ars.

“So, it’s nothing,” I said.

My first Ars.

‘Fantasy Finger.’