Another day had passed, and Tuk—who once would never rise before sunrise—now found herself running across the open fields alongside the warriors she had come to respect. The crisp morning air clung to her skin, cool against the lingering warmth of exertion. Dew clung to the grass, dampening her boots with each step, but she hardly noticed anymore.
She had never imagined she would grow close to them. Their honesty, their brutal simplicity—it was refreshing in a world where every word was a calculation and every gesture a ploy. Even though the war was over, she forced herself to keep up with the routine she once despised, not out of obligation, but because it had become something else. A habit. A tether to a life that felt more real than the one she lived in court.
The warriors trained with unrelenting discipline, muscles straining, sweat rolling down their backs as if the battle had never truly ended for them. Tuk slowed her pace, hands braced against her knees as she caught her breath, watching them. Why are they like this? The thought lingered, half admiration, half bewilderment. It wasn't just about strength—it was something deeper, something unshakable. Their camaraderie was a sharp contrast to the suffocating games of the nobility. Here, there were no veiled threats, no unreadable smirks hiding knives beneath the skin. It was just sweat, dirt, and loyalty.
She dropped onto the grass, arms resting on her knees as she turned to Bucky, who was in the middle of hoisting a heavy stone. His muscles tensed, veins rising along his forearms as he struggled with its weight.
"Is it true your group is leaving the palace?" Tuk asked, her voice slightly hoarse from exertion. She sat on the ground, catching her breath as Bucky lifted a heavy stone with strained effort.
"Yeah," he grunted, muscles trembling under the weight. "Our purpose here is done, and the general finally got the land he was promised. We'll be busy clearing it up, but I'm sure General Helion would welcome you if you wanted to visit."
Tuk stared at the horizon, the morning dew clinging to her skin. "If possible, I'd rather join your team than stay here."
Bucky let out a short laugh, sweat trickling down his forehead. "What are you talking about? Don't you know how much the warriors envy you for being close to His Highness? No one doubts you're cut from a different cloth, with that brain of yours. The rest of us couldn't handle half the things you do." His chuckle echoed across the field, blending with the distant clang of training weapons.
Tuk forced a smile, but the weight of his words settled deep in her chest. The reminder of palace life, of endless debates and piercing gazes, made her stomach twist. She dreaded the unexpected summons, the way nobles—faceless, nameless—debated love and power like they were mere abstractions, while she struggled to keep herself from being swallowed whole.
What would kill her first? The mind-numbing debates, the wary glances of those who suspected her, or the prince himself if he ever discovered her secret?
Did he really believe she had all the answers to the riddles in his mind? How had she ended up this close to him when all she wanted was to stay far away? She felt like a clueless rat that had taken a wrong turn straight into a lion's den—no exit in sight and no choices left.
Frustration surged through her. A smirk tugged at her lips as she reached for a nearby stone and, without a word, dropped it onto Bucky's back.
"W-Wait! I didn't ask for extra weight!" he stammered, arms trembling under the sudden burden.
Tuk dusted off her hands, eyes glinting with mischief. "It's my parting gift," she said, tapping his shoulder. "Good luck with the rest of your training."
Bucky groaned, but before he could protest, she was already walking away, the warmth of her rare amusement lingering.
"H-Hey! At least take the stone off before you go!"
She didn't turn back. Instead, she let herself enjoy the moment—the kind of simple, fleeting exchange she never found in the court.
***
That night, Tuk sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor of her dimly lit room, the flickering candle casting restless shadows over the notes spread around her. Her fingers hovered over sketches, arcane symbols, and hasty observations about the court, Prince Michaelli, and the map she had taken from the palace library under his name. It might be useful one day. She had learned the hard way that unexpected turns were inevitable.
The map of the Empire of Marceau lay before her, its inked lines weaving a tale of distant lands and hidden dangers. A heavy sense of mystery clung to the parchment, as if each stroke concealed secrets she wasn't meant to unravel. She squinted at it, the strange markings blurring together. Well, not that I can read maps… but can I trust this? She had only seen the palace of Homonhon—the cold, ancient halls where she spent hours copying cryptic symbols. Beyond those walls, the world remained a mystery.
To the north, beyond Homonhon's frozen expanse, a shadowy serpent coiled in the waters like a silent warning. Just an artist's myth to exaggerate the dangers of this place, she told herself, though the image unsettled her.
The Empire of Marceau stretched eastward, its fortress perched ominously on highlands she barely understood. Southward, the ruins of Elthor lay in fading ink, a relic of a fallen empire. Other names and symbols—a black mountain labeled Crystaliana, a fort named Chalcedony—hinted at places she might one day need to reach if escape became necessary. But could she trust these paths to lead her safely?
Her fingers traced the jagged peaks. I don't know how to reach these lands. And I'm certainly not skilled at navigation. A dull headache pulsed at her temples. Doubt crept in, seeping into her bones like the chill of the stone floor. But doing nothing… that was the greater risk.
Who lived in those lands? What power did they wield? The map whispered no answers, only deepened her unease. One thing was clear—it held more questions than revelations. Exploring these places might be invaluable if she ever needed an escape. It was always better to have multiple plans than to rely on just one, especially with the prince and Sire Leon watching her so closely.
To an outsider, it might have looked like she was wireframing a complex application interface. In a way, she was—except this wasn't a website she was designing. It was her own strategy for survival.
At the center of the spread lay her notes on the Arcanographica, the ancient scroll she had been painstakingly deciphering since her arrival. Every symbol, every rune, every cryptic phrase hinted at something critical. But critical to what? The "key" the scroll spoke of, perhaps.
Yet the princess of Homonhon was still missing, and with her, any hope for real answers. She had decoded everything the historians and the prince had given her, yet the power they all spoke of remained elusive. All these words are just fables that even children back home could read!
Tuk traced the carefully organized words she'd painstakingly decoded in the solitude of her room, her fingertips ghosting over the parchment as if the symbols might whisper their secrets directly into her skin. . Each sentence was a hidden puzzle unraveled under countless sleepless nights, now compiled into something whole. With a deep breath, she added the six newly deciphered scrolls to the four she had previously managed to decode.
Her fingers hovered over the latest passage, the symbols still humming with mystery despite their newfound clarity.
| ᗵ#❍ #❍𝖫☥ 7#3 ᗵ34𝖫7# 4Ⲡ☥ ᑭ❍ᗵ3ⲅ ❍= 7#3 ᗶ16#7𝖸 ❍Ⲡ3. B𝖫3553☥ 34☽# ᑭ13☽3 7❍ 7#3 57ⲅ❍Ⲡ6 #34ⲅ7. ᗵ17# 4 ᑭⲅ❍ᗶ153 81Ⲡ☥ 1Ⲡ ᗶ𝖸 #4Ⲡ☥, Ⲡ❍ ᗶ4Ⲡ ᗵ17# 4 51Ⲡ=ⵡ𝖫 #34ⲅ7 ☽4Ⲡ #❍𝖫☥ 7#3 ᑭ❍ᗵ3ⲅ 1Ⲡ ❍ⵡⲅ #34ⲅ7.
I who hold the wealth and power of the mighty one.
Blessed each piece to the strong heart.
With a promise bound in my hand, no one with a sinful heart can hold the power in our heart.
Tuk pressed her lips together. Another riddle about purity and worthiness. Did all ancient texts enjoy waxing poetic about who could or couldn't wield their so-called divine power? Her gaze flitted to the next passage.
K33ᑭ 7#𝖸 ᑭ13☽3 1Ⲡ ❍Ⲡ3'5 #34ⲅ7 45 | 𝖫1ᐁ3 4Ⲡ☥ ᑭ4𝖸 7#3 ᑭⲅ1☽3 =❍ⲅ ᗵ#47 | ☥351ⲅ3. ᙢ4𝖸 =❍ⲅ61ᐁ3Ⲡ355 8357❍ᗵ ⵡᑭ❍Ⲡ ᗶ3, 45 | 𝖫34ᐁ3 83#1Ⲡ☥ 7#3 ᑭ47# =❍ⲅ 4 Ⲡ3ᗵ ᒛ❍ⵡⲅⲠ3𝖸. ᗵ17# Ⲡ❍ ᗶ4𝖫1☽3 1Ⲡ ᗶ𝖸 1Ⲡ73Ⲡ71❍Ⲡ5 83=❍ⲅ3 7#3 ᗶ16#7𝖸 ☥ⲅ46❍Ⲡ.
Keep thy piece in one's heart as I live and pay the price for what I desire.
May forgiveness bestow upon me, as I leave behind the path for a new journey.
With no malice in my intentions before the mighty dragon.
Her nails dug into the paper's edge, her mind throbbing in tandem with the words. Piece. Forgiveness. Dragon. Every phrase laced with something unspoken, something she was meant to understand—but didn't.
ʏ❍ⵡ, ᗵ#❍ ⲅ3☽31ᐁ3 7#15 ᗵ34𝖫7# ❍= |<Ⲡ❍ᗵ𝖫3☥63, | 6ⲅ337 𝖸❍ⵡ ᗵ17# #❍Ⲡ❍ⲅ. 〒4|<3 7#3 =1Ⲡ4𝖫 =ⲅ46ᗶ3Ⲡ7 61ᐁ3Ⲡ 7❍ 𝖸❍ⵡ; 7#3 ᑭ47# | 𝖫3=7 83#1Ⲡ☥ ᗵ1𝖫𝖫 5#❍ᗵ 175 ☥❍❍ⲅ 7❍ 𝖸❍ⵡ. ᙢ4𝖸 7#𝖸 ᒛ❍ⵡⲅⲠ3𝖸 83 4 54=3 ❍Ⲡ3 ᗵ17# 7#3 ᑭ❍ᗵ3ⲅ 7❍ ᑭⲅ❍73☽7 𝖸❍ⵡⲅ 𝖫❍ᐁ3☥ ❍Ⲡ3.
You, who receive this wealth of knowledge, I greet you with honor. Take the final fragment given to you; the path I left behind will show its door to you. May thy journey be a safe one, with the power to protect your loved one.
Tuk rubbed at her temples, exhaustion creeping into her bones. The weight of knowledge sat heavy on her shoulders, an invisible burden she hadn't been prepared to carry. The more she uncovered, the more questions clawed at her mind.
Her gaze dropped to the smallest phrase at the very bottom of the scroll, the tiny letters scrawled almost as an afterthought. The words stood apart from the rest, deliberately separated. She immidiately grab her notes and decode the symbols.
Code: ⧨3Ⲡ1 4☥ ᗶ3 15 7#3 ᗵ❍ⲅ☥, ᑭ𝖫4☽3☥ 1Ⲡ 7#3 5123 ❍= 7#3 ᑭ4𝖫ᗶ 1Ⲡ 𝖸❍ⵡⲅ #4Ⲡ☥.
Translate: Veni ad me is the word, placed in the size of the palm in your hand.
Veni ad me.
Tuk frowned. Latin? A language from another time, from another world—her world. Lucky that she had studied a few words back when she was obsessed with Roman history. And this one? This one she knew well.
"Come to me."
A chill curled around her spine. Unlike the other grandiose declarations of power and wisdom, this one felt disturbingly personal.
A shudder ran through her. A summoning phrase? A key? The thought made her stomach tighten. This wasn't just some old scripture—it was a mechanism, a trigger waiting for the right hands to activate it.
Probably.
ʘⲠ𝖫𝖸 7#❍53 ᗵ#❍ ☽4Ⲡ 637 1Ⲡ7❍ 7#3 7ⲅⵡ7# ❍= ᗵ#47 7#3𝖸 ☥351ⲅ3. 〒#ⵡ5, 4𝖫𝖫 ᑭ❍ᗵ3ⲅ 4Ⲡ☥ ᗵ34𝖫7# ᗵ1𝖫𝖫 83 641Ⲡ3☥ ᗵ17#❍ⵡ7 4 8ⲅ❍|<3Ⲡ ᗶ1Ⲡ☥.
Only those who 'learn the heart' can get into the truth of what they desire.
Thus, all power and wealth will be gained without a broken mind.
Tuk exhaled through her nose, a slow, deliberate effort to steady herself. 'Learn the heart.' The words mocked her. The prince had spoken of power. The historians sought knowledge. And here she was, caught in the middle, a pawn forced to play a game she never signed up for.
Her shoulders ached from nights spent hunched over these infernal scrolls, her eyes dry and burning from lack of sleep. The ink smudged under her fingertips as she rested her hand on the parchment, pressing down hard as if she could force it to yield the truth.
A bitter laugh escaped her. "This dragon, and this author… can't they just die silently without dragging me into this mess? Honor my ass."
The words bounced against the empty room, swallowed by the dim candlelight. She could feel exhaustion pulling at her, coiling in the back of her skull, a dull and ever-present weight.
And yet, she knew she couldn't stop. Not yet. Not when the truth was so close—but still just out of reach.
Tuk tapped her pen against her notebook, the rhythmic clicking barely audible over the distant hum of voices outside. Focus, she told herself, squinting at the scrawled notes on Prince Michaelli. The man was a study in contradictions: charming yet dangerous, turning threats into mere annoyances. Beneath that charm lay a raw, untamed power barely leashed behind his piercing golden eyes. A sword and shield in one, his presence was both a warning and a promise.
And who better to keep you safe?
Her gaze dropped to a sketch of the prince, hastily drawn but precise in its depiction of his stern face and predatory grace. The ink lines struggled to capture the cold intensity in his eyes. If she couldn't beat him, she'd have to use him, letting him carve a path through the dangers that lay between her and home. Loyalty, she'd learned, was currency here, and she intended to spend it wisely. The risk was undeniable, but wasn't it her best option?
A smirk tugged at her lips. It was like dealing with a demanding client—arguing was pointless. You adjusted, adapted. You found ways to twist their demands into something that worked for you.
"All right, Your Highness," she murmured, running her fingers over the edges of the paper. "You're the lead feature in my survival strategy now."
The candle beside her flickered, casting restless shadows along the walls. A distant ache throbbed behind her eyes—too many nights spent chasing answers that refused to come willingly.
Then, a knock.
Tuk jolted, heart stuttering, before she forced herself into motion. Shit. In a flurry, she swept the scattered scrolls into a pile and shoved them under her bed, fingers fumbling with urgency. Her small notebook disappeared into the folds of her clothing, pressed tight against her ribs. The ink was still damp on the last page.
Beyond the door, Leon's voice carried through the thick wood, as calm and composed as ever.
"Tuk? His Highness calls for you."
Again?
Tuk swallowed back a groan, pushing down the restless frustration coiling in her stomach. She hesitated for just a second longer, her hand tightening around the fabric of her cloak. The air in the room felt heavier now, as if the very walls knew what she had been up to.
She tucked the notebook deeper beneath her cloak, fingers lingering over the worn leather cover. One breath in. One breath out. Then, she straightened, smoothing down her hair as if that simple gesture might make her appear more composed—more loyal. Less like someone plotting behind closed doors.
When she finally reached for the door, her face was a perfect mask of indifference. But inside, her mind was already racing ahead, bracing for whatever new game Michaelli had prepared for her this time.
"Good evening, Sir Leon," she called, opening the door. Their eyes met, and for a brief, charged second, no words were necessary. Leon had been watching her, she knew. He had led her, in his own quiet way, to this very decision, observing any historian who might expose what they shouldn't. And though she still couldn't fully grasp his motives, one thing was certain: Leon was more aware of her than he let on.
His gaze flicked to the edge of her cloak before he inclined his head. "Another servant will take you to him. The council awaits."
With a brief nod, Tuk followed the second servant down the dimly lit corridor, her footsteps muffled by the plush carpet. Her heart drummed a steady beat against her ribs, an odd mix of tension and amusement swirling in her chest at the sheer absurdity of her plan.
The door to the prince's office creaked open, the scent of parchment and faint traces of cologne curling around her. She barely had a moment to adjust before Michaelli's gaze caught her, ensnaring her like a trap already sprung. His piercing eyes held an unspoken understanding, as though he already knew she had chosen to align herself with him rather than stand in opposition. Something flickered there—amusement, calculation, respect. He studied her in silence, weighing her worth in that single moment.
"Good," he murmured, voice low but commanding, sending a ripple of unease down her spine. "We're about to meet the council. Stick close. You'll want to hear this."
Tuk nodded, swallowing the instinctive laughter bubbling in her throat. Of course she would. She fell into step beside him, reminding herself of the strategy she had chosen: no need to beat the prince at his own game. Sometimes, the best way to navigate a maze was to follow the one who held the map.
As the grand doors to the council hall swung open, her pulse quickened. I don't think I want to hear any of it, she thought, bracing herself for whatever revelations awaited.
But I don't have a choice but to nail it.
Arc 1: Welcome to the world of Isekai End.