Galad rummaged through the Nighthawks' files and came across some notes said to be Emperor Roselle's legacy. They were stored in a sealed box. When he opened it, he froze.
Inside were Chinese characters.
Those familiar yet utterly out-of-place strokes left him momentarily breathless.
Roselle… he really was a transmigrator. And not just that he had come from the same civilization as Galad himself.
Though Galad had long suspected it, facing the truth directly shook him in ways he couldn't describe.
No wonder no one here could decipher them. These words belonged to another world entirely. But if that was the case, then what kind of secrets had Roselle hidden in characters only he could read?
Galad reached into the box and drew out three manuscripts. The writing was slightly distorted, the characters enlarged and clumsycl early the work of later generations who had copied them without understanding their meaning.
Still, he read them with a strange mix of nostalgia and unease.
"November 18th. What a miraculous thing. An outlandish experiment, a careless mistake and I stumbled upon a poor soul trapped in a storm, forever lost in the depths of Darkness. He can only brush against reality during each full moon, but he cannot transmit his cries. Lucky him. He met me, the protagonist of this era."
…
"January 1st, 1184. A grand New Year's Eve party. Madame Florna was a stunner, as always."
…
"January 3rd. My initial choice was too hasty. Looking back, 'Apprentice,' 'Seer,' or even 'Marauder' would have been better. But it's too late now. There is no turning back."
…
"September 23rd. I lost contact with the expedition ship searching for the Forsaken Land of the Gods. Perhaps I should invent wireless telegraphy assuming storms don't cripple it."
The manuscripts weren't continuous, but fragmented diary entries from different points in Roselle's life. Beyond palace scandals and political affairs, Galad found confirmation of another truth: Roselle himself had clearly reached the higher Sequences. He could correspond with mysterious entities that didn't exist in the real world, and he had even sought the legendary Forsaken Land of the Gods.
But one passage left Galad trembling with excitement.
"January 4th. Why are my children so hopelessly stupid? I've repeated it a thousand times don't be fooled by charlatans. No… perhaps the charlatans were fooled themselves. The key to a Beyonder potion isn't simply mastery; it's digestion! Not excavation, but acting! And the potion's name isn't just a symbol it is an image, a method, a 'key' to digestion itself!"
Digestion?!
Galad nearly dropped the manuscript. His breath came quick, his hands shook.
So Beyonder potions weren't simply absorbed they needed to be digested. And the key to that digestion was tied to the very name of the potion.
This wasn't some idle speculation. These were the words of Roselle—the great emperor, a man who had reached the peak of power. And he had written them in characters no one else in this world could understand. The likelihood of deception was almost nonexistent.
Which meant this method was real.
A thrill of hope surged through Galad 's chest, only to die abruptly as another memory returned.
…Dunn's warning.
A Secrets Supplicant must never advance. To attempt promotion is to invite death.
His smile froze. No matter how valuable Roselle's discovery was, Galad couldn't recklessly use it to climb the Sequences.
He forced himself to calm down, sitting back and returning the diaries to their box.
Even so, this knowledge was far from useless. If nothing else, he could use "digestion" to reduce the potion's lingering influence, to keep himself from spiraling into madness.
His gaze grew distant.
The potion's name is the key… Secrets Supplicant… one who prays in secret, who makes offerings…
Did that mean he could digest it by living in accordance with the name?
He thought back. He had prayed to the True Creator twice: once to deal with Haynes, once to save Old Neil. And after each prayer, hadn't his mind grown steadier? The hallucinations had lessened. His spirituality had stabilized. Even learning Hermes and practicing rituals seemed to have helped.
Galad 's face twisted with bitter amusement.
What kind of cosmic joke was this? To weaken the influence of the True Creator's potion… he had to pray to the True Creator?
That was lunacy given form!
But wait Roselle hadn't written that the name referred to the True Creator specifically. A "hidden" existence was enough. Perhaps prayers to other beings might serve the same purpose. That was worth testing.
Breathing deeply, he shut the box. Roselle's diaries were scattered across the world. If he could find more, perhaps he would uncover even greater truths.
For now, though, his thoughts wouldn't settle. He tried to resume his study of mysticism, but the words blurred before his eyes. He simply leaned back and closed them, letting exhaustion drag him down until Leonard arrived for his shift.
Leonard sauntered in with his usual frivolous air.
"So relaxed? Didn't the Captain tell you to study?"
"Studying's exhausting," Galad muttered, not in the mood.
"Oh?" Leonard's lips quirked. His deep-green eyes lingered on Galad as he reached the door, only to pause. "You know, Galad … you have a peculiar air about you."
Galad raised a brow. "Peculiar?"
"The air of a protagonist. You miraculously survived the cultists, became a Beyonder, joined the Nighthawks, showed surprising ability…"
"Leonard," Galad cut him off flatly, "what exactly are you getting at?"
"I just have one question." Leonard smiled faintly, eyes gleaming with meaning. "Why is the Aurora Order so obsessed with you? And why did Siris, the one guarding you, suddenly go mad? You're hiding something, aren't you?"
Galad regarded him silently. Then, with a trace of cold humor, he answered:
"I don't know. Back then, I was a madman. How could a madman understand such things?"
Leonard's smile faltered.
Madman…
Without another word, Galad brushed past him into the hall. The sunlight spilled across his face, and suddenly his thoughts turned to Klein, who had left earlier.
That Seer was now performing divinations at the Divination Club act perfectly aligned with his potion's name. Could it be… Klein too understood the key to digestion?
He looked around at his companions: Leonard probing him with sharp questions, Old Neil once praying to an evil god, himself carrying the curse of a Secrets Supplicant, Klein walking the path of the Seer.
The Nighthawks were indeed… wonderfully diverse.