Cold.
Damp.
This was Seiji Fujiwara's first sensory impression of the new world after passing through the [Cross-Realm Gate].
He stood in a narrow alley paved with ancient flagstones, the red brick walls on either side overgrown with moss, giving off the smell of decay accumulated through the ages. The air was thick with the earthy tang of rain-soaked soil, mixed with the greasy aroma of fish and chips drifting from a nearby restaurant, and a complex scent he had never smelled before, the lingering coal and exhaust left behind by the Industrial Revolution.
Beyond the mouth of the alley, the dim yellow light of gas lamps cut through London's signature thin fog, dragging long, twisted streaks of light across the wet streets. In the distance, an immense Gothic clock tower stood in the night, like a silent prehistoric beast. The low, sonorous toll of its bell rang out just then, piercing the curtain of rain and reverberating above this unfamiliar city.
"London."
The system's coordinate location data had finished updating the moment he stepped through the gate.
But what came with that information was not the swagger of a man ready to conquer a new world. It was a stabbing pain unlike anything he had felt before, the pain of being forcibly stripped of something.
A roar tore through him.
It was as if some invisible enormous hand reached out from the very root of the world and seized his soul. No, something more essential than the soul.
The feeling was like an emperor being stripped of his imperial robes in front of his hundreds of millions of subjects in an instant, like a god who had just ascended to his throne being kicked down from the heavens by an older existence.
His inborn [Absolute Authority], that supreme power which in the last world could warp reality and freeze time itself, was now colliding violently and painfully with the fundamental laws of this world.
A wall of cold, merciless rules called the "Counter Force," like an enormous immune system, wrapped around him, the "foreign virus," pressing him down, rejecting him, isolating him.
He could feel it with perfect clarity: his connection to that power had been compressed from a vast ocean into a thread thin as gossamer, creaking under the immense pressure of the world's rules, as though it might snap entirely at any moment.
[Warning! Detected high-intensity world Counter Force: "Gaia" consciousness (the consciousness of the planet's primates), "Alaya" consciousness (the collective unconscious of humanity).]
[Warning! Host's Inherent Concept Armament [Absolute Authority] is being suppressed by the world's rules. Output reduced to 0.01%. Authority locked. Causality interference ability sealed.]
[System mode switching emergency protocol... Activating "World Rule Analysis Protocol"...]
[Current analysis progress: 0.01%... Full analysis is expected to require significant time and Mystery-side information samples.]
In his mind, the cold notification tone of the system for the first time carried a hint of what could only be called "strain."
Seiji slowly raised his hand and looked at those long, slender hands of his, hands that had once been able to decide the life and death of others with a single thought.
Now, what he could feel was only the warmth of his own skin, the temperature of an ordinary mortal, and the genuine chill carried by the falling rain.
The power within his body, like something locked inside an unbreakable cage forged from the laws of this world, had been reduced to a trickle so insignificant he could barely draw on it.
Fragile.
Powerless.
This long-forgotten sensation made him shiver for an instant, an instinctive reaction to the unknown that he had almost forgotten existed. Yet far from feeling fear, he felt... immense excitement.
In the last world, he had already stood at the very summit. That invincible, all-powerful emptiness had almost ground away every last shred of his enjoyment. He had been like a child sick of every toy he owned, sitting in a room piled with spoils of war and finding it all utterly dull.
But now, it was different.
This world was actually capable of stripping him of his power.
This world was actually qualified... to resist him.
"Heh... heheheh..."
Seiji began to laugh quietly, the laughter echoing through the empty alley, strange and unsettling.
In those deep eyes of his, that momentary shiver had already vanished without a trace, replaced by two even hotter, even more frenzied flames called the desire to conquer.
This was right.
This was what a game should be.
If prey had no power to resist from the start, where was the fun in hunting? Dragging a god down from his altar was far more entertaining than crushing an ant underfoot.
He needed a starting point.
He closed his eyes, summoned the pitiful sliver of power that remained to him, and using the 0.01% of rules the system had just decoded, constructed in his mind an extremely simple piece of magecraft that could function in this world.
"Mental Suggestion."
He straightened his collar and walked calmly out of the alley. Coming toward him was a middle-aged man in a trench coat, hurrying along with a serious expression.
Seiji brushed past him and, in a voice barely audible, almost like a murmured dream, spoke a single word.
"Wallet."
His mental force, like a rusted needle, jabbed sluggishly at the man's subconscious.
In the past, this alone would have been enough to make the other person kneel down and willingly offer up everything they owned.
But now...
"Hm?" The man merely paused in his stride, as though the wind had brushed past his neck, and turned to glance back at him with a puzzled look, the kind of look one gave to a vagrant behaving oddly. He frowned, muttered "psycho" under his breath, and quickened his pace, continuing on his way.
It had failed.
No, not entirely.
Seiji's gaze was sharp as a hawk's, and he watched as the man, after walking a dozen meters further and stopping at a traffic light, reached into his pocket almost out of habit, pulled out his thick leather wallet, opened it for a glance, confirmed everything was in order, and tucked it back away.
The suggestion had worked.
It was just that the effect was so weak that even the one being influenced could not perceive it, attributing it instead to having "suddenly remembered" to check.
"Interesting."
The smile at the corner of Seiji's mouth deepened.
This proved that the essence of his power still stood above this world. He just needed a "key" to unlock it. And that key was the analysis of "rules."
It seemed that in this world, he would have to relearn the "rules," like a true beginner, climbing his way back to the top of the food chain one step at a time.
He needed money. He needed an identity. He needed a "springboard" that would let him reach the core of this world.
He hailed a classic black cab.
"To the cheapest inn nearby," he said in fluent English.
The driver was a fat, balding white man who studied Seiji in the rearview mirror with a barely concealed trace of contempt in his eyes.
"The cheapest? Kid, you sure you can even pay the fare?"
"Of course." Seiji smiled and activated that faint Mental Suggestion again. "And you'll forget about this for the time being, until I've left safely."
This time, he concentrated his mental force much more heavily.
The driver's eyes glazed over for a moment, then returned to normal, but the contempt was gone, replaced by a professional indifference. He muttered "fine, get in," and started the car.
Stepping into the cramped, damp inn room thick with the smell of mold, Seiji felt no discomfort whatsoever. He tossed the wrinkled pound notes the driver had given him as change carelessly onto the table, walked to the window, and pushed open the wooden frame that creaked and groaned, warped from the damp.
Outside the window, the endless, unbroken grey rain of London.
In the distance, that ancient building called Big Ben loomed through the curtain of rain like a silent giant beast, watching over the city.
He knew that in the shadow of that city, behind the barrier ordinary people could not glimpse, lay the true core of this world: the holy land of magi, the Clock Tower.
That was his first target.
He looked at the reflection in the windowpane, a young man with black hair and black eyes, a handsome face, looking at this moment no different from any ordinary person.
He slowly raised his hand, as though to grip that distant clock tower in his palm.
"Well then..."
"The new game..."
"...begins."
...
...
In the room of the cheap inn, three days slipped quietly away as Seiji sat in meditation.
For three days, he did not leave the room once. Food and water? They had long since ceased to be necessities for him.
Like a statue blending into the darkness, he sat cross-legged on the bed, eyes closed, his entire mind immersed in his communion with the system. These three days were a critical period in which the system used him as an "antenna" to continuously receive and analyze the rules of this world.
Data streams cascaded through his consciousness like waterfalls.
He "saw" the ownerless magical energy drifting through the air, the substance called Mana. He felt the life-force deep within the earth, the energy known as Od. He understood how Magic Circuits, like the nervous system of the human body, connected a magus to the Root. He grasped how a Magecraft Foundation, like a vast wireless network, provided support for specific systems of magecraft.
[World Rule Analysis Progress: 0.78%...]
[Basic physical laws: analysis complete.]
[Basic Mystery-side concepts analyzed: magical energy (Mana/Od), Magic Circuits, Magecraft Foundation, the Root...]
[Information framework for the current region (London)'s dominant power, the "Mage's Association · Clock Tower," constructed. Organizational structure, Twelve Lords, faculty divisions...]
A torrent of information poured into Seiji's mind like enlightenment dripping from heaven, and he greedily absorbed and digested it all, eventually transforming it into his own knowledge.
He learned that this world was home to a group of beings known as magi. They were lofty solitary seekers of truth, and also cold, ruthless people who would sacrifice anything for "Mystery." And the Clock Tower was the supreme academy and power center of all magi.
"A perfect entry point."
Seiji opened his eyes, a calculating gleam flickering in their depths.
To conquer this world, he first had to penetrate its core. And to enter the Clock Tower, he needed a watertight identity. An identity that would let him reach the core secrets while not raising the alarm of those old monsters who had lived for hundreds of years.
"System, based on the available information, construct the most perfect cover identity."
[Command received. Beginning construction...]
[Identity template being generated...]
[Name: Seiji Fujiwara (original name retained; can be invested with the psychological hint of 'the last of a noble line' to increase mystique and intimidation).]
[Background: A branch family of a declined magus lineage that migrated from Japan to Europe a hundred years ago. The family once had its glory, but as the bloodline was passed down, most of its Magic Crest was lost, and it has since fallen into the lowest tier of magus families.]
This background perfectly explained both his Japanese name and face, and why he had no reputation whatsoever in the European magus community. A fallen branch family was like a single drop of water in the ocean, drawing no one's attention.
"Continue."
[Core setting (cover): Talent.]
[The host's powerful mental force and system analysis capability are disguised as 'incomparable theoretical talent in magecraft.' Manifestation: ability to memorize any magecraft theory at a glance, draw inferences from a single example, and propose subversive insights.]
[Core setting (weakness): Aptitude.]
[The host's currently suppressed magical state is disguised as 'naturally inferior Magic Circuits.' Manifestation: extremely low magical energy reserves, poor circuit conductivity, inability to cast high-tier magecraft. Possessing the art of slaying dragons yet lacking the strength to bind a chicken.]
Reading this, the corners of Seiji's mouth curled into an approving arc.
Perfect. An utterly perfect disguise.
A "lopsided student" who was a peerless genius in theory and a complete waste in practice.
How would the "Lords" of the Clock Tower see an identity like that? They would admire his talent and want to take him under their wing, to squeeze every last drop of knowledge from his head. But at the same time, because of his "inferior" Magic Circuits, they would let down every last bit of their guard against him.
After all, in a world that worshipped "Mystery" and "power," a theorist who could not cast powerful magecraft was, in the end, only a relatively useful "tool." He could never pose any threat to their positions.
He would become the safest sort of "outsider," the most harmless "genius."
"Let's go with that," Seiji decided.
"To make this identity more convincing, I'll need a 'door-knocker.' A 'door-knocker' that those high and mighty Lords couldn't possibly ignore."
[Command received. Based on the modern magecraft theory already analyzed, generating an academic paper sufficient to draw the attention of the Clock Tower's upper echelons...]
[Topic selected: "On the Conceptual Extension of Runic Magecraft Under the 'World Egg' Theory: With a Discussion of the Decline of Runes and the Potential Revival of Gaelic Runes."]
A paper packed with all sorts of obscure terminology, with theories dense and abstruse, but with a core thesis that was groundbreaking, rapidly took shape in Seiji's mind. The paper not only drew on broad sources of reference, it even "fabricated" several passages cited from "lost manuscripts of his declined family," lending it an air of authenticity.
This paper would astonish any lecturer of the Modern Magecraft Department.
Having finished all this, Seiji rose to his feet.
He walked to the mirror and looked at the figure within. The young man in the glass had handsome features, black hair and black eyes. Because he had not eaten for several days, his face looked somewhat pale, but his gaze carried a depth that did not match his age.
He slowly adjusted his expression, controlling each individual facial muscle.
He drew in that arrogance and cruelty that belonged to a ruler.
In its place, the focus of a scholar, the melancholy of one whose talents go unrecognized, and a touch of just-right longing and uncertainty about the future.
Now he looked like nothing so much as a young magus brimming with talent but struggling bitterly under the constraints of his birth and aptitude.
"Very good."
He was quite satisfied with his current "performance."
He left the inn and used the last of the money he had obtained through that feeble Mental Suggestion to buy a well-fitted black formal suit, somewhat old but very respectable.
Then he walked into a public library at the University of London.
He was not there to borrow books.
The library was warm and quiet, filled with the smell of paper. Students bent over their books, struggling for their own futures. Seiji sat among them, yet he was in a different world entirely.
He was there to use one of the public computers to send that paper, the one that could shake the world of magecraft, together with his carefully forged "application for admission," to that ancient and mysterious organization hidden behind the surface of the real world.
The Clock Tower.
The moment he pressed "send," he could almost hear the soundless splash of a fishing line dropping into water.
This carefully wrapped, poisonous bait called "Seiji Fujiwara" had been cast.
Now, all he had to do was wait quietly.
Wait for those self-important "gardeners" to personally invite this man-eating flower of his into their heavily guarded secret garden.
One week later.
A letter made of ancient parchment, branded with the crest of the Clock Tower, silently appeared in Seiji's inn room.
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