Orcamp: "You failed?"
His face twisted.
This was the first time Arius had uttered those words—words that should never have been spoken.
Orcamp had hired him, a Black Line criminal, solely for his skill. And yet—failure?
Arius: "My apologies. I succeeded in casting the net, but replication was impossible."
Divers used keywords to surface concepts from the subconscious depths—a process likened to casting nets.
Orcamp: "What's the reason? You said keywords guarantee success!"
Arius: "Replication is still possible—just pointless. Ataraxia was encapsulated."
Orcamp: "Encapsulated? Like encryption?"
Arius: "No. Encryption follows rules. Imagine writing 100 characters on a 1-meter strip, then wrapping it around a rod to read the visible letters. That's encryption. Encapsulation? Write a clear sentence on the strip—then crumple it randomly. No pattern, no decryption. What I saw wasn't Ataraxia—just a tangled cloud of information."
Arius raised a finger.
Arius: "Why no replication? Keywords invoke concepts. For example: 'Apples are tasty.' Your Highness thinks of an apple—but it's your apple, not the perfect one. The perfect apple exists pre-linguistically, dissolved in the subconscious. Keywords only summon shadows. Normally, that's enough. But encapsulation renders it useless. Copying the cloud just gives another cloud."
Orcamp couldn't blame Arius—he understood. And blaming him would only expose his own ignorance.
Orcamp: "What now? We need Ataraxia."
Arius: "First, speak with Shirone. To find a solution, I must see Ataraxia myself—its structure, activation principles. Only then can I advise. I've left a 'door' to re-enter anytime."
Orcamp: "A demonstration of Ataraxia…"
He disliked the idea.
Shirone was clever—he'd likely guessed this wasn't just about paternity.
If their true motives were exposed, Shirone would be deeply hurt.
Orcamp would bear the shame of being a vile father to protect the kingdom—but he wanted to avoid Shirone refusing cooperation.
Orcamp: "Won't he suspect us?"
Arius: "Your Highness, the First Prince's status is pivotal. The Teraze faction will strike within these three days. If we don't leverage our advantage—being the first to negotiate—they'll seize the initiative."
Orcamp deliberated carefully.
Embrace Shirone fully, or use and discard him? Either way, speed was key.
Orcamp: "If we're doing this, we go all out."
Arius answered with a sly grin.
On his way to his parents' lodging, Shirone paused in the second-floor hallway. An unfamiliar attendant—a messenger from Zion—blocked his path. It was impressive how they always found him in the vast palace.
Attendant: "Shirone, you must come with me."
Shirone straightened his back and lifted his chin.
This summons wouldn't be pleasant—but avoiding it wasn't an option.
Rather than being struck on the back of the head while running away, it was more effective to meet them directly and gauge their reaction.
"Lead the way."
"An excellent choice, as expected. Please follow me."
The attendant led Shirone into the basement. It was a place densely packed with storage rooms, so foot traffic was extremely sparse. Perhaps due to frequent expansion work, the layout was as complex as a maze.
Their destination was the outermost area, where a door was installed in the wall, leading further inside.
This was not an originally existing room.
"Here we are. Please, go inside."
Shirone, not letting his guard down, gripped the doorknob and pulled.
Contrary to his expectation of a room, a square-shaped cave stretched before him, illuminated by torches. About fifteen meters ahead, another door was installed.
A double-door system.
It was unlikely that this structure had been chosen as a mere joke, yet no reasonable explanation came to mind.
When they had crossed about half the cave, the attendant suddenly slammed the door shut with a loud thud. Clearly, it was meant to signal someone.
Startled, Shirone froze for a moment before taking a deep breath and opening the second door.
The room was entirely white.
Not painted—the entire space was made of marble. Shelves lined the walls, displaying an assortment of objects.
None of them appeared particularly luxurious, but knowing Zion's tendencies, it only made the scene feel more unsettling.
Zion and Wuorin were sitting at a table, drinking tea. Seeing Wuorin eased Shirone's mind slightly, but he quickly dismissed even that thought as dangerous.
"You're here. What are you standing around for? Come in."
Shirone couldn't bring himself to step forward immediately. Zion and Wuorin were watching him with playful, mocking eyes.
Still, he couldn't just stand at the doorway forever, so he stepped forward cautiously, scanning his surroundings.
The moment he did—
Thud!
The floor suddenly gave way beneath him, and he tumbled forward.
"Ugh—What the hell?!"
Shirone quickly lifted his head. The floor was soft, so he wasn't hurt, but the sound of Zion and Wuorin's laughter made his ears burn with humiliation.
'What kind of floor is this soft?!'
Crawling on his hands and knees, he groped around until his fingers met solid ground at the edge.
"You okay, Oppa? Sorry for the prank. But it was fun, right?"
Wuorin approached and offered her hand.
Shirone took it and stood up, then looked back at where he had fallen. There was nothing distinguishing that spot from the rest of the floor.
"What is this?"
"This."
"What do you mean… huh?"
Wuorin scraped the floor where Shirone had fallen with her finger. A transparent plastic sheet peeled away, sticking to her hand.
"Ta-da! This is it. Now, check the floor again."
Shirone pressed his foot down. Unlike before, the hardness of the marble now matched common sense. Even when he stomped with full weight, it remained unyielding.
"Fascinating, right? With this, you can take a nap even on rocky terrain. And it can do even more—watch."
Wuorin walked over to an eagle statue taller than herself and draped the plastic over it. As if by magic, the statue sank, leaving a flat surface.
She then hiked up her skirt and jumped, landing squarely on her backside. The soft surface swallowed her hips before bouncing her back up.
Though childish, Shirone watched with genuine interest. He couldn't begin to guess how this phenomenon worked.
It wasn't science. But it wasn't magic either.
He looked around the room again, this time more seriously. Finally, he understood why none of the objects here seemed luxurious.
This was a place where the most priceless objects in the world were gathered.
Wuorin grinned.
"That's right. This is a collection of Objets."
He had suspected as much, but hearing it aloud sent a jolt of reality through him.
The memory of the Sleeping Objet once owned by Mara Baal of the Two Horns in Heaven flashed through his mind.
Back then, its grotesqueness had made him shudder, b qut the shock he felt now was on a whole different level.
'You mean everything here is an Objet?!'
Normally, objects were arranged by function—kitchenware in the kitchen, books in the library. But the items here were placed haphazardly, with no discernible order.
A rough count revealed over fifty objects on display. Only a family like the Teraze, who ruled the continent, could amass such a collection.
While Shirone was still dazed, Zion approached, holding a Spirit academic journal.
His reaction was predictably sarcastic. Smirking, he thrust the magazine forward.
"So, the aspiring genius mage, huh?"
Shirone didn't even want to respond.
"Sure, magic is impressive. I'll admit that. But compared to Objets, it's nothing. A third-class archmage working in the Kazura Palace earns about thirty million gold a year. You know how many archmages you could hire just by selling one of these?"
"What's your point?"
"No matter how great a mage is, they're still just a dog of royalty. A ruler's talent isn't determined by something as trivial as magic."
Zion held the Spirit journal at Shirone's eye level—then let it drop. As if oblivious, he stepped on it as he walked past Shirone and circled behind him.
"Must be nice, becoming the First Prince in three days. How does it feel? Like you're already king?"
With the paternity test complete, it was obvious the nobles' power struggles would intensify. In such a situation, it was only natural for Zion—a core figure of authority—to probe Shirone's state of mind.
"I already told you. I'm not interested. Once the results are out, I'm going home."
"Hmph. Sure you are."
Zion didn't believe him.
Who in the world would refuse a throne? Even if such a person existed, it was only because they hadn't yet tasted the sweetness of power.
Power guaranteed every pleasure a human could desire.
Once Shirone became the First Prince, no matter how disciplined he was, his thoughts would inevitably change.
"Playing the noble act won't work here. This is the royal palace. And especially not with me."
Zion snatched the plastic sheet from Wuorin and tossed it aside.
"With just one toy like this, you could buy the entire magic school you attend. In an instant, I would become your teacher. Your master would have to crawl between my legs. And yet—what was it? You're not interested in the throne? You think I'd believe that?"
Shirone realized Zion was an utterly materialistic man. The reason he attended school wasn't for visible rewards but for the intangible value within.
Listening to Zion, it was clear they were talking in terms of billions—yet he dismissed it all as mere children's toys.
The abilities of Objets defied common sense, and their worth could be astronomical depending on their use.
For example, what if one concealed a vault containing Spirit Essences?
No matter how expensive an Objet was, compared to the seventeen Spirit Essences in existence (Fire: 2, Water: 3, Wind: 5, Earth: 7), it wouldn't even be worth breadcrumbs.
Once equipped, they not only allowed the wielder to cast magic of their respective element but also nullified all magic of the same attribute. Their value was said to surpass the budget of a small kingdom.
In the end, there would always be those who desperately needed such things—and they would spare no expense to obtain them.
A family like the Teraze might collect them as a hobby, but Zion's belief that Objets were expensive purely due to collectors' whims was nothing but his own delusion.
"I think you should transfer that journal to someone else. No matter how good a book is, it's useless to someone who uses it as a pot stand."
"Hah! That's the privilege of royalty. A good book? I'd use gold as a pot stand if I felt like it."
Shirone gritted his teeth and swallowed his anger. Their upbringings were too different to find common ground, even in trivial matters.
"Fine. If you're done talking, I'm leaving."
Staying longer would only sour his mood further, so he turned toward the door—but Wuorin rushed over and grabbed his sleeve.
"Wait! I have something to show you too, Oppa. There's something I want you to see. Come this way."
Even Shirone couldn't refuse Wuorin outright.
For one, she was someone he could actually talk to. Among the arrogant royals, she had supported him before. And most importantly, she was the daughter of the Teraze family—a figure of immense power.
"Hurry, hurry! This way."
As Shirone let himself be pulled along, Zion sneered—though in truth, he wasn't much different.
The moment Wuorin said she had business with Shirone, Zion had no choice but to follow his sister in silence.
Wuorin sat Shirone at the table and brought over a small box.
It was a simple square wooden frame with a hemispherical depression inside. At the center was a worn, arrow-shaped indicator—apparently a roulette meant to be spun with a flick of the finger.
**"This is the Objet . It gives one gift per day."
Though the words were simple enough for a child to understand, Shirone felt like something crucial was missing—as if there was no subject or object in the statement.
**"Hehe, weird, right? Everyone reacts that way at first. Objets exist outside common sense, so when you first encounter , a lot of it won't make sense."
"Yeah. The strangest part is 'gives.' Who's giving it? This is just an object."
"The word 'gives' implies two things. First, for Probability's Wheel to function, gravity is needed. Second, Probability's Wheel 'gives,' but it isn't the one 'giving.' So there must be a space that can't be observed from inside or outside."
Shirone understood why the room had a double-door structure now.
There had to be a third space where no one passed through—neither from inside nor outside.
" and . Once these two conditions are met, it gives one gift per day. Look closely at the roulette—it's divided into four colors, right?"
Shirone followed Wuorin's finger.
The paint was peeling, a sign of age, but the hues were distinct. The sections varied in size, and faint inscriptions were carved inside. Though hard to make out, they were definitely not in the Tormian language.
Wuorin pointed to each of the four sections as she explained.
"These words are in the language of the Eastern Mountain gypsies. Translated, they mean: Humble Gift, Pleasant Gift, Excessive Gift, and Miracle. Based on radian measurements, Humble Gift takes up about 75%, Pleasant Gift 20%, Excessive Gift 4%, and Miracle 1%."
"Hmm…"
A 75% chance for a Humble Gift meant the gifts were heavily skewed. The 4% Excessive Gift was already intriguing, but he was even more curious about the Miracle.
With one spin per day, simple math suggested a Miracle would occur within 100 days. But probability wasn't that straightforward—it could take much longer.
Shirone cautiously reached out toward the roulette's indicator.
"So, I just spin this arrow?"
"Yes. That's why I waited for you to come."
"Huh? For me?"
"Go ahead and spin it. Whatever gift comes out, I'll give it to you."
Shirone blinked at the unexpected offer.