This is harder than I thought.
Vesper had spent nearly two hours exploring Sword Arts, yet he hadn't found anything close to what he was looking for.
Is my style really that strange? He wondered. I just rely on speed, precision, and exploiting weaknesses. They're all common approaches, so why can't I find a single Art that fits?
Frustrated, he eventually turned his attention to the upper floor. High-grade Sword Arts were on the second floor. They were far more refined and powerful than the ones below.
Sword Arts weren't ranked in a traditional sense. Anyone could practice any Art they matched with. It wasn't about raw power; it was about finding a path. A path that led to one's own style and one's sword.
Still, quality mattered. The higher the Art's quality, the more precise the techniques, and the more potent its attacks.
As a member of the most powerful race in existence—the Existentials—and a grand duke at that, Vesper was expected to wield only the highest-calibre Arts. But even that wasn't enough. He needed something that matched not only his style but also his nature.
I have Ice Affinity and Order Origin. It's better to choose something that synergizes with them too.
Unlike the lower races, higher beings like the Existentials were born with two souls. One was related to life and the core of existence itself. The other one was the very source of one's supernatural powers—the Essence.
Essence served many purposes. It stores Primal Energy, allows one to channel and shape it, bestows Affinity and shapes Principles based on Authorities. More importantly, every Essence carried a path, a unique imprint known as an Origin.
An Origin defines the conceptual nature of a being's power. For instance, someone with a Space Origin would never be able to wield abilities related to Life or Stars. Their domain would always remain bound to the laws of space.
For ages, people believed they could freely tap into every aspect of their Origin. But the truth was something else. Every Origin was divided into Authorities, which determined the exact form that power could take.
The Origin was the tree and the Authorities its branches.
Vesper's Origin was Order. His Authority, Law.
That meant his powers were strictly governed by the laws of reality. He couldn't wield powers tied to Harmony, which is another Authority under the same Origin. His path, though vast, had its limits.
He passed rows of scrolls and thick books.
One section had names burned into golden plaques: Crimson Moon Style, Fang of the Northern Gale, Absolute Edge, Ninefold Torrent.
How Dramatic.
Another shelf had a faded and hand-written label.
'Unstable: Requires Sacrifice.'
"Yup. Definitely skipping that one," Vesper said. "I like all my limbs where they are."
He walked further down a marble corridor lined with dragon statues holding open tomes in their claws.
"Seriously, did someone hold a naming contest for the most dramatic title possible?" he muttered.
'Twilight Principle of the Dying Zenith: Vol. II'
"Oh yeah, sounds totally practical."
He continued exploring, occasionally unsealing a scroll and rolling it open with reverence, then closing it with a sigh.
Too rigid. Too flashy. Too poetic. This one probably requires three arms. This one literally just says 'kill or be killed'.
Vesper opened the first page of a couple of better Arts to see their contexts.
[Starfall Severance]
[Creator]: Zerius Kael
[Techniques]:
•Meteor Laceration
•Orbit Step
•Nova Bloom Eventide Cut
[Style]: Mobile, momentum-based. Ideal for users with Fire or Light Affinity and conceptual Origins like Space or Paradox.
[Writ of Severance]
[Creator]: Selene Caelvar
[Techniques]:
Clause I – Null Step
Clause II – Edged Oath
Clause III – Binding Mandate
Final Clause – Sword of Finality
[Style]: Methodical and layered. Focused on control through Darkness or Shadow Affinity, ideal for a tactician with Chaos Origin and high cognitive discipline.
[Mirrorshard Waltz]
[Creator]: Irelia Venne
[Techniques]:
Glass Step
Reflective Lunge
Fragment Spiral
Finale: Prism Bloom
[Style]: Illusion-heavy, graceful and disorienting. Ideal for Light Affinity, Illusion, or Moon Origin. Punishes brute-force styles and rewards creativity and misdirection.
…useless. Not even a single one of them matches my taste. What a shitty archive. Flustered, Vesper walked to another area to explore.
After another hour, one Art piqued his interest.
[Lex Caelestis]
[Creator]: Unknown (possibly an ancient Existential)
[Techniques]:
Symphony I – Frigus Praejudicium
Symphony II – Sectio Glacialis
Symphony III – Ordo Caelorum
Symphony IV – Frigus Abyssi
Symphony V – Judicium Perpendiculum
[Style]: Lex Caelestis is a Sword Art that embodies absolute control, measured power, and unyielding judgment. It is suitable for warriors attuned to Ice and Frost, and optimized for users of the Order Origin, or more rarely, the Fate Origin.
Vesper raised a brow.
"This is actually… great," he murmured. "It even matches my affinity. I'm picking this. I don't think I have enough time to explore more."
He smiled in satisfaction.
With that, he closed the book, put it under his arm, and descended the staircase.
The hall was silent.
He returned to where he had first entered. For a brief moment, he simply stood there, waiting.
Then, with a deep mechanical click, the grand double doors appeared into view and swung open.
Without hesitation, Vesper stepped forward and went out of the hall.
When he appeared in the Argent Vault, no one was there. Quinn had already left.
Of course, he won't wait for me until I finish. I only needed him to open the door after all. He mused as he left the Argent Vault.
Now I should go and learn the Art's basics and the Symphony I. It's not Like I have something else to do. The faster the better…
***
"So… he really chose that, huh?"
In a dimly lit room, a man with long, silvery hair sat elegantly in a high-backed chair.
Before him, a broad-shouldered man knelt with his head low.
"Yes, my lord. Just as you predicted."
Quinn said nothing at first. His eyes drifted toward the window.
Then he asked, almost absently, "Was it Lex Caelestis?"
"Yes," the man replied. "It seems that it was from the second floor's archive."
A heavy silence followed. Quinn didn't say anything nor show any particular expression.
The kneeling man's heart pounded.
Did I say something wrong?
Then suddenly—
"…Heh…"
Quinn chuckled. A low, dangerous sound came out of his mouth.
His eyes gleamed with both amusement and…madness.
A shiver ran down the man's spine. He remained perfectly still, not daring to lift his head.
"Ah… we're so doomed," Quinn muttered, his voice dry, almost amused. "Hahaha…Who would've thought… that I, Quinn von Stein, would end up as nothing more than a mere pawn?"
The pressure in the room surged like a wave.
The kneeling man's body trembled violently, both from horror and unbearable pressure.
He clenched his teeth, silently enduring it.
Quinn leaned back, still chuckling. Half in awe, half in madness. "Haha…Now, I can do absolutely nothing! I just can watch in silence as the whole world burns…haha"
Then suddenly, he turned his head toward the kneeling man, the pressure increasing even more. "You know Kevin…I shouldn't have done that!… I shouldn't have done that at all! It's all my fault…yes, it's all my fault, if I hadn't accepted that…we would live. But Kevin, you've been my butler for decades, right? Right?!"
"..." Kevin didn't answer…he couldn't.
"Answer me!!" Quinn shouted.
"…Y–yes…" Kevin muttered, but the moment he opened his mouth, a torrent of blood gushed out, spilling past his lips and splattering down his chin and chest.
Ignoring Kevin's condition entirely, Quinn continued, his voice trembling.
"Then… w-why? Why didn't you warn me? Why didn't you stop me?"
His hands balled into fists.
"You're my butler… the one I trust the most…"
Tears welled in his eyes as he stared at the blood-soaked, trembling man before him.
"…Isolde…"
His expression shifted.
A single tear broke free, trailing down his cheek, then another. Regret was visible on his face.
"No, no, no, no…"
The pressure in the room surged.
He gripped his face with both hands, digging his nails into his skin.
"My dear daughter… Isolde. What will happen to her?"
His voice cracked.
"She's too innocent… too pure…"
He gasped for breath, shaking.
"What I've done to her… sniff… she did nothing wrong…"
"Oh no, no, no…"
"I've ruined her life…"
Tears poured down his cheeks in streams now as sobs. The pressure continued to rise.
"I ruined her life…"
"I'm the worst father… the worst… the worst…"
The words repeated.
Then, as if clinging to a final thread of hope, he muttered,
"But… Vesper is still there, right?"
A crooked smile tugged at his lips.
"He'll protect her. Yes.That little bastard will protect his sister…"
"Y-yes… he cares for her. He will. He will definitely protect her… right, Kevin?"
He turned slowly. His eyes wide and hopeful.
But the space where his butler had been… was empty.
"…Kevin?"
Silence.
Then he noticed the walls, streaked with fresh crimson, so vivid he could see his own twisted reflection staring back at him.
His breath caught.
His gaze dropped to the floor.
A heap of flesh and organs lay scattered across the polished stone. A bloodied mass, still faintly steaming. Tattered cloth clung to the remains.
Kevin.
Quinn blinked. Once. Twice.
Then he smiled softly, as more tears fell down his face.
"…What have I gotten myself into?"