When Hugh Legrand, a member of the Zeroth Knights, opened his eyes, he was surrounded by a darkness so thick it was nearly absolute.
At first, he couldn't make sense of his situation. But as the frigid air filled his lungs, his consciousness gradually solidified. The musty chill of the air, the cold stone pressing against his palms. In a space utterly devoid of light, he couldn't tell whether it was day or night outside.
Regulating his breathing, he searched his memories of what had happened before he lost consciousness.
It had been about a month since Hugh, physically and mentally frayed to the breaking point from the prophecy incident, was finally discharged from the hospital.
In the Zeroth Knights, where important missions were plentiful, a member who was injured during a task was granted an extended leave and could not return to active duty until cleared by a doctor. Hoping to recover as quickly as possible from the lethargy of his hospitalization and get back in the field, Hugh had taken to walking around the capital.
Before his hospitalization, the capital had been nothing but talk of the prophecy affair. But in a short time, the conversation had shifted entirely to the visit of the Yggdra princess. And that, for Hugh, was something he could barely stomach.
During the prophecy turmoil, his actions in handling the situation with Thousand Transformations had been correct.
His only failure was—he couldn't endure it.
In the end, the prophecy incident was resolved by Thousand Transformations. The true details weren't made public for various reasons, but the Zeroth Knights had been almost useless, and everyone else could only provide support.
And Hugh, because he couldn't endure, ended up as nothing more than a victim.
A man who was handed a cursed object by an unknown entity, delivered it, and was hospitalized for it. If he had been able to remain standing beside Thousand Transformations until the very end, even if he hadn't been of use, Hugh's contributions would have been recognized. Perhaps he could even have accompanied the subsequent journey to Yggdra. If that had happened, Hugh's name would have been celebrated alongside those of Thousand Transformations and the Mourning Specter.
The Thousand Trials he had experienced were even more grueling than the rumors suggested. His confidence—forged from graduating top of his class at the academy and being assigned to the elite Zeroth Knights—was shattered in an instant, and he couldn't be sure he'd be able to endure if placed in the same situation again.
But he had no intention of giving up.
If something was lacking, he'd compensate for it. He'd grow tougher, more resilient.
If he'd been alone, his spirit might have broken. But there were many who had undergone the Thousand Trials and still hadn't broken. Hugh simply could not accept falling short of people like that.
Hugh still didn't believe he'd been wrong to place his faith in Thousand Transformations. No matter how brutal the road ahead might be, it undoubtedly led to glory.
What he needed was merit. A significant achievement—and Commander Franz would surely allow Hugh to serve alongside Thousand Transformations once again.
He clutched his head and cried out.
"…Right. After that, I went out into the city… and I heard a rumor. From the people in the city—there's a shop where anyone who goes in never comes back out."
The role of the Zeroth Knights was not to maintain public order. But ignoring a cry for help was unthinkable for a member of the glorious Zeroth Knights. More importantly, that was exactly the kind of "merit" Hugh had been craving at the time.
It smelled like an incident. Of course, Hugh wasn't so arrogant as to think he could single-handedly resolve a major case. He planned to investigate the truth on his own, and if things seemed beyond him, he'd call for backup. But merely reporting without doing anything wouldn't count as merit.
So Hugh decided to investigate on his own to some extent—and with a citizen's guidance, he went to check out that so-called shop.
Gradually, his eyes adjusted to the darkness. This appeared to be some kind of underground dungeon. Stone walls, stone floor. In the gloom, he could just make out iron bars. Shackles and restraints were mounted on the walls, but none were fitted on him.
He had no sense of time, but judging by his remaining stamina, not much could have passed. As a precaution, he'd brought a sword—and it hadn't been confiscated either.
That was unnatural. Disarming a captive was standard procedure.
This was probably somewhere within the capital grounds. He'd like to think the entry screening wasn't so lax that they could smuggle out an unconscious Zeroth Knight.
"An underground dungeon, huh? This doesn't bode well… Getting excited already. Maybe the target is bigger than I thought."
As far as credentials went, this was more than enough. But what worried him was that the citizen who'd guided him here was nowhere to be seen.
If they'd been captured as well, he'd have to rescue them.
There was another problem, too: he couldn't remember why he'd lost consciousness in the first place.
He knocked on the wall. The small sound echoed through the prison. It seemed larger than he'd thought.
"Cavalry probably won't come—it was in a back alley. I didn't even know a shop existed in a place like that…"
It had been a sketchy-looking establishment with an old, illegible sign. He wasn't even sure it was open for business, let alone that customers would actually come.
He'd intended to share his findings before going in, but in the end he hadn't managed. The citizen who'd guided him had walked straight inside without waiting. He hadn't had time to stop them.
Well, greed never ends well.
"Still, this might be just the thing to shake off the rust…"
Hugh still had composure left. Being knocked unconscious and locked in an underground dungeon was nothing compared to the prophecy affair.
Hugh took a small breath, let it out slowly, and drew his sword.
A high-pitched ring of metal. The severed iron bars clanged against the floor, making a tremendous racket.
The Zeroth Knights were the elite among elites—cutting through iron bars was child's play. He couldn't cut iron with a wooden sword like Thousand Swords, of course, but— He slipped through the severed bars and stepped outside. That was when he noticed.
The iron bars he'd cut. He reached for the iron door next to them. The door creaked open.
This door—wasn't locked? It was practically an invitation to escape.
A creeping, nameless dread raced up his spine at the sheer impossibility of the situation. He raised his head and peered down the corridor outside the prison.
His eyes had adjusted somewhat to the darkness, but the narrow corridor stretched beyond his sight.
A bad feeling crept over him. That alien atmosphere—if he let his guard down, it felt like it would swallow him whole—was nothing one could experience inside the capital.
Could it be that he hadn't been captured by thieves?
The sense that this very world was hostile—something like that couldn't be manufactured artificially.
He was sure of it. As someone engaged in combat, Hugh had set foot in such places more times than he could count.
This was—a Treasure Hall. At the very least, the type that shouldn't exist anywhere near the capital.
Cold sweat broke out at the abnormal situation, and Hugh licked his lips.
"A prison-type Treasure Hall. If I go back and report this, it'll be a major coup. Promotion guaranteed."
His voice echoed hollowly in the darkness. No one answered.
If his assumptions were correct, this was the kind of Treasure Hall that required the utmost caution even among Treasure Halls.
Its hallmarks were a bizarrely complex interior structure—and the Phantoms that roamed within. This type of Treasure Hall contained multiple varieties of powerful Phantoms, and they would pursue anyone who tried to escape without end.
Hugh's know-how for tackling Treasure Halls was fairly generic. Using intuition to explore under these conditions was extremely unfavorable.
His equipment was woeful, too. He had a sword, but no armor, and not a single potion. But if he didn't push forward, he'd eventually run out of stamina entirely—that much was obvious.
His throat was dry with tension. He sharpened his senses, wary of attacks from every direction.
The structure of the prison was almost identical to a modern one. Multiple cells and steel bars—admittedly an older type that wouldn't exist in the Empire, but the concept was the same.
Capture, torment, and never let them escape.
But Treasure Halls weren't constructed at random. If this was an underground prison-type Treasure Hall, then heading toward the surface should lead to an exit.
As he advanced, he quickly left the row of cells behind and entered a corridor.
He suppressed his presence, moving carefully without making a sound. He whispered to himself without speaking aloud, steeling his resolve.
Hugh Legrand was strong. Even the job of transporting the legendary cursed object—an item radiating the most malicious aura imaginable—wasn't something just anyone could handle. At the very least, that Level 8 Hunter had acknowledged Hugh as having the strength worthy of undergoing the trials.
No matter what appeared in this unknown Treasure Hall, there was no way it could be worse than the Cursed Spirit Stone. According to legend, that curse had destroyed multiple nations.
Just as he was thinking that, a pungent stench of rotting flesh suddenly wafted toward him from ahead. The cold air shifted to something lukewarm, and the wet slap of something heavy hitting the stone floor echoed through the corridor.
Hugh took a shallow breath and glared in the direction of the sound.
The smell was enough to turn one's nose inside out. Very close. No—too close.
Something felt off. That intense aura—with Hugh's senses, he should have noticed something approaching this close long before it got there.
But there didn't seem to be time to think about it. From around the corner of the corridor, in the darkness, a towering shadow nearly two meters tall appeared.
It was—a humanoid creature. A Phantom unlike any he'd seen before, though if he had to put a name on it—it looked like a goblin. But not an ordinary goblin.
Brilliant, crimson eyes. Over two meters in height. Its swollen, distended belly must have been three times Hugh's size, yet the exposed flesh was half-melted, dripping down and sending up wisps of smoke where it touched the flagstones.
That was the source of the stench of decay.
In its right hand, a blood-smeared axe. And in its left—countless human heads, strung together on chains, dangled from its grip.
A terrifying sight. Those blazing eyes locked onto Hugh, and its thick lips twisted into an ugly grin at the discovery of fresh prey. It appeared decayed, but seemed to feel no pain.
"Can't… see… you…"
"!? You can talk…?"
The monster roared, raised its axe, and charged. The sheer momentum forced Hugh to plant one foot back and ready his sword.
He focused his attention. The blood dripping from the axe, the heads on its left arm—were they from victims who had arrived here first? No— As Hugh braced in a waiting stance, the monster's eyes went wide for a split second. An estimated two meters away, with the axe coming down, Hugh lunged forward hard.
The monster was fast, but Hugh was faster. Before the axe could finish its arc, he dropped low, stepped in, and slashed as they passed. In that instant, his eyes met those of one of the heads hanging from the monster's left hand.
A head pierced by a chain threaded through the crown. Eyes gouged out, the face frozen in anguish. The moment Hugh's gaze met it, that half-open mouth definitely formed a smile.
Drilling through a skull to string a head on a chain—no simple feat.
In other words, this wasn't a victim.
It was just an ornament. The blood on the axe probably wasn't real either. Phantoms pulled from the past were often born with these kinds of features.
That said, the danger was still real. A blow from that axe would split his skull, and being drenched in that melting flesh would cause damage no matter what.
But at this level—there was nothing to fear.
The monster couldn't keep up with Hugh's swift slashes. In its era, it probably hadn't fought much of anything. It had likely been an absolute apex predator. But this was the modern age.
At this level—he could win!
Hugh smiled with the conviction of victory.
But the slash he launched to cut through the creature hit nothing.
"—!?"
His strike, which should have connected, swung through empty air, and he stumbled forward.
He hurriedly regained his balance and spun around.
There was nothing there.
The nauseating stench, the strange footsteps, and of course, that hideous massive body—all gone without a trace.
Phantoms were supposed to dissipate once defeated, but this was something different. Hugh hadn't defeated that thing.
It had vanished in an instant, just as suddenly as it had appeared.
"Impossible… what the hell was that…"
A chill raced down his spine. He scanned his surroundings, but there was no trace that the monster had ever existed. Even the rotting flesh that had dripped onto the floor had vanished.
He couldn't understand it. It made no sense. He had no idea what was happening, but he couldn't afford to stand still.
Hugh steadied his breathing, wiped the cold sweat from his brow, and resumed walking through the darkness.
§ This prison, it turned out, was enormous. The stone interior twisted and turned like a maze, and the cold air and darkness steadily drained Hugh's stamina.
Since that first encounter, no Phantoms had appeared. This, too, was another unnatural difference from the Treasure Halls he'd explored before. Occasionally, he could hear footsteps or noises from far away, but the echoes made it impossible to pinpoint the source. It seemed he'd been imprisoned far deeper than he'd imagined.
"…Another trap. How annoying."
The flagstone beneath his feet caved in, and a black-painted arrow shot at him from behind. Hugh twisted his body to dodge the incoming projectile.
As a non-Thief, Hugh couldn't detect traps in advance. But he wasn't so weak as to fail dodging an arrow once it was in flight. If the speed had been any greater, it would have been trouble, but it seemed this Treasure Hall's traps weren't designed to deal with modern humans.
Or perhaps they weren't meant to hit at all. For some reason, there was a deliberate hand at work in this Treasure Hall. As though testing Hugh—deliberately.
No matter how far he walked, the scenery never changed. There were a fair number of rooms, but the interiors were all essentially the same, and he couldn't tell which civilization this Treasure Hall was based on.
Walking like this, he was no longer certain he was even making progress. He felt a newfound respect for Hunters who explored unknown Treasure Halls.
Lost in these thoughts, he entered another area resembling a prison. It seemed this Treasure Hall was composed of dark corridors and cell blocks.
There might be other captives besides himself.
Being careful not to make a sound, he opened one of the metal doors and peered inside.
He checked each of the countless small rooms separated by iron bars.
None showed signs of living beings, but when he glanced into one particular cell, Hugh's eyes widened.
He opened the unlocked door and stepped cautiously inside. What was there—a corpse.
Completely skeletonized, almost certainly human. The remains were propped against the wall as though they'd died leaning against it.
From the gear, probably a Hunter. Nearby lay what appeared to be personal effects—a completely rusted knife, a broken lantern.
But what caught Hugh's eye was a small notebook lying in front of the corpse's limp, dangling right hand.
Unlike the other items, the notebook had barely deteriorated. He picked up the leather-bound journal, flipped through it, and searched for useful information.
Fortunately, the writing in the notebook was legible to Hugh. And for some reason, the handwriting felt oddly familiar.
*'This is their laboratory. They abduct humans, observe them, and experiment on them—to fulfill the mission bestowed upon them by the distant God.'* A laboratory? They? A mission from a distant God?
The string of ominous words made him frown. When he heard "God" in Zebuldia, the first thing that came to mind was the being who had once controlled the temple-type Treasure Hall that existed where the capital now stood.
But the temple-type Treasure Hall had been conquered a thousand years ago. More importantly, this place didn't feel like a temple.
What was written in the notebook appeared to be a diary. A record of investigating this place.
He wanted to read it carefully, but there was no time for that. He skipped the unnecessary parts, searching for clues to escape.
*'There is no exit from this place. All that exists here is terror. From the memories of the past, I have awakened fearsome beings in this hidden prison. I have named it the **Star God's Miniature Garden**. Those who come here will surely, one and all, be powerless. No help will come. No light will reach. In the depths of the abyss, for eternity, they will be left behind.'* Star God's Miniature Garden. So this Treasure Hall was indeed connected to the Star Temple?
But still, he didn't understand. It said here that someone had named it. A coincidence wouldn't produce the term "Star God."
He turned the page absently.
What he found was on the very last page.
The instant he read those lines, written in trembling script, his breath stopped.
Eyes wide, he read the passage over and over again. He couldn't process it.
*'My name is Hugh Legrand, a member of the Zeroth Knights. In the end, I never made a name for myself in Zebuldia, I was never remembered by Thousand Transformations, and I was never recognized by anyone. I have nothing but regret.'* The chaotic writing looked as though it had been penned with shaking hands.
That was when Hugh finally realized.
The writing in this notebook—no wonder it had looked familiar.
This was—my own handwriting.
"—!?"
Suddenly, the arm of the corpse that had been lying on the floor shot up, its hand seizing Hugh's wrist. He frantically shook it off and stumbled backward.
The skull cackled. At some point, the corpse's equipment had changed from a Hunter's gear to armor—blackened and covered in countless scars, but unmistakable.
That armor was the kind granted only to the knights of the glorious Zeroth Knights. Nearby lay a decayed Zeroth Knights sword of the same make.
Dizziness swept over him. His heart hammered like a drum. Was this a future version of himself?
That was impossible.
Hugh Legrand stood alone. He shouted on instinct.
"The notebook—a self-introduction, is it!? No wonder it was written in Zebuldia's official language! The Star God's Miniature Garden… if I can get this information outside, it'll be a monumental achievement—!"
He'd known something was off. The Hunter's equipment was in tatters, yet the notebook had been perfectly preserved and legible.
The corpse probably wasn't real either. And the contents written inside— Designed to stoke fear. The invincible monster that had appeared on the way. The seemingly infinite prison interior.
"It's an illusion! All of it! It's reading my mind! Think about it, and all the phenomena up until now make sense!"
A Treasure Hall that abducts people and reads their minds. There were Treasure Halls with special properties, and this was probably one of those.
A Treasure Hall that proclaimed its own name was unheard of, but temple-type Treasure Halls still held many unsolved mysteries. If this was connected to one, nothing would be impossible.
Without warning, he felt countless invisible eyes all over his body. Watching. Something unseen was observing Hugh.
He pressed his back against the wall and readied his sword. But he wasn't even sure his back was really against a wall.
Everything his eyes perceived was suspect.
The corpse of Hugh that he'd shaken off had vanished at some point. The relics too—all of it, as though nothing had been there from the start.
He repeated deep breaths, fighting to steady his nerves. Knowing the nature of the Treasure Hall didn't solve anything. The opponent to defeat, the person to rescue, a means of escape—nothing was coming into view.
Hugh panted raggedly as he desperately searched for a breakthrough. That was when a voice, like a whisper, came from deep within the darkness.
"Are all the knights in this world this strong?"
"Who are you?!"
He was ready to strike at any moment.
From the darkness emerged a single black-haired girl. Straight-cut short hair, doll-like delicate features. She carried no staff, but wore the uniform of the Zebuldia Magic Academy, complete with the school's seal.
Seeing her face, a memory suddenly resurfaced.
That face floating in the darkness—it belonged to the citizen who had given Hugh the information that led him into this situation.
It had all been a trap from the start. From the moment someone came asking for help.
Terrifying mimicry ability. Was she a Phantom? Even with her right before his eyes, the girl looked nothing but human.
"I can't believe you not only didn't flinch at Monster Diggie—you actually charged at him. He's the monster that slaughtered people regardless of age or gender and threw an entire metropolis into the depths of terror… He's so demoralized about being called a disqualified monster."
"Hmph! Just another ordinary monster! More importantly—if I take you down, can I get out of here?!"
He bellowed with everything he had, trying to intimidate the unknown creature.
Don't be afraid. Phantoms that spoke the human language weren't unprecedented. They were supposed to appear only in high-level Treasure Halls, but he'd known long ago that this was no ordinary Treasure Hall.
Hugh, even when confronted with an unknown Phantom, would not show fear.
"…What's wrong with this world? Besides, don't say such scary things. I might cry. *Sniff*… Hehe…"
A single streak of black tears flowed from her eyes. Blood.
A sinister aura unlike anything Hugh had encountered before. The girl hung her head, her shoulders trembling. And then— "Hehe… hehehe… Ahahahahahaha!"
"—!"
Her neck extended. While shedding black tears, her ball-sized head rocketed toward Hugh. He held his breath.
It was absurd. A humanoid monster stretching its neck toward him.
Among the many monsters out there, this one was certainly unique—but what could a head do on its own? More importantly, Hugh had a sword.
"Grrr… OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHH!!"
Hugh roared as if to blow away his own fear and surged forward. He sidestepped the incoming head by a hair's breadth, raised his sword, and swung.
"Stretching your neck leaves you wide open! Exposing your weak point—are you stupid!? A head alone on the move and even a Dullahan would be stronger!"
"This world… has too many things. I hate it. Because there's no place for me to be."
Just before his blade cleaved through her neck, she left those words behind and vanished like an illusion.
The corridor returned to silence.
He felt he understood the opponent's ability, and the nature of this Treasure Hall.
Fear. A terrifying monster emerging from the darkness. His own corpse rotting in a prison cell.
This Treasure Hall was using illusions to terrify Hugh. A trick employed by certain demons.
He could win. He could conquer this. Hugh Legrand could defeat—this remnant left behind by God!
While Hugh caught his breath, a voice came from everywhere and nowhere.
"But you can't. What you're afraid of—I already know. I'm not sure how I'm different from you, but—"
"What!?"
He spun around, searching for the source of the voice. That was when a shock struck him—the kind that froze the blood in his veins.
A shock incomparable to anything before. His breath stopped, his grip went slack. The sound of his sword hitting the floor rang out. But the loss of his weapon was the least of his concerns now.
He widened his eyes to their absolute limit.
Floating in the air before him was a small wooden box. A box adorned with exquisite craftsmanship.
"I-Impossible… why is this… this was supposed to be resolved already—"
He could never forget it. The traumatic memory. The legendary curse that had been unleashed at the very end of the prophecy affair—a curse that could topple nations.
The cursed object that some mysterious existence had practically forced into Hugh's hands—and that Thousand Transformations had dealt with.
The Cursed Spirit Stone.
An overwhelming aura of death. That presence was far too potent to have come from an illusion.
The lid slid open without a sound and fell to the floor.
The *curse*—which he hadn't even been able to see with his own eyes before—erupted from the forbidden box.
And Hugh Legrand's consciousness was swallowed by darkness.