The Anomaly's Path

The doors clicked shut, sealing the quiet archive off from the rest of the underground market. Inside, the Archivist remained seated behind the desk.

Wearing the disguise of a short-haired messenger girl — complete with a neat black bob, a dark coat, and a plain half-mask, they leaned back into the leather chair, staring at the empty spot where Leo had stood moments ago.

A low chuckle broke the silence of the room.

"...What a strange little prince," the Archivist murmured, resting their chin against a folded palm. "House Celestial certainly breeds oddities."

The game of three questions had been enlightening. The Archivist had expected the infamous ’Drunken Trash’ of the Celestial family — the worthless, useless heir everyone in the domain whispered about.

But instead, sitting across the desk was a cold, sharp boy who handled a binding Mana Oath Contract without even flinching.

They had heard the rumors — how he came back from his Path Trial a completely different person. He wasn’t the same reckless drunk anymore. He had changed. He was sharper now. More dangerous.

The old Leo was gone, and in his place was someone who moved with purpose and control. He didn’t act like a spoiled noble throwing his family’s name around. Every move he made was deliberate, calculated, and cold.

...And then he asked about them, the Archivist thought, their eyes narrowing.

Leo hadn’t just come for the prisoner. Before leaving, he had asked a question that made even the Archivist pause. He asked about... The Fallen.

It wasn’t surprising that a high-ranking noble knew the name. Every great house had records of the cult that worshipped the Abyss King — the fanatical group that caused the Great Gate Incursion twelve years ago before disappearing into the shadows.

But what stood out was how Leo asked. He didn’t ask if they existed. He asked about what they were doing now, as if he already knew they were active again.

"He knows too much for a student," the Archivist whispered softly.

And then there was the strange parting question. Right before walking out, the boy had looked back and casually asked if the Archivist was originally a man or a woman.

The Archivist laughed again, shaking their head. It was a useless question — one that completely missed what the Mirror of Lies really was. They had no fixed form. They were a shifting thing with a hundred faces. Gender meant nothing to them, just like the clothes they wore.

A soft knock came at the door.

"Enter," the Archivist said, their voice returning to a flat tone.

The door creaked open, and a young woman stepped into the room. She wore a dark coat, her short black hair styled in a neat bob, her jawline framed by a plain half-mask. She was the actual messenger girl whose face the Archivist was currently wearing.

The girl didn’t flinch or show surprise at seeing her exact copy sitting behind the desk. She simply closed the door, walked forward, and bowed deeply.

"Master," she spoke respectfully.

"Ah, you’re back," the Archivist said, swirling a pen between their fingers. "What do you think of our guest [Loki]?"

The girl straightened up, thinking for a moment before answering carefully. "...He is dangerous and annoying. His mana control is quiet, but his presence is heavy. He moved through the Shadow Market like he owned it."

"Indeed," the Archivist agreed. "He is far more than he lets on. Tell me, is the boy from the deep vault prepared?"

The girl paused, a faint trace of hesitation crossing her face. "He has been moved to the lower holding area. But... Master, are you certain about handing him over? You previously said that the boy possessed rare talent, despite his failed mission."

"He does," the Archivist replied smoothly.

"He is a genius, broken in just the right places. But he saw that talent as well. Besides, this isn’t just a loss — it is an investment. A boy like him is moving pieces on a board far larger than this market. Handing the prisoner over builds a connection with someone who holds immense potential. In the long run, having his goodwill and seeing where he drives this world is worth far more than keeping a single broken tool in our vaults."

The Archivist stood up, smoothing down the front of the dark coat.

"Place the boy on the main auction block for the second half of tonight’s event," the Archivist ordered. "Assign him the highest listing rank. Let him be the main attraction of the deep vault sales."

"Understood," the girl bowed.

"And one more thing," the Archivist added, their voice dropping into a cold, tone that left no room for debate. "Set Leo von Celestial’s file to the highest security tier. Seal all information regarding his visits, his transactions, and his identity. If anyone comes asking about him, even the Astra Union or his own grandfather, they get nothing."

The girl raised her eyes in mild shock. That level of privacy was reserved for a tiny handful of figures in the world — monsters like Duke Zephyr von Celestial, or the top leaders of the Astra Union. Putting an academy student in that same category was unheard of.

Still, she didn’t question her master. As far as she could remember, the Archivist had always seen far beyond the surface of the world.

From the rumors and stories whispered throughout the underground, they had lived for an impossibly long time. If the Archivist was taking such precautions for a mere student, there was no doubt a deep, deliberate reason behind it.

"Is that clear?" the Archivist asked.

"Yes, Master," she replied immediately, suppressing her doubts. "It will be done."

"Good," the Archivist murmured, turning to look at the dark glass window overlooking the auction hall. "Let us see what the little prince does next."

_

Meanwhile, on the upper floor of the Shadow Market...

I walked down the quiet hallway, adjusting the mask on my face. My boots made no sound against the floor as I headed back toward our VIP room.

That bastard, I thought, grinding my teeth slightly behind my mask. He still made me pay for the boy.

I had answered three specific questions under a contract, and the Archivist still made me buy the kid at auction just to take more of my money. That was just how the black market worked. Every coin mattered to those people.

Still, the deal was set. As long as the boy hit the auction floor, I had enough money to outbid anyone in the room.

My mind shifted back to the conversation about The Fallen.

In the game, the cult was the main source of chaos in the later parts of the story. They were a group that worshipped the Abyss King, believing he was a true god buried by other gods.

They were loyal, patient, and hidden everywhere — among nobles, soldiers, scholars, and even priests. Twelve years ago, they caused the Great Gate Incursion at the Frozen Cross. Since then, the world thought they were gone.

They weren’t.

From what I knew they were already working in the shadows.

They had been waiting for the Abyss King to return, and the crack in the sky months ago proved that was happening. In the game, that event happened much later, which meant the cult was already active — earlier than they should have been.

And the worst part? The timing.

They’re going to start making public moves soon, I thought, letting out a tired breath. And when a major story event happens, where does it always hit first?

The Academy.

It was the classic trope. The hero, and the protagonist of the game Arthur, was resting right there at the Academy, getting ready for the upcoming school festival. Where the hero went, trouble naturally followed like a magnet.

Tomorrow is the festival, I reminded myself.

Students’ families were arriving. Nobles, powerful backers, and wealthy donors were all coming to campus to meet the students and enjoy the festival. In the game, my family never showed up because I was dead by this point in the timeline.

But now? Things were completely different.

My mother and little Mia were coming to visit me tomorrow.

I need to stay alert, I thought, my jaw tightening. If any Fallen cultists try something during the festival while my family is here, I’ll tear them apart myself.

I reached the doors of VIP Booth 7-A. Two guards stood on either side. The moment they saw me, they bowed instantly and pulled the doors open for me.

I stepped inside.

The room was quiet, lit by soft glowing lamps. Caster sat on the leather couch, looking a bit restless while, Julia and Malva were looking down below. When the door closed behind me, all three of them turned immediately.

"Young Master," Caster said, rising from his chair with a relieved look. "You’re back. Is everything... resolved?"

"It’s fine," I said, waving a hand as I walked over. I gave a brief nod toward both Julia and Malva before taking my seat on the couch.

"Anyway, don’t worry about it," I smirked beneath my mask. "Look down. The second half of the auction is starting."

Below us, the central stage lit up again with bright white spotlights. The auctioneer, looking significantly less stressed after taking a break to recover from the chaos I caused in the first half, stepped back up to the podium.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" his voice echoed through the hall. "Welcome to the second half of tonight’s grand event! We have saved our finest, rarest items for the final hours!"

I leaned back into the cushions, crossing my legs.

_

The second half moved fast. The items brought out were vastly superior to the ones in the first half, relics, monster cores, and rare spellbooks. And naturally, I couldn’t resist causing a little more trouble.

I didn’t break the auctioneer completely like I did earlier, but I still messed with him whenever an overconfident noble tried to dominate the room. I used my High-VIP privileges to jump into random bidding wars, forcing prices to huge heights before pulling back or using legal loopholes to delay sales.

Down on the stage, the poor auctioneer’s left eye began to twitch again, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the podium, forced to smile through the pain because he couldn’t call out a High-VIP. It was petty, but it kept me entertained while I waited for the main event.

Of course, I wasn’t just throwing money into the wind for nothing. I actually bought several useful items.

I grabbed an Epic-rank spell staff that boosted mana recovery by thirty percent — a perfect fit for Julia. I also bought an Epic-rank set of dual short swords with wind enchantments. I realized I hadn’t given her a proper gift myself yet, and her fast combat style deserved good weapons.

Then came a rare martial scroll — a Grandmaster-rank Sword Art. It wasn’t the highest tier, but its heavy, aggressive mana-flow made it a great match for Malva’s current sword style, helping her improve her technique.

I spent money on a few other useless items too, just because I could.

I had a huge amount of money, and chances like this underground market didn’t come often. Most people would never see even a small part of the gold I was spending, but keeping it all didn’t help me if it didn’t turn into strength or useful tools.

_

An hour passed. The crowd grew louder as the final regular items were sold.

Then, the lights on the main stage dimmed.

A heavy silence fell over the entire underground market. The auctioneer stepped back into the center ring, his expression turning serious.

"And now, esteemed guests..." the auctioneer announced, his voice echoed through the hall. "We have reached our final listing of the night. A special, unlisted asset from the deep vaults."

From the center of the stage, an iron cage rose from the floor, surrounded by mana suppression chains.

Inside the cage sat a young boy.

His clothes were torn and dirty, his dark hair messy and unkempt. He looked about sixteen or seventeen — an age where most kids were worrying about school or noble parties. Looking at his small, thin body, no one in the crowd would ever believe this was the same boy who had killed his whole team in the dark.

He sat curled up in the corner, his head resting against his knees. But as the bright spotlights hit the cage, he slowly raised his head.

His face was pale, covered in small cuts, and at first glance, his eyes looked completely dead — cold, hollow, and utterly devoid of fear or hope.

But as I looked closer through my mask, I saw something else hidden underneath. It wasn’t despair. It was a raw will to survive. No matter how broken his body was, no matter how heavy the chains, the faint spark in his eyes showed he still wanted to live.

It was him.

The boy who, in the original game timeline, would escape two years from now and become the terror of the black markets.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, my gaze locking onto the boy inside the cage.

"Finally," I whispered. "The main event."