The Insane Regressor: Throne of Pride

”Enter,” Earl Patrick called.

The door opened, and Shmichael stepped into the office.

The elderly servant’s eyes moved first to Patrick, then to Larette, before finally settling upon Ravian. His gaze paused briefly upon Ravian’s new clothes and still-damp white hair, clearly registering the change in his appearance, but his expression remained as disciplined and composed as ever.

Ravian raised one hand and waved cheerfully when he saw him enter, while Shmichael allowed his gaze to pass over the gesture as though he had seen nothing at all.

”You summoned me, my lord?” Shmichael asked, bowing respectfully to the Earl.

Patrick folded the letter of authorization with measured care, poured dark-red wax over its edge, then pressed the black ring upon his finger into the still-warm wax. He held it there for a moment before lifting his hand, leaving the ring’s impression embedded within the seal.

’So that ring is a seal,’ Ravian observed, his eyes resting briefly upon the Earl’s finger.

”Rayan wishes to visit the archive of the Supreme Soul Academy. This letter grants him entry under my personal authority and requests that he be permitted to access every floor available to the Academy’s students and researchers without restriction,” Patrick explained, showing no particular concern for how Shmichael might react to such an unusual order.

Shmichael’s eyebrows rose despite his usual composure.

”Every floor?” he repeated, as though giving Patrick one final opportunity to amend the statement.

”Every floor,” Patrick confirmed.

The Earl extended the sealed letter toward him.

”Take him through the administrative entrance and deliver this directly to the archive official responsible for special authorizations. Do not leave until you have confirmed that the permission has been accepted,” Patrick instructed.

However, even after Shmichael reached out, Patrick did not release the envelope immediately. For a brief moment, both men held it at the same time, the Earl’s refusal to let go lending a silent weight to the order that his otherwise calm voice had not conveyed.

Shmichael received the letter with both hands and hesitated for an instant, still appearing somewhat unable to believe the breadth of the access Patrick had just granted.

”Understood,” he replied at last.

Only then did Patrick release the envelope and shift his attention toward Ravian.

”Remember what we agreed upon. Return before nightfall,” the Earl reminded him.

”I’ll return,” Ravian replied with a nod, carefully neglecting to specify whether that would be before or after nightfall.

”And try not to provoke anyone while you’re there... please,” Patrick added before Ravian could leave.

Ravian turned his head and smiled at him over his shoulder.

”Don’t worry. I’m not someone who enjoys causing trouble anyway,” Ravian said with an entirely serious expression—or at least, one that appeared serious.

Patrick stared at him in silence.

Larette released a quiet sigh.

”That is precisely the answer he didn’t want to hear, Rayan,” she said.

”Huh? But I already reassured him, didn’t I?” Ravian asked, looking from Larette to Shmichael, who was rubbing the space above his brow as though a headache had already begun forming behind it.

”Do you genuinely call that reassurance?” Shmichael asked.

”Isn’t it?”

Ravian was deliberately playing upon their nerves, but he adopted an expression of innocent confusion as though he truly had no idea what they found so concerning.

Shmichael turned his face slightly aside, concealing whatever reaction had nearly appeared upon it.

Patrick slowly ran his fingers over the space between his eyebrows.

”Just bring him back before the contracts are due to be signed, Shmichael.”

”I’ll do everything in my power, my lord,” Shmichael replied.

”That doesn’t sound sufficiently reassuring either, Shmichael,” Patrick muttered.

Ravian finally rose from his chair and straightened the edge of his jacket, deciding that he had tormented them enough for the moment.

”I’ll return before nightfall. The investors will receive their signatures, and your engineers will receive everything they need to understand the project,” Ravian said, ending the joke at last and allowing the sincerity beneath his words to become clear.

Patrick gave him one final, searching look, as though attempting to decide how seriously he should take that promise, then nodded.

”Go, then.”

Ravian turned toward the door alongside Shmichael, but Larette spoke before he could step outside.

”The books I placed in your room will still be useful even if you’re going to the Academy. Don’t neglect them when you return.”

Ravian stopped and looked back at her.

”Did you choose them yourself?”

”Some of them,” Larette replied, averting her gaze slightly. ”The servants would have brought whatever they happened to find near the library entrance, but I didn’t allow them to do that.”

A small smile appeared upon Ravian’s face as he recognized the concern and quiet effort concealed behind her expression.

”Then I’ll read them when I return.”

Larette looked at him again.

”And please don’t cause any problems. Everyone there undoubtedly possesses considerable status.”

Ravian turned fully toward her with a frown.

”For heaven’s sake, I’ve already told all of you not to worry. I’m not a troublemaker.”

”That isn’t nearly as reassuring as you seem to think.” Larette shook her head.

’Tsk. Tsk. This lack of trust is truly starting to irritate me.’

Ravian gave a quiet snort before turning away and following Shmichael out of the office.

They crossed the manor in silence, descended the main staircase, and passed through the entrance hall. The sound of their footsteps followed them across the polished floor until they reached the open doors leading outside, where a dark carriage bearing the crest of House Viola was already waiting. The driver sat prepared at the front, holding the reins as though he had been instructed to depart at a moment’s notice.

Shmichael opened the carriage door for Ravian. Ravian climbed inside first, and the elderly servant entered after him before taking the seat directly opposite.

The instant the door closed, the carriage began to move.

Viola Manor gradually receded behind them as the carriage passed beyond its grounds and joined one of the capital’s broad roads.

The City of the Black Rose had fully awakened by then, and the oppressive gloom that had previously settled over it was gradually beginning to recede, though it had not yet disappeared entirely. Signs of ordinary life were returning one after another as carriages traveled between noble estates and commercial districts, merchants opened their shops beneath colorful awnings, and uniformed patrols crossed intersections crowded with servants, laborers, and students.

The wheels rolled steadily over the stone road, their measured rhythm mixing with the distant calls of merchants and the ceaseless movement of the capital. Despite the lingering traces of unease, the city seemed determined to return to its usual pace, as though refusing to remain paralyzed by whatever fear had gripped it before.

Ravian watched everything through the carriage window for some time, his crimson eyes moving across the shifting streets and passing buildings, before he finally turned his attention toward Shmichael.

”How difficult is it to enter the Academy’s archive without enrolling?” Ravian asked, pausing briefly before adding, ”Judging by what the Earl said, it sounded genuinely difficult.”

”For an ordinary person?” Shmichael asked, glancing at Ravian from the corner of his eye.

”Yes.” Ravian nodded.

”Completely impossible,” Shmichael answered without the slightest hesitation.

’Oh, shit,’ Ravian thought.

”And for Earl Patrick?” he asked.

Shmichael looked down at the sealed letter safely tucked inside his coat, his eyes resting for a moment upon the place where Patrick’s dark-red seal lay hidden.

”Merely troublesome,” Shmichael replied with a faint frown. ”But possible.”

Ravian finally nodded in satisfaction. That meant his access to the information within the archive was now all but guaranteed, provided no unexpected problem arose before they arrived.

”The Earl maintains connections with many administrators, researchers, and noble patrons within the Academy,” Shmichael continued. ”However, entry to the upper floors cannot simply be purchased as though one were paying for access to a private collection of books. Some of the materials preserved there are unique, while others are restricted because the knowledge itself may prove dangerous in untrained hands.”

”Dangerous in what sense?” Ravian asked, his attention sharpening immediately.

Shmichael began counting the examples upon his fingers.

”Refinement methods that may permanently destroy the soul if misunderstood, incomplete research concerning Soul Crowns, records connected to extinct bloodlines, failed methods of advancement, and historical accounts that certain factions would prefer to see forgotten,” Shmichael explained. ”Simply put, the archive contains an absurd number of secrets. I don’t even understand how the Earl agreed to your request.”

Rather than becoming cautious, Ravian’s interest only intensified.

Shmichael noticed at once.

”My words were supposed to encourage you to exercise caution, Rayan, not make you look this excited,” Shmichael said, his expression growing visibly weary.

”And they did encourage me to be cautious, Mr. Shmichael. Now I know which sections are most likely to contain the most valuable information,” Ravian replied with a smile, committing every category Shmichael had named to memory and considering each of them individually.

Refinement methods capable of destroying the soul would inevitably reveal principles that safer methods avoided discussing. Incomplete research concerning Soul Crowns might contain theories that had never reached public instruction, whether because they had failed, proved too dangerous, or simply remained unfinished. Records of extinct bloodlines could reveal how soul power differed between races and lineages, while failed advancement methods might teach him just as much through their mistakes as successful methods did through their results.

Even the historical accounts certain factions wished forgotten possessed obvious value. A truth someone had gone to great lengths to bury was rarely insignificant, and Ravian had already learned enough about this world to know that official history could conceal as much as it revealed.

None of those thoughts represented a new destination or a change in his plans. They merely confirmed that spending one of his two requests had been the correct decision.

The elderly servant stared at him for several seconds, seemingly trying to determine whether there was any point in warning him again when every warning only sharpened his curiosity.

”Please remember that Lady Larette specifically asked you not to create another problem.”

”I remember,” Ravian replied, wearing a cheerful expression that had not appeared upon his face in a very long time.