In a Civilized Manner

July 14. Year ???

Today’s weather: Sunny.

The moment I get out of this fever dream… It’s over for all of you……

A brief silence descended upon the group. Celio sniffed awkwardly.

"This is a… bit different from what I expected."

No kidding.

Edris took in the words with a complicated gaze. The academic version of The Story of Weisha was concise and to the point, simply listing out factual characteristics of Weisha like an encyclopedia.

On the other hand, this so-called real story sounded more like someone's rant sessions than something that would give them factual information.

They flipped to the following page.

July 18. Year 942

Today’s weather: Cloudy.

A week since we arrived in this… world (I don't think fever dreams would last this long). Still can’t get used to the fact that they use magic to heat up water here instead of electricity.

July 30. Year 942

Today’s weather: Cloudy.

Got my mana aptitude tested today. Didn’t know that was a thing. They said I’d get results in a few weeks and told me to come back then. What is this ridiculous lack of efficiency? One-star rating.

July 31. Year 942

Today’s weather: Rainy.

Everything is different here. The culture, the technologies, the people… Is this really going to be our lives from now on?

Each diary page was a sparse segment of the writer's life, usually contextless or recordings of everyday trifles. But from the meagre information they could piece together, the writer seemed to have been brought here against their will… from another world?

Although transmigration wasn't unheard of throughout history, there were no empiricist backings of this phenomenon. Edris was no expert on history. The most he could pull from his knowledge was that transmigrators, like angels and deities, were entities that existed only in theory.

The few mentionings found all fell under the Creatos Era, before the massive war against Diales that almost wiped humanity whole.

Almost a thousand years have passed since then.

Even then, the notion of transmigration mostly appeared in books to explain certain religious philosophies, with no records of the actual cases of transmigrators themselves.

Given the casual nature of the entries, Edris wasn't sure how much of the speaker's stories he could take for word. For all he knew, the diary could be the final fantasies of a psychopath.

He refocused back on the diary content.

August 14. Year 942

Today’s weather: Cloudy.

Been a month since we arrived here. I learnt how to ride a demidragon today. A win for me but a loss for my ass. People at Mount Echo won’t be seeing me for the rest of the week.

September 12. Year 942

Today’s weather: Sunny.

Got results back. They said my aptitude’s even higher than Eins’s, and he got real petty.

HAH. Loser.

Edris blinked twice.

Eins?

Eins Everlund?

"Isn't that…" Ives reread the entry, making sure she wasn't hallucinating. "The Archivist?"

The information exploded like a bomb among the group. Edris found his mind jumbling up from the absurd mentioning of names he'd never expected to appear in this situation.

Edris let out a low exhale, allowing a second to reorganize his thoughts.

The current diary—The Real Story of Weisha—had been a reward for discovering the Principal's office, the second of two [HIDDEN LOCATIONS] within the Labyrinth.

The first location, in the form of a musty library, was found behind a painting in Professor Sky's room. Edris thought back to the photo of two people he saw on the shelf of the [HIDDEN LOCATION].

He'd confirmed the man in the photo to be none other than The Archivist. His face matched almost perfectly with the one on the statue at the location of the Labyrinth pull, except younger.

In that case, could the other person in the photo be Weisha?

Assuming that the writer was the mysterious Weisha would change things entirely.

From the entries so far, she seemed to have been acquainted with Eins Everlund for a long time.

What was their story?

Edris didn't have time to think deeper into this, however, as the countdown on his profile was decreasing by the second.

"Owein." Edris glanced up briefly, locking eyes with the curly-haired man. "You're reading this, right?"

The latter nodded.

"I'll recall it."

Although the diary was a hidden reward, Edris wasn't sure whether he'd be able to carry it out back into the real world. His priority was to flip through the entire diary before the countdown. With Owein’s Lucid Recall, if they all came out of the Labyrinth with amnesia, at least the information wouldn't go to waste.

October 20. Year 942

Today’s weather: Cold.

Eins got into a fight with someone today. The man he fought was super fine, so I took his side (just kidding (not

We ended up all getting dinner so them two can make up. It was supposed to be all peace and reconciliation, but the two ended up having an eating competition. And I ended up paying! So childish.

The man said his name was Tooran.

I feel like we’d become good friends.

October 25. Year 942

Today’s weather: Super cold.

Tooran introduced us to frion tea today. Holy shit it’s so good.

December 14. Year 942

Today’s weather: Slightly less cold.

“Tooran” saw this notebook the other day. He said I spelt his name wrong; it’s supposed to be "Toren" with one O and E-N instead of A-N. Then why’d he pronounce it like that?

"Is this who I think she's talking about?" The beast tamer blinked twice. "Toren Zacriya? Founder of the Zacriya Kingdom?"

"Judging by the date of the entry," Ace said stoically. "Yes."

First Eins Everlund, then Toren Zacriya.

That marked two of the Seven Conquerors already.

"This diary, it's from the Labyrinth—right?" Celio unknowingly stepped back from the notebook, as if it was alive and would pounce at him the next second.

Up until now, the general conception of Labyrinths has been that they were fictitious worlds within the greater reality, a dream-like phenomenon exclusive to the Northern Lands of Adalan.

Upon entering, they then learned that this fictitious world, every player came in with a designated [ROLE], cards they could manipulate to their advantage, and quests they must complete to return to reality with generous rewards.

Everyone had been so focused on surviving that they never bothered considering where these scenarios and roles came from.

Who decided the content of these Labyrinths?

The further into this diary, the blurrier the boundary between the Labyrinth and the real world became—this was the thought shared by the entire group.

December 26. Year 942

Today’s weather: Freezing.

I met an old man today. I was inside the cafe, and he came up to me asking about the book I was reading. I had explained to him that it wasn’t written in a language from here but my hometown, but he only laughed and said he wouldn’t have understood it either way since he was illiterate.

We spent the entire afternoon in a reading session; if Eins didn’t come get me, I could keep at it till tomorrow!

December 28. Year 942

Today’s weather: Slightly less freezing.

I can’t stop thinking about the old man.

What’s with this world’s education system? No public schools, no adult academies, no nothing! Tell me why it’s even worse than—ugh, nevermind.

December 29. Year 942

Today’s weather: Also freezing.

I held a sword for the first time today. Not for me.

December 30. Year 942

Today’s weather: Freezing freezing.

If I trained a little harder, I was told that I can beat up Eins single handedly (pretty sure I can already do that though…

December 31. Year 942

Today’s weather: Freezing freezing freezing.

I miss home.

The entries went on.

As Ace flipped one page after another, the diary entries became increasingly sporadic. Some were months apart, lasting anywhere between a couple of sentences and no more than a few words.

July 14. Year 943

Today's weather: Sunny.

Today marks a whole year from the first day we’ve been brought here. Frankly, time flew by so fast that I would have forgotten already if Eins hadn't reminded me. It's a bit hard to keep track of the days here without the typical titles of the week.

And with the likelihood of war unfolding… Sigh. Violence seems to be a commonality regardless of which world we're in.

August 29. Year 943

Today's weather: Sunny.

Went to see the sunrise on top of Mount Echo with the others today. Listening to them chat and laugh about the most random topics, I found myself thinking: Ah, if things can stay like this forever.

To think I've really started seeing this world as home. Who would have thought?

…

I’ll protect it.

The following few entries were even shorter, mostly about preparing for the "war" the writer mentioned. Although they didn't go into much detail, let alone context, from the tone of the diary entries, things hadn't looked very optimistic for the team.

November 13. Year 943

Today's weather:

During yesterday's meeting, Emithy asked me about my plans after the war.

I told her I'd never thought about it before. It was true. I only think about the present (and the past sometimes because I hold grudges), but I admit that got me thinking a bit. I heard looking forward to something gives people hope. In our current situation, I guess some hope wouldn't hurt.

If we come out of this in one piece—oh, and by we, I mean mostly Eins, since Toren will be just fine because he's Toren, I'll be fine because I'm invincible, and the others will be fine because... actually, don't even get me started on them.

Anyway! If we live through this, I want to open up a school.

Yep. A school.

The conversation with the old man was so long ago, and way too many things have happened since then, but it still bugs me from time to time.

That said, if we were to survive this, I'll open up a school. A big school. Of course, it'll have my name on it (I like validation, so what?)

It'll be open to everyone in the world who wants to learn—the old man, the people we met while travelling, the future generations—anyone regardless of age, background, occupation, species.

I told Eins about my plan later last night. He said he respects the optimism. I beat him up for that.

Sure, I'll admit it. I'm an idealist. And?

What's wrong with dreaming for a bit?

The sole fact I'm here right now, breathing and stepping on the land of this world, is already a feat that should have been impossible. And what my own world couldn't achieve… Maybe I'll be able to do it here.

No—I will make it happen here.

I'm Meng Weisha, after all.

This diary entry was the longest one yet. As the last words trickled off, the group fell silent.

MW Academy. Meng Weisha's Academy.

Peering into the lines of words on the page, Edris felt the puzzle piece click into place.

He’d been wondering why discovering the Principal’s secret had led to the Labyrinth gifting him Weisha’s personal diary. At least on the surface, the two didn’t seem directly related in any way.

Now, he knew.

The old man, however he got there, wasn’t the real principal.

It was Meng Weisha.

Edris felt the book in his hands. He wondered what the woman would think after seeing the type of place her academy had turned out to be.

He wasn't sure whether Labyrinth 53 was something that accurately reflected the past. Maybe it represented only one possible outcome; perhaps it was only a made-up scenario to begin with.

The entries after that became messy. Date markings disappeared, and the words looked wobblier, impatient; it was clear that she'd written them in a disoriented state. Eventually, they couldn't get anything coherent out of her entries at all. Pages and pages onwards were filled with scribbles, angry markings, and tear stains.

The diary ended abruptly, with only one sentence on the page:

Things weren't supposed to turn out like this.

The pages after that were all blank. No matter how many times they flipped onward, the pages remained like an empty canvas.

Meng Weisha's story ended there.

Ba-dump.

The diary resting in his hands, Ace heard another heartbeat, the vibration reverberating throughout his entire palm.

This time, not only him but everyone in the group heard it.

Instead of a heartbeat, it sounded more like a sob.

The entire notebook shrivelled like a broken leaf. Ace clenched the book in his hand, but the pages bled past his fingers like ashes, disintegrating before they could reach the ground.

The next second, a message popped up in their vision, enunciated in their minds simultaneously in a cold, mechanical voice.

YOU HAVE REACHED THE END OF [LABYRINTH #53].

CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR SURVIVAL!