Chapter 25: When the Ancient Manuscripts of the Library Breathe Fire
History is not written by the victors.
It is written by those who record it.
And how those records are read is left to the readers of later ages.
Right now, I was descending a dimly lit staircase underground.
My destination was the deepest part of the Second Library.
Beyond a heavy iron door lay the area known as the “Sealed Archive.”
It was normally off-limits.
But in a state of emergency, only extreme measures would suffice.
Clack.
Clack.
Clack.
My footsteps echoed.
The air was dry, thick with the smell of mold and old ink.
Here slept three hundred years’ worth of “forgotten records,” dating back to the founding of the kingdom.
“…Well then.
Let’s go treasure hunting.”
I raised my magic lamp.
Its orange light illuminated bookshelves that stretched all the way to the ceiling.
What lay there were less books than collapsing bundles of paper.
My enemy was Duke Valerius.
And the monster he wielded as a shield—something called “tradition.”
According to him,
“The procession to the Holy Site must be on foot.”
An immutable royal custom.
An iron rule that could not be changed.
But I doubted it.
Really?
Was this kingdom truly so aggressively athletic at its founding that brides were forced to walk ten kilometers?
If that were the case, the nation should have collapsed long ago.
Royal brides were usually sheltered noblewomen with limited stamina.
“…The case law compendium should be under His Grace’s control.”
Records from the last hundred years or so were likely curated by him.
No doubt filled with nothing but heartwarming tales of queens who “nobly completed the walk on foot.”
There was no winning there.
So I went further back in time.
To the origin of “tradition.”
I would find the original text, decreed by the very first king.
“《Cleanse》.”
I released a faint stream of magic from my fingertips.
Bundles of parchment that looked ready to crumble at a touch.
I carefully removed only the oxidized oils on the surface and the damage left by bookworms.
My magic had long since crossed into the realm of restoration.
“First Shelf: Agricultural Law”… not it.
“Second Shelf: Tax Code”… also no.
“Third Shelf: Royal Ceremonial Law — Early Drafts.”
“…Bingo.”
I pulled out a thick, leather-bound volume.
It was heavy.
The crest of the founding king was stamped on its cover.
Carefully, I turned the pages.
The text was written in archaic language.
Deciphering it was difficult—
but don’t underestimate the librarian of the Second Library.
I had spent plenty of idle hours reading ancient manuscripts.
Page after page.
One hundred pages.
Two hundred pages.
There it was.
“Chapter Seven: The Wedding Rite.”
I widened my eyes and followed the lines with my finger.
“The bride shall become the mother of the nation.”
“Her body must remain pure and untouched by the filth of the earth.”
So far, so good.
Next came the crucial part—the method of travel.
“The path to the Holy Site is perilous.”
“Therefore, the bride shall—”
My finger stopped.
My heart pounded.
The word written there was not “on foot.”
“The bride shall proceed by means of a pure conveyance.”
“…I win.”
I clenched my fist in triumph.
A conveyance.
It was clearly written.
A carriage.
A palanquin.
At the very least, it did not say she must walk on her own feet.
I continued reading.
“The bride’s feet must not touch the soil before she stands at the sacred altar.”
“Sweat and mud are an affront to the gods.”
What a magnificent passage.
The founding king had clearly been a rational man with sound hygiene standards.
Sweat and mud were sacrilege.
Which meant that the current custom—
forcing a bride to walk ten kilometers, drenched in sweat and dust, before entering the Holy Site—
was itself a violation of true tradition.
“…I see now.”
I formed a theory.
At some point in history, there must have been a queen who enjoyed walking.
Or perhaps one who suffered terrible carriage sickness.
She chose to walk.
That choice was later romanticized.
Eventually, it transformed into a moral lesson:
“Suffering through the walk is virtuous.”
That is how traditions are born.
“…Lady Eliana?”
A voice came from behind.
I turned to see Sylvia holding a lantern.
She was slightly out of breath—unusual for her.
“I was looking for you.
I never expected to find you down here.”
“Sorry.
I was doing some research.”
I closed the book.
The sound echoed softly.
“I thought you might have run away.”
“Never.
I was simply acquiring the weapon I need to win.”
I smiled.
Sylvia frowned.
She still didn’t understand what I had found.
“Sylvia, where is His Grace now?”
“In his office.
It is nearly time for afternoon tea.”
“Perfect.
Let us give him a history lesson.”
I stood, hugging the heavy manuscript to my chest.
The hem of my dress was slightly dusty now.
But I didn’t care.
This dirt was a badge of victory.
◇
Royal Palace, Office of the Master of Ceremonies.
Duke Valerius was enjoying his tea in refined silence.
“…By now, that girl should be nearing her breaking point.”
He gazed out the window.
Though he had conceded on the dress’s weight,
the walking procession was non-negotiable.
It was the ultimate trial of resolve for a woman marrying into the royal family.
Knock. Knock.
“Enter.”
Eliana walked in.
Her dress was faintly soiled.
And in her arms was a battered old book.
“…What is this?
Shouldn’t you be training?”
“This is part of my training, Uncle.”
I smiled politely.
Then I dropped the book onto his desk.
Thud.
The tea in his cup rippled.
“What is this filthy thing?”
“The original text of the Royal Ceremonial Law, from the founding era.
Your Grace, I have made a rather significant discovery.”
“A discovery?”
“Yes.
It appears that our planned ‘procession on foot’ is, in fact…
an act of irreverence against the will of our founding king.”
“…What did you say?”
His gaze sharpened.
For a man who worshiped tradition,
the phrase “disrespecting the ancestors” was unacceptable.
I opened the relevant page.
Tracing the lines with my finger, I read aloud.
“The bride’s feet shall not touch the soil.”
“Sweat and mud are an affront to the gods.”
“Therefore, she shall proceed by means of a pure conveyance.”
The duke leaned forward.
Adjusting his monocle, he stared at the ancient script.
“…This… this is…”
“It says ‘conveyance,’ doesn’t it?
And that sweat and mud are sacrilege.”
I pressed on.
“Your Grace, when did the walking custom begin?
One hundred years ago?
Two hundred?
Either way, it is a newer alteration than this text from three hundred years ago.”
“…Gh.”
“I wish to honor the will of the founding king.
I refuse to stand before the gods drenched in sweat and dirt like a barbarian.
Should we not return to the most ancient, and most sacred, form of the ritual?”
Logical checkmate.
If tradition was the weapon,
then the older tradition always held supremacy.
The older it was, the stronger it became.
That was the rule of this world.
The duke fell silent.
His gaze moved between the manuscript and my face.
He looked irritated—
but strangely, also amused.
“…You’ve done well.”
He muttered.
“To think you would exploit a gap in my own knowledge…
The Sealed Archive, hm.”
“Yes.
It was very dusty.”
“…Hmph.
Very well.”
He closed the book.
“Your argument has merit.
No—if it is written in the original text, then it is justice.
The walking procession will be abolished.”
“Thank you very much!”
A fanfare exploded in my head.
I did it.
The ten-kilometer death march was gone.
“But!”
His voice hardened once more.
“The text states ‘a pure conveyance.’
An ordinary carriage will not suffice.
You must prove absolute purity—
not a speck of dirt, not a grain of dust.
If it becomes soiled even slightly along the way…
the engagement is annulled.”
He smiled thinly.
Cruel.
An outdoor carriage on an unpaved mountain road staying clean?
Impossible.
“…I accept.”
I smiled back fearlessly.
Dirt?
Dust?
Do you even know who you’re dealing with?
I am a master of 《Cleanse》.
“I will prepare the purest carriage imaginable.
A level of purity where dirt itself ceases to exist.”
And so, the battle over transportation entered a new phase.
Next was carriage modification.
I would take an Empire-imported carriage with advanced suspension
and turn it into an immaculate sanctuary through magic.
…but before that,
the duke was not yet done.
If physical attacks failed,
he would crush me with psychological warfare instead.
The very next day,
a letter arrived—
an invitation to a “tea gathering” hosted by conservative noblewomen.
Officially, it was for “fellowship.”
In reality,
it was clearly a tournament dedicated to nitpicking etiquette violations.