Absolute Cheater

She reached the bottom floor, a sealed iron gate looming ahead, engraved with the symbol of House Mimir: a mountain with a single black flame burning at its peak.

"Only those of the blood may enter."

She touched her palm to the central glyph. A soft vibration answered her—a pulse of soulprint recognition. The gate unlocked with a low, grinding groan and opened inward.

The chamber beyond was vast and circular, filled with scrolls, crystal tablets, and soulbound tomes. Magical wards shimmered faintly in the air. The deeper records were sealed with rites only the monarch or high magister could access.

Melina had never been granted full clearance.

But Valeris was not Melina.

She moved past shelves of court law and ceremonial lineage, toward the darker wings—sections labeled with runes that meant restricted, untouched, and unverified. Here were records of failed bloodlines. Betrayals. Hidden executions. The real heart of Mimir's royal rot.

As she passed a mirrored archive shelf, she caught her reflection—and paused.

It was her face. Her real face. Not Melina's.

Just for a flicker of a second.

"The dungeon's watching me even here…" she whispered.

A soft pulse of mana echoed from one of the sealed vaults.

She turned.

The seal glowed with her approach—responding to her presence. It should not have. This vault was marked with an ancient glyph: a twin-eye sigil, one that even Melina hadn't known how to interpret.

Yet it was opening.

The doors parted soundlessly.

Inside was a single pedestal, and on it—a black book wrapped in chains of soul-iron. The lock uncoiled as she stepped inside, revealing the title burned into its cover in letters that shimmered between languages:

"The First Queen: Valeria the Devourer"

Her breath caught.

She didn't recognize the name—but something inside her did.

It throbbed. Ancient. Hungry.

She reached out… and the moment her fingers touched the cover, visions exploded behind her eyes.

Flames. Screaming cities. A queen dressed in blood. Not Melina. Not Valeris.

But something older.

Something bound to the name "Val."

She staggered back, clutching her head as voices whispered through her mind.

"The Queen returns. The blood remembers."

"It ends where it began."

And then suddenly she found herself in a long hallway.

****

Meanwhile, Asher stood in the shadows of Mimir's Old Quarter—watching.

Listening.

He had found a tavern called The Crooked Tower, a favorite haunt of exiled nobles and disavowed seers. Here, rumors lived longer than kings.

He sat across from a man with skin like dry parchment and eyes like cracked glass. A forgotten archivist, stripped of his title long ago.

Asher dropped a soul-coin on the table.

"I want to know about the name Valeria. First Queen. Before the records were rewritten."

The old man didn't blink.

Instead, he smiled.

"Ah. So she has returned."

Asher's hand drifted toward his blade. "Talk."

The man's grin widened.

"Then you should know… it was never Balphor Mimir who founded this kingdom, as stated in the history books. Not truly. It was Valeria. They buried her story because she didn't just rule the kingdom—she became the dungeon. The first sovereign of the Worldcore."

He leaned in, voice low and sharp as a dagger.

"She didn't just want continents to fall under her rule—she sought worlds. Dominion over realms beyond this one. That kind of ambition terrified the royal bloodline. So her brother was elevated, the story rewritten. He was named the founder. And she? Erased. Buried. Turned into a myth."

Asher's eyes narrowed.

"So why are you telling me all of this so easily?"

The old man smiled again, revealing yellowed teeth. "Because of the prophecy. Passed from tongue to tongue, hidden in forgotten texts."

He recited it softly:

'One with a soul not born of this world shall walk the Mimir stones…''Aid him, and be free.'

"You're the one," the old man said. "The soul that doesn't belong to this body. A presence not bound by this world's rules."

Asher tensed, his fingers hovering near his sword hilt.

"And how do you know that?"

The man's smile only deepened. "Because your presence feels like hers. Like Valeria's. The Sovereign who tore the veil between world and dungeon. And now… she has returned too, hasn't she? The Queen beside you."

"Once again… Valeria has returned. She has been reborn," the old man whispered, raising his hand to the sky as if calling to the heavens.

"What?" Asher's body stiffened, stepping closer, his voice a low growl. He glanced toward the old man, his hand tightening. "What do you mean she's been reborn?"

The old man didn't flinch. His gaze was distant—reverent. "Valeria knew others would rise against her. So, in her final days, she cast a forsaken soul-weaving spell—over a billion echoes of memory woven into fate itself. A legacy spell, ancient and divine. She ensured that she would return… in another life, another form. One day, she would walk this world again."

Asher's breath hitched. "And she has," he whispered.

"Yes," the old man said with a trembling smile, his voice thick with emotion. "She has stirred again. Her memories were locked within the royal vault—hidden, protected by seals no one understood. But now… the current queen has begun to awaken them. And when the final seal breaks, she will fully become who she once was. Valeria reborn."

Asher turned sharply, his eyes wide. A pulse of fear and realization thundered through his chest. "Valeris…"

He didn't wait for more.

Power surged through him as he dashed away, tearing back through the shadowed archives, his feet pounding against the ancient stone halls. He knew where she was—the vault.

Valeris was already walking toward her fate.

A fate not chosen by her, but written long ago by her previous life.

****

Valeris on the other hand, now have entered inside the Vault.

"Hm, what is this?" She mumbled as she saw a long hallway as she entered inside and the walls of it are lined by many paintings.

Valeris looked at first painting it showed two kids in small houses like those of commoners.