Chapter 81: The Winter Lake Puzzle

“This is… the Winter Lake Puzzle.”

I carefully examined the magic circle and stone slabs nearby, growing more certain of the situation.

So this trial was hidden within that book. No wonder the title felt so familiar.

“A puzzle?”

The sudden appearance of a figure beside me startled me.

“Eh, Syl, how did you get in here?” If I remembered correctly, this was supposed to be a solo instance.

“I was concerned for Your Highness’s safety, so I used a bit of power.” Syl explained, her duty as a maid compelling her to prevent any dangerous situations. Besides, this didn’t violate Alice’s orders.

“A bit… of power…”

I knew Syl was strong, but now I had a clearer idea of just how much. Alice could manipulate the system as the AI, but I hadn’t expected Syl to be capable of bending the rules too.

“Please don’t dwell on it. More importantly, what did Your Highness mean by the Winter Lake Puzzle?”

Syl clearly didn’t want to linger on the topic, redirecting to my earlier comment. While she was well-versed in much of history, she couldn’t know every detail.

Especially since this was just a player-named phenomenon.

The Winter Lake Puzzle was a special trial documented in a forum post from my past life. I’d mentioned before that libraries held many opportunities, and the player who posted about this was one of the lucky ones.

The gist was that they found a strange book in a library, got mysteriously transported to a forest, and had to solve a puzzle to earn an incredibly powerful item.

Back then, I was searching for information in a library and stumbled across the post, giving me a rough understanding of the context.

But explaining this to Syl required a different approach.

I fabricated a quick excuse. “The Winter Lake Puzzle is something I read about in a book related to the Aegwana region—a rather unique legend.”

Since I’d been looking through histories and legends of other regions for inspiration, this excuse shouldn’t raise suspicion.

Seeing no doubt in Syl’s expression, I breathed a sigh of relief and continued, “The puzzle revolves around a passage—the one on the first page of that book. You use elements in this scene to solve it.”

The Titans fall, the sage slumbers in the valley’s depths; the stars emerge, the white raven’s shadow tilts northwest, guiding the lost; the seven orders align, and the gods bestow the crown.

According to that post, the key to solving the puzzle lay within this passage, and I still remembered the gist of it.

“…And the gods bestow the crown.” Syl softly repeated the passage, but she still seemed clueless.

I wasn’t surprised. If it were that easy to unravel, the poster who wrote a lengthy analysis would’ve been in tears.

Of course, I couldn’t explain it that way. “It’s a pretty complex puzzle. I just happen to know a bit about it.”

“So, Your Highness knows how to solve it?”

“I know some parts.” I kept my answer vague to avoid suspicion but offered a hint. “The opening line, ‘The Titans fall,’ likely refers to an era.”

“Era of Grace, years 146–152, the Fire Prison War, when the Titan race fell.” Syl thought briefly and pinpointed the exact time based on my hint.

I nodded. “Now connect that to the sage and the ‘seven orders’ later. What comes to mind, Syl?”

After a moment of thought, Syl answered.

“The Seven Orders Council of Aegwana. The council’s founders, seven sages of different elemental domains, perished in the Fire Prison War.”

“The first puzzle is about them—the seven sages of the Seven Orders Council, each mastering a unique elemental mystery: fire, frost, forest, lightning, wind, earth, and light.”

I bent down, picking up a stone slab with a distinct pattern from the ground and casually placing it on one corner of the six-pointed star magic circle.

With a rumbling sound, a red stone monolith rose from the ground near the lake.

“This magic circle represents the Seven Orders Council, but the placement of each slab isn’t random—it holds special meaning. Syl, can you guess what it is?”

“Fire, red.”

Syl glanced at the red monolith and then at the flame-patterned slab in the circle, catching the key. “If we match elements to colors…”

“Red, blue, green, cyan, purple, yellow… white?”

“Exactly, the three primary colors. Well done, Syl~”

Even without looking up, I knew Syl had figured it out.

I began placing the remaining slabs on the points of the six-pointed star.

Booming sounds echoed from the lake as monoliths rose in sequence, following the pattern of the slabs—or rather, the principle of the primary colors. Monoliths of different colors emerged from the ground, standing tall under the night sky.

Between fire and frost rose the dark purple of lightning; between frost and forest, the cyan of wind; between forest and fire, the earthy yellow of earth.

As six monoliths rose, faint chains of light appeared, linking them together.

From above, the six monoliths and their light chains resembled an enlarged version of the magic circle.

When the final slab, symbolizing light, was placed at the center, a seventh monolith slowly rose from the lake’s center.

Unlike the others, this monolith was like a transparent crystal floating in midair, perfectly smooth, without a single ridge or dent—like a flawless mirror.

Click, click.

The six surrounding monoliths suddenly shifted, their faint beams converging on the central monolith.

At an astonishing angle, they merged into a single pillar of light, piercing upward, parting the thick clouds above the forest.

In the twilight, a pristine night sky studded with glittering stars unfolded.

“Now for the second puzzle.”

The stars emerge, the white raven’s shadow tilts northwest, guiding the lost.

Syl looked up at the starry sky. “Does ‘the stars emerge’ refer to the current situation?”

Seemingly unrelated, the phrase was intricately tied to the previous one, serving as a bridge.

“But if it’s just descriptive, there’s no need for it to be included.” I gave a small hint, not forgetting to tease. “Unless, of course, the author was padding the word count for a paycheck.”

Like a poor kid struggling to hit an 800-word essay.

Ignoring my quip, Syl shifted her gaze from the sky to the forest—or rather, the shadows of the trees under the moonlight. “Does ‘the white raven’s shadow tilts northwest’ refer to a direction, Your Highness?”

“No, if it were a direction, it’d be too straightforward.” I shook my head. “Think about it—when would a tree’s shadow tilt northwest?”

“Aegwana is in the northern continent, so… early morning or midnight.” Perhaps connecting it to ‘the stars emerge’ or reading my expression, Syl’s tentative guess turned confident.

“You’ve only used part of the phrase’s information. There’s more. The white raven tree is another key point.”

“White raven tree…” Despite her impressive knowledge, even Syl couldn’t know everything.

Why do I feel like a reading comprehension test writer?

Not wanting to torment Syl further, I explained, “The white raven tree is unique to Aegwana. Its leaves only flourish in winter, with a white tint among the dark green, hence the name.”

“The first two lines point to midnight in winter.” Syl caught on quickly, summarizing. “Combined with ‘guiding the lost,’ does it refer to the Morning Star at midnight in winter?”

A solid deduction, but I shook my head. “The ‘lost’ here isn’t just about those who are physically lost. It’s an allusion, like ‘the sage slumbers in the valley’s depths.’”

In Aegwana’s ancient legends, a deity took the form of a constellation shaped like a crown, guiding those lost in spirit. Countless warriors and sages were saved by it. It appeared only once a year, at midnight in winter, marking the end and beginning of the annual cycle.

And the name of that constellation was—

“The Corona Borealis.”

“So the final line, ‘the seven orders align, and the gods bestow the crown,’ means directing the light to the Corona Borealis’s position.”

Since we’d pieced together most of the puzzle, I didn’t hold back, revealing the full solution.

It sounded simple to solve, but that was only because I’d read the strategy post in my past life. For someone unaware, they’d likely have no idea what to do.

The system wouldn’t create a nonsensical puzzle stacked with self-justifying lore. The key to solving the Winter Lake Puzzle lay entirely within The Eternal Chronicle of Aegwana. Only by reading the book thoroughly and reflecting on its contents could one unravel its secrets.

Like the poster from my past life, who spent two weeks studying the book to grasp the opening passage’s meaning and seize the opportunity.

“I see. This puzzle is no small feat.”

Even Syl, after hearing my full explanation, paused for a long moment before giving such praise. As someone who’d witnessed Herentis’s century-long evolution, her commendation proved the puzzle’s extraordinariness.

But her focus shifted to another matter.

“Since you know the method, why is Your Highness just standing there?”

Following my gaze, Syl, assuming I wouldn’t focus on something irrelevant, looked up at the dreamy starry night, searching for a clue.

Could there be a hidden secret among the stars?

She silently speculated.

But the answer was unexpectedly simple.

“Because I don’t know where the Corona Borealis is…”

I admitted honestly.

“…”

Stunned by my candid tone, Syl paused before responding with her decent astronomical knowledge. “Your Highness, the Corona Borealis is southeast of the Morning Star.”

I thought for a moment.

“…Which way is southeast?”

“…”

It turns out being directionally challenged includes being astronomically challenged. But I didn’t accept that label—nighttime makes it hard to tell directions, and it’s not like I could use a twintail for guidance. I don’t even have one.

Then I remembered the system map.

So, under Syl’s ambiguous gaze, I covered my face and located the Corona Borealis.

The pillar of light formed by the six monoliths’ beams, after adjusting the floating crystal’s angle, slowly and steadily projected toward the Corona Borealis’s constellation.

Like Odin’s spear piercing the cosmos, or a deep scar across the heavens, it connected the earth to the distant stars.

The seven orders aligned, an ancient rite of praying to the gods, and in the night’s curtain, the gods bestowed a miracle—

A golden crown descended from the Corona Borealis, slowly falling above the forest before dissolving into streams of light, merging into the white monolith at the lake’s center.

Boom.

With a thundering roar, the monolith sank back into the lakebed, as if unlocking a mystical gate. The mirror-like lake parted, revealing a deep blue void beneath.

At the same time, the surroundings shifted again. When I came to, I realized I was no longer in the Faerns National Library…