Second Trial[2].

Riley was slightly relieved that no one was home at the moment. At first, he wasn't sure if this was the right place, as the details from the fragmented memories he had inherited were too scattered to rely on fully.

Still, as he stood there, he could feel an odd sense of familiarity that reassured him. It had only been a short time since he found himself trapped in this foreign world, and the disjointed thoughts of his host's life filtered into his mind like faded snapshots.

But there was one glaring problem—Riley still didn't know his own name in this world.

He shrugged it off for now, focusing instead on following the remnants of memory to locate his room.

The creak of the floorboards under his feet echoed in the hallway as he fished out the key from his pocket. It was a small, brass key, slightly worn but still functional, and it fit snugly into the lock. The door opened with a soft click, revealing a simple, almost bare room.

It was modest in size, with a bed pushed against one wall, a wooden desk and chair next to it, and a small closet opposite the bed.

A gas lamp stood in the corner, its glass dome catching the soft afternoon sunlight that streamed through the window. The room smelled of old wood and faintly of lavender, though it had clearly not been lived in recently.

Riley relied on the natural light filtering through the window to navigate the space. He wandered over to the bed, inspecting it with curiosity.

The mattress was firmer than the ones he was used to at the Ascenders Academy in the waking world but far softer than the makeshift bedding he'd slept on back in the Broken Sword Clan.

Regardless, the bed was one of the few things in the room that actually pleased him.

He turned toward the dressing mirror hung near the closet. Stepping closer, Riley caught a glimpse of himself in the glass. He studied the reflection with quiet interest, seeing the body he now possessed.

His hair was black, messy, and tousled as if he had just woken up. His features were sharp yet youthful, giving him the appearance of a boy no older than eighteen.

He looked somewhat timid and weak—definitely not a face that would intimidate anyone. In short, he looked like a typical mummy's boy.

"Black hair seems decent enough," Riley mumbled to himself, touching a strand before letting it fall back into place. He sighed, feeling both curious and slightly detached from the image before him.

The body felt foreign, yet the longer he stared, the more he began to recognize the subtleties of its expression and mannerisms. It was strange, occupying a vessel that wasn't his own, but he'd grown accustomed to strange things lately.

After a few minutes of aimless wandering around the room, Riley decided that there was no use in moping around.

He needed to explore the city—maybe then he would stumble upon a clue about the nature of his second Nexus Trial.

The thought gnawed at him, and he couldn't shake the worry that this world was also a shadow world. He'd been in too many of them already. He was not willing to face another of his doppelgangers.

With a faint scowl, Riley dressed himself in a black suit and trousers he found in the closet. They were somewhat plain, though of decent quality, with only minor scuff marks along the hem.

He grabbed a matching hat and then turned to the silver-lined cane resting on the desk. He picked it up, feeling its weight in his hands, then gave it a light twirl.

"Tch! So this is what the 18th century feels like," he muttered under his breath. "All those damned movies got it wrong. It's horrible!"

The streets outside bustled with activity as Riley stepped out of the house. The crowded street was filled with men and women alike, all dressed in similar old-fashioned garb.

Many of the men, like Riley, carried canes—though they didn't appear to need them. The few who didn't were either servants or coachmen, their hands busy tending to horses or pushing carts down the cobblestone roads.

Riley marveled at the sight of the carriages rolling down the street, their wooden wheels rattling loudly against the uneven stones. There was something quaint about the simplicity of it all, yet it felt suffocating to him—this rigid, hierarchical society where people were confined to roles based on their appearance and status.

A group of people dressed in rags huddled together in a small alley on the side of the street, their bodies hunched against the cold. Their faces were gaunt, their clothes torn and patched. They shivered, even under the pale warmth of the afternoon sun.

Riley's gaze lingered on them for a moment, and his mind wandered back to the days when he had lived in an alley filled with MWP robots—where rats were a luxury if he could catch them.

"The Trial doesn't seem to care about things like that," Riley muttered, brushing the memories aside as he continued walking. 

He weaved through the crowded streets, avoiding several carriages and making note of the various shops and landmarks. Slowly, he began to understand the layout of the city—the fastest routes, the busiest streets, and the quieter alleyways that offered a bit of solitude.

By the time he had finished his exploration, the sun had dipped low in the sky, casting a soft orange glow over the rooftops. Shadows began to creep across the streets, stretching long and dark as the day transitioned into night.

As the darkness deepened, two pristine white moons rose into the sky, their light casting an ethereal glow over the world.

Riley hailed a nearby carriage and climbed inside, paying the fare with the last few pence he had found in his pocket. The total cost for the day's transport had come to five pence—far more expensive than he had anticipated.

"So expensive," he grumbled under his breath, settling into his seat as the carriage jolted forward.

He briefly considered using his abilities to run back home. Drifters were much faster than horse-drawn carriages, but he wasn't keen on drawing unnecessary attention to himself.

The journey back was uneventful, and soon enough, Riley found himself standing at the door of the house once again.

As he entered, a girl with dark hair caught his attention. She stood in the hallway, looking up from the book she had been reading. She couldn't have been more than sixteen years old, her face pretty and youthful with soft, delicate features.

"Robert, you're back early?" she asked, her voice tinged with surprise.

Riley blinked, the name 'Robert' burning itself into his memory. He had nearly forgotten about the name he was supposed to respond to.

"Yeah," he said, forcing a smile. "Time crawls when you're not having fun."

The girl—his sister, apparently—sighed in relief. "Thank the Goddess, you seem normal," she said, her brow furrowing slightly. "The police came by earlier. They wanted to know if you were okay."

"Police?" Riley asked, his confusion genuine.

"You don't remember?" She looked at him with concern.

"No," Riley admitted, shaking his head. "Everything's a bit… foggy."

His sister's expression grew more somber as she gestured for him to sit down.

"Two days ago, you and your friends found a book. You all read it together, and… well, yesterday, Raudell committed suicide. This afternoon, Weston threw himself in front of a train."

Riley felt his body stiffen. 'Another book?'

"Damn it," Riley thought to himself, trying to keep his expression neutral.

'Must I always be involved with some cursed book? First the Veritas, now this!'

He looked up at his sister, who continued explaining how the police had searched his room for the book, hoping to find clues.

Riley leaned back in his chair, his thoughts racing. 'What could this book be about?'

Riley's fingers tightened around the edge of his chair, knuckles turning white. His sister's words swirled in his head, layering themselves over his own memories of the Veritas—the cursed book that had almost caused so much devastation in his life.

Yet this was different. This wasn't the same book, and he wasn't the same person he used to be. 

"Are you okay?" she asked, her eyes softening as she noticed his tense posture.

He forced a smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I'm fine. Just… shocked, I guess. I didn't realize it had gotten so bad."

She nodded, her expression still one of concern. "I know it must be hard for you. You were all so close."

Riley swallowed hard, resisting the urge to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Close? He barely knew these people, and now they were dead because of a book they had read. It was too similar, too familiar.

"I just need some time to process everything," Riley said, rising from his chair. "Maybe some fresh air will help."

His sister stood as well, looking as if she wanted to say more but ultimately nodding in understanding. "Okay. But if you need anything, just let me know. And be careful, Robert. Something isn't right about all of this."

"I will," Riley replied.

"Praise the Goddess, I would send a telegram to the police department that you are okay, and then you don't seem to remember what was written in the book."

"Yeah, thanks." Riley responded, he started to try hard to remember what Robert had read in whatever book he had his hands upon, but could not remember anything.

"Hope it's not that it's another god's scheme of creating a shadow world." Riley mumbled. Then he got up and headed to his room.

"I will inform you when dinner is ready, the maid took a day off, to take care of her mother's illness, she will be back tomorrow." His sister shouted making sure he heard as he entered his room and closed the door.

"Does losing one's memory affect the behavior?" his sister questioned, placing her hands on her hips, then after thinking for a while, she threw her hands up in the air," I will ask Turner when he comes home, he would be hungry by the time he gets back, what should I cook?

Hum, the other siblings are also coming today, mum will also join us, I almost forgot, today is supposed to be our family dinner." She kept talking to herself as she walked inside the kitchen.

Riley, who was peeping, breathed a sigh of relief, as he saw that his sister didn't seem to notice anything strange. Still…

Riley paced his room, the unease gnawing at him.

'How long until she notices something is off?' he wondered. There was always something—no two people behaved the same way, not even identical twins. It was inevitable, a natural law of the world, that eventually, someone would pick up on his subtle differences.

The little slip-ups in his mannerisms, the things Robert might have done differently. How much longer could he maintain this charade?

His mind flickered back to the Veritas, the cursed manuscript that had plunged him into darkness in the first Nexus Trial.

He couldn't shake the eerie similarities between that ordeal and this new one. He stripped off his clothes and headed into the small adjoining bathroom.

The water from the bath was scalding as it soaked into his skin, but the heat offered a strange kind of comfort.

He let himself sink into it, allowing the warmth to seep deep into his muscles as though it might burn away the tension coiling inside him.

'Could this book be another cursed artifact?' he wondered. 'Like the Veritas…?'

The thought gnawed at him as he emerged from the tub, steam rising in soft tendrils from his body. He pulled on simpler clothes, his fingers moving on autopilot as his mind continued to churn. 

Back in the room, he rummaged through the belongings Robert had left behind, trying to make sense of the life he was now supposed to lead.

His fingers brushed against something odd—a costume, clown clothes of all things, along with a set of Minchiate cards. Riley counted the cards—ninety in total—and then came across a stack of letters.

One in particular caught his eye. It was an invitation, summoning Robert to perform at a birthday party as a magician. 

Riley frowned. 'A magician?' He read the address again: "St. Vernis Street", followed by a rather unimpressive offer: "three pounds for the day".

He chuckled to himself, shaking his head at the absurdity. "Three pounds? For magic tricks?" His voice was barely a whisper, tinged with disbelief. "What a joke."

Just as the words left his mouth, a voice from behind startled him. 

"Did you say a job will pay you three pounds?"

Riley's heart leaped, but he forced himself to stay calm. He turned slowly to face the speaker, a man in his late twenties with a neatly trimmed goatee. He was dressed sharply, his dark gray coat and black accessories giving him an air of formality. Riley blinked, trying to place him—he had no idea who this man was.

"Robert," the man continued with a knowing grin, "you're complaining about three pounds for a day's work? As long as it's legal, you should be grateful. Some bank managers don't even earn that in a day. I barely make two pounds a week."

Riley's mind raced. 'Robert… Robert…' He repeated the name in his head, trying to settle into the role. But the man before him was still a stranger. He didn't have any memory of this individual, and worse, he didn't know how Robert would react in this situation. 

He put on his best apologetic smile, hoping it would be convincing. "I'm sorry," he said, letting his voice drop to a softer, almost sheepish tone. "I can't seem to remember your name."