On the western coast of the Forgotten Continent, within the Terran Empire, stood the Wandering Song Academy. "Geya, you've disappointed me greatly! I asked you to describe Lord Versace's personal visit to the border, his charitable act of providing disaster relief to the people— What the hell is 'the nobles' money returned in full, the commoners' money split seventy-thirty'!?" "Respected instructor, I was only writing what I saw..." "That won't do! Lord Versace is one of the Empire's most influential rising nobles. Offending him will do our academy's funding allocation no favors this year!" "Take it back and revise it. Don't make me repeat myself!" "Of course, as you wish, instructor." Watching his most prized student return to her seat with a bitter expression, Ulasan finally let out a long sigh. For heaven's sake, he was Ulasan, the compiler of *One Thousand and One Praises*! He'd secured the dean's position entirely thanks to that textbook. If any of his students slandered a noble lord, his reputation would be ruined in an instant! He wasn't willing to lose the privileges that came with his position over this. Having disciplined his student, Ulasan finally settled before his low desk, carefully studying the blank sheepskin parchment upon it. His quill pen rose and fell, repeating the motion several times, yet he still couldn't bring himself to write— The textbook *Praises* had been in use for twenty years, and most noble lords' ears were calloused from hearing the same things. He had to come up with more praise templates, expanding it to two thousand phrases, in order to maintain the academy's standing. To achieve this without any repetition was no easy task. The candlelight flickered, casting his reading glasses in alternating brightness and shadow, illuminating the clear beads of sweat on his balding forehead. The corridor outside was incredibly noisy too. The sounds of discussion and running footsteps were endless, like flies circling and hovering around a rotting egg. Finally, he could no longer bear the irritation in his heart. Frantically crumpling the paper on his desk into a ball, he hurled it into the distant fireplace: "It's already the middle of the damn night! What the hell is all that racket outside!?" Hearing her instructor's roar, Geya, who had just settled back into her seat, jumped in fright. She hurriedly stood up and pushed open the office door. Many students rushed past in the corridor, their expressions urgent. The Poet's Academy had always promoted music and art, and to ensure students' initiative, discipline had always been lax. Holding song and dance parties in the dormitories at midnight, waking up in the morning to find a dozen people tangled up in bed—these were all common occurrences. But no one would actually disturb the teachers right under their noses. Geya had been studying at the academy for six years, and this was the first time she'd witnessed such a grand spectacle of students spontaneously rushing toward the courtyard. Grabbing a passing student, she turned sideways, pretending to look expectantly toward the end of the corridor. In reality, she was deliberately showing off her left profile— She thought her left side looked better. "Classmate, has something happened?" The other person hadn't expected to be stopped by the renowned [Geya Yuexi] of the academy. It was hard not to recognize her. After all, on this continent, elves seemed nearly extinct. Let alone the even rarer half-elves. And one who deliberately dyed her hair a striking pink was absolutely unique. He steadied himself, his tone inevitably hurried, and then pointed toward the courtyard: "Haven't you heard? Just a short while ago, a new record appeared on the Forgotten Monument!" ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ novel·fiɾe·net Geya forcibly controlled her expression within a respectable range. To avoid ruining the beauty her face bestowed. But she clearly understood what that meant— Legend had it that the Forgotten Monument was the handiwork of some deity. They had condensed memory into substance, transforming it into an eternal monument that stood in the center of the Poet's Academy. Thus, wandering bards traveling the world would always inscribe what they'd seen and heard onto this monument, using magic to categorize and compile it. It served both as a record of the continent's history and of the rise and fall of various nations. Functioning as the continent's history book. It also filled the academy's story repository, allowing future generations to compose even more excellent poems and ballads. It was the foundation upon which the Poet's Academy stood. But later, perhaps some arrogant race—everyone speculated it was the elves, since they'd vanished without a trace—in any case, they angered the deity, who brought down the harshest punishment: a curse. Overnight, the history books became blank pages, and people began unconsciously forgetting the past. Even when recording new history, the content would dissipate the next day, leaving only oral transmission to pass down and continue great achievements. At first, people didn't notice the consequences. But as time passed, one hundred years, two hundred years... The brilliant deeds of their ancestors, due to the flaws of oral transmission, spawned countless conflicting versions until they lost their foundation and vanished in the river of history. This dealt a devastating blow to the existing order. Chaos in class structure and ethics swept across the entire continent. Glorious nations declined as a result, while emerging forces rose in their place... Everything on that monument also became smooth like the history books, polished enough to use as a mirror. The Poet's Academy also fell apart due to the chaos of war. This made it difficult for true poets to continue their legacy until they finally disappeared without a trace. It wasn't until now, when the ruler of the Terran Empire—wanting poets to sing of the Empire's great achievements through the generations and attempting to replace written records with language—announced the revival of this declining academy— There hadn't been any success yet. Because so much time had passed, many professors believed that the so-called 'monument' was just a legend to cover up how pitiful the poets truly were. Even while maintaining the monument's dignity, they'd never held any hope for it again. Let alone these students. But even if they didn't believe in the monument's legend, hearing of such a miraculous occurrence, they couldn't help but come and join the excitement. The junior student asked awkwardly, "Senior Yuexi, would you like to go see it with me?" After a brief moment of surprise, Geya blinked at him and returned a smile: "I'll be right there." "Should I wait for you?" The junior's face lit up with joy. Geya tugged at the nameplate on the junior's chest: "I'll remember your name, Classmate Suwen. See you in the courtyard shortly." He thought he'd been chosen. It wasn't until Suwen passed through the end of the corridor that the smile on Geya's lips dimmed, replaced by cold indifference mixed with fatigue. She would never let him hear even a hint of rejection. But she also would never fulfill a single promise. The casual agreement was only to further demonstrate her charm and approachability. She needed this for promotion to formal teaching assistant. Suppressing her heart's confusion about the Forgotten Monument, she quickly walked to her instructor's side, bowing to report: "Instructor, they say someone has inscribed new history on the Forgotten Monument." "Over such a trivial matter, they're making this much noise— The Forgotten Monument? Who—who wrote it!?" "It's not clear yet." "Quickly, come with me to see!" This blank monument commemorated the world's forgotten history. It was the world's tomb. But now someone suddenly tells you the grave has stirred. Not only has it stirred, but someone has inscribed an epitaph on it. The impact of this event was far greater than a nautiloid ship full of mind flayers and tadpoles suddenly flying up from the horizon! Ulasan didn't even care about his image, rushing toward the courtyard on his short legs. Just as he pushed open the door, a cool breeze swept across his sparse scalp. He quickly coughed and called out: "Geya, quickly fetch my wig!" After tidying up his appearance and maintaining proper dignity, he passed through the bustling crowd. The bards had already surrounded the pitch-black monument in the center of the courtyard—a hundred feet tall and fifty feet wide. They quickly cleared a small path, and Ulasan bowed to both sides before straightening his back. As he approached, he saw on the black monument a brilliant spiritual light, like dazzling stars above the clouds, clearly visible. Looking directly at that 'starlight,' he saw it transform into flowing water, slowly extending and gathering into strings of floating text in the Common Tongue— "Is what's written the author's experiences from yesterday?" Having read through the content, Geya found these words oddly amusing. "Though the wording was somewhat crude, it was unexpectedly... interesting?" [Lost Calendar Year 1000, June 7th, Starberry Town, torrential rain. One year after officially embarking on my journey, I was kicked out of a tavern...] Lost Calendar Year 1000 marked the 1000th year since the world began commemorating the past. June 7th was exactly yesterday. But within the Terran Empire's borders, the weather had been calm and peaceful. [I admit the last performance was a disaster, but I've realized where the problem lies. The second time won't be a mess-up. Just give me one chance to prove myself— I absolutely won't be laughed at in the same tavern twice! Just wait. I'll make you wipe those mocking smirks off your faces. Willingly offer up your applause and cheers!] [Fuck, just as I was about to show off, my lute string broke.]