SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant Chapter 540: Secrets in the Room

Trafalgar and Bartholomew ascended together, sharing the circular platform as it made its way towards the uppermost level of the dormitory structure.

Throughout their climb, Bartholomew continuously scanned his surroundings, as if the very platform gained a certain splendor simply by transporting them to that exclusive section of the building.

"It has been quite some time since I ventured this high," he remarked. "It still astonishes me that all this expansive space is designated solely for the heirs of the Eight Great Families."

Trafalgar offered a slight shrug.

"When you consider it, it's rather standard," he replied, his tone devoid of any particular awe. This lack of impressiveness was understandable, having resided in that elevated part of the tower long enough for its extravagance to become commonplace. "Never mind the building. We have more pressing matters to attend to."

Upon the platform's arrival at his floor, the two disembarked. The corridor above was noticeably quieter and wider, exuding the kind of tranquility that wealth and privilege invariably afforded. Trafalgar took the lead, opened the door to his chambers, and gestured for Bartholomew to enter.

"Come in."

Bartholomew stepped inside but halted almost immediately.

Trafalgar had already traversed a significant portion of the room before realizing Bartholomew had not advanced beyond the entryway. He turned, understanding dawning as he saw the reason for the pause.

To someone of Bartholomew's background, the room was nothing short of opulent.

The bed alone appeared more sumptuously soft than anything he had likely ever experienced. The furnishings were substantial and impeccably polished, the windows imposing and draped with thick curtains, the desk vast enough to accommodate a small library, and the decorative items dotted throughout the space were the sort of pieces one would hesitate to touch without explicit permission. Even the mana lamps emitted a purer, more inviting luminescence compared to those on the lower levels.

Bartholomew gazed around, as if he had stepped into a royal suite rather than a student's quarters.

Trafalgar placed the hand-held case upon a table.

"Sit down."

This instruction seemed to snap Bartholomew back to attention. He swiftly crossed the room and took a seat opposite Trafalgar, still appearing somewhat hesitant about the proper placement of his hands, as if the very furniture might judge him for his perceived lack of affluence.

For a moment, Trafalgar remained standing, one hand resting on the case. When he spoke again, the casual nonchalance he displayed in the corridor vanished.

"I believe you recall our previous understanding regarding the notebooks."

Bartholomew looked up instantly. "That it would remain strictly between us."

"Mhm."

Trafalgar pulled out the chair beside him and sat down.

"I require the same confidentiality now," he stated, his voice steady but carrying a new gravity. "I trust you, Barth. That is why you are here. What I have retrieved is profoundly significant. More than significant." He tapped the leather case lightly. "It is connected to the void creatures. Of that, I am absolutely certain. So, if you have ever harbored a desire to learn genuine truths about them, this represents your finest opportunity."

Bartholomew's expression shifted with each of Trafalgar's pronouncements. The inherent timidity remained, too deeply ingrained to disappear, but a more resolute demeanor began to surface beneath it.

"Does it pertain to an event during the war?" he inquired.

"Precisely."

Trafalgar maintained eye contact.

"It emerged from the war, and that is precisely why utmost discretion is paramount. You must not divulge this to anyone. Not even your sister." His tone, though calm, rendered the warning more impactful. "Anyone aware of this matter presently would not be secure. Perhaps in a few months' time. Perhaps in a year. Eventually, the world may necessitate learning portions of it. But for the immediate future, if this information were to spread, it could unleash utter chaos."

Bartholomew absorbed his words without flinching.

For this moment, he was neither timid nor overwhelmed. He grasped the gravity of the situation and met it with appropriate seriousness.

"I understand, Trafalgar. You can rely on my discretion."

That assurance was sufficient.

Trafalgar unlatched the case and began meticulously removing the documents, arranging them on the table situated between them. Some consisted of notes penned in Icarus's distinctive handwriting. Others were pages bearing that peculiar script Bartholomew had previously encountered in the earlier notebooks Trafalgar had entrusted to him.

The instant Barth recognized those characters again, a spark ignited within him.

It was invariably the same reaction.

The bashful young man, prone to stumbling over his own words, seemed to vanish when ancient texts were presented. In his stead emerged a more astute, deeply engrossed individual, one who forgot his social awkwardness as his mind eagerly engaged with the task at hand.

"Do you have an estimate for how long this might take?" Trafalgar inquired.

Bartholomew leaned forward, his gaze already sweeping across the initial sheet. "I cannot say for certain. Having prior experience with this material will expedite the process compared to the first endeavor. However, the volume of pages is substantial." He paused briefly, his hesitation stemming solely from an honest assessment. "I will still require several hours."

"Very well. If you uncover anything of consequence, inform me immediately." Trafalgar rose from his seat. "I intend to meditate."

Bartholomew offered a distracted nod, his focus already largely consumed by the enigmatic script before him.

Trafalgar shed his shirt, letting it rest on the chair’s back before moving to the cleared space by the window. Settling himself cross-legged, he allowed his breath to deepen and slow.

Mana readily coalesced around him, a familiar sensation.

He was so close now. Incredibly close.

The events of the past few days had occupied him entirely, preventing sustained focus, yet the pressure within his core had been mounting for some time. Now, it was more palpable than ever, much like a reservoir on the verge of spilling over after a substantial storm.

Prime Core.

The fifth rank.

He was on the precipice of achieving it.

’It won’t be long now.’

His Primordial Body facilitated the process, making it smoother, and his singular talent further aided the inflow. Mana surged towards him willingly, drawn and channeled inward with a cadence his body had come to embrace as natural. The confines of the room dissolved. The rustling of paper and Bartholomew’s quiet breaths by the table receded into the distance.

The passage of time became indistinct.

Hours elapsed.

At some point, Bartholomew’s voice pierced the quietude.

"I've got something! Trafalgar, I've discovered something!"

Trafalgar remained unresponsive.

He was too immersed within the powerful flow of his concentration, held in a state of such profound stillness that he appeared more like a sculpted figure than a living being.

Glancing up from his work, Bartholomew paused.

He observed for a considerable duration.

It had been quite some time since he had engaged in serious meditation himself, and witnessing Trafalgar's state sparked a similar desire. His own innate talent rendered the process more arduous, weighty, and significantly less rewarding, yet the impulse to try persisted.

Thus, after a brief and rather dubious chain of thought, he resolved to emulate what he observed.

Bartholomew removed his shirt, folded it with an almost comical meticulousness, sat nearby, and commenced his own attempt to gather mana.

Trafalgar’s awareness of the room gradually returned.

Upon finally opening his eyes, Bartholomew, shirtless and with closed eyes, was the first sight to greet him. He sat at a short distance, earnestly attempting to cultivate, a display that might have garnered admiration had it not also been tinged with a subtle absurdity.

Trafalgar regarded him silently.

Then, his gaze shifted towards the window.

The sky was no longer shrouded in darkness. Dawn had begun to paint the glass with a pale, cool hue, heralding the first faint rays of morning light.

’…It seems I pushed myself too far.’

He stood, rolled a shoulder, and softly called out, "Barth."

No reply came.

"Barth."

Silence persisted.

Trafalgar approached and quickly discerned the reality of the situation.

Bartholomew had succumbed to sleep during his attempt at meditation.

His posture remained upright, but his consciousness had departed.

Trafalgar let out a breath through his nose, a mixture of amusement and resignation, and left him be for the moment. He turned his attention back to the table.

The scattered pages were now arranged in neat groupings. The originals occupied one side, while Bartholomew’s meticulously transcribed notes filled the other, rendered in his distinct, hasty script. The initial pages had already undergone a more thorough examination than Trafalgar had anticipated.

He picked one up.

"Excellent work, Barth."

This assessment was undeniably accurate.

Whatever Bartholomew might lack in other areas, his unwavering obsession when confronted with ancient texts more than compensated.

Retrieving one of the translated pages, Trafalgar drew it closer and focused his gaze upon it.

This time, at long last, he would finally ascertain the contents of the void creature’s writings.