In the late 1900s, Sir Bumblethorpe had been knighted by the Queen herself for his efforts in cultural preservation. It was a great honor, and one that spurred him into further action, traveling to South America to liberate more cultural artifacts from the unappreciative natives.

As it turned out, the artifact he wanted to liberate was a dormant system, hidden within a bejeweled ceremonial weapon.

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, as soon as he got the weapon, the local savages found him, and went absolutely rabid. Cedric had no idea why he would always be attacked and hunted by savages whenever he tried doing his honest work, but he had come to accept it as part and parcel of the job.

Naturally, he was forced to defend himself with the weapon. It broke, and he absorbed the system, gaining the Cultural History Museum System. The rest, as they say, was history. Well, in his case, it was cultural history.

Anyway, after years and years of exploring the Origin realm, as he’d learned the realm was called, he’d learned a few things. One of those things was the need for a secret identity. As cliche as it sounded, even if the false identity was a weak one, it could save him from an incredible amount of trouble.

Another thing he learned, trapped out somewhere in the Origin realm with no way to return to Earth, was that power was the basis of existence. Without it, he didn’t even have the right to exist. So, he got to work rescuing cultural and historical artifacts. It seemed like he had a knack for it.

Of course, there were a few hiccups along the way, like the fact that some of the items he rescued were cursed, or that until his system completely sealed the artifacts he collected, their aura would attract demons and insidious creatures of all kinds to attack him.

Fortunately, his system gave him the tools he needed to protect himself. Can one imagine what might have happened if he had been given no way to defend himself, and was left to his own shenanigans?

Regardless, life was all good and dandy until he recently encountered a quest he could not complete - not in his current state. All he could do was try to get his hands on more treasures for his museum so that he could upgrade himself and the museum. The process involved intelligence gathering just as much as it did actual treasure hunting. Specifically, he was looking for anything with a rich history, a lot of mystery, or some unexplainable power.

Lo-and-behold, he encountered rumors of Obsidian, spread by a group of people claiming to have been members of it once.

Sifting through the lies and exaggeration to determine the truth hidden underneath was a fundamental requirement of his trade, yet no matter how he looked at it, Obsidian seemed like some ancient, secret organization with an unfathomable depth.

Although, once again, that sounded like the kind of thing he shouldn’t get involved with, his research said otherwise. In spite of everyone spreading the rumors saying otherwise, Bumblethorpe, as an educated and sophisticated man, was able to deduce that everyone spreading the rumor was weak - a mere mortal. Which meant it was much easier to fool them. But not Bumblethorpe. Not him. As an Earth Immortal, he was far stronger than them, not to mention the fact that he had a reliable system.

So he tracked down Obsidian, spending months doing it, and finally entered. He was confident he was going to uncover a facade - a mere illusion conjured by a once powerful organization, now feeding on the weak.

The very moment he arrived at Obsidian, he knew he had made a mistake. All his conclusions were false. Many tricks could be played on people, but spiritual energy this fresh, this

pure, could not be faked.

Bumblethorpe breathed in that energy and thence, in the wake of the realization of his mistake, he laid eyes upon his courtyard and a cold gasp escaped from his lips.

"Sweet Saint Cadbury, have I walked from the mundane realm of life and stumbled upon the sweet nectar of the afterlife known as heaven?" he muttered, allowing himself to fall to his knees.

The soft sand of the zen garden welcomed him to the ground, and as he ran his fingers through the sand, each grain radiantly singing with the energy of treasures in need of rescuing, he realized that his experience in Obsidian was going to be vastly different from what he expected.

Cedric stood up, dusting the sand off his coat, and stepped into the actual courtyard. There was a small fountain in one corner, with a gentle steam of water flowing across the courtyard through a minicanal to a drain, forming a stream of sorts.

The crystal clear water was simply refreshing just to look at it, so Bumblethorpe dare not even imagine the true consequences of touching it. In the end, he couldn’t resist dipping his hand in it.

It was cold to the touch, its chills traveling through his finger into his very bones. A flash of temptation went through his eyes, and he tried to withdraw a single drop for his system - and failed.

"Huh? What in the name of Saint Eclair?" he said, and then turned his head. He grabbed another valuable treasure and tried to transfer it to his system, but it didn’t work. That was the first time such a thing happened to him!

A chill - a very different kind of chill from the one the stream gave him - travelled down his spine. Who exactly was this Sage that ruled Obsidian? What kind of power did he wield?

But as a gentleman, and a knight, he would not shy away from this mystery.

He stood up and explored the courtyard, putting on his trusty monocle to survey everything he looked at. Not a sound escaped from him, yet the longer he surveyed, the more grave he started to feel.

No, this was too good to be true. Everything was living up to the rumors he had heard without any exaggeration at all. Such a thing had never happened to him, yet again.

Filled with a yearning for the truth, he stepped out of his courtyard, ready to face whatever mystery lay ahead.