Naïve

December 19th, 1753

I looked at the watch I had worn through the night because I forgot to take it off. It read nine in the morning, meaning… I was late. Damn.

I quickly got up from the silk bed. The air in the skyloft felt stifling. This was the first time I had woken up past dawn since coming to this world. The tranquility I had gained from Zarovgard's food yesterday had a side effect: complacency. Even though I wasn't tied to office hours, every wasted hour was a loss. I had to keep moving, keep gathering data, keep searching for a crack in the system that enclosed me.

I showered quickly, the hot steam washing away the remnants of my sleep. I applied perfume, the sharp citrus and cedarwood scent, and now I was wearing the olfactory mask I had built for the identity of Welt Rothes. Today, I would fully become him. A wealthy, educated young man with a great curiosity about things that mattered little to others. I needed to explore the architecture of this city, not as 'W', searching for escape routes, but as Welt, admiring beauty. The goal remained the same: to memorize every corner, every crack, every potential weakness of this city.

But I needed an alibi, someone who could make my journey seem ordinary. Who? Irene was too dangerous. I mean, every conversation with her was a chess duel. Finnian was too careless and didn't live here. I needed someone who was native to this city, someone whose knowledge was practical, not theoretical.

The thought struck me as I buttoned my brocade vest. Elbert. That loyal old coachman. He had likely been born and raised in Clockthon. He knew the streets of this city as well as he knew the lines on his own palm. I could hire him for a full day. Five gold gryn coins was a fair price for his knowledge and, more importantly, for his silence. A reasonable plan.

I descended from the skyloft, passing through the empty marble lobby, and stepped out onto the streets of the Financial District. I didn't go straight to find Elbert. First, I needed breakfast. And I knew exactly where to go.

I walked to a small café often frequented by mid-level bureaucrats and trade union scribes. The café was called "The Daily Ledger." It was small, filled with round tables, and always smelled of bitter coffee and parchment. It was one of my secondary listening posts.

I ordered a cup of black coffee and a slice of toast. I sat in the corner, opened a book about the history of feudal architecture, my stage property for the day, and began listening.

"…the price of wheat from the Southern Provinces has dropped again. House Tyrell is hoarding supplies, trying to monopolize the market before winter."

"…Baron Horatio's third son was seen again at the Six Arms gambling house. His debts have reached an embarrassing level."

"…there are rumors about tightened Fravikveidimadr patrols around the Alchemy District. They say there's a 'leak' from one of the laboratories."

All of it was background noise. I could identify it as raw data, stored in my mental archive. Every piece of information, no matter how small, could be useful one day.

After finishing my coffee, I went to find Elbert at the stable near the market. He was there, cleaning his carriage with a rag.

"Good morning, Mister Rothes," he greeted me with a friendly smile.

"Good morning, Elbert," I replied. "I need your services for today. The whole day. I want to tour the city, look at the old buildings. Five gryn for your time."

Elbert's eyes widened. Five gryn was a month's wage for most people. "Of course, Mister! Wherever you want!"

Our journey began. I didn't give him a specific destination. I simply said, "Take me to the oldest places in this city, Elbert. Places with stories."

He first took me to the Old Wall Ruins, remnants of the original Clockthon fortifications before the city expanded. Only a few parts of black stone walls remained, now overgrown with moss and ivy.

"They say this wall was built by the Giants in the First Era," Elbert said as we walked beside it. "Before humans arrived. The stones cannot be destroyed by normal tools."

I touched the surface of the stone. It was cold and felt very solid. I channeled a bit of Void Essence through the tip of my finger. I felt nothing. The stone was inert, lacking any energy trace. But the structure, hmm… there was something strange about how the stones were arranged. The pattern wasn't random. There seemed to be some kind of mathematical system in its construction.

"Where next?" I asked.

"There's the Alchemist Tower in the Old District, Mister. The most haunted place in the city," he said with enthusiasm.

The Alchemist Tower was a single structure made of strange obsidian stone, towering and tilted, as if they had managed to create some kind of anti-gravity. No windows, just a few narrow slits near the top. Legend had it that the tower was the laboratory of a mad alchemist from the pre-empire era who tried to turn stone into life and accidentally transformed himself into an Aberration.

"They say that on a full moon night, you can hear screams from inside," Elbert said, his voice trembling slightly.

I got off the carriage and approached the base of the tower. The door was made of metal I didn't recognize, tightly sealed with ritual symbols that even I didn't know. I recognized a few from Throne of Nothing. I could tell this wasn't some magical seal, but more like a key, a key that could only be opened by understanding the alchemical principles used to create it.

As I was studying the seal, I felt the presence of someone behind me. I turned around. An old woman was staring at me from across the street. She wore ragged beggar clothes, but her cloudy eyes didn't reflect that at all. I suspected the woman. I didn't believe she was an ordinary human.

She smiled, showing her toothless gums. "Don't touch it, Sweet Child," she rasped. "That door doesn't like being touched by those who don't understand. It will take something from you in exchange."

"Take what?" I asked.

"Your memories," she answered. "Or your sanity. Or maybe just a few years from the rest of your life. The door is hungry." She chuckled softly, then turned and disappeared into an alley.

I stared back at the door… hungry? I would remember this, at least for now. Perhaps it could serve as a base for anonymous information exchange with enough security, given its reputation as a "haunted building."

We continued our journey. Elbert took me to Greywolf Bridge, a curved stone bridge that spanned the Grey River. "They say if you whisper a secret at one end of the bridge, your voice might be heard at the other end," Elbert explained.

I tried it. I whispered a physics formula from my world, something that wouldn't mean anything here. Then I walked to the other end and listened to see if the legend was true. For some reason, I ended up hearing a very faint and melancholic melody, as though it were played by an instrument I didn't recognize. Could this be some sort of information-altering magic?

The more I saw, the more I realized that Clockthon was not just a capital city. I understood why it became the capital because it was a museum of forgotten technology and magic, layered over centuries. The current civilization only lived on the surface, using remnants of a far more advanced civilization without truly understanding it. Well, it made sense. My world was the same way.

As the day began to wane, I asked Elbert to take me to the last place. Not an old place, but one that was strategically important: the headquarters of the Dockworkers' Union.

The building was a brutal, unattractive concrete fortress located at the heart of the harbor district. In front of it, dozens of burly workers stood guard, eyeing everyone who passed with suspicious stares. This was the power center of Gordo, a pawn of House Droct.

I didn't get off the carriage, just observing from afar. I watched how they acted and interacted. I saw how they dealt with the traders who came to pay the "protection tax." I saw how money changed hands, how fear was used as an efficient tool of control.

Suddenly, a commotion broke out near the gate. A group of workers shoved a thin man to the ground. The man was one of the union members, but it seemed he had violated some rule.

"You owe the union, rat!" one of the workers yelled, kicking the man's stomach. "Pay your dues!"

"I… I don't have any money," the man groaned. "Our finances aren't enough to even feed ourselves."

"Not our problem!"

Before they could hit him again, a voice stopped them. "Enough."

I looked to where the voice came from. Viviane. The red-haired girl from the Lower City. She stood there in the middle of the street, her hands in the pockets of her cloak. She seemed relaxed, but her presence immediately shifted the dynamics of the place.

The union workers glared at her with a mix of anger and fear. "This isn't your business, Wild Dog," their leader growled.

"It is now," Viviane replied coldly. "This man lives in my territory. You will not touch him."

"Your territory?" The leader laughed. "You have no territory, orphan."

Viviane's movement was fast. One moment she was standing ten meters away from them. The next, she was in front of the leader, her serrated dagger pressed against his neck.

"I may not own land," she whispered, her voice deadly. "But any place where the weak are oppressed is my territory. Now, leave. Before I decide to redecorate this street with your entrails."

The workers slowly backed away, dragging their pale leader. They knew they couldn't win against her.

Viviane looked down at the thin man still lying on the ground. "Get up," she said. "And next time, learn to fight back." She threw a few coins to the ground near him, then turned and disappeared into the crowd as if she had never been there.

I watched her from my carriage, and strangely, I was left stunned. Maybe this could be classified as a vigilante or something? She might follow some kind of ethical code where she would always help the oppressed. I was disgusted by such stories for some reason.

She was the most dangerous individual I had met in this world after Forre. Because her behavior was so revolting. "Goodness"? What was that? She could ruin my connections with The Consortium with an alibi of "saving people in her territory."

"Mister Rothes?" Elbert's voice snapped me out of my thoughts. "Are you alright? You look pale."

"I'm fine," I replied, my voice a little shaky. "Take me back to the Financial District."

I returned to my skyloft that night with a head full of thoughts. Today's journey, which was supposed to be a leisurely architectural tour, had given me more questions than answers.

The Primeval Forger's symbol at the church and inside Chronos Salvation. The bridge that turned sound into music. The Alchemist Tower with its strange seals. And Viviane the Wild Dog, enforcer of justice in the lower city.

This world was far more complex, far older, and far stranger than I had ever imagined. My plan to control it through economics and information felt increasingly shallow. It was like trying to map the ocean by measuring the waves at the surface, unaware of the giant monsters that lived in its dark depths.

I stood before the map of my kingdom. I picked up the pins marking House Droct, the Dockworkers' Union, and other smaller factions. I pulled them out one by one. Now, my focus was not on them, not at all.

I looked at the empty spaces on the map. The ancient ruins. The Frostfang Mountains. The uncharted territories. That's where the true answers lay. That's where history was hidden.