Making decisions based on sentimentality was a luxury I couldn't afford. And yet, as I knelt in the muddy streets of the Lower City, with Silas coughing up blood in front of me and the shadow of a red-haired girl vanishing into the narrow alleyways, I realized there were variables that couldn't be input into any logical equation. Variables called the past.
"Sit," I ordered Silas. My voice was flat as I kept a tight lid on the unfamiliar turmoil churning within me. He was too weak to argue, and with my help, he leaned against the rotting wall of the orphanage. The orphans stared at us from a distance, their wide eyes filled with fear.
I placed my palm on his back, between his protruding shoulder blades. I took a deep breath, calming my mind. For the first time, I would use my power for something entirely different than usual.
I opened my aperture gate, allowing the predatory Void Essence to flow outward. Of course, it didn't erupt all at once, I controlled it, shaping it into something steady and flowing. I channeled it into Silas's body.
Gush.
The sensation was strange. Normally, my Essence absorbed, drawing energy inward. But now, I was forcing it to give. It felt like I was vomiting part of my own soul. As the energy entered Silas's body, I could feel his broken life systems, illness, wounds, fatigue, all of it like black stains on a white cloth. My Void Essence, with its inherent emptiness, began to absorb those stains, neutralizing them, erasing them.
The process unlocked something inside me. Fragments of memory that didn't belong to me, memories of the original Welt Rothes, began to surface with clarity. I saw a skinny, starving boy sitting in a wet street corner. I saw the same wrinkled hand that now rested beneath my palm, offering a piece of warm bread. I saw the same tired smile saying, "Eat, child. The world is cruel, but you don't have to face it alone."
His name wasn't just Silas. His name was Silas Nolhome. And he was the only kindness this body had ever known before I came.
This was no longer about calculations. This was a debt to be repaid.
"Silas, are you feeling better?" I whispered, the process draining my concentration. "This might hurt a little."
Pain was a side effect of purification. Void Essence didn't simply erase wounds or heal them, it replaced. It removed the damaged parts to make room for the new. It was a brutal process.
"I... I feel better," Silas replied, his voice slightly stronger. "My wounds... they're healing, slowly. Welt, are you using the Channel of 'The Cleric Healer'? Have you reached Mid Archetypal?"
"I'm not using anything like that, Silas," I replied, keeping my voice steady. "I'm using Dao. That's what I've mastered."
Dao, a term ambiguous enough to explain my ability without revealing its true nature. Enough to satisfy his curiosity for now.
The healing took nearly an hour. I managed to stabilize his internal condition, repair the worst of his organ damage, and cleanse most of the toxins from House Droct's medical syndicate from his system. But I couldn't fully heal him. His own power, which absorbed others' illnesses, had permanently damaged the foundation of his body. All I could offer him was borrowed time.
When I was done, I felt exhausted. My aperture, once at eighty percent, had dropped to around fifty. Using Void Essence to give was far more taxing than using it to take.
"You need to leave the Lower City," I told Silas once he could stand on his own, albeit shakily. "House Droct will send people again. They won't stop."
"I can't," he said with the same stubbornness as before. "This is my place now."
"Then you'll die," I said coldly. "And your death won't help anyone."
"Maybe," he gave a sad smile. "But at least I'll die doing what I believe is right."
I stared at him. I clearly couldn't understand it, his words were of the sentimental kind. In my world, self-sacrifice without a clear strategic benefit was foolishness. But here, in this man's presence, it seemed like honor.
I couldn't force him. So I changed tactics. "If you won't leave, then you need protection. You need resources. You can't keep relying on goodwill."
I handed him a small pouch of gold coins, five dryn. "Use this to buy proper medicine, clean food for these children, and a few trustworthy guards. Consider it repayment for the bread you once gave me."
He looked at the pouch, then at me. "This is too much, Welt."
"No amount is too much for a life," I replied. I didn't stay to argue. I turned and walked away, leaving Silas and his fragile orphanage behind. I had done what I could. The rest was up to him.
As I made my way back through the narrow alleys of the Lower City, my mind resumed working. My encounter with Silas had given me valuable new data. First, about the nature of power in this world. The 'Cleric Healer' Channel Silas mentioned hinted at a power path rooted in altruism, perhaps the strangest path I'd ever heard of. Second, about Fravikveidimadr. They were clearly interested in Evolvers with unusual Channels. Silas was one of their test subjects. And I, with my Bizarre Dao of the Outers, was their next.
I also had a new problem, the red-haired girl. She had appeared out of nowhere, demonstrated exceptional combat ability, and clearly had a complicated connection to Silas. She was a wildcard, a rogue variable that could disrupt my plans, again. I needed to find out who she was.
As I approached the Southern Gate, I felt something else. Surveillance. This time, it wasn't from William or Fravikveidimadr. It was more structured. Several plainclothes figures stood on street corners, pretending to chat, but their eyes constantly scanned the crowd. They were searching, for me, of course.
The Consortium. So they weren't just waiting on rooftops, annoying. I had already recognized the pattern; they had eyes all over the city. Now, they were testing my range, assessing how I moved. Rotten.
I didn't try to avoid them. I walked straight past one of them, my eyes fixed ahead, because I wanted them to know that I knew they were there. The game was still a game, and whoever played it, controlled it.
I returned to my skyloft just as the second dawn broke. I was exhausted, not physically, but mentally. Two days without sleep, filled with negotiations, confrontations, and convoluted revelations. I stared at my massive board. It looked more complicated than ever. At the center was Doyle Acquisition and its expanding network. On one side, Fravikveidimadr, a variable I had never anticipated, always watching. On the other, The Consortium, investors from nowhere, now wanting to play. Below, House Droct, the wolves I had provoked. And in a forgotten corner, Silas and the Lower City, or more simply, my reminder of Welt's childhood—no, Grime's.
My world was no longer simple.
I made a decision. I couldn't fight every faction at once. I had to choose my battles. The Consortium was the greatest threat, and the greatest opportunity. Joining them, even as a monitored junior partner, would give me the resources and protection I needed to accelerate my plans exponentially.
I walked to my data terminal and sent an encrypted message to one of the addresses Magpie had given me.
"Offer accepted. Schedule meeting to discuss operational details. W-01."
Message sent. There was no turning back. I had chosen my path. I had sold a piece of my freedom, for speed.
A few days later, I met Miraille and Edric again. This time, not on a rooftop. As partners now, we met in a private boardroom on the top floor of the Wool Exchange Tower. The room was dominated by a long obsidian table polished to a gleam, surrounded by luxurious leather chairs. Dark wood lined the walls, and a single massive window offered a panoramic view of Clockthon.
"A wise decision, Mister Rothes," said Miraille as I entered. She looked more formal today, wearing a deep violet silk dress.
"The most logical one," I corrected her.
"We've reviewed your proposal," said Edric, his heavy voice filling the room. "We agree to your operational autonomy, so long as your strategic goals align with The Consortium's interests. Regarding access, you'll be granted Tier-3 clearance. That gives you data on all minor noble houses, mid-tier trade guilds, and general intel reports from the provinces. Higher access will depend on performance."
Tier-3 access. Enough to start with. Though of course, they were keeping their best cards hidden. Acceptable.
"Your first task remains the same," Edric continued. "Cripple House Droct's influence at the port. We want full control of the northern logistics lane before the quarter ends. How you do it is up to you. We want results."
"I need one more thing," I said.
Miraille raised an eyebrow. "You've already been granted what you asked for."
"I need information on someone," I said. "A girl. Red hair, amber eyes. Very skilled with daggers. Apparently connected to the 'Healer' in the Lower City."
Edric and Miraille exchanged a glance. A flash of recognition passed between them.
"Ah," said Miraille. "You've met the 'Wild Dog.'"
"Wild Dog?"
"Her name's Viviane," Edric explained. "Not her real name, of course. No one knows her real name. She's one of the Lower City's oddities. Think of her as a rogue Evolver, unaffiliated. Her Channel is unknown, but her power centers on pure physical combat. She's very fast, very strong, and very brutal. She acts as the unofficial guardian of several Lower City zones, including that orphanage. And no, she can't be bribed or intimidated. She only cares about her own rules."
"And her connection to Silas?" I asked. I knew they must know exactly which Silas I meant.
"Silas once saved her little sister during a plague outbreak a few years back," Miraille answered. "Since then, Viviane has had a strange life-debt to him. She hates Silas for his kindness, which she sees as weakness, but she'll kill anyone who tries to hurt him. She's a thorn to everyone, including us and House Droct."
A more complicated variable. I'd never imagined someone resenting their savior for saving their sibling, yet still protecting them.
"Consider her part of the local landscape," Edric said. "Avoid her if possible. She's not worth the trouble."
I nodded, storing that information away. I left the council chamber with a clearer view of the chessboard before me. I now had a powerful, albeit dangerous ally, a fairly difficult first assignment, and a better understanding of the other "players" I'd be facing in this round of the game. That was enough.
That night, I didn't return to my skyloft. I went to the Doyle Acquisition office. Finch and Hunt were waiting for me. I gave them a new set of more aggressive instructions, backed by the Consortium's unlimited capital. This machine was about to move at full speed.
As I stood alone in my office, staring at the increasingly complex map, I felt the weight of all these decisions. Every move I made created new possibilities, every alliance brought new risks. This world wasn't going to hand me an easy victory. I understood that every inch of ground would have to be taken through strategy, manipulation, and sacrifice of equal value.
I touched the porcelain mask lying on my desk. The identity of Welt Rothes, the archon, the player, had now become my true self. Cheon Donghwan was nothing more than a memory, or a dataset from a previous life.
I picked up a new pin, this one pure gold, the color of the Consortium. I pressed it beside the black pin of Doyle Acquisition, right above Clockthon. The two were now connected.
"The first move has been made," I whispered into the silence of the room. The game had changed. I no longer needed to build from scratch. I figured it was better to renovate from within, using the tools and materials of the house's original owners. And somehow, that felt far more dangerous, and far more satisfying.