I slept for a full thirty-six hours.
Of course, by sleep I don't mean restless sleep or nightmares. Back in my old world, they might have called it a system shutdown, a forced emergency recovery triggered by my own body. When I finally woke, the afternoon sun had already flooded my sky manor with its gentle golden light. My head still throbbed, probably a lingering echo of the mental strain from manipulating Timothee's memory and tinkering with Chronos Salvation. I felt like a machine pushed far beyond its design specs, now cooling itself down by force.
I rose slowly, every joint stiff. I walked to my panoramic window and looked out at Clockthon. From this height, the city looked peaceful, its bustle reduced to an insignificant pattern. But I knew that down there, the ripples from my actions at House Augustine were still spreading.
I checked my data terminal, an arcane device built from Essence crystals. Just as I'd expected, there were messages waiting. One from Milverton: "Total chaos. House Augustine blames House Droct. House Droct claims internal sabotage. The Consortium stays silent. You kicked the hornet's nest. Well done."
Another from The Consortium, this one from Miraille. Short, direct. "Full report. Within 48 hours." They didn't ask if I'd succeeded. They assumed I had and now they wanted my data.
I ignored the messages for now. My priority was recalibration. I'd been operating in crisis mode for far too long, responding to threats, executing plans on the fly. I needed to do something grounding, something entirely under my control, to anchor my mind that felt suspended somewhere between cold calculations and constant paranoia.
I decided to cook.
The kitchen in this sky manor was a masterpiece of design and a luxury I rarely touched. White marble counters, forged steel knives hanging on a magnetic rack, and an Essence stove that could maintain temperatures to within a fraction of a degree. The Consortium's servants stocked it daily with the finest ingredients from across the kingdom, but I usually subsisted on basic nutrition rations that required no preparation.
Today was different. I didn't need nutrition.
I chose to make something complex from my old world, something that required patience, precision, and an understanding of how different ingredients interact. I would make Coq au Vin.
I started by pulling out a whole chicken from the Essence-cooled larder. I placed it on a heavy oak cutting board and took out my largest knife. My movements were slow, deliberate. I separated each thigh, breast, wing with clean cuts along the joints. I sorted the lean meat from the fatty cuts.
Next, the vegetables, onions, carrots, celery. I diced them into a mirepoix: small, uniform cubes. Uniformity was key to even flavor extraction. I heated a cast-iron pan, added a bit of oil, and began to sweat the vegetables slowly. I didn't rush, I watched the heat gradually break down the cellulose walls, releasing natural sugars and building a deep foundation of flavor.
Cooking, in many ways, is about taming chaos. You take raw, unpredictable materials, the texture of meat, the sweetness of vegetables, the acidity of wine, and you apply a set of rules and processes: heat, time, chemical reactions, to produce something orderly, something predictable. Ideally, a culinary masterpiece. It's the perfect analogy.
I added the chicken pieces to the pan, browning them until the skin turned golden. Then came the red wine, a bottle of expensive Burgundy from the manor's wine cellar. The wine hissed as it hit the hot pan, releasing a rich, complex aroma. I added stock, herbs, and let it simmer for hours.
While it simmered, I didn't just sit idle. I sat at the kitchen counter with a glass of water and retrieved Chronos Salvation from its hidden compartment.
The golden pocket watch felt cold in my hand. I laid it on a square of black velvet. Under the bright kitchen lights, I began a non-destructive analysis.
I used a set of precision tools usually reserved for watchmakers and jewelers. With a magnifying lens over my eye, I examined every detail. Its craftsmanship was flawless, far beyond anything I'd ever seen in this world. No seams. No scratches. Could this be what they call a "god-made artifact"? I almost didn't believe in something so irrational. The gears inside were visible through the sapphire crystal, moving with impossibly smooth, silent precision.
Next, the Essence test. I threaded out a fine tendril of Void Essence, using it as a probe. I eased it closer to the artifact. Normally, other Essence fields would react, either attracted, repelled, or resonating. But Chronos Salvation did nothing. My Essence might as well have struck a wall. The artifact had no conventional energy field.
I tried a different approach, just listening, focusing my perception, trying to catch any subtle vibration it might emit. I felt something. Not sound, not energy. I can't explain it yet, at least, not for now.
I could conclude only this: the thing couldn't be analyzed through my normal cognitive tools. Maybe it really was made by a god, though I'm not sure what god, given I've never stepped into a church here, not even once.
I looked at the pocket watch. Gerald was right. One day, I would face something I couldn't calculate. This thing was proof.
I stored Chronos Salvation away again. Cracking its code would be a long-term project. I'd need more knowledge.
The smell from the pan now filled the entire room. The sauce had thickened into a deep mahogany glaze. The meat was tender, falling off the bone. I added mushrooms and pearl onions at the final stage, then plated it on white porcelain.
I ate alone, in the silence of my vast sky manor. Every bite was exquisite, a rich, grounding flavor that anchored my weary soul.
After I finished, I cleaned everything with the same precision I used to cook. Order. Control. It was how I stayed sane.
That night, I sat down at my terminal, ready to write my report for The Consortium. I would craft a narrative that looked like the truth, but would work in my favor.
My report was detailed and technical. I explained how 'W' used a mix of Essence interference and misinformation to infiltrate. I described the "theft" as a high-risk operation that succeeded because of careful analysis of security weaknesses. I made no mention of my Void Essence or spatial manipulation, no, I reframed it as the work of an expert infiltrator and saboteur, not an Evolver with abilities that couldn't be explained. I even slipped in a few intentional errors, a handful of false clues about 'W's' capabilities to mislead their future analysis.
I also attached a proposal, a plan to use Doyle Acquisition to systematically seize House Droct's logistical assets, now that they'd been weakened by the scandal at Augustine's manor. I wasn't just giving them a report on the problem I'd solved, I was offering them a solution to their next one.
I sent the report. Then I shut the terminal down.
I stepped out onto the balcony and looked at the city. Clockthon's lights flickered below. This game was dangerous. The Consortium used me. Fravikveidimadr watched me. House Droct wanted my head. William Salwors was dissecting my every move. And Irene Cheva… I still didn't know. Her mind was nearly impossible to read.
I didn't feel cornered. I felt something else. A challenge.
For years, as Cheon Donghwan, I was driven by anger and a desire to destroy. I was a product of my hatred for the system that betrayed me. I was reactive.
Now, as Welt Rothes, as 'W', I am different. I am no longer driven by rage, I am driven by a cold, rational purpose. I don't want to destroy this system. I want to understand it and when I do, I'll become the true archon, the sovereign above the world.
I touched the pocket where Chronos Salvation rested. This thing is the key. Not because of its raw power, I need it to learn how to replicate it for the future. Unlimited time manipulation could help me search for this world's true Dao point.
I don't aim to be good or cruel in this world, those labels only limit how far one can act on their will. If true free will exists, then I must claim it. If it doesn't, then I must create it. That is what life should mean not some hollow pursuit of "enlightenment" or similar nonsense.
And tonight, I ended by reading several books on the Oneiromancer's arcane spells. I intend to copy those skills if possible. Of course, they'll be slightly different, my Dao's foundation isn't native to this world. I might even end up spawning an uncontrollable disaster because of this damned Dao.