I needed a story. And for that, I needed a grand theft tonight. The access I had gained to Count de Montfort's archives was only the beginning. To understand Chronos Salvation and the world that birthed it, I required something more foundational, more forbidden.
Midnight. All activity within the de Montfort estate had come to a halt. The guests had departed, and the servants were asleep. Outside, the mist had thickened, worse than before. I retrieved Chronos Salvation. The golden pocket watch felt cold in my hand. Based on my observations, the device could manipulate local time within a limited radius — ten seconds forward or backward, or stop it altogether. The consequence was a twenty-day cooldown before it could be used again.
I activated it. The world froze. I had ten seconds.
I rushed toward the Count's private library. I cloaked myself in Void Essence to suppress all sounds and vibrations I might cause. A few night guards were still stationed, standing like statues in the dimly lit hallways. I passed by them unnoticed.
The library door was oak reinforced with steel, protected by a magical matrix. I didn't have the time to disarm it delicately. I coated the entire door in a thick layer of Void Essence, creating a zone of absolute silence.
Crack.
I kicked the door in with a focused strike. The sound of splintering wood was completely swallowed by the void I had formed. Inside, towering bookshelves stood lined with dust-laden tomes.
"Hah... I didn't expect it to be this easy," I muttered, though no air truly moved through my lungs in this accelerated frame of time.
I immediately searched for my target: The Tale of a Dwarf and the Primeval Forger from Thousands of Years Ago. I found it on the topmost shelf, a thick volume. To mask my intent, I grabbed two more books at random: The First Knight of the Kingdom and The Legend of the First Dynasty King.
The pockets inside my Jester costume, reinforced with minor dimensional storage, were enough to hold four thick books. I stashed all three.
As I exited the room, I felt the effect of Chronos Salvation beginning to fade. My precious seconds were nearly over. I dispelled the Void Essence shroud from the door. Naturally, the sound of the broken door and the sudden rush of air triggered a magical alarm.
The guards reacted immediately. "Intruder in the library!"
Before the chaos could spread, I ran.
Dong. Dong. Dong.
I reactivated Chronos Salvation. Since its effect had not fully expired, the mechanism restarted, giving me ten seconds once more. This time, I chose to freeze time again. A massive transparent clock image appeared behind me, its second hand ticking down from ten. I had to run.
I channeled the last of my Void Essence to boost my speed, pushing my body to its limit.
I leapt from the nearest window, landing in the garden below, and continued sprinting into the forest surrounding the castle. Just as the giant clock hand hit one, I crossed the edge of its effect radius. The world resumed its motion behind me.
I didn't return to Clockthon immediately. Too risky. They would be searching for a suspicious Jester. I chose to travel on foot, avoiding the main roads, letting the night and the woods swallow my trail. I needed a place to disappear.
By dawn, I arrived at a small town around ten kilometers from the de Montfort estate. Wamshire. A quiet settlement filled with miners and lumberers. The perfect place to hide in plain sight. I found a modest inn on the town's edge, paid for one night, and locked myself in.
I did not open the books I had taken. The fatigue from overusing both Chronos Salvation and Void Essence was settling in. Before sleep, I conjured a Mocking Reflection of myself, appearing as Motley, and placed it in the corner. The illusion did nothing but sit still. But it emitted just enough Essence trace to confuse long-range sensors should Fravikveidimadr attempt to track me.
The next morning, I left the inn before the sun rose too far. The world here had two dawns — the first at 3 a.m., the second at 5 a.m. I had arrived just before the first, at around 2:40. I left again at 7 a.m., beginning my journey back to Clockthon. This time, I was in no hurry. The trip would take two days. I intended to enjoy it, using the time to observe and recover my energy.
I walked on foot, following paths rarely taken. The air here was clean and cold, very different from the smoky, greed-stained atmosphere of Clockthon. I saw ancient oaks, perhaps thousands of years old, their moss-covered branches outstretched. I heard the clear flow of rivers and the unfamiliar songs of birds.
This was the other side of the world. The wild, pure side, indifferent to noble intrigues and urban power games. Here, the law was simple: survive. I felt more at home here than in my luxurious skyloft.
...
On the second day of my journey, while resting near a small hidden waterfall, I sensed another presence. I hid behind the rocks and held my breath.
Two figures emerged from the woods. They wore light leather armor and carried bows. Most likely hunters. But something was strange about them. Their Essence felt wild. Unstructured, unlike the Evolvers in Clockthon.
They stopped near the waterfall, filling their waterskins.
"Are you sure this is the place?" asked the younger one.
"The old map points here," the older replied. "Behind this waterfall, there should be an entrance to the ruins of Gilga Shem."
Gilga Shem. That name didn't exist on any royal maps I owned.
"But the elders say that place is cursed," said the younger, anxious.
"The elders also said the world is flat," the older one shot back with a sneer. "We need the Heartstone crystal from inside to heal the chieftain. Cursed or not, we have no choice."
The two of them then walked toward the waterfall and, to my surprise, passed through it as if the curtain of water was only an illusion. They vanished.
I stayed hidden, processing this new information. Wild tribes living beyond the kingdom's jurisdiction. The world outside Clockthon was far larger and full of secrets than I had imagined.
I resumed my journey with renewed vigilance. Every forest and every mountain now felt like an unopened book.
When I finally saw the walls of Clockthon in the distance, I felt myself returning to a cage. A complex cage, full of intrigue and danger, but still a cage.
I approached the North Gate. The usual tiresome inspection.
"Wait, do you have an entry permit?" asked one of the City Guards, clad in full armor.
"Of course, I do." I presented my identification card, clearly printed in Clockthon.
Then I handed over my certification from the Essence Keeper Order, knowing full well I didn't plan to update the Oneiric Channel I had registered with. I would just let it expire.
"Is this enough?" I asked with a tired tone.
"Certainly. Go on in," he said, returning my documents.
I walked toward the Financial District. Soon, I spotted a coachman resting nearby.
"To the Financial District," I said, climbing aboard.
I passed the ride in weary silence. I just wanted to sleep. Come to think of it, the Clockthon Military Academy was in the Central District, which explained the closure the day before.
After several minutes, I arrived and quickly got off.
"How much?" I asked.
"Ten grior," the coachman replied.
I handed him the coins and rushed off, utterly exhausted. After a short walk from the drop-off point, I reached my skyloft.
I returned undetected. I bathed, changed out of my Jester attire into a clean suit, and once again became Welt Rothes, the mysterious young investor.
I sat at my desk and finally opened the book I had stolen at great risk: The Tale of a Dwarf and the Primeval Forger.
Its pages were made of incredibly thin yet durable parchment. The writing was in an ancient script, but I could read it. I had once studied the Gallum language.
The book was not about wars or kingdoms. It was the journal of a Primeval Forger who had befriended a Dwarven artisan from a mythical age.
He wrote about how they created the artifacts they forged together. I read several pages, but exhaustion overtook me. I chose to continue later.
Today was the 11th of Martius, which meant I still had time. Plenty of it. Before I returned to Milverton to give him a few professional lessons, at the very least.