The next morning, I opened the door to my rooftop chamber and immediately sat down in the parlor. The typically sharp morning air of Clockthon felt muffled behind the thick glass of my panoramic window. On the polished ebony table lay three books I had taken from the de Montfort estate. I ignored the two volumes on generic royal history. My attention was drawn to a single book: "The Tale of a Dwarf and the Primeval Forger."
Its cover was made of rough, aged leather. I opened it carefully. The pages were thin parchment filled with handwritten text in intricate Gollum script. I realized I might not recognize much of the vocabulary, but thanks to eight years of studying ancient texts in the academy's library, I could read and interpret a portion of it into Easternese, the national language of this kingdom.
The opening line read:
"Druz-ar, duverk ek, nemar Glinli, faorg grakshen ver lemka gnahr ek khavem Khran, sundro Agrumane. Anar u huan vurel kravel dras-dras narin. In kitban hador, sagaq nakhzan qom, u drivar geltor ek zamin. Sedrak, lektaz fizhen."
I slowly translated it in my mind. "My friend, the dwarf, is named Glinli. He was a student of a gnome in his village in the Khran region, south of Agrumane. He and I often created new things together. In this book, there are several stories to be passed down, and explanations on how the tools work. So sit and read carefully."
I kept reading. This book was clearly a journal, a dialogue between two brilliant minds from an age long gone. The Primeval Forger wrote about the philosophy behind his creations, while Glinli the Dwarf likely provided technical insight he had learned from the gnomes. In this book, I might find their debates, their innovations, and so much more.
Page after page, I kept reading. My mind was completely absorbed. I forgot breakfast, forgot Finch's reports, forgot the shadow war against House Droct. I was immersed in the world shaped by the Primeval Forger. I kept reading it even when much of it eluded my understanding. It felt like an addiction.
Time slipped by unnoticed. When I lifted my head, the light outside had turned deep orange. The clock on the wall showed one in the afternoon. I had been reading non-stop since six in the morning. I reached page 321, and there, for the first time, the book mentioned Chronos Salvation explicitly.
"In artifar Chronos Salvation, anar geltaz firon komparin: zorun ek sundro Tal-Mu, dana sorik ranzvel-ek, mervan Mythborne. Fir komparin dasht, zor-gem zundrat u meldaz mit mineran Tal-Huaguo. Harun ez navik dravar-ek."
I frowned. The vocabulary here was much older. I had never seen some of it even in the academy's dictionaries. I could only pick out a few keywords: "Chronos Salvation" and "Mythborne." The rest was a puzzle. The diction of the book grew more complex as the pages advanced. I needed more knowledge to fully grasp it.
But the word "Mythborne" itself was already a major clue. I recalled what I knew. Mythborne were a class of super artifacts supposedly created by the God of Craft during the Golden Age of the Gods, two thousand years ago. They ranged from weapons of mass destruction to tools with practical, everyday functions. What made them special was that they did not draw energy from Essence. They used something else, something more fundamental, called Primordial Manas. There was a theory that Mythborne artifacts were semi-living and could possess or form symbiotic bonds with their users.
One of the most famous Mythborne was the Blade of Demolished, a colossal sword owned by Marshal Elric Montrevaux. Allegedly, and this may well be an exaggeration, the sword could destroy an entire village at full power. So Chronos Salvation might not be just magical terminology. It was an artifact of an entirely different class, one that operated on a level far beyond that of common Evolvers.
I closed the book. I had uncovered important, though incomplete, information. My mind felt tired, but also excited. I needed food.
Crack.
I stood up. My stiff bones protested after sitting too long.
Click.
I opened the door to my rooftop chamber and stepped outside. I caught the familiar scent of the bustling Financial District. I descended the stairs and headed to the crowded left side.
I found a food stall with a smell that immediately caught my attention. The sign was simple: "Hunger Soothe." As I approached, I stopped in my tracks. The aroma from the stall was deeply familiar. I looked at the menu posted on the window: chicken noodles and fried rice. I never expected to find food from my old world here.
I entered. The interior was simple but clean and warm. It felt like a small eatery tucked away in a corner of Seoul. I walked to the cashier and ordered several dishes at once: chicken noodles with extra chili and garlic, and chicken fried rice with added beef slices.
I sat at one of the wooden tables. This place was a miracle I had found in this world. I had to call it a fragment of my lost world, somehow surviving here. It felt like going home, with an odd touch of fantasy.
When my food arrived, I ate slowly, savoring each bite. The taste was extraordinary. I enjoyed it deliberately. Every bite of noodles, every grain of fried rice brought me back to the past. To the time before I became a terrorist. Before I became Welt Rothes. To the time when I was just Cheon Donghwan, a poor student who often could only afford instant noodles.
After finishing my meal, I felt better. I now felt whole. The food had filled the emptiness in my stomach and also something in my soul. I paid twelve griors. Pricey, but absolutely worth it.
I returned to Doyle Acquisition. The office was now busy. Finch, Percy, and several new recruits we had brought in were moving with steady efficiency. The "machine" I built was now running smoothly.
I entered my private office. I didn't start working immediately.
I sat down in my chair and began to think.
What I had discovered about Chronos Salvation and its connection to the Mythborne opened a new front in my plans.
If I could understand and control Chronos Salvation, I would hold an advantage no one else had. But to do that, I needed more knowledge about the Primeval Forger, about Primordial Manas, and about the Golden Age of the Gods. This knowledge wouldn't be found in the black markets or intelligence reports. It was buried in ancient ruins, locked in forbidden texts guarded by churches and noble bloodlines.
My plan to create bait for luring out Barthalzan now felt increasingly irrelevant. Chasing one Heretical artifact felt like a minor task compared to the magnitude of this mystery.
I opened the map on my wall. My eyes were no longer fixed on Clockthon or its surrounding provinces. I looked at the regions marked "Terra Incognita". The Kashrir Desert to the east. The Weeping Wilderness to the west. The Frostfang Mountains to the north.
That was where I needed to go.
But I couldn't just leave. I was still tied to Clockthon. To Fravikveidimadr. To the Consortium. I still had a role to play.
I needed a long-term plan. A Grand Plan of Hundreds. A strategy that would allow me to slowly detach from their surveillance while building my power and gathering resources for future expeditions.
My mind returned to The Sovereign's Gambit. The strategy tournament Milverton had mentioned days before I left for Count de Montfort. At first, I dismissed it as an unnecessary risk. But now I saw it differently. I could use it to gain access to the highest circles of power. To get information directly from the heirs of the most powerful factions. An opportunity to plant ideas, forge temporary alliances, and maybe recruit new pieces for my future game.
If I could win or at least perform remarkably in The Sovereign's Gambit, my value in the eyes of the Consortium would skyrocket. I would earn more trust, more autonomy, and most importantly, more access to their archives.
It was a gamble. But every significant move begins with a gamble.
I picked up the communicator and sent a message to Milverton.
"James to Milverton. About the Puppeteer's offer. I will join The Sovereign's Gambit. Tell them I agree."
A few minutes later, the reply came. "Received. They are pleased with your decision. Details will follow."
I leaned back in my chair. I had just made a decision that would change the course of my entire game. I would step out of the shadows and onto the main stage.
I looked at "The Tale of a Dwarf and the Primeval Forger," carried in my memory — of course, I meant I was recalling it. Then I looked at Chronos Salvation, safely stored away.
Two worlds. Two types of power. One from a forgotten past. The other from a future yet to be written. My task was to bridge the two.
I took out a blank sheet of paper and started writing something unrelated to business.
I began drafting a new list of questions. Things I needed to learn before The Sovereign's Gambit began. Profiles of potential participants. The history of the tournament itself. And most importantly, the prize. What were these young wolves fighting for?
I knew this wouldn't be easy. I would be up against master tacticians, expert manipulators, and heirs of power refined through generations.
But I had an edge they didn't. I wasn't playing to win the tournament. I was playing to win the war. And The Sovereign's Gambit was only the opening battle of something far greater — perhaps what could only be described as an infinite stack of turtles. This was a perfect entry point for the Grand Plan of Hundreds.