21 Martius 1754
I sat in the sitting room of my quiet skyloft. The Sovereign's Gambit would take place on the 18th of Aprilis. There was still time, but every second was precious. My mind kept spinning, working through strategies to confront House Droct and seize the Mirror of Ulthar. The chess game I had once introduced to this world through a noble of a poor province had now become common entertainment among the aristocracy. I had given them a tool to sharpen their minds, and perhaps one day it would become the very tool used to figure out how to fight me.
The only thing I could think of now was strengthening the most basic foundation, my own skills. I did not want to rely on Essence power alone because practical skills were necessary too. This morning I decided to do something different, or more simply, something social that was also functional. I would visit Vashtun because I needed to train. This world had firearms, though primitive, and it had been far too long since I had touched one.
I sent him a short message: "Meet me at the base. Bring your best equipment."
I put on simple clothes, rough cloth trousers and a linen shirt, and left my skyloft.
I went on foot, partly out of necessity but also to feel the texture of this city again and to map out the narrow streets and alleys I had long forgotten from my past life.
I arrived at his underground base, of course entering through the Ouroboros manhole. Vashtun was already waiting for me without his clown mask. His cynical face watched me with curiosity. On the table in front of him lay two sturdy-looking revolvers and a box of ammunition.
"Target practice?" he asked, one eyebrow raised. "That's rare. I thought you preferred playing with people's minds."
"The mind is the primary weapon," I replied. "But sometimes you need something more direct. I have not held one of these in far too long."
"Fine," he said. "I know a place. Follow me."
We did not leave through the Ouroboros cover. Instead, he led me through a back corridor I had never seen before that led to a deeper service tunnel, probably older than the sewer itself. After nearly twenty minutes of walking through damp darkness, we arrived at a rusted steel door.
"Frog Carcass," Vashtun said while unlocking its complex locks. "The most illegal and safest shooting range in Clockthon. No questions, no records. Just gunshots and the smell of gunpowder."
The door swung open to reveal a vast underground chamber. Its walls were thick concrete riddled with bullet holes. Several shooting lanes were divided by rotting wooden partitions. At the end of each lane stood battered metal targets. One thing I noticed was how heavy the air felt here, thick with the scent of gunpowder, gun oil, and cheap beer.
An old man with a dirty white beard and one blind eye sat in the corner, cleaning a long rifle. "Yo, Old Bastard" Vashtun greeted him.
The old man looked up, his one good eye glaring at us. "Rohnberg. You brought a noble brat into my den?"
"He's no noble brat," Vashtun answered. "You can think of him as a client. He wants to rent a lane for a few hours."
"Two gryn per hour. Pay upfront," the old man said bluntly.
I tossed four gold gryn coins onto his table. "For two hours. And for your silence."
The old man's eye glimmered at the sight of gold. He pocketed it quickly. "Lane Three is yours," he said before returning to his rifle, as if we had never entered.
We walked to Lane Three. Vashtun set the pistols and the ammunition box on the wooden table.
"There are three kinds of bullets here," he explained, opening the box. "First, regular bullets. You know these are made of solid lead. Effective for non-Evolver targets."
He pointed to the second row of bullets, their tips painted pale blue. "These are Evolver stun rounds. Inside is an alchemical mix made from residue of Essence potion production. When they hit a target, they release a shockwave that disrupts the Essence circuit temporarily. Makes them weak and unable to use their powers for a few minutes."
Then he pointed to the third row, bullets with pitch-black tips.
"And these…" he paused for a moment. "These are Evolver killer rounds. Highly illegal and very expensive. They're made from the ashes of Evolver corpses mixed with dust from the Primordial Rock at the edge of the continent. These don't just pierce flesh. The effect of the bullet destroys Essence itself. One shot to a vital point can instantly kill a mid-level Evolver."
I picked up one of the revolvers. It felt heavy and unfamiliar in my hand, naturally so since it had been more than a decade since I last fired a gun. In my first life, I was an expert, but now I had to start from scratch.
"Let's see how much rust I've gathered," I said.
I loaded the revolver with regular bullets, took my stance, and aimed at the metal target twenty meters away. I took a breath, trying to recall every drill I had ever done. I pulled the trigger.
BANG!
The shot was deafening in this enclosed space. My bullet veered wide, striking the concrete wall to the right of the target.
Vashtun chuckled. "Looks like you really haven't done this in a while."
I ignored him. I fired again. And again. And again. Of six bullets, only one hit the target, and it was on the outer edge. Damn it. My hand no longer had that muscle memory. This body had never been trained to handle the recoil of firearms.
"You're too tense," Vashtun said, now standing beside me. "You're overthinking the shot. Here's a trick. Don't think, just feel it. Let your body take over."
I tried again. This time, I tried not to analyze and followed Vashtun's advice. I focused on the target and let my instincts guide my hand. The result was a little better. Two out of six bullets hit the target.
We trained for nearly an hour. I began to get used to the weight of the gun, its recoil, the smell of gunpowder. My shots grew more accurate.
"Not bad for an amateur," Vashtun said. "Now, try this one." He handed me his revolver, already loaded with the blue stun rounds.
I took aim. This time, I channeled a bit of Void Essence into my eyes, sharpening my vision. I saw the target with incredible clarity and could even make out every scratch and dent on its surface. I fired.
PFFT! BANG!
The blue bullet shot forward and struck dead center. A wave of blue energy burst from the impact point, making the metal target vibrate violently and hum with an eerie sound for a few seconds.
"See?" Vashtun said. "You just needed a little push for that, James I mean Welt."
I looked at him. "Speaking of pushes. I'm curious, Vashtun. What's your Channel really?"
He fell silent for a moment as if weighing whether to answer. "You really want to know?"
"I wouldn't ask if I didn't."
He sighed. "Greed Channel," he said. "The Path of Greed. I'm at Archetype Order 7, Theologian."
I processed that information. Greed Channel. An uncommon path, even I didn't know much about it. "Theologian? What's your ability?"
"Complicated," he said. "Each rank gives me different abilities. At Order 10, as Observer, I can store everything I see in an Eye Archive, replay it with perfect accuracy. I can also get a five-second glimpse into the future once a day."
"At Order 9, Attendant of Conviction, I can release a Conviction Pulse that strengthens allies and shakes enemy morale. I also have Dogma Shield, which is basically an automatic barrier that rejects attacks meant to break my conviction."
"At Order 8, Critic, I gain Flaw Strike, the ability to detect and strike weak points, both physical and mental. And Duel Precision, which optimizes my movements in a fight."
"And now, as Theologian?" I asked, very curious.
"I gain two main abilities," he explained. "Canon Analysis, simply put, lets me dismantle the mystical structure of an artifact or opponent's power with one look. And Rite Craft, the ability to create improvised rituals with small binding rules. For example, I could create a ritual stating, In this area, only my words are taken as truth."
I was stunned. His power was incredibly strong, even broken. Perfectly suited to his personality as someone who was not a frontline fighter.
"A very useful Channel for someone in your position," I commented.
"That's why I chose it," he said. "In this world, it's about knowledge and the ability to break down other people's lies. Besides, there are 51 different Channels besides mine that I can switch to when I reach Order 5 later."
We continued the training. By now I felt like he was testing me. Each time I fired, I could sense his eyes watching how I handled the gun, as if he were trying to break down every movement and find my weak points.
After two hours, we stopped. Our ammo was nearly gone, and my shoulder ached.
"You learn fast," Vashtun said as we packed up the gear. "You have natural talent. It's a pity you let it rust."
"I have other things more important to think about," I replied.
We left Frog Carcass and returned to Clockthon's bustling streets. As we walked, my mind went back to The Sovereign's Gambit.
"Vashtun," I said. "About the Gambit. I need a team. Not a fighting team. I need a team for analysis. Or more precisely, I need your best people to gather data on every other participant. Psychological profiles, strengths, weaknesses, political ties. Everything, same as always."
"That'll be expensive," he said.
"The Consortium will pay for it," I said. "Think of it as operational costs for a mission from The Puppeteer."
He gave a cynical smile. "You really never waste an opportunity, do you?"
"In this world, opportunity is the only thing that should never be wasted."
We parted ways at the border of the Financial District. He returned to his underworld, I returned to my world above.
As I walked home, I thought about Vashtun. He was an extremely valuable asset and at the same time very dangerous. His ability to analyze and break down lies could easily be turned against me if one day he decided I was no longer useful.
I had to stay one step ahead of him.
I arrived at my skyloft and now I felt exhausted, but my mind was sharper than ever.