Eight years is a long time. Long enough for a child's body to grow into a teenager's, long enough for carefully planted lies to take root and transform into truths that people can no longer dispute or deny. The Royal Clockthon Military Academy, or what I'd always considered my iron cage, was finally releasing me. This was Graduation Day. An ending for some people, and a beginning for me.
19th Sextilis, Year 1753. The spring air still carried a gentle coolness in the morning, mixed with the scent of lilies from the academy's meticulously maintained gardens, perhaps too meticulously maintained. I stood in the center of the main courtyard, a vast granite expanse surrounded by the solid buildings that had served as both my home and my prison all these years. The academy complex was architecturally stunning: five-meter-high black metal walls, a central clock tower whose chimes had become the heartbeat of student life, and an underground network that was, whether by design or accident, remarkably well-structured.
I'd recently learned that nobility entered the academy at fifteen. One of the late arrivals was Irene. I'd never asked her reasons. Maybe she was lazy, or maybe there was something else. Most of them had private tutors before being handed over here at the minimum age.
Around me, other cadets gathered in small groups, their dark gray uniforms forming a homogeneous sea. Their voices buzzed with a mixture of relief and anxiety.
"...finally. No more four a.m wake-ups for Essence inspections."
"Starting tomorrow, we're officially part of an active Evolver unit. Out there, there's no room for mistakes!"
"If you fail, you're considered a failed investment. The academy doesn't bother fixing broken tools!"
Their words already revealed the world they'd accepted, a world where a person's worth was measured by their function.
"Welt!"
I turned. Finnian O'Connell came running toward me, still the same tall but nervous young man, carrying that familiar anxious expression. Eight years hadn't changed his core nature.
"You're already here! I could barely sleep last night!" he exclaimed.
"Nervousness is a waste of energy with no benefit," I replied flatly. "You should conserve your strength."
"Of course you'd say that," came a clear, calm voice.
Irene Cheva approached. Eight years had transformed her. The awkward girl I'd once known had become a confident young woman with extraordinary self-assurance, like a true princess.
"This early in the morning? None of you slept?" she asked, glancing at the central clock, still five a.m.
"I went to bed early," I answered. "Spring mornings aren't too cold."
"I—I maybe got five hours?" Finnian stammered. "I was nervous..."
I ignored them and looked back at the crowd. I spotted Roshtov Valerius standing alone as usual, his face unreadable behind the book he always carried. He too had changed physically. Our relationship over the years had remained distant and formal. There were unspoken weapons between us, but nothing was ever said aloud. His brother Lian stood among the popular noble group, laughing with arrogant tones. Cassian Droct had indeed lived up to expectations, now a promising young officer giving instructions to some juniors. And William Salwors, for some reason I couldn't see him. He always had a way of hiding in plain sight.
Professor Gunder, our aging and weary Essence control instructor, climbed onto the platform in front of the main building. "Attention, all final-year cadets! The graduation ceremony will begin in three minutes. All participants, please line up according to your evaluation numbers."
The command broke the crowd into movement. We formed orderly lines in the courtyard, arranged by academic ranking. With the "average" grades I'd deliberately maintained, I stood in the middle row. Since that incident, I'd suppressed my true abilities to avoid standing out. I knew that fugitive would come looking for me someday. Forre was a dangerous individual. Even now, I was still at Archetype 7. I needed to advance quickly.
The ceremony itself was just a formality that could put anyone to sleep. Long speeches from the academy head, an old general preaching about honor and loyalty to the kingdom. Reading of distinguished cadet names. Presentation of graduation scrolls. I received mine without expression, considering it merely a piece of parchment marking that I'd played my role as a "stable asset" of Fravikveidimadr.
After the ceremony ended, cadets began to disperse. Some were met by their noble families with decorated carriages. Others, like Finnian, gathered to celebrate their newfound freedom. I wasn't interested in any of that. I had other business. Besides, I had no family in this world, and I still didn't know what bound me to Silas.
"Welt, want to come to the tavern in Old District?" Finnian asked hopefully. "To celebrate our graduation!"
"No," I replied curtly. "I have other matters to attend to."
I turned and walked toward the academy gates. I could feel Irene's gaze on my back—I could tell she was full of unspoken questions. For eight years, she'd been my intellectual rival and the only one who seemed capable of penetrating the mask I wore.
As I walked, I passed Roshtov. He stopped me, which had become a common occurrence. Frankly, I'd be more surprised if he didn't.
"Rothes," he said quietly. "I know what you're doing."
I stopped and looked at him. "Do you?"
"You were never really an ordinary student," he continued. "All your failures, all your oddities, I'm sure they're part of an act. Just like in the situational exam. That evidence, you didn't find it. I'm certain you manipulated it, piece by piece, however you managed to do such things."
I neither confirmed nor denied it. I just stared at him and let silence speak.
"I don't know what game you're playing," he said. "But I know it's dangerous. Be careful, Welt Rothes. The world beyond these walls won't be as easily fooled as our professors."
He turned and left, joining the family carriage that was waiting for him.
I continued walking. My destination wasn't Old District, but an address in Banking District, a simple, unremarkable office building with a brass plaque reading: Adler & Finch Legal Office.
Inside, I met a middle-aged man named Finch. He was a lawyer I'd contracted anonymously through a chain of intermediaries over the past few years, using leftover funds from my "transaction" with the Viscount.
"Mr. Rothes," he greeted me, slightly surprised by how young I appeared. "Everything is ready, as requested."
He handed me a thick leather folder. Inside were articles of incorporation for a trading company called Boyle Acquisitions, along with ownership certificates for several warehouses in the port district and a set of complex financial instruments that would transfer ownership of minor properties from a nearly bankrupt noble family to my company.
This was the fruit of eight years of behind-the-scenes work. While playing the role of an ordinary cadet, I'd quietly built the foundation of my economic power. With knowledge from my previous world about markets and finance, I'd exploited the weaknesses of this world's feudal economy.
"Thank you, Mr. Finch," I said. "Make sure all transactions remain anonymous."
I left the office with the folder in hand. This was the first step of my Grand Plan of Hundreds. Power didn't just come from Essence or fighting ability, true power came from controlling resources. And I'd just begun my acquisitions.
Walking through Clockthon's busy streets, I felt something had changed within me since eight years ago. This teenage body had become a more mature vessel. My aperture nadir circuit was now seventy percent filled. I hadn't tested my limits, but I knew I was far stronger than anyone realized.
Suddenly, a small incident interrupted my thoughts. A runaway carriage was heading straight for a child crossing the street. Screams rang out. Without conscious thought, my will moved my body.
I didn't use superhuman speed. I simply calculated the carriage's trajectory, the child's speed, and the time I had. In one necessary movement, I stepped forward, lifted the child from danger, and set him safely on the sidewalk. It all looked like a fortunate accident.
The carriage rushed past, barely missing me. The child cried. His mother ran over, embraced him, and thanked me repeatedly.
I nodded and walked away. But as I stepped forward, I felt that gaze again, the same one from eight years ago.
I stopped and turned around.
Across the street, leaning against a wall, stood William Salwors. He was no longer hiding. He stared directly at me. In his hands was the same black leather notebook. He raised it slightly, as if in greeting, then turned and disappeared into the crowd.
The game wasn't over at all, not until he included me in his mad scheme.
Of course he'd been watching me all this time. He knew.
That night, I stood atop one of my new warehouses in the port district, gazing at the city lights glittering like artificial stars. The sea breeze carried the scent of salt and fish.
Eight years had passed. I was no longer Cheon Donghwan the terrorist. I was no longer Welt Rothes the orphan. I was a completely new individual in this world, an identity I'd created through my own hard work after living through two utterly wretched lives.
Now I held control over my destiny. I had resources. I had knowledge. And I had a plan. This world was broken, deeply broken. And I would be the craftsman ready to rebuild it.
"Fix humanity. Fix the world. Fix everything."
My childhood in this world had ended. The preparation phase was complete.
Now, it was time to build.
Hours had passed since graduation.
I stared at the dark sky, where the full moon shone brightly, unlike the cracked moon from that dust creature's memories. No matter how flawed this world was, artisans always found ways to reshape it. And I would do exactly that.
In the distance, the clock tower bell chimed.
Midnight.
A new era had begun.
My era.
"Let's begin," I whispered to the night wind.