Days flowed into weeks, then months, and Alaric's presence in Dravograd became an established, if quietly enigmatic, fixture. Master Elgan considered him a prodigious, if unusually reserved, student. Merchants like Torvin increasingly relied on their "gut feelings" that inexplicably led to profitable ventures. Minor officials found their decisions clearer, their bureaucratic hurdles inexplicably smoother. No one suspected the serene-faced boy in the Scriptorium was the true architect of their burgeoning fortunes.
Aizen continued to refine his Kyōka Suigetsu, pushing its boundaries. He experimented with layered illusions: a merchant believed he saw a competitor's stall empty, while it was merely Alaric making it appear so. A guard felt an urgent need to patrol a different district, leaving a target area unwatched. These were not direct commands, but subtle distortions of reality, influencing actions by altering perception. The ease with which minds bent to his will was both satisfying and, to Aizen, a testament to the fundamental simplicity of human beings.
His focus in the Scriptorium shifted from broad historical overviews to more specific, actionable intelligence. He found comprehensive records of Dravograd's internal power structures: the precise rivalries within the merchant guilds, the hidden ambitions of the city guard's captains, and the subtle influence wielded by the local cult of the Eternal Fire, whose zealotry he quickly identified as a potent, if volatile, force.
He identified his next crucial pawn: Captain Roric, a gruff, honorable, but somewhat unimaginative leader of the city guard's evening patrol. Roric was frustrated by a recent surge in petty crime that eluded his capture. Aizen began his work. He subtly drew Roric's attention to specific, seemingly innocuous patterns—a particular merchant's unusual late-night deliveries, a seemingly abandoned alley's peculiar dampness. He'd make the captain's dreams subtly suggest clues, or his waking thoughts gravitate towards a particular, easily observable discrepancy.
Within a fortnight, Captain Roric, believing it was his own diligent detective work, uncovered a small smuggling ring that had been operating under his nose for months. The success elevated Roric's standing, solidifying his authority and increasing his faith in his own "instincts." Roric now viewed Alaric, the quiet boy who occasionally offered insightful, if vague, observations, with a mixture of vague awe and inexplicable trust.
"You're a sharp one, Alaric," Roric grunted one evening, clapping the boy on the shoulder outside the Scriptorium. "A mind like a steel trap. You should consider joining the guard when you're older. We could use a lad with your eye for detail."
Alaric merely offered a small, polite smile. His eyes, however, held a cold, calculating gleam. He had no interest in joining the guard. He was already its unseen commander. Roric's heightened position would now allow Aizen to subtly steer the guard's focus, turning their attention towards areas he wished to observe or manipulate, ensuring his own activities remained unscrutinized.
News from beyond Dravograd's walls grew more frequent, and more concerning to the city's inhabitants. Murmurs of Nilfgaardian aggression intensified, reports of Cintra's political instability became more dire, and the specter of full-scale war loomed larger with each passing season. Aizen absorbed every rumor, every strategic map Elgan reluctantly showed him. He plotted the movements of armies, the potential fall lines of kingdoms, and the points of least resistance.
The chaos of human conflict, the shifting loyalties and predictable greed, were all factors he would weave into his grand design. Dravograd was merely a small loom, producing the first, strong threads. Soon, the entire Continent would be his tapestry.