Dawn's pale light crept across the floorboards as Regulus studied the freshly updated status sheet. His fingers traced the raised ink where Nyx had transcribed his growth.
The numbers should have pleased him. Instead, they tasted like ashes.
Six months. That's what his calculations suggested - six months of relentless training to reach S-rank across the board, assuming his progression didn't plateau. Bell Cranell had managed it in less than half that time with Liaris Freese. Regulus had no such cheat.
The mattress creaked as he reached beneath it, retrieving one of his most guarded possession - a leather-bound notebook filled with Korean script. The modern Hangul characters stood as both shield and weapon, indecipherable to any prying eyes in this world.
He flipped past:
Timelines of events yet to unfold
Analyses of legendary skills and magic
Profiles on gods and their likely movements
Each page represented hours of meticulous recollection, his Numquam Itineris skill resurfacing every relevant detail from the anime, manga, and light novels he'd consumed in his past life. The act of writing served dual purposes - organizing his thoughts, and ensuring he wouldn't forget what gave him an edge.
A particularly worn page caught his attention. His fingernail dug into the paper as he reviewed his theories on accelerated growth. None offered perfect solutions:
Dungeon Diving - High risk without reliable backup
Divine Artifacts - Nearly impossible to acquire unnoticed
Skill Replication - Dangerous without proper research
The sound of the door unlatching sent him snapping the book shut. Nyx leaned against the frame, her silhouette backlit by dawn's sunlight.
"Brooding over numbers again?" She tsked. "How dull."
Regulus slid the notebook into his inner pocket. "What do you want?"
She flourished an embossed invitation between two fingers. "Our favorite merchant princess is throwing a party. And guess who's staffing the event?"
The Rosewind Guild's seal gleamed in the morning light. Regulus didn't need to ask about the guest list - the glint in Nyx's eyes told him everything. Athena Familia would be there.
The eighth vote. The god's warning echoed in his memory.
Nyx's shadow stretched unnaturally across the floor as she turned to leave. "Wear something presentable. Hebe's maids have standards."
The door clicked shut. Regulus exhaled through his nose, fingers brushing the hidden notebook through his shirt. However this played out, one truth remained:
Knowledge was power. And he intended to wield both.
-----
The new not so modest hall of the Rosewind Mercantile Guild shimmered under crystal chandeliers, their light refracting across gilded arches and polished marble floors. Regulus moved through the crowd with practiced grace, a silver tray balanced effortlessly in one hand—his weeks of brutal maid training finally paying off.
Nobles in embroidered silks rubbed shoulders with merchants boasting jeweled fingers, while armored representatives from various Familias stood like statues along the perimeter. The air smelled of spiced wine, roasted meats, and the subtle metallic tang of concealed weapons.
This isn't just a trade summit, Regulus realized. This is a power play.
His eyes tracked Cordelia—no, Fillian Hellis—as she glided between guests, her smile polished, her laughter perfectly measured. She wore the Rosewind Guild's emblem like a crown, but Regulus knew better. This was Athena Familia's doing. Altena's influence, spreading through Babelonia like ink in water.
And I helped them.
The thought curdled in his stomach. He had given Cordelia the means to establish her guild, to legitimize her operations. Had he just handed a rival nation the keys to the city?
A sharp elbow nudged his ribs.
"Space out later," whispered the Hebe Familia maid beside him—a petite woman with coiled black hair and eyes like flint. "The champagne won't serve itself."
Regulus nodded, slipping back into role. He wove through clusters of guests, catching fragments of conversation:
"—shipments from Rakia diverted—"
"—heard the Hermes Familia is sniffing around—"
"—ninth vote will decide everything—"
His pulse spiked at that last one. Before he could listen further, a familiar shadow flickered at the edge of his vision.
Nyx.
She lounged near a potted fern, clothed in the noble thief attire she bought weeks ago, her smirk visible even across the room. Her fingers twitched in a quick signal: Look.
Regulus followed her gaze to the hall's second-floor balcony. There, half-hidden behind a velvet curtain, stood a figure in silver-trimmed robes—the same god who'd confronted him at the café.
Watching. Waiting.
The maid elbowed him again. "Stop staring. You're being obvious."
Regulus forced his attention back to his tray. But the pieces were moving now, sliding into place with dangerous precision.
Athena's agenda. Hebe's spies. Nyx's games.
And him—being harrassed. The nobleman's wine sloshed precariously as he jabbed a ringed finger at Regulus' insignia. "You. Are you actually Hebe Familia?"
Regulus adjusted his grip on the champagne tray. "Just training under them, sir. Might I refill your—"
The nobleman's fingers twitched around his empty wineglass as he eyed Regulus with something between awe and resentment.
"You… you're training with the Hebe Familia?" His voice was hushed, almost reverent.
Regulus adjusted his grip on the champagne tray. "Yes, sir. Might I refill your—"
"But—" The man leaned in, his expensive cologne overpowering. "How? Lady Hebe never accepts male students. Not even as temporary staff!" His expression twisted into something painfully earnest. "Do you have connections? A divine favor? I've petitioned her for years to let my nephew apprentice under them!"
Regulus blinked. This wasn't suspicion—it was envy.
Before he could respond, a delicate cough sounded behind him. A senior Hebe maid—Mistress Elaina, if he remembered correctly—glided forward, her smile serene.
"Lord Duvain," she chided lightly, plucking the wine bottle from Regulus' tray with effortless grace. "Surely you know better than to interrogate our people?" She poured the nobleman a generous serving, her tone sweet as poisoned honey. "Lady Hebe makes exceptions for exceptional candidates. Would you imply her judgment is flawed?"
The noble paled. "N-No, of course not! I merely—"
"Wonderful." Elaina's hand settled on Regulus' shoulder, her grip deceptively gentle. "Now, if you'll excuse us, the exceptional candidate is needed elsewhere."
She steered Regulus away before the sputtering noble could respond.
"Balcony," she murmured once they were out of earshot. "Five minutes. And do try to be less…" Her gaze flicked to his still-perfectly-balanced tray. "…noticeable."
As she vanished into the crowd, Regulus caught Nyx's grin from across the room—her eyes glittering with mischief.
A hush fell over the nearby guests. Then, like a spark to dry tinder, the whispers began.
"Perhaps he's… special," murmured a merchant's wife behind her fan, her gaze lingering on Regulus with newfound interest.
"Special indeed," chuckled a silver-haired noble, swirling his wine with a knowing smirk. "I've heard the goddess has certain… preferences."
"A boytoy in uniform?" another guest giggled. "How scandalous!"
Regulus nearly dropped his tray. What the hell—?
Across the room, Nyx twitched. Her fingers tightened around her stolen champagne flute hard enough to crack the stem. The guests closest to her instinctively edged away as the temperature seemed to drop.
Mistress Elaina, ever the picture of poise, materialized at Regulus' side with a serene smile. "Pay the gossip no mind," she murmured, deftly swapping his half-empty tray for a fresh one. "Though I would avoid the third-floor guest suites tonight. Some of our patrons get… creative with their theories."
Her eyes flicked meaningfully toward the balcony before she glided away, leaving Regulus to endure the weight of dozens of curious stares.
Nyx appeared beside him a breath later, her voice a velvet threat. "If one of these leeches tries to 'confirm the rumors,' I'm feeding them their own teeth."
Regulus sighed. This was why he preferred fighting to high society.