CHAPTER 7: HELPING AT THE GRYPHON AND THE FIRST PILLAR

  The morning light streamed into the room at "The Gryphon," exposing the dust floating in the air. To most, it was just dust; to me, it was disorder in the structure. I headed downstairs, where Elena was already setting out ptes. The smell of frying bacon and eggs was intense—rich enough in calories to satiate my vessel before a day of action.

  "Did you sleep well, Dave?" she asked, pcing a mug of lukewarm water in front of me. "You look like someone who’s already sorted out the whole world in his head."

  "Sleep is just a quick reset for me, to make sure the vessel is ready for the morning. I'm good to go," I replied, sitting down.

  I ate in silence, analyzing Elena's movements. She was tense. Her weaves were vibrating with anxiety over the evening auction. To lighten her load, seeing as she was barely keeping up with all the chores, I offered to help maintain the tavern. The sight of her fork freezing halfway to her mouth was priceless.

  "You? You want to help in the kitchen and with the cleaning?" She ughed nervously, but I saw a shadow of relief in her eyes.

  "Logically speaking, if I handle your tasks faster, you'll have more time to prepare for tonight. Efficiency is key," I cut the topic short, finishing my meal.

  She handed me a list. Five hours of work. Looking at the volume of tasks, I gnced at the list and knew instantly I’d have it all done in about an hour and a half. People waste unimaginable amounts of energy on unnecessary movements. I had no intention of repeating that.

  I stayed in the hall alone with Elena’s list. I looked around. To an ordinary person, it was a mess: dirty mugs, crumbs on the tables, a yer of dust on the ceiling beams. To me, it was just pin filth that was begging for a solid cleanup.

  I started with the dishes. Instead of pying around with scrubbing each piece individually, I focused on the essence of the grime. I reinforced my hands with a light weave of energy—nothing major, just a small manipution to repel impurities from matter. All it took was for the dish to touch the water, and the grease and food scraps practically leaped off, as if they were afraid of me. It went lightning-fast.

  Then, the broom. Instead of swinging it like an amateur, I imposed a rhythm on it. Every move was precise, down to the millimeter. Elena walked in for a moment to grab clean rags and stopped dead in the doorway.

  "Dave... you're already finished with the dishes? There was a mountain of ptes!" she cried, rubbing her eyes.

  "Told you, it’s a matter of logic. Why do something slowly when you can do it right?" I threw her a smile, not breaking my sweeping rhythm. "Go get ready, Elena. I’ve only got the backroom and the dusting left."

  In an hour and a half, I brought the ground floor of "The Gryphon" to a state this pce probably hadn't seen since it opened. Everything sparkled, and the air became strangely fresh. When Elena came back down, dressed in her traveling gown, she was speechless. She ran her finger across the counter and didn't find a single fw.

  "You're not a typical aristocrat, are you?" she whispered, looking at me with a mix of admiration and a hint of fear.

  "I'm just someone who doesn't like to waste time," I replied, putting the broom away. "Now, we have three hours of free time. Come on, let's take a walk through Oakhaven. I want to see how this Marquis manages his foundations."

  We stepped out of "The Gryphon." Oakhaven in full sunlight looked wealthy, but my eyes saw what Elena couldn't. I saw stalls pced illogically, blocking the flow of people, and gutters designed by someone with an exceptionally small vessel.

  Elena walked beside me, still gncing at me out of the corner of her eye. Her admiration was natural to me—like gravity. If you put your hand in a fire, you get burned. If you look at the Creator’s work, you feel respect. A simple corretion.

  "This city is... specific," I said as we passed the main square. "They have resources, but the weaves of their pnning are tragic. The Marquis must be quite a tool to allow such chaos."

  "Shh!" Elena grabbed my arm and pulled me closer. "Don't say things like that out loud. The Marquis’s guard is everywhere. He doesn't take criticism well, especially from... well, someone who isn't from around here."

  I just smiled. Let them try.

  At one point, a gold-trimmed carriage cut us off, nearly driving into a group of pedestrians. A fat man in a silk cap leaned out the window and spat on the pavement, right at Elena's feet. "Out of the way, peasants! Don't you see the crest of House Malcor?" the coachman roared, brandishing a whip.

  Elena jumped back, terrified, but I didn't even flinch. The whip hissed past my nose, but it stopped in mid-air as if it had hit an invisible wall. I focused a fraction of my will on it, causing the wood of the handle to simply... snap into three pieces.

  "Logically speaking," I said loudly, looking straight into the eyes of the shocked coachman, "your journey ends here until you apologize to my companion."

  The fat man in the carriage turned red in the face, and Elena began whispering, begging me to leave. It was the perfect teaser for what awaited us at the Marquis’s pce tonight.

  The walk through Oakhaven confirmed one thing: this world needed someone to sort out this mess in the foundations. Elena walked beside me, visibly tense, constantly adjusting the strap of her modest dress. I saw how people looked at us—me in my bck coat, her, beautiful but frightened. We were like a foreign body in the illogical organism of the city.

  Suddenly, a carriage burst out of a side alley. It didn't just drive out—it lunged, trampling a fruit stall and forcing a group of elders to scramble into the mud. The horses were foamy, and the coachman was bellowing like a madman, swinging a long whip.

  "Out of the way, filth! Count Malcor is in a hurry!" he yelled, the whip snapping dangerously close to Elena's face.

  She jumped back, nearly twisting her ankle on the uneven cobblestones. At that moment, I felt my will begin to vibrate. Logically speaking, this guy had just signed a death warrant for his means of transport.

  I stepped forward, standing directly in the path of the galloping horses. "Dave! What are you doing?!" Elena screamed, but I already knew what was going to happen.

  The coachman, seeing I wasn't moving, cracked the whip straight at my head. Instead of dodging, I simply reached out. The whip wrapped around my forearm, but before the guy could yank it back, I surged an impulse of Kuro Su into the leather. The whip’s leather simply evaporated, crumbling into ash before the stunned coachman's eyes.

  The horses reared up a meter in front of me, neighing in terror—they sensed they were standing before something higher in the hierarchy of being than them. A nobleman's head poked out of the carriage window. He was sweaty, had three chins, and a cap that looked like a bird’s nest.

  "What is the meaning of this?! Who do you think you are, you wretched..." He didn't finish.

  I walked up to the front wheel of the carriage. I looked at the axles, at the wood essence bindings that could barely hold the weight. It was an insult to craftsmanship.

  "You've got a little structural error here, buddy," I said quietly, pcing my hand on the wood. "Allow me to fix it."

  With one strike of will, I tore the atomic bonds of the main axle. The snap was so loud that people on the balconies came out to see what was happening. The front part of the carriage colpsed in a split second. The wheels flew off in opposite directions, and the luxury cabin, tilted at an unnatural angle, threw Count Malcor straight into a rge, stinking puddle in the gutter.

  He nded perfectly on his belly. Spt! The mud sprayed right into his open mouth.

  I couldn't help it. I let out a short, honest ugh, watching the pig try to regain his footing, sliding in the muck. "Holy shit, the pig actually ate it, heh," I muttered to Elena, who stood beside me with her mouth open so wide you could have parked a hay wagon in there.

  "You... you destroyed him..." she gasped.

  "No, Elena. I just showed him that his pride weighs more than this cheap carriage," I replied, turning on my heel.

  I looked back at the nobleman, who was spitting out mud and trying to save his silk cap. "Next time, try walking. Better for your vessel, Malcor!" I tossed over my shoulder.

  The crowd of onlookers was silent, but I saw something in their eyes that the Marquis couldn't buy for any amount of gold—pure, unadulterated joy at a tyrant's fall. I took Elena by the arm and moved on. "Come on, let's go. We have to make it to the Ball. I intend to repeat this performance, just on a rger scale."

  We returned to "The Gryphon." Elena ran upstairs, and I took care of my vessel. I pulled out the outfit I’d prepared specifically for the occasion—a bck, tailored suit. No frills, no gold threads or puffy sleeves that the local "elite" considered the height of elegance. Just deep, pure bck that seemed to absorb the mplight.

  I waited downstairs, leaning against the staircase banister. When I heard the click of heels, I looked up. Elena was coming down slowly, holding the railing. The deep emerald dress I’d chosen for her fit her as if it had been woven from the very essence of beauty. The candlelight pyed on the fabric, and her blonde hair, pinned in a loose bun, completed the structure.

  For a moment, there was pure silence in my head, and then, completely unfiltered, it burst out of me:

  "Holy fucking hell... Elena, you look fucking incredible in that dress!"

  Elena froze mid-step. Her face turned the color of a ripe tomato in a second, and her hand gripped the railing. She looked down, trying to hide a smile that lingered on her lips anyway, though her weaves were practically exploding with embarrassment and a sudden surge of confidence.

  "Dave! Your nguage..." she managed to stammer, but I saw that the crude, honest compliment worked better than any noble poem. "Do you really think so? I don't look... strange?"

  "You look like someone who's about to give all those nobles at the Marquis's a heart attack from jealousy," I replied, straightening my suit and offering her my arm. "Come on, time to show them what real order looks like."

  We pulled up to the residence. Already at the entrance, you could feel the stuffiness of the "high society." Guards were checking invitations, but when we approached the gate, one of them blocked my way. "Invitation and family name," he barked rudely. "Dave. And that's enough," I released a millimeter of my sinister aura.

  The guard turned pale, as if he’d suddenly seen an abyss before him, and with a trembling hand, pointed to the entrance. We entered the main hall, where music and fake smiles created an illogical chaos. We’d barely taken a few steps when a wall appeared in the form of three young nobles. One of them, with a wine gss, measured my outfit with a look full of contempt.

  "What is this mourning gear?" he ughed. "Did you mistake the Marquis’s ball for a wake? And this girl... Elena, weren't you the one serving me beer this morning in that stinking tavern?"

  I looked at him, then at his snow-white shirt. My patience for such errors in the system was exhausted.

  "Logically speaking," I began, stepping toward him, "your outfit has more in common with a curtain than elegance. And as for Elena... tonight, she stands higher in this room’s hierarchy than you and your entire family history."

  "What did you say?!" He raised his gss to spsh me, but I caught him by the wrist. The gss shattered, and the wine, instead of hitting me, flowed in a steady stream directly onto his chest thanks to my will.

  "Oops. Another faulty structure," I muttered. "Go dry yourself off, pig."

  We left him in shock and headed toward the dais. Suddenly, the music died down. The Marquis stepped onto the stage, and behind him, guards led out something that made a profound silence fall over the entire hall.

  It was Shnee. Locked in heavy wooden shackles, with a metal colr digging into her delicate neck. Her diamond eyes, though dimmed by pain, still shone with extraordinary power.

  The chatter died out as if someone had cut the weaves of sound throughout the hall. The Marquis, with his greasy smile and aura of self-satisfaction, stood on the dais. He spread his arms as if he were the lord of life and death, rather than just a measly manager of a piece of nd.

  "Ladies and gentlemen!" he shouted, his voice echoing off the gold chandeliers. "Today, I have prepared something that goes beyond your wildest dreams. A treasure from the deepest reaches of the world... an Elf with snow-diamond eyes!"

  The guards yanked the chain. Shnee stumbled as she stepped onto the stage. Her bare feet dirtied the expensive carpet, and the heavy wooden shackles bent her arms at an unnatural angle. The worst part, however, was the colr—a metal band bristling with runes that dug into her skin.

  I looked at her and felt something snap inside my vessel. My eyes immediately analyzed her structure. She was incredible. Her essence weaves, despite the exhaustion and bruises, pulsed with a light that these idiots in silk couldn't even fathom. She was perfection locked in a cage of primitive iron.

  I felt an icy, rising fury. It wasn't just pity—it was the wrath of the Creator seeing vandals destroy his most beautiful work. Treating such essence this way was illogical and simply... wrong.

  Elena beside me was trembling. I saw her hands clenching onto my jacket. "Dave... look at her eyes..." she whispered through tears.

  The Marquis walked up to Shnee and unceremoniously grabbed her by the chin, turning her head so everyone could admire the diamond glow of her irises. Shnee didn't fight. Her gaze was empty, fixed somewhere beyond this room, as if her will had long since left this vessel.

  "We start at five thousand silver pieces!" the Marquis roared.

  The prices rose quickly: six, seven, eight thousand. Some bloated merchant yelled nine, licking his lips. I let the breath out of my lungs, and with it, a sliver of will that made the air in the hall suddenly heavy and thick.

  "Ten thousand silver pieces," I said in a calm, booming voice that cut through the noise of the auction like a razor.

  The whole room turned toward me. The Marquis narrowed his eyes, recognizing me—the guy who didn't fit into any weave of power he knew. A triumphant but mocking smile appeared on his face.

  "Ten thousand! Going once, going twice... Sold to the gentleman in bck!" he called, a dark glint in his eyes. "I invite you to my office to finalize the contract and... discuss the details of the transfer of ownership."

  We entered the Marquis's office. What I found there was an insult to order. A mess. Papers scattered illogically, empty bottles of expensive wine, dust settling on structures that should have sparkled. This pce was a perfect reflection of its owner's decaying nature.

  Elena followed me, her breath hitching. She felt the weaves of this meeting heading toward catastrophe. The Marquis sat behind the desk, and five bodyguards stepped out from the shadows—their vessels were primitive, built only for brute force.

  "I'll be keeping the elf, the silver, and your coat," the Marquis sneered, his face twisting into a disgusting grimace. "And if you lick my boots, maybe I won't rape your partner."

  An unnatural silence fell over the room. I felt Elena freeze beside me, struck by the filth he’d hurled her way. In that same moment, my sinister aura ceased to be suppressed. It began leaking from the vessel, saturating the air with a weight that made the guards' lungs start to burn.

  "I wanted to be nice and handle this like a gentleman," I said in a voice that sounded like a cracking foundation of the world. "But I cannot let such words go unpunished."

  The movement was pure calcution. I reinforced my hand with Kuro Su. Seven seconds. That’s all I needed for the weaves of reality in this room to colpse. The first guard fell before he could even blink. The second and third smmed into the wall, their vessels shutting down from a single blow. The st two didn't even draw their weapons—they y there in pain, feeling the weight of the Creator's will upon them.

  Elena stood in complete shock. Her mind couldn't keep up with the pace of my existence. I walked up to the Marquis, who now looked as if his sphincters were about to succumb to the w of gravity.

  "You're lucky I respect contracts, otherwise you'd cease to exist," I snapped, looking straight into his trembling eyes. "I'm leaving you ten thousand silver pieces for Shnee. But for the attempted fraud and your words, I'm taking three thousand as a penalty."

  I walked over to Shnee. I looked at the "high-end" colr—to them, it was an indestructible symbol of svery. With one light tug, I tore the metal apart as if it were made of wet paper. The wooden shackles crumbled into dust.

  It was so quiet in the room that all you could hear was the Marquis's pathetic whimpering. Breaking the colr with my bare hands had finally shattered the foundations of their logic.

  I picked Shnee up in my arms. She was light, and her essence was trembling.

  "Elena, we're leaving. There is nothing left here worthy of my attention."

  We left the Marquis’s residence, leaving behind the stench of fear and illogical chaos. Shnee in my arms was almost weightless, as if her vessel consisted of pure essence rather than matter. Elena walked beside me in silence, still stunned by what had happened in the office. Her emerald dress rustled on the pavement, and the weaves of her aura slowly returned to normal, though they still trembled when she gnced at me.

  "Dave... what you did with that colr..." she began quietly when we were close to "The Gryphon." "No one in this kingdom has that kind of strength. Who are you, really?"

  "I'm someone who restores order where it's cking, Elena," I replied shortly, not slowing my pace. "The rest is just details that don't matter to the foundations."

  The tavern was empty now. I carried Shnee upstairs to my room and carefully id her on the bed. Elena immediately brought warm water and clean cloth. She began washing the bruises on the elf's wrists, while I stood nearby, analyzing the damage to her structure. The runes on the colr had caused damage, but nothing that couldn't be fixed with the right dose of pure energy.

  I pced my hand over Shnee’s forehead. A gentle impulse, a pure correction of the weaves. I saw her breathing even out and her skin take on a healthier hue.

  "Leave her, Elena. She needs to rest. Her vessel needs time to stabilize," I said, feeling my own vessel demanding to enter rest mode.

  Elena nodded, looking at me with gratitude she couldn't put into words, and left, quietly closing the door. I was alone. I sat on the hard wooden chair across from the bed. I looked at Shnee—at her snow-diamond eyes hidden beneath her eyelids.

  It was a good day. The foundations were shaken, and the stain known as the Marquis was punished. I closed my eyes, letting the regeneration processes take control. I fell asleep sitting up, watching over the essence I had just recimed for the world.