Weeks turned into a calculated routine for Alaric within the Dravograd Scriptorium. Master Elgan, increasingly fond of the quiet, intellectually ravenous child, granted him ever-wider access to the Scriptorium's collection. Alaric moved through the towering shelves with a methodical purpose, his spiritual perception now sharp enough to discern the 'age' and 'power' of the texts he sought. He prioritised ancient chronicles, obscure magical treatises, and detailed political maps over common bestiaries.
He learned of Elder Blood, a peculiar genetic mutation that hinted at dimensional travel and immense, untamed power. He discovered fragmented accounts of Conjunctions of the Spheres, events that had fundamentally reshaped this world and brought forth its monsters. He cataloged the intricate, often contradictory, doctrines of various mage fraternities and secret societies like the Lodge of Sorceresses. Each piece of knowledge was a new variable in the complex equation of his ultimate dominion.
His Kyōka Suigetsu was no longer merely a subtle nudge. He practiced. Carefully. When Elgan was deep in thought, Alaric would project a fleeting, simple illusion – a book seeming to levitate for an instant, a distant sound of a bell where there was none. Elgan would blink, dismiss it as fatigue, and return to his work, his perception subtly skewed, a testament to the illusion's growing potency. Alaric noted the ease with which a mind, expecting normalcy, accepted the impossible as a trick of the light or sound.
He began to identify potential pawns within Dravograd. His focus fell on a particularly ambitious, but somewhat unremarkable, young merchant named Torvin. Torvin dealt in rare minerals and magical reagents, always eager for an edge, but constantly thwarted by shrewder rivals. He frequented the Scriptorium to research trade routes and market trends.
Alaric began his subtle campaign. During Torvin's visits, Alaric would position himself nearby. When Torvin consulted a map, Alaric would allow a faint, almost imperceptible aura of 'insight' or 'opportunity' to emanate from a specific, often overlooked, trade route. He would subtly make a name or a location on a page seem more prominent, more alluring. He'd create fleeting, positive 'feelings' associated with certain business decisions, moments of inexplicable confidence that made Torvin dismiss caution.
Torvin, unaware of the unseen hand guiding his thoughts, found his fortunes inexplicably improving. A forgotten client would suddenly recall an old order. A risky venture would pay off unexpectedly. He started attributing his success to 'luck' or a newfound 'instinct.' He began to visit the Scriptorium more frequently, unconsciously drawn by the quiet boy whose presence seemed to sharpen his focus.
One afternoon, Torvin approached Alaric, a rare, genuine smile on his face. "Young master Alaric," he boomed, "your presence seems to bring me good fortune! I've just secured a shipment of rare fulgurite from the south, a deal I almost let slip. My gut told me otherwise!"
Alaric offered a small, polite nod, his eyes holding a depth that Torvin couldn't comprehend. Gut instinct. How quaint. He had merely ensured Torvin's focus remained on the fulgurite, subtly suppressing the doubts planted by a rival merchant. The fulgurite, Aizen knew from his readings, was a key component in certain high-level magical rituals that might become relevant later.
The threads were being spun. Dravograd, a seemingly chaotic marketplace of commerce and information, was becoming his first, true testing ground for large-scale, unseen manipulation. It was a complex dance, but Aizen reveled in it. Every successful nudge, every orchestrated outcome, was a step towards the complete control he envisioned. The Continent was a grand stage, and the unsuspecting players were already moving according to his unspoken script.