Returning to the farm, Glenn sought out Gortaya and tentatively asked, “Could you ask the Will of the Forest whether it sensed what I just experienced?”

  Gortaya did not understand his abrupt, contextless question, and was about to ask for clarification when the Will of the Forest’s response echoed directly within her mind. Swallowing her confusion, she relayed, “The Will of the Forest says it already knows. If the intruder hadn’t approached you—someone it pays special attention to—it might not have noticed that thing coming here at all.”

  “That fellow should have been coming for you—I mean the Will of the Forest,” Glenn replied.

  “The Will of the Forest says that is unlikely. The God of Truth should understand the capabilities of an embodied will. The cost would far outweigh the reward; there is no reason for the God of Truth to target it. There must be a larger scheme at work. Bayek is a very unusual place—because of it, the Will was able to grow so quickly and become this unique. Perhaps what he truly wants is something within this town.”

  After hearing the translation, Glenn nodded; he agreed with the assessment. “Still, since he sent only a weak avatar of consciousness, he shouldn’t be able to stir up too much trouble—for now.”

  “All we can do is stay vigilant and make sure he doesn’t cause damage we cannot undo.”

  “Cannot we give him a little trouble of our own?” Glenn was not the type to remain passive.

  Gortaya waited a moment, but when the Will of the Forest offered no reply, she merely shook her head.

  “I heard gods always have devotees. What if I targeted them instead?” Glenn’s mind spun quickly—he had already come up with an idea.

  This time, the Will of the Forest did respond, and Gortaya conveyed its words: “Although the churches of the God of Truth have declined due to suppression from the various kingdoms, long ago the Church of Truth was an immense and influential power. Even now, devout believers remain scattered across many lands. Do you intend to travel everywhere and find them one by one?”

  Glenn pondered. “That might not be necessary. What if someone… slipped some nonsense into their canon? What would happen then?”

  The Will of the Forest fell silent once more. This was a path it had never considered. Despite its long existence and knowledge far exceeding that of mortals, it could not answer when the matter involved gods.

  “No worries—we will try things one by one. There is always a way to disgust him. My head is full of ideas.”

  Though Glenn was a visitor from another world, he had read many fantasy novels. Some tropes might actually work here.

  Leaving the farm behind, Glenn returned home, first writing a reply to Dani. Then he packed a few belongings and prepared for a trip.

  He would go to the capital first to sell that house he had just obtained.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  He had no intention of settling in Bartsey—now, later, or ever. If he were to buy a home in a major city, the capital of Kailadrea would be far better; from there he could simply step out through the basement’s mysterious door.

  Besides that, he needed to speak with White Bird Publishing about the copyright infringement. If they didn’t offer a proper price, Glenn wouldn’t let the matter drop.

  After that, he would head straight to Lyons City to find that painter named Hopedo and join their club.

  With everything arranged, Glenn handed his house key to the new steward, Dunriel, then set out, boarding a Great Stag cart and departing.

  Only a day after he left, Bloodaxe once again arrived at Glenn’s shop in Duder.

  Seeing how the old tavern had transformed, she was astonished—and even more surprised by how busy it was. She had to force her way in.

  Spotting a familiar face, she quickly approached. “Hey, your name was Luther, right? Is your employer, Mr. Glenn, here? I have brought the things he wanted.”

  Luther, busy with customers, answered in passing, “You are late. Mr. Glenn went to the capital yesterday.”

  “Yesterday?” Bloodaxe frowned in frustration.

  Should I wait here or chase him to the capital? She hesitated.

  Eventually she decided to return home and inform her family, then wait for him here. If she followed him to the capital, she might not even find him.

  With that thought, she tightened her pack and stepped out the door—only to nearly collide with a plainly dressed young woman approaching from the opposite direction. The girl smiled faintly and asked,

  “Do you… yearn for salvation?”

  …

  After entering the capital, Glenn headed directly toward the address of the house he had acquired.

  Carriages were far more numerous here than in the small towns, but traffic still moved smoothly.

  Ahead lay a fork in the road. In the center stood a tall, four- or five-story spire-like building with a wide circular window at its peak; silhouettes moved behind the glass.

  Glenn only glanced at it in passing and walked toward the road on the left.

  But from within the building erupted the sound of a heated argument—and the topic caught Glenn’s interest.

  He lifted his head. In one of the windows he could see a chair placed with its back against the glass.

  A man inside shouted, “You have no idea what this invention means! It will change this nation! It will bring immense convenience to the people!”

  “Enough, sir. We understand you are eager to promote your creation, but the kingdom already has an invention that provides stable illumination. Yours requires an electrical system that hasn’t been installed anywhere yet, and its safety is unproven. It is simply not a project worth investing in.” A slightly shrill male voice responded politely.

  “No! I have seen that so-called device. Its brightness is pathetic—completely unsuitable for lighting! Trust me—give me a little more time and I will prove that this invention works!”

  No matter what he said, the shrill voice refused to yield. Others chimed in from time to time, echoing him and discouraging the inventor.

  Standing outside, Glenn listened for quite a while and eventually realized he had stumbled upon a fortune.

  Someone is working on the electric light, it seems—here, at the very beginning—and seeking investors. Those men inside were clearly targeting him on purpose; how did the inventor not hear it? Glenn simply waited.

  At last, the defeated-sounding man fell silent, as if leaving the room.

  Then Glenn heard the shrill voice again, laughing with several companions:

  “An outsider thinks he can invent things like we do? Absurd. He tinkers with scraps and calls it an invention? How delusional…”

  An outsider? So it was racial prejudice. Glenn immediately understood why the man promoting the light was being sabotaged.