The rest of the day crawled by slowly.
Ryan half-heartedly skimmed through scroll after scroll, occasionally scribbling down tallies. His movements were sluggish, his pace deliberate as if he were truly struggling with the work.
In truth, he was stalling.
He didn't want to do too much and draw attention. Not today. Not after what he'd discovered.
There was a spy in the estate. A real one. And the only evidence currently rested in his hidden inventory.
As the sun dipped behind the distant city walls and the amber light of dusk filled the windowless archive room, the chief scribe finally rose from his seat.
He grunted and pulled a key from under his robe, tossing it toward Ryan.
"Your quarters are on the second floor of this building. Rooms unlocked for now. Use this to lock it later."
Ryan caught it with a nod, doing his best to maintain his blank, obedient look. "Understood."
He bowed slightly—still unsure if that was the right gesture—but no one corrected him.
He left the office with quiet footsteps, walking through the creaky wooden stairs and into the long corridor that branched out to the servants' quarters.
Unlike the cramped servant rooms from earlier, this one was… surprisingly nice.
Modest, yes. But livable.
The wooden bed had a woven mat and decent bedding. A small desk and chair sat beside it, with an oil lamp already filled and ready. A narrow table hugged the wall, along with a clay storage chest and a stack of clean cloth.
Herbs and bundles of aromatic leaves hung from a hook near the door—likely to keep mosquitoes away.
And best of all, there was a small window, facing out toward the inner courtyard.
Ryan exhaled deeply and locked the door behind him.
For the first time since arriving, he felt almost safe.
He sat on the bed, pulled up his Inventory, and retrieved the letter.
It appeared in his hand instantly, materializing from the ether.
He unrolled the parchment and read through the lines again.
The details of the quest from the system replayed in his head.
Male
Younger than 30.
Palindrome in the name.
Sends info at night.
Pigeon contact.
Ryan frowned, his brows drawn together.
"This is a stealth puzzle," he murmured.
He rolled the scroll back up and placed it in the storage chest under the desk.
Then, he lit the oil lamp and leaned back. "Tomorrow, I'll start mapping the names of the staff. If I can get the accounting rolls or see the duty rosters, maybe even a payroll ledger…"
He grinned faintly to himself.
"Lucky for me, I'm in the accounting department."
He rested his head against the wall, watching the sky fade from orange to blue through the small window.
"Let's see which one of you birds is feeding the foxes across the desert."
*
Ryan stepped into the archive chamber the next morning, still wearing the same blue-gray linen tunic from yesterday. It was a bit wrinkled from overnight drying and slightly damp near the sleeves.
The scribe, already hunched over a stack of scrolls, barely looked up before pausing with a slight frown.
"You wore that yesterday."
Ryan straightened and offered a sheepish smile. "I lost all my belongings to bandits on the way to the city. Everything. Even my spare clothes."
The scribe narrowed his eyes.
Ryan added quickly, "I washed this one the moment I got back yesterday and let it dry all night. It was the only option I had."
A faint chime echoed in his mind…
[Charm Check Passed]
The scribe blinked, then nodded with surprising empathy. "That's unfortunate. The city can be ruthless. You did well to make it here alive."
"Thank you," Ryan said, settling down at his desk with a deep breath. After a moment of silence and scroll shuffling, he leaned in casually.
"There's something I wanted to ask, if it's not too strange."
The scribe raised an eyebrow.
Ryan rubbed the back of his neck, looking genuinely awkward. "I'm searching for a cousin… or, I was, before I got robbed. I heard he works for a high-ranking noble, and there's a small chance he's in this city."
"You don't know his name?"
"That's the thing—he always uses a certain kind of alias. All his names are palindromes. Same spelling backward and forward."
The scribe blinked slowly, intrigued despite himself.
Ryan pressed on, "He's also under thirty, so I thought maybe I could ask if anyone like that is working in the estate. I know the accounting department keeps staff records, so…"
He looked up sincerely.
"If it's not too much trouble, would you mind checking for me? Of course, I'll stay overtime and help however I can."
Another faint chime…
[Charm Check Passed]
The scribe chuckled, shaking his head. "Not because of the overtime. I heard Lady Ishtaruna herself appointed you. And you were brought here by Lady Belitana."
Ryan smiled modestly. "It's their generosity, nothing more."
The scribe leaned back, arms crossed. "There is only one person in the entire estate under thirty with a name that fits your description."
Ryan's ears perked up.
The scribe paused dramatically, then said, "Nanan."
"Nanan?" Ryan repeated. "Who is he?"
A smirk crept onto the scribe's face. "You really aren't from around here, are you?"
Ryan shrugged. "Far south. Grew up in the mountains."
"Well," the scribe said, turning back to the scrolls, "Nanan is the heir to this estate. The governor's only son. Groomed since childhood to take over this district someday."
Ryan froze. Uhh. What?"
The weight of those words hit like a hammer.
The spy?
The letter said the mole was under thirty, used palindromic names, and sent out information via pigeons after sunset.
And now the only match was the governor's son?
Ryan's thoughts reeled. This isn't just any side quest. This is political dynamite. If he got it wrong, he'd be executed. If he got it right, he could topple the power within this district.
*
Later in the evening;
Ryan paced left and right in his small room, the oil lamp flickering with each turn he made. The second day had ended. Only five days remained for the mission.
His mind raced.
"Find and expose the spy hiding within the estate."
"Suspect: Male, under 30. Palindromic name."
"Method: Message sent after sunset via pigeons."
And now the prime suspect was… the governor's son.
Ryan slumped into the chair, burying his face in his hands.
"How the hell do I catch the governor's heir? If I accuse him without proof, I'll die. If I hesitate and someone else completes this mission first, I'll lose my chance. Worse, I'll be dumped into some rice field hell to grind my way back."
The floating screen didn't help. It blinked softly in the corner of his vision, like a countdown ticking mercilessly.
[Mission Timer: 5 Days Remaining]
He leaned back and stared at the ceiling. Who else is playing this game? That was a terrifying thought. There could be other players hidden across the world—quietly completing their missions, altering the flow of history.
If another player beats me to it, the timeline branches…
And my rewards drop, or worse, reset.
He gritted his teeth. I need more clues. More data. No rash moves.
Meanwhile — Jerusalem, 950 BC;
The sun blazed over the hills as King Solomon, cloaked in royal blue, arrived at the grand construction site of the First Temple. A battalion of armored soldiers marched in formation behind him, flanked by officers carrying ceremonial spears.
The temple, still unfinished, stood like a majestic skeleton of sacred stone. Dozens of white-robed priests stood at the base of the stairs, blocking the King's approach.
They knelt in unison, heads bowed low to the ground.
"Your Majesty," one of them called out. "Please… we beseech you not to defile this place with armed presence. The Temple belongs to the Lord, not to the Throne. Let the construction be sacred—free from mortal politics."
The King hesitated. His fingers twitched on the hilt of his ceremonial sword.
Behind him stood a young man, barely older than twenty-five. He had sharp eyes, a sly smirk, and a strange confidence in his posture—too relaxed for a royal courtier. A faint blue light blinked behind his irises, unseen by anyone else.
He leaned in toward Solomon and whispered softly, "Your Majesty… don't falter now."
The King tilted his head slightly, listening.
"If you hesitate here, you hand power over to the priests. To the Temple. To doctrine. You will no longer be a King, but a servant. Don't forget—they preach that even the King must bow to the Ark."
The King's jaw clenched.
The young man continued in a low, persuasive voice.
"Faith is useful, but only when it bends to your will. The Lord does not need stone and gold. He is beyond structures. But you, Majesty… you are a man. A man needs control. Obedience. Authority."
Solomon's eyes flicked toward the priests.
"Who built this Kingdom?" the young man whispered. "You did. Not them."
The King stepped forward.