She shelved conscription and border wars for later, like storm clouds parked on a far horizon.

For the System, anxiety pricked like thorns at dusk: take the world-branch quest, War and Resistance, or refuse it.

This choice would bend the plot’s river. The quest demanded a mask—hero or villain—then let the story surge. Ningyi weighed her host’s path, and sparks flew. Even without the Queen of Time’s prophesied mantle, her host would clash with Moragus like flint on steel.

With “Toki” in her blood, the prophecy clung to her like moonlight on ink; you couldn’t scrub it off.

To stand with her host, the System would refuse.

But dread pooled like cold rain. If she refused, hunting the Queen of Time’s prophecy by wandering Chronos City like a leaf in a maze was absurd. And if that prophecy slept inside the palace, then what?

The Queen of Time was Chronos City’s first sovereign, roots sunk deep; leaving a prophecy in her own palace was perfectly possible.

If that were true, entering as a common resident was a paper ladder up to the sky—a dream you can’t climb.

Becoming a soldier was different. The armor was a veil, but beneath it ran the city’s widest web, an old rootwork from ancient times.

They could find anyone if they wished, like hawks dropping from noon sky. For urgent reports, soldiers crossed the palace threshold without fanfare, boots echoing into the grand hall.

The host’s world lore made it worse. Moragus raised these soldiers from childhood, iron in their veins; turning them was like asking winter to bloom. Chronos City’s guard served Moragus alone.

Even so, soldiers held a minimum noble privilege, a thin silver coin from his hand. The System could use that brief glint to cut the search’s thorns and reach the Queen’s prophecy faster.

Yet consequence loomed like a black cliff. One day, the System might stand opposite Nana Toki on the field.

Fear slid cold as ice under the skin. Remembering her host’s brutal methods, Ningyi shivered; those hands didn’t treat people like people.

She didn’t know Nana’s past face, but as her host, Nana Toki was briars and barbs—not someone you poke for fun.

Yes, soldier’s perks were sweet as warm wine, but without necessity, the System wouldn’t drink.

“Tch… think on it a few days,” she told herself, fatigue humming like a low drum. If she still found no trace of the Queen of Time, she’d consider Chronos City’s forced draft.

In this blind-night state, the prophecy mattered like a lighthouse. If it held a tool to wake her host, she could end this plane’s journey early, like folding a map.

“At least for now, keep moving,” she decided, breath steady as a wandering breeze. “Ask, listen, turn more stones.”

Ningyi stepped back into the market square, chasing threads of rumor like fireflies. She stopped lingering in the slums; mornings were for checking on her host and stamping in, confirming safety. The rest of each day flowed through the residential district like a river on task.

Work found her by chance, simple as a knock. A shipping shop hired her to run errands, hauling crates like a small ant with iron will. The pay was thin, but the roads unfurled; the map in her head fixed clean, a side path tucked away for danger.

“Ningyi! Order pickup at the market near the northern slums—new general store.”

“Got it!”

This chorus rang daily, as steady as a bell. She looked small, but her body was a coiled spring; she outpaced some grown men. With effort bright as morning and a cute face like a cherry blossom, the shop hands all knew the little runner.

“An order near the northern market by the slums…” She stepped into the street, task sheet in hand, thoughts fluttering like sparrows.

Her host and Qi liked to treasure-hunt around there. If luck was a green leaf today, maybe she’d see them.

With that hope, Ningyi quickened her pace north, the residential dust trailing like pale smoke.

“Hey… young miss, one moment.”

The voice tugged at her back like a sleeve. She stopped, turned, and found a burly youth in fine clothes, silk gleaming like still water.

She’d never seen him. His attire felt foreign, a coin from another mint—maybe a wealthy immigrant?

“What do you need?” Urgency pulsed in her heart like a drum; she had a run to make.

“Sorry… I’ve been gone awhile. Chronos City grew faster than I thought. I can’t quite remember the way home.” His manner was soft as spring rain. “Could you tell me how to reach the main city center?”

Main city center. The palace district. Heat pricked her curiosity like sun on stone—was he palace-born?

She studied him, searching for the swagger nobles wore like gaudy feathers. Instead, his smile stayed warm and harmless, a hearth-fire glow.

She lifted an arm and pointed, simple as a compass. “Go straight on this road, then turn left. You’ll hit patrolling guards. Ask them. The exact palace route… I’m not sure.”

It was true. She’d mapped the residential web, but she hadn’t touched the palace’s ring.

Because of many reasons—mostly avoiding disasters sprouting like weeds—she’d planned to explore last, at the deadline’s edge.

“Ah, I see. Thank you, little one.” He offered another gentle smile, then hurried off, urgency snapping at his heels like a dog.

She watched his back, unreadable as a closed fan. Nobles that gentle were rare. Her host had a saying: two kinds of people like that—openly scheming, or slow-burn scheming.

She couldn’t tell which. She let it go, like dropping a pebble, and headed for the northern market on the slum’s rim.

Compared to the eastern border, the northern gate looked more ragged, broken teeth on a rusted jaw. The market leaned against a junkyard; people flickered like sparse lanterns.

A yellow wind howled, whipping trash into the air like dry leaves in a whirl.

“Is this the guard shift-change?”

At the market’s mouth, Ningyi saw the northern slum gate standing alone, unwatched. Unease wrinkled her brow like a cold ripple.

The wind ran wild, scattering garbage as if painting the ground with bruises.

“Something’s off.”

Chronos City’s guards didn’t slack. A flaw must have split somewhere, quiet as a hairline crack.

Unease rose sharp, a cold tide climbing her ribs.

She stepped closer to the slum gate. The air carried a faint iron tang under the rot, a blood scent braided with garbage.

She knew that smell. For her, it was too familiar, like an old scar waking.