Although the specifics of the clock remained unclear, the stern warning left for future Enchanters gave Jenkins confidence. If he ever faced the middle-aged shopkeeper again, he was sure he could win without expending his divine power.
He already had an idea.
"But Miss Bevanna is already on the case," he thought. "His chances of escape are slim, so I doubt I'll run into him again."
While Level Seven and Level Eight were only a single rank apart, there was a reason only the latter were called demigods.
Since he was already here, he took the opportunity to look up information on the other two stolen Bestowals: the chanical Heart and the Hamr of Lightning.
The file for the forr contained an illustration, confirming it was indeed C-08-2-5373, the [chanical Heart]—the very item Jenkins had learned of while listening to the whispers. This Bestowal had been personally granted to mortals by the great Righteous God, the [Deft Artisan], and its symbolic significance was identical to the [Heart of the Ocean] lost by the Church of Ocean and Exploration.
"Why is it that any heart-shaped Bestowal granted by a god is bound to be stolen...?"
Mulling over this rather irreverent thought, he continued to read.
The information on the chanical Heart was even scarcer than that of the clock. Since its appearance in the mortal realm, the Bestowal had been kept in the collection of the [Deft Artisan]'s own church. The Sage Church rely knew of its existence, appearance, and na.
Beyond that, there was no other useful information.
As for the final item, the lightning-related hamr, there was no information at all. Jenkins didn't know its potential designation or na, so he could only search by its type—weapon.
After searching all morning, he had nothing to show for it but wasted ti.
Having spent so much ti deep within the library, Jenkins found that Chocolate was sulking all the way until lunch. Later that afternoon, while he was chatting with Bishop Parrold, a nun approached to inform him that Miss Bevanna had returned and wished to see him.
"Was it successful?"
Miss Bevanna was dressed in the sa attire as when they'd parted that morning, and she appeared to be in high spirits. They stood in the rearmost corridor of the courtyard, gazing out at the snow-covered scenery. Below them lay the precious seeds that had been planted experintally.
"Very smoothly, but the man escaped," she replied. "Oh, that's right. He's the vice-chairman of the [Gear Artisans' Association], an Enchanter of archbishop rank in the church of the heretical god, the [Gear King]. His na is Lux Haripia. A real pity."
"What about the clock? Was there a problem with it?"
He couldn't worry about the man right now; the clock was the priority.
"It's a Bestowal."
Miss Bevanna nodded at him. "It's a Bestowal related to ti control. Haripia can only use it to accelerate his own ti at the mont, so all I needed to do was restrict his range of movent beforehand. He then attempted to consu his soul to control the local flow of ti and restrain ..."
"Please wait a mont."
Jenkins interrupted her, then realized his rudeness and gave an apologetic smile.
"I'd like to know what you an by 'control the local flow of ti.' Can that clock be used to reverse ti?"
"Impossible. An ant lacks the strength to make a river flow backward. A Level Seven Enchanter can, at most, accelerate or decelerate ti within a limited area. That in itself is already an incredible feat."
Miss Bevanna retrieved her pocket watch from her coat. It was noticeably smaller than Jenkins's.
A silver chain dangled from her hand. She flipped open the cover, revealing three hands that ended not in arrowheads, but in three letters Jenkins didn't recognize.
"These are letters in Roki. The word they form ans ti."
She explained simply, then tapped a finger against the watch. The glass protecting the face dissolved like a snowflake.
Motioning for Jenkins to watch, Miss Bevanna hovered a slender finger over the still-ticking second hand.
"To reverse ti, one would not only have to consider the cost but, more importantly, how to generate such imnse power. Controlling the flow of ti, however, is a relatively simpler matter..."
She pressed her finger down firmly, and the external force brought the second hand to a halt. A faint clicking sound emanated from within the watch, as if the interlocking gears were straining against their suddenly immobilized companion.
"But doing this cos at a price."
She raised her head to look at Jenkins and asked a seemingly unrelated question. "Have you studied natural physics?"
"Yes, a little."
Jenkins answered humbly, holding out his right hand as he had before, his thumb and index finger nearly touching, leaving but a sliver of a gap between them.
Compared to the grand scale of the natural world, the ager physics he knew was truly insignificant.
"Within the discipline of natural physics, there is a theory that so scholars consider a fundantal truth of the world: every action has an equal and opposite reaction."
Jenkins nodded again. He was a writer and a mathematics enthusiast, not a physicist. So, while he had read the *Mathematical Principles of Natural Philosophy*, he remained, at his core, a researcher of the mystical. He wasn't about to suddenly propose a theory that would alter the course of science, nor was he capable of publishing a physics treatise that would shape the future of humanity.
"A very interesting theory," he comnted.
Miss Bevanna didn't notice the silent, incessant monologue of otherworldly knowledge running through Jenkins's mind. She simply motioned for him to keep his attention on her watch.
"You see? I used my power to interfere with ti, but in return, ti interferes with with an equal—or greater—force. In the realm of mysticism, the concept of 'equal' rarely applies, so in truth, any human who ddles with ti pays a much steeper price. The Enchanter using that clock will inevitably face the consequences, and the magnitude of that price will depend entirely on what he chose to interfere with..."
It was a vivid and effective lesson. Jenkins felt his conviction solidify. If he ever faced an opponent who could manipulate ti again, he would absolutely not be caught in such a bind.
They fell silent for a mont, standing in the corridor and watching a group of clerics lead a procession of shabbily dressed children across the main hall in the distance. So were too young to walk and had to be carried by the older ones. Others wore nothing but ill-fitting, heavily patched shirts, their feet bare.
Every child's face was etched with nervousness. So walked with their heads bowed, too timid to look around. Even the bolder ones, should their gaze et that of anyone from the church, would flinch away like startled rabbits.
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