Taking a carriage from the western edge of the city to the library would have been faster, but Ryan had wanted to test his post-potion stamina — so he ran. The "manual" only noted that the potion significantly enhanced agility and general physical conditioning. How much, exactly, required testing.
He mentally added a watch to his shopping list, then started his first run as an Extraordinary.
It was actually enjoyable. At a pace that would have seemed fast to most people, he was merely jogging — and ten minutes in, he didn't feel tired in the slightest.
The cold wind was the only thing keeping it from being ideal.
The big idiot had a naturally strong frame but no dedicated training to speak of. So hitting this kind of result on the first run made Ryan genuinely curious: if an agility-focused potion produced this, how extreme would a strength-focused one be?
Not tired, but still sensible. He slowed down to look winded, then sped back up after a bit. Rinse and repeat, factoring in getting lost.
After a good half hour or more, he arrived in front of the library and glanced at the clock tower in the adjacent square.
One second here matched one second back home. The week also had seven days. Monthly and annual lengths, though, were things the big idiot hadn't retained.
Ryan walked straight in.
If not for passing pedestrians swerving away from him, possibly worried about illness, he would have zigzagged through the crowd on the way in just for the fun of it. Minor nuisances required small repayments.
Inside: modest in size, which made sense — this was a government-funded public library, not one of the private establishments that catered to nobility and the wealthy.
Books were still relatively valuable here. Without a lending card, you could read on the premises but not take anything home. Getting a lending card was, for Ryan, not currently realistic.
He picked someone who looked like staff and headed over.
The young man took a startled step back before Ryan even reached him.
He nearly laughed. What are you afraid of? Even if I were robbing someone, would I rob a library?
"Don't worry — I'm just here to read."
Since it was a weekday and the library was nearly empty, Ryan's reassurance came out at full volume. A quiet public reprimand.
"I'm sorry, sir. You're just… very… impressively built." The young librarian looked away in embarrassment.
"No worries. Could you point me to anything on Rosselle the Great?"
"Ah — that way."
Even clocking the state of Ryan's clothes, the young man only hesitated briefly before pointing.
"Thank you."
"Sir, if you don't have a lending card, you won't be able to take anything out."
"Understood."
"And these books are fragile — please handle them carefully. Damage will incur a fine."
"Understood."
Already walking, Ryan answered without turning around — leaving the librarian staring at his back and wondering if any of it had actually landed.
A short distance later, he found what he was looking for. He scanned the spines:
Selected Poems of Rosselle…Rosselle: A Treasury of Aphorisms…Rosselle the Great: The Legend of an Emperor…The Greatest Genius: Rosselle the Great's Inventions…Rosselle the Great's Love Life: The Secret Source of His Endless Creativity.
"There's quite a collection." Dozens of volumes, all with Rosselle's name in the title. Poetry, entertainment, culture, inventions, politics — and apparently distinguished contributions in each.
And come to think of it — the big idiot had once spotted someone selling "Rosselle's Notebooks" while sourcing materials. He'd been so fixated on the ingredients that he hadn't given it a glance. Had the Great Emperor also made significant inroads into the supernatural?
Ryan pulled out Selected Poems of Rosselle and flipped through a few pages, then quietly returned it.
Right. This world used an alphabetic script. He had no way of detecting plagiarism — he barely remembered a handful of classical Chinese poems, let alone foreign ones.
He pulled out the biography instead and read quickly.
Born a son of impoverished nobility. Made his fortune through invention. Created the steam engine and improved sailing vessels — hailed as "the Son of Steam." Exploited the weakened state of the Intisian Kingdom's ruling Soren family after military setbacks, incited revolution, overthrew the monarchy, established the Republic of Intis, and became its first Consul. Promulgated a civil code. Protected intellectual invention. Launched the industrial revolution. Conquered surrounding nations and forced the other major powers of the Northern Continent to submit, then converted the republic to an empire and declared himself "Caesar the Great." Dispatched fleets through the storms and treacherous currents of the Raging Sea to find a passage to the Southern Continent, opening the age of colonization. In his old age, assassinated by a coalition of nobles at the White Maple Palace.
Born in 1125, fell at the White Maple Palace in 1198. From the moment he was named "Son of Steam," Intis had risen on his achievements — and declined in the wake of his death.
But what shocked Ryan far more than any of that was seeing the card games and toys attributed to the man. Tarot cards. A bluffing card game. Texas-style poker. Gwent. Intisian chess. Building blocks. The names weren't exact translations, but the illustrations left no room for doubt — these were things from his world.
And Rosselle was a transmigrator — from the same country as him, even. One of the illustrations showed a page from Rosselle's notes written in private symbols — blurry, but recognizable: simplified Chinese characters.
Ryan leaned against the shelf, frowning in thought.
Two data points. The probability of coincidence had effectively collapsed. This was deliberate.
But something didn't fit. Given the things Rosselle had brought with him — those games, those inventions — there shouldn't be a gap of two hundred years between them. And yet in this world, that gap was real and nearly exact. Why?
One possibility: Rosselle had been sent back in time. Maybe the timing wasn't entirely controllable? Or maybe whoever was responsible for this was less skilled — practicing, perhaps, with multiple transmigrators to refine the process? Or there was some other mechanism at play that Ryan simply didn't understand.
That was a logical explanation. But it was only one.
Because there was another possibility just as plausible. What if transmigration had nothing to do with time — only space? What if the orchestrator couldn't send someone into the past? What if it wasn't Rosselle who went back, but Ryan who'd been sent forward?
That would be easier to achieve. Just interrupt the process mid-transit and delay the final step by two hundred years.
"Easy. Stay calm." Ryan took a slow breath and smoothed his expression. At least Rosselle left a legacy. Maybe whoever did this isn't all-powerful — maybe they're not fully in control.
Or maybe they simply didn't care.
But speculation and fear wouldn't get him anywhere. Whatever this turned out to be — good or bad — he probably couldn't dodge it. So he'd face it carefully.
And who knows. Maybe it wasn't as bad as it looked.
Author's Note (this chapter):Rosselle the Great's Love Life: The Secret Source of His Endless Creativity.
Tianjin The Witch's taste must be something else. The Fallen Mother Goddess must be something else.
Hunan Is the love story revealed this early?Author reply: That refers to the romantic history ordinary Intisians would know about — not anything involving the Witch.