Chapter 7: Don’t Underestimate the Slacker!

At the mention of this, Clara’s expression darkened.

"Mr. Svarog insists on his calculations. He refuses to open the transport channels. He says it would only lead to a surge of homeless lower district residents overwhelming the upper districts in the short term, accelerating Belobog’s collapse."

This was an obvious truth.

When a large group of outsiders suddenly floods into a "comfort zone," competing for limited resources, they are naturally met with hostility—even if they were once allies.

A decade of information blockade and physical separation had turned this fragile social bond into estrangement.

Moreover, the upper districts weren’t as comfortable as imagined. Even now, displaced people camped outside Qliphoth Fort, waiting endlessly for the Supreme Guardian’s attention.

Yet the outsiders, driven by desperation, still sought refuge in the calmer, safer upper districts—a biological instinct for survival, but also a flicker of hope for a better life.

If even this hope was denied, how could humanity endure?

But the problem remained: the upper districts would never accept them.

With the Fragmentum’s encroachment shrinking livable space, and the authorities’ unpredictable stance, the best outcome would be the Silvermane Guards rounding up these "stowaways" and sending them back to the lower districts to avoid overwhelming the city’s systems.

This would inevitably escalate tensions between the districts.

Imagine—

People who risked everything to reach Qliphoth Fort, only to find no salvation, but deeper despair.

The Silvermane Guards, once protectors, now jailers. The abandoned people, branded "traitors" by the Supreme Guardian.

No one could accept this reversal. No one would tolerate protective force twisted into tyranny.

Rumors, chaos, and infighting would dominate.

The lower districts, as the "source" of this turmoil, would face even harsher crackdowns—a death blow to their already precarious existence.

Anything threatening the lower districts’ survival was on Mr. Svarog’s blocked list.

If he sealed the settlement gates, allowing no one out, even Wildfire’s efforts would be futile.

Though Venti hated burdening Clara with such grim realities, her role as the bridge between Mr. Svarog and the people meant she’d confront these issues eventually.

Mr. Svarog’s directives aligned closely with Clara’s wishes, making her stance pivotal.

But convincing a logic-driven machine to abandon cold calculations and embrace abstract "hope"?

Too vague for circuits. Unless Venti could make Mr. Svarog feel the possibility—or leverage Clara’s influence.

But Venti wasn’t a master manipulator. While stories of "emotions conquering logic" were touching, exploiting Clara’s innocence felt wrong.

At least meeting Mr. Svarog was easy.

When stopped by security bots, a cry of "Help me, little Clara!" swiftly opened doors.

Persuading him, however, was another matter.

Variables required scale, not just change. Even Aeons evolved, felt emotions, walked their Paths, and fell silently in the cosmos.

Convincing Mr. Svarog that Venti’s "variable" could tip the balance? Not as simple as strumming a tune.

But Venti had an idea.

He touched the Vision at his waist—shaped like the Feylin Harp.

It could shift forms: harp, bow, even a ranger’s weapon.

Though wealthy patrons had offered fortunes for it, Venti refused. To him, it was an old friend. To others, just a shiny trinket.

This gave him an idea.

While the Feylin was merely a rare artifact in Belobog, the city had legends of similar relics—like the First Guardian’s Spear of Preservation.

Used by Alisa Rand to rally humanity against the Antimatter Legion and ignite Preservation’s flame during the planet’s freezing crisis, it symbolized hope.

Its current whereabouts were unknown, but its legend lived on.

Venti would weave this into his "persuasion"—a gamble, but one layered with half-truths to sound credible.

He smiled reassuringly at Clara.

"Don’t worry. I’ll find a way to convince Mr. Svarog."

After all—

Slacking off this long… time to stretch my legs.