"Long did I sigh and wipe away my tears, to see the people bowed by grieves and fears." Florent couldn't help but recall this line of poetry.
Yet, he wasn't sure whether the rise of the Industrial Revolution had improved or worsened the conditions in these slums.
If things had gotten worse, it meant the benefits of industrialization had yet to reach the common folk.
If they had improved, Florent couldn't even imagine how much harder life must have been for these people before the revolution.
At this thought, he could only sigh. His own fate was still uncertain...
'Why am I even worrying about others?'
Still, he resolved that once he grew stronger, no, once he became a god, he would ensure the people received better treatment. Though the outcome might not be perfect...
After all, he had always been alone, never even managing subordinates, let alone governing masses...
'Cultivate oneself, regulate the family, govern the state, bring peace to the world...' this was perhaps the most universally embraced life philosophy among those educated in Chinese tradition, and Florent was no exception.
But he didn't dwell on these impractical thoughts. Right now, he was just a lowly Sequence 9...
'When poor, tend to your own virtue; when prosperous, care for all under heaven...' That too, was a lesson Chinese civilization had instilled in him.
Upon arriving at the Trier National Library, Florent didn't hesitate. He immediately headed to the fourth floor to study Feysac, Loen, and Highlander.
If 'English' had known how diligently he was applying himself now, it would have roared at him: "Why didn't you learn me with this much effort back then?"
That said, Florent was already fluent in Intisian, Hermes, and Ancient Hermes. Feysac, Loen, and Highlander shared certain similarities with these languages, which he had anticipated.
After all, all four descended from the common tongue of the Fourth Epoch, a variant of the ancient Giant language, the speech of the Solomon Empire.
Meanwhile, Hermes was the mystical language of humanity. The sages who devised these tongues must have drawn from both Ancient Feysac and Hermes, along with local dialects. So Florent was confident he could master them quickly...
...
Time passed swiftly. By noon, Florent grabbed a quick meal at a random eatery before resuming his exploration of Trier's streets.
Occasionally, he worried about developing a prolapsed stomach from exercising right after eating. But patting his lean abdomen, he dismissed the concern.
In fact, he countered it mentally... many literary giants advocated post-meal strolls, swearing by their benefits. Surely, he wouldn't get a prolapsed stomach. Comforted, he smiled...
By 2:30 PM, Florent reached the entrance of Crimson Gold Café. A quick glance confirmed Quevedo and the others hadn't arrived yet.
With a proud yet exasperated sigh, he muttered, "Tsk, as expected, I'm the most diligent. Quevedo and the rest are so unreliable, honestly."
Before his self-satisfaction could fully settle, an arm abruptly hooked around his neck in a rough embrace...
Stunned by the sudden assault, Florent barely registered the bright, teasing voice that followed, "Heh, Florent, did you miss me that much after just a day apart?"
Florent shuddered. The very person he'd just been grumbling about had materialized before him, leaving him both flustered and hoping Quevedo hadn't overheard his earlier remark.
Forcing composure, he replied, "Ah, Quevedo, long time no see. Ease up on the chokehold, will you? It's uncomfortable. Did you get here early?"
Seemingly oblivious to the earlier jab, Quevedo guided Florent inside, "Of course! You think I'd issue an invite and not show up first? But you're not the earliest, heh. Wanna guess who beat you here?"
Florent answered without hesitation, "No need to guess. It's Erich. You two are practically inseparable, at least from what I've seen."
Quevedo feigned shock, "Hey now, don't slander me! Erich and I are not always together. What you've witnessed are mere coincidences, illusions– ugh, the more I explain, the worse it sounds. But yeah, you're right. It's Erich." He gestured inward.
Sure enough, at a corner table sat a tall, aloof figure.
Noticing Florent's gaze, Erich raised a hand in silent greeting. Florent returned the gesture with a polite smile, though inwardly he groaned: 'Good grief, dealing with this icy guy is a test of my cold tolerance...'
Once seated, Quevedo took a sip of his nearly finished coffee, grimacing at its chill. But with nothing else to do, he resigned himself to nursing it slowly.
"Want a cup, Florent?" he offered.
Florent retrieved his pocket watch from his waistcoat (his only timepiece) and checked. 2:40 PM...
Regretfully, he declined, "Twenty minutes is too short to properly savor coffee."
Quevedo nodded, "True. Thirty would've been ideal. Forty, though? That'd be a disaster."
The conversation lulled. None of the three were in the mood for small talk, partly because they were waiting for others, partly because they were all (ostensibly) brimming with curiosity about the upcoming gathering.
Though Quevedo, usually the life of the party, was uncharacteristically subdued today.
Florent's mind drifted far away until Quevedo's voice suddenly cut through the silence, eerily soft:
"...Am I really that much of a handful?"
"Not really–" Still half-lost in thought, Florent answered automatically, then froze.
His face flushed crimson, the heat spreading from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, scalding like liquor-induced warmth...
...
{T/N: Highlander is the common language spoken in Feynapotter Kingdom...
The language of the Giants is Jotun...
The language spoken in the 'Solomon Empire' was Ancient Feysac...}