Agent William on the Move!

Just like the first day, Smith fainted during the second session of electroshock therapy. When he regained consciousness, someone had already bathed him, changed his clothes, and provided him with a therapeutic massage.

Compared to the pseudo-scientific electroshock therapy orchestrated by "Professor Yang," Smith couldn't be sure if the massage was truly therapeutic. Nonetheless, after the torturous ordeal, this massage felt like a luxury. It not only alleviated the discomfort coursing through his body but also allowed his mind and spirit to relax considerably.

This respite gave Smith the clarity to devise a counterstrategy.

As he'd previously concluded, the best way to halt this absurd "therapy" would be for a fatal "accident" to occur during the process. Judging by "Professor Yang's" attitude, Smith had decided to make him the victim of this so-called accident.

Of course, this was easier said than done. Smith had no access to the schematics of the electroshock machine, leaving him unsure of how to create such an accident.

Obtaining the blueprints was nearly impossible for Smith. After all, despite being a Prussian royal, he was just a little over a year old, unable to speak, and entirely without the means to acquire them. That path was a dead end.

With that option off the table, Smith began considering other approaches. Admittedly, by the 1860s, humanity's understanding of electricity was still in its infancy. The groundbreaking work of figures like Faraday and Maxwell was only a few decades old. In this era, devoid of lightbulbs or advanced electrical devices, even cutting-edge technology seemed primitive compared to the later revolution in electrical engineering. For Smith, however, this rudimentary stage made the task seem more manageable.

Smith was confident that by disassembling the machine and inspecting its internal wiring, he could understand its circuitry. From there, he could reverse-engineer safety protocols to manipulate the device... heh heh.

"But how can I examine the machine's internal wiring?" Smith pondered, eyes closed as he enjoyed the massage.

This was no easy feat. The Crown Prince's Palace, though not the largest in Berlin, was still sizeable. The therapy room was on the first floor. To reach it from his bedroom, Smith would have to traverse a long corridor, turn a few corners, descend two staircases, and navigate a labyrinth of twists and turns. For someone like Smith, who had only recently learned to walk, such a journey was daunting.

Even if he made it to the room, dismantling the machine presented another challenge. Over the past two therapy sessions, Smith had observed the device closely and noticed numerous rivets and screws holding it together. However, he had no way of knowing which parts these fasteners secured. If he were lucky, unscrewing a few screws might grant him access to the internal wiring. But if the designer had used rivets to secure critical components, Smith would find himself at a dead end.

There was also the practical matter of physical capability: even if the screws were accessible, could Smith muster the strength to turn them? Where would he find a screwdriver?

Even a cursory glance revealed the numerous obstacles before him. As his thoughts delved deeper, Smith realized the challenges were even greater than he initially imagined.

For starters, even if he had the stamina to walk to the therapy room, how could he avoid being spotted by the palace guards and servants along the way?

This was a very real problem. At just over a year old, Smith had been granted his own room, owing to the arrival of a younger sibling. Though royal maids cared for him, he enjoyed relative freedom and privacy. However, since the first "medical accident," security in the palace had been heightened. Smith's repeated close calls had only made the guards more vigilant. Even after a year of uneventful peace, security measures remained stringent.

While the palace wasn't as heavily fortified as the city's defenses, guards were stationed at key points throughout the building. Smith estimated at least six guards stood watch between his room and the therapy room.

Smith had no confidence he could evade these sentries. And secrecy was paramount for what he planned to do.

For the same reason, Smith couldn't act during the day. Everything had to be done under the cover of night, which brought up another issue: lighting.

This was a complex problem in itself. In the 21st century, lightweight flashlights were ubiquitous, but in 1860, such devices were nonexistent. Portable light sources were limited to candles or lanterns. Candles offered limited brightness, while lanterns were too bulky for Smith to carry. They were also heavy and prone to making noise, increasing his chances of being discovered.

As these thoughts accumulated, Smith realized the enormity of the task before him. The sheer number of challenges made him feel overwhelmed. Exhausted from a sleepless night and the recent electroshock, he soon found himself drifting off under the soothing massage.

When he awoke, it was already late morning. Although he was no closer to a solution, the rest had reinvigorated him. Smith now had the mental clarity and physical energy to investigate further.

The first order of business was to scout a route. Clearly, walking out the door and traversing the main path to the therapy room was impossible. Smith would have to take an unconventional route.

Thanks to over a year of living in the palace and the information "Smiling Willi" had provided, Smith had a solid understanding of the palace's layout. As a high-end building, the palace featured more than just staircases to connect its levels. It also had several lifts.

Of course, these weren't electric elevators but simple mechanical contraptions operated manually. Consisting of pulleys and ropes, their design was straightforward.

Smith knew of two such lifts on his floor. One, located in the wardrobe room, connected to the laundry room; the other, in the service room adjacent to the small dining hall, led to the kitchen.

From a distance perspective, the wardrobe lift seemed ideal, as the laundry room was close to the therapy room. However, during his daytime "toddling excursions," Smith discovered this route was unviable. A guard post was situated directly opposite the laundry room, making it impossible for him to sneak past unnoticed.

That left the lift from the service room to the kitchen as Smith's only option. Although this route was much longer—longer even than the main staircase—it was far more discreet. There were no guard posts along this path. As long as Smith could quietly slip past the guard near his bedroom door, he would be in the clear.

Determining the route was only the first step; Smith had plenty of other concerns, like where to get a screwdriver.

This problem was resolved just before his third electroshock therapy session. Smith noticed a toolbox-like object placed conspicuously next to the control panel of the machine. A person who appeared to be an assistant even took a screwdriver from that box to adjust the equipment—

What a stroke of luck!

After dealing with several minor issues one by one, only the final problem remained:

How to light the way?!

By the time his massage session ended, Smith still hadn't come up with a solution. As bedtime approached, he gritted his teeth, steeled himself, and resolved:

"Forget it! The car will find a way up the mountain, and the boat will naturally straighten at the dock! I'll follow the route in the dark tonight and scout the place. I'll figure out the rest later!"

Smith had always been a man of action. Throughout the first half of the night, he kept his mind highly alert to suppress the waves of drowsiness. Around midnight, he carefully climbed out of bed, observing the room in the dim light.

The two maids assigned to watch over him at night were sound asleep, their steady, slightly heavy breathing evidence of their deep slumber. This was the perfect opportunity.

Smith quietly climbed over the crib's railing and jumped barefoot onto the floor. It was late autumn in Berlin, and the coolness of the floorboards, though not bone-chilling, was just enough to dispel his lingering sleepiness.

The crescent moon's light streamed perfectly through a gap in the curtains, illuminating the bedroom. Without much difficulty, Smith reached the door, cautiously twisted the handle with both hands, and unlocked it. Slowly and carefully, he pulled the door open.

Throughout this process, Smith held his breath, terrified that any overly abrupt movement or excessive force might create a noise. In the dead of night, even the slightest sound would be jarring. If he were caught, this nocturnal adventure would end before it began!

Fortunately, the door and lock were cooperative. Apart from a few barely audible clicks, no noise was made. Still, by the time Smith slipped out and softly closed the door behind him, he could feel his heart pounding wildly, hot blood surging through his veins.

Even after watching countless spy movies before the transmigration and fantasizing in his youth about being a 007-like secret agent, nothing compared to actually doing it!

It took great effort for Smith to calm his racing heart. Hiding in the doorway, he cautiously peeked out. A guard stood not far away. Only by evading the guard's attention could this covert operation truly get off the ground!

Smith had one major advantage: his small size. The doorways in the palace weren't particularly deep. An adult man would have struggled to hide, but there was more than enough space for Smith. He carefully tucked his body into the recess of the doorway, poking his little head out just enough to survey the situation.

He quickly spotted the guard standing about four or five meters away. A potted plant sat between them.

"Heaven helps those who help themselves!" Smith thought, dashing quickly and quietly along the wall. He soon hid behind another potted plant, which conveniently concealed his small frame. It was an unexpected blessing.

The next stretch of the route, however, posed a greater challenge. To reach the dining room, Smith had to cross the hallway, meaning he'd have to expose himself briefly no matter what!

"This is the moment of truth!" His heartbeat, which had calmed slightly, began racing again. He took a deep breath, held it, and darted towards the potted plant near the dining room!

The guard, though somewhat drowsy, caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. Startled, he snapped to attention and turned in that direction.

But his gaze found nothing. The hallway was silent and empty, the potted plants still, their leaves undisturbed.

"Strange, am I imagining things?" the guard muttered, rubbing his eyes. He straightened his uniform and resumed standing at attention.

"Whew... that was close!"

Hiding in the dining room doorway, Smith felt as if his heart was about to leap out of his chest. That narrow escape had been too close for comfort. But there was no time to relax. This "spy mission" had only just begun!