The Stubborn Skill-Grinder In A Time Loop

“How…? How have you done all this, Orodan?!”

“You watched me the entire time, old man.”

“But… but! The Orodan I know isn’t capable of any of this!” Old Man Hannegan exclaimed.

“Well, don’t act too impressed yet. Some work of an experimental nature is about to take place,” Orodan said, drawing his enchanting pen.

“Experimental…? Why do I not like the sound of this?”

“It’ll be fine.”

“It will distinctly not be fine,” Zaessythra the faithless chimed in with her unnecessary and irrelevant opinion. “Need I remind you what occurred the last time you utilized ‘chicken scratch’ as an enchanting language?”

She didn’t need to remind him at all, mainly because it was a loop ago.

But how else would he learn without practice?

And even if he screwed it up, he had plenty of material on-hand to redo it correctly. Sabotaging the old man’s project wouldn’t do.

Contrary to Zaessythra’s nagging, Orodan wasn’t entirely senseless. He’d enchanted the remainder of the warehouse normally, with the Imperial enchanting language, but the light calibre cannons jutting out of the defensive murderholes would be the final touch. And these, he planned on enchanting using chicken scratch.

It was a dumb endeavor. But of all the mad pursuits he could’ve chosen, this was in fact the easiest one. Mainly because Orodan knew first-hand that his own System glyphs could be of any shape as long as he ascribed meaning to them strongly enough.

The connection of knowledge from the central glyph of his own System was turned off. For this, it would be him alone.

Orodan’s enchanting pen struck the metal barrel of the cannon, and with zeal, he inscribed chicken scratch unto it.

What was a chicken? Yes, it was life, but so many things were also life.

Was it a clucking little bird? Was it prey? Meant to end up on a dinner plate?

His mind imagined it vividly as he scrawled. He recalled his days as a hungry street rat, watching the butcher bring chickens into the slaughterhouse for preparation. At the time, he could only focus on how tasty a cooked chicken might be, if the shop might throw a scrap in the garbage.

Yet now that he recalled it… the way the chickens moved, the patterns dug into the dirt with their feet… did this not contribute to what chicken scratch should be?

He imagined their gentle clucking, their panicked movements as the butcher grabbed them, and the scrawl of their feet upon the ground.

There was wisdom in the mundane. There was power in the lowest rungs of life.

No breaks were needed, an advantage of being a warrior of resilient mind and bountiful mana. Orodan enchanted it all in one go…

[Enchanting 76 → Enchanting 77]

…and the barrel of the cannon held firm for a moment, strong.

And then exploded.

“You gained a level from that?” Zaessythra asked, baffled.

Why wouldn’t he have? This wasn’t standard enchanting with the Imperial enchanting language. It was a new language of his own making, utterly illogical and making no sense whatsoever.

Yet, for a moment, it had genuinely held.

Which meant that the symbols themselves weren’t important; the meaning Orodan ascribed to them was.

He needed to study…

“I need to examine chickens.”

“Chickens?” Old Man Hannegan asked, confusion in his voice.

“Aye… chicken scratch is more profound than I thought…”

Old Man Hannegan looked at Orodan as though he was a lunatic.

Which, he was. But there was a method to this madness, and it would take him far.

#

“I need chickens.”

“What?”

“You’re Esgarius, aren’t you? Here’s a dimensional ring, I made it myself,” Orodan said tossing it to the man. He’d used a plain ring he found in the scrapyard of Ogdenborough’s Department of Public Sanitation.

“I’ve never heard of a dimensional ring in my life! What is this thing?” the merchant asked.

“The same function as a spatial ring, but with far more capabilities,” Orodan said, channelling mana into it. “Not an expanded space, but a separate dimension. There’s a fail-safe device within in case someone’s stranded.”

A dimensional opening was created, and unlike the very first attempt he’d made in the last loop, this entrance led to a miniature dimension which had an escape device and slightly more space.

Orodan and Esgarius were the only ones in the store. Unlike last time, he hadn’t bothered meeting the greedy merchant’s assistant. Thus, while Esgarius fawned over the ring and what it was capable of, Orodan worked on perfecting chicken scratch on a relatively inexpensive ring on one of the shelves.

“This ring is… incredible!” the merchant exclaimed. “The applications this could be used for! If your enchantment was re-purposed, it would make the anti-spatiomancy wards of any defended area useless!”

“Until I also create the counter-enchantment and make wards which can detect and prevent dimensional manipulation,” Orodan said as he yet again scrawled chicken scratch unto the ring, all the way through.

To cluck, to scrawl… to be a chicken… Orodan considered it all as he inscribed his enchantment all the way through.

[Enchanting 77 → Enchanting 78]

For a few seconds, it held.

The miniature dimension he created was fine, stable enough. He’d created it with regular methods after all. The ring and the opening to said dimension, however, were a different matter.

“Imagine the sheer amount of money we could make! Hahahah!” Esgarius yelled while maniacally rubbing his hands together. It was as though gold was all the merchant could see. “With this, we could create and monopolize an entire arm’s industry! Buying and selling these rings to rival nations would earn us-”

His chicken scratch unravelled, and the ring and opening exploded outwards. Orodan gripped the ring in the palm of his hand and contained a shockwave which would have otherwise levelled Trumbetton.

The shock reverberated through his body and dispersed harmlessly.

“Hmm… still a ways to go,” Orodan muttered.

“A better attempt than the last two times,” Zaessythra said. “I can’t believe this nonsense of yours is actually working.”

Orodan could believe it though. The glyphs and symbols of his own language, created from the weave of his own soul, were within him and allowed a System of his own making to function. The central rune in particular, the ouroboros eating its own tail, a symbol of infinity… it was one crafted by his own hand and given meaning through sheer will.

There was power in belief and meaning.

“Such a powerful explosion… a weapon… an assassination tool! The Novarrian Intelligence Service will be scrambling to buy!”

“We’re in the Republic…” Orodan reminded him. Esgarius was truly too shameless. Orodan didn’t even have the heart to tell him the explosion was the result of a failed product.

“Yes but consider how much gold can be made off of this invention. National loyalties are a mere formality in the face of such a thing,” Esgarius said and then grinned. “My most good friend, my esteemed visitor… have I mentioned how rare it is to find folk of your calibre? How about we make a deal? Is it gold you want? Fame? Properties? I can secure all these things! I, Esgarius, Trumbetton County’s most illustrious adventurer dealer, can access connections and wealth which you’ve never seen before!”

“I’ll happily take your gold,” Orodan said. “But what I really need… are chickens.”

“Why I’ll have chickens from all over the county markets and inns brought here at once!” the merchant said. He then popped open the store window and took a deep breath. “Felric! Get back here!”

Following this, Esgarius immediately closed down the shop and shooed all visitors away.

“Just tell me what you need, partner, and I’ll get you whatever you require,” Esgarius promised. “You make me more enchanted items capable of storing items in a dimensional space or rings capable of exploding and I’ll shower you in gold and chickens. You want them roasted? Fried? Whatever cut of bird suits your hunger, you shall receive!”

“I need them alive in fact,” Orodan said. “And preferably upon a sandy surface that I might decipher the scrawls of their feet.”

“Profound… I shall not question your feathery methods my friend,” Esgarius said. “Let’s get to work.”

And so, the work began.

Orodan made enchanted dimensional items for Esgarius, the merchant’s assistant returned and left to procure live chickens and sand, and the crafting went on.

Yes, Orodan could’ve gone to a farm or teleported chickens to himself, but that would’ve been inefficient in the first case, and theft in the second. If Esgarius claimed to be a merchant of note, then the procurement of chickens shouldn’t have been an issue.

Orodan enchanted five items with the dimensional enchantment and received just over fifteen-hundred gold pieces just like last time. After Esgarius’s pockets and liquid wealth were dried up, Orodan began practicing his chicken scratch once again.

Which led to periodic explosions he was forced to contain as he attempted to replicate the dimensional enchantment using naught but chicken scratch.

About a third of the way through his self-imposed time allotment, Esgarius’s assistant returned with a cart full of clucking chickens. Some of them were white feathered, some were brown, a few were red, but doubtlessly they were all clucking birds meant for slaughter and filling the plates of the county’s people.

“Excellent, bring them in,” Orodan said to the assistant. “And close the doors so they don’t get out.”

“Sir…? Should I bring the chickens inside?” the assistant asked Esgarius. “They’ve soiled the cart during our ride over already.”

“Do as he says, quick Felric!”

Orodan didn’t bother waiting and instead simply picked the cart up with one hand and tilted it over, pouring the squirming chickens into the shop. The door was closed, and Orodan then smashed a few barrels of sand also in the cart and spilled the contents all over the floor.

“T-the shop…” the assistant muttered.

“What are you complaining about boy? Can’t you see how much we stand to gain from this?”

“Never mind sir… the cleaning will simply take a while is all…”

“What else do I pay you for? Quit griping and earn your salary, fool,” Esgarius scolded. “I pay him three gold pieces a year and the brat still whines like a soft-brained fop.”

Three gold coins? What a generous salary. Orodan felt Esgarius’s assistant was being a bit lazy and entitled. Cleaning sand off a shop floor alongside having to peddle goods on the street once in a while wasn’t a bad job at all. For work of that sort, three gold coins a year was just extravagant.

“I’ll clean it up at the end, worry not,” Orodan amended. “It’s a specialty of mine.”

The assistant felt a bit shamed and tried protesting it, but Orodan ignored him and focused on the chickens.

Some of them were panicked, frightened at being dragged from their coops and ranges. Others were calmer, yet still wary and eyed Orodan with clear suspicion. A few were angry and agitated, rearing up into a defensive stance and puffing their feathers at him.

Amidst all of these clucking birds, his eye was drawn to the one chicken which seemed resilient… enduring.

And Orodan looked closely at the scrawls it left upon the ground.

The other chickens were squirming about, their feet making chicken scratch which was haphazard. This one though… it remained standing in place.

Orodan approached it. Even as he bent to bring himself to the same level, the chicken appeared undaunted. He reached out and gently pet it upon the head before picking it up and putting it down a small distance away.

And where it stood, were the imprints of a chicken’s feet. No scrawls.

Resilience… endurance. Will.

Orodan quickly picked up a spare ring and inscribed only the print of a chicken’s feet onto it. His mind resilient, his inscription, enduring. His will, resolute.

The enchantment was a dimensional one. He’d failed to re-create it using chicken scratch every time before.

[Enchanting 78 → Enchanting 79]

He felt it close to failing, it would unravel, explode.

Yet, what was chicken scratch? What were enchanting languages?

Were they, like the central glyph of Orodan’s own System, not just symbols which the user ascribed meaning to?

His mind expanded, his eyes bled, and his cells were destroyed. Absolute Body Composition meant every single cell of Orodan’s body could see, taste, hear and smell. And he now used this to command every bit of himself… to think. To will, to concentrate upon pushing his own meaning unto the enchantment.

[Absolute Body Composition 1 → Absolute Body Composition 5]

This imprint of a chicken’s foot… it would function as a dimensional enchantment.

Because Orodan demanded it.

[Enchanting 79 → Enchanting 80]

[Reality Alteration 50 → Reality Alteration 52]

And unlike his prior attempts, this one held.

“What sort of enchantment is that? There are no discernible mana pathways at all,” Zaessythra said. “It’s impressive that it isn’t exploding already. Channel mana into it.”

Orodan was a step ahead and had already done so.

Most curiously, it still worked. It was ludicrous, as mad as Orodan’s thought process behind inscribing enchantments using chicken scratch, yet the proof was undeniable as a dimensional opening was conjured forth, leading to the miniature dimension Orodan had made for this ring.

“Another one partner? I’m afraid I don’t have the gold to pay you for it, nor can I buy one of your explosive enchantments when it lacks a safeguard,” Esgarius said, stroking his mustache.

“It’s not an explosive enchantment,” Orodan clarified. “This is… success.”

“Success? You mean it has a safeguard now?” Esgarius asked. “I’d thought that strange enchanting language of yours could only produce enchantments for explosions. I had buyers in the mining industry and military lined up too. You’re telling me that this thing is also a dimensional ring?”

“Indeed, go ahead and use it,” Orodan said.

Esgarius looked more than a bit hesitant; after all the man had seen these chicken scratch enchantments blow up several times in this loop. Still, good old greed won out, and the ring was slipped onto one of his grubby fingers.

“I have some training in magic, there are no mana pathways in this,” Esgarius said with a frown. “Are you sure this won’t explode and kill me partner? I’ll have to charge a premium for the loss of my life.”

“Trust me, give it a try.”

The merchant did, and as before when Orodan used it, a dimensional opening was created. Frankly, even Orodan wasn’t sure exactly where the mana pathways were in this enchantment. Yes, he could see mana being channelled through the imprint of the chicken foot he’d inscribed, but explaining in words how it worked was impossible. It was akin to witnessing an impossible geometric shape.

His mind could comprehend it, but words simply couldn’t describe how he’d utterly defied reality to make this work.

“Very nice! You can make these even faster than the regular ones too!” Esgarius praised.

Technically, that was true, since chicken scratch was quite quick to scrawl out. As expected of this greedy merchant to fixate on that rather than the feat of bending reality.

Orodan sighed and returned to work.

Having cracked how to use chicken scratch now, he felt more assured in his next works.

Like that, the loop went on to pass.

He departed Esgarius’s shop, signed up at Elmswith and spent the night honing his gunsmithing and enchanting until morning came. This time he successfully impressed the judges with his functional rifle too. Of course, Ilyatana’s Favored arrived and Orodan was forced to end the loop as usual by fighting to the death against Avraxas and Astalavar.

A keening wail ringing in the night sky awoke him.

Many short loops of work awaited.

#

It was a simple set of loops.

Orodan woke up, he cleaned his house, dealt with the ancient machine from a distance and then got to work building the warehouse for Old Man Hannegan. He then made for Trumbetton to make money, sign up at Elmswith and craft away until the competition came, and he was discovered. He would finally end the loop against the Hegemony within the divine dimension, facing off against their grotesque world-eating dragon and their many-armed God.

He didn’t deviate much from the plan in these loops. He signed up for a few different classes at Elmswith, either Engineering, Enchanting or Blacksmithing and continued working on enchanting with chicken scratch. The language was utterly illogical, and Orodan learned that making it work with raw will for one enchantment didn’t mean it would automatically work for others. Over these short loops, Orodan was forced to undergo quite a few failures as he tried extending chicken scratch to other types of enchantments.

He tried making things more durable, making regular spatial rings and tried making a ring which could cast lightning bolts. These were things he could easily do under the Imperial enchanting language. But to replicate these things with chicken scratch was quite difficult, and Orodan often found himself spending the entire night at Elmswith before the competition just fixating on a single enchantment. Throughout it all he began using freeform Enchanting almost exclusively, forgoing an enchanting medium altogether. It was better training.

Furthermore, his repeated fights against his enemies in the divine dimension netted him gains. These battles were fun, exhilarating. In the last long loop, he hadn’t had any good fights. Now, facing such powerful foes made his blood boil in excitement. It made him feel truly alive.

Avraxas, the world-devouring dragon, was a mighty foe. Astalavar was manageable, and Orodan even thought he might be capable of beating the fifty-armed God, but the dragon was another matter entirely. It simply had too much raw power coursing throughout its gigantic body. Cheap tricks wouldn’t work against it; not that Orodan would’ve seriously tried them.

Instead, Orodan being the stubborn idiot Zaessythra referred to him as, obstinately insisted on ending each combat loop by charging directly into Avraxas’s deadly maw. The thousands of layers of intersecting lethal dimensional boundaries killed him every time…

…but he felt it would soon pay off.

Without much thought, ninety loops of this routine passed and he made gains in his crafts, some combat-related skills and his understanding of enchanting.

Finally, it was on the ninety-first loop of this madness that Orodan saw a difference in his understanding of chicken scratch.

Old Man Hannegan simply stood there, his jaw slack, a look of disbelief in his eyes.

“And that’s why I’m inscribing things with this enchanting language of my own making,” Orodan said producing a plain ring he intended to enchant. “Enchanting is unique in that I can replicate feats I’m not capable of myself. I can inscribe enchantments which produce lightning bolts but cannot do so myself yet.”

“But how does this help you learn to cast lightning bolts?” the old man cautiously asked.

“Because, if I enchant a ring capable of producing a lightning bolt but do so in the Imperial-enchanting language, my understanding is merely academic,” Orodan said as he began inscribing chicken scratch onto the ring with just the manipulation of mana. “But with an absurd language of my own making, one where I was forced to start from the bottom in order to understand the foundational concepts… it’s a different matter.”

Indeed, this was the real reason Orodan was so intent on mastering the enchanting language of chicken scratch. Not only was it an excellent method of training his Enchanting skill and furthering his understandings of the craft, but it was also different to any other enchanting language which he learned from others.

He was forced to learn the nitty gritty details of enchanting when using chicken scratch. Not only did this greatly improve his understanding of Dimensionalism and allow for dimensional rings of far greater strength but it would also allow him to learn new skills. Even if each new enchantment took a great deal of work, once he was capable of it…

…he could then easily learn it.

[New Skill (Uncommon) → Lightning Bolt 15]

Making an enchantment of lightning bolt through inscribing chicken scratch had been painstakingly difficult. But now, as the very air for miles felt charged with ominous power, Orodan clearly comprehended what a basic mana-powered lightning bolt should be. The pain had been worth it.

The raw energy coursing through his finger was titanic. A regular human mage at the Initiate-level might burn a black spot onto a stone wall with a lightning bolt cast with both hands. Even an adult dragon using Draconic Mana Channelling might be able to destroy a mansion at the same level.

Cast with one finger, Orodan’s lightning bolt could destroy all of Ogdenborough and a good portion of Mount Castarian if he let it loose without regard. And it was powered by mana, not even soul energy.

“The unfair and illogical benefit of endless power,” Zaessythra remarked. “Not even the mightiest dragon I’ve heard of could match your prowess in magic, level for level. Your focus on being a warrior is the biggest waste in the universe.”

“Yet, my focus on being a warrior is what led to this in the first place,” Orodan defended.

He wouldn’t denigrate mages; he had grown past that arrogant and ignorant attitude long ago. But, in his opinion, he genuinely believed that a majority of those who started their journey to power through magic didn’t understand the value of pain, struggle and raw hard work the same way that those of a more physical path did.

It wasn’t to say that all mages were lazy, or that a mage couldn’t come to learn the value in working hard and training the body. Some mages even dealt with pain and suffering on a regular basis, and Orodan could respect them. However, for a warrior, learning the value in introspection, focus and careful study of spell craft was easier than a mage doing the reverse.

Without the sweat and blood of physical combat and the martial pursuits, would Orodan have ever had the mental strength to push his soul the way he could? Who knew?

In any case, he had work to do.

The lightning bolt begging for release at the tip of his index finger was pointed upwards, and with a roar of power the blue streak of energy shot upwards, parting the clouds for miles as it sailed past Alastaia’s atmosphere and into the void.

It would probably draw attention, but that was fine. These loops were short enough that it didn’t matter.

Ninety-one loops of crafting and death. With this, Orodan now understood chicken scratch better… but mainly his understanding of a particular skill had grown by a decent amount.

Dimensionalism. It now sat at level 65, and it wasn’t merely from rote repetition and grinding, but genuine understanding through all his enchanting and the careful study of it.

In closely seeing how his dimensional rings worked, Orodan had greatly improved his comprehension of Dimensionalism.

Enough that he felt confident in trying something new.

Anti-spatiomancy wards were a common feature of any town or defended settlement of importance. If someplace didn’t have such a basic feature, it was as good as saying it wasn’t worth defending with force. Even for a Grandmaster of spatiomancy, these wards were an extremely difficult barrier to surmount. Orodan had seen Destartes do it before through finesse and the expert manipulation of space, and he suspected that a dragon might be capable of overpowering the wards for a small town with inadequate energy reserves.

Orodan though, could overpower and shatter any anti-spatiomancy wards on Alastaia. However, the problem as always was that this triggered an alarm and drew mass attention. Teleporting outside of a town’s anti-spatiomancy wards was his only recourse. No matter how much raw power Orodan had, avoiding notice after a forced teleport or spatial fold was impossible.

That was… if spatiomancy was involved.

Dimensionalism though, changed the game.

Ninety-one loops of hard work. His close study of Dimensionalism now bore fruit as Orodan didn’t simply pry the dimensional boundary aside and enter the divine dimension by following a thread… but now walked through, destination in mind, using the dimensional waves as a medium.

[New Skill (Legendary) → Dimensional Step 1]

[Dimensionalism 65 → Dimensionalism 66]

There was no screech of magical overload as the wards shattered. No alarm to alert anyone that a being of unfathomable power had entered the town. Like a silent whisper, Orodan’s arrival into the heart of Trumbetton was entirely undetected as he stepped between dimensions to arrive at his destination.

Following a thread from a Blessed individual and entering the divine realm was one thing. Stepping from Ogdenborough to Esgarius’s shop in Trumbetton, without triggering any of the town’s anti-spatiomancy wards, was another.

The merchant was looking through his ledger and looked to be cross-referencing prices and stocks when Orodan arrived.

A javelin sailing for his neck was casually caught, and the follow-up flask of acid was cleansed into water in mid-air with but a thought.

“Not bad, high-Adept level at least. Were you a javelineer during your adventuring days?” Orodan asked as he twirled the weapon in his hand. “The acid isn’t a bad touch either, though you should also have an escape strategy lest both these things prove ineffective. After all, with how willing you are to sell weapons to the Novarrians, you’ll have assassins sent after you soon enough.”

“Who are you?” Esgarius asked, wary and ready to continue fighting. Orodan sensed at least three more enchanted items on his person too. “I have an enchanted item which can interfere with spatiomancy, and that wasn’t it.”

“Correct, it wasn’t spatiomancy. As for who I am, you could say I’m your business partner,” Orodan answered. “I’m in a time loop, and we’ve met before. Now then, want to buy enchanted items which can replicate what I did?”

“You mean… enchanted items which can bypass anti-spatiomancy wards?” Esgarius asked, wonder and the beginnings of greed in his voice.

“Indeed. Imagine how much gold you could make selling them to the Republic and then its rivals at the same time,” Orodan said with a smile.

Orodan had said the right thing, for Esgarius’s eyes practically lit up at the mention of such profits.

“How shameless…” Zaessythra chastised. Whether it was him or Esgarius she referred to, Orodan didn’t know.

“How much are you selling them for?” Esgarius asked.

“Three hundred gold pieces an item,” Orodan said. It was a drastic undervaluing of an item capable of dimensional storage and travel, and Esgarius must’ve known it too given the jubilant grin upon his face.

“Why partner, these terms are more than favorable! But can you show me an example of such an item?” Esgarius asked.

In response, Orodan plucked the same plain ring off one of Esgarius’s shelves, and unlike the first time where he’d enchanted these items, this time he simply held a hand out as mana poured forth and into the object.

“Freeform enchanting? You must be quite skilled,” Esgarius remarked, humming in appreciation. “But this script… I’ve never seen this language before. Is it the runic language of the dwarves? Or something sinister sourced from a devil?”

“Neither. It’s chicken scratch,” Orodan answered as he threw the completed ring towards the merchant.

The enchanting had taken seconds; Orodan was practiced in inscribing this dimensional enchantment by now.

Esgarius took it in stride and didn’t question his words. Rather, the man got to immediately inspecting the ring with an intense scrutiny.

“This really is just the imprint of a chicken’s foot. How can this be an enchanting language?” Esgarius questioned.

“Why not? Consider how the Imperial enchanting language and the runic enchanting language of the dwarves and drow came about. They must have started from somewhere,” Orodan explained. “How else did a language originate if not through someone’s decision to ascribe meaning to certain symbols?”

“You… created a new enchanting language?” the merchant asked, clearly awestruck.

“Of course. Though, the farther into impossibility it delves, the greater the force of will required to impose its existence upon reality,” Orodan elaborated. “Both the Imperial enchanting language and runic script at the very least have a sense of internal consistency. The same can’t be said for this haphazard nonsense I’ve somehow made possible.”

Orodan could instinctively comprehend how it worked in his mind but explaining it in words to himself or anyone else seemed utterly impossible. He wasn’t sure if anyone could replicate his feat unless they too had a colossal amount of will and the ability to alter reality. Frankly, making the central glyph for his own System had, in some respects, been easier than making chicken scratch work as an enchanting language.

At least that glyph denoted the understandable concept of infinity. With chicken scratch, despite successfully inscribing enchantments with it, even Orodan himself had to work hard to understand what it meant.

“Fascinating, truly. But let’s talk how much gold we can make! I have the money for this ring right here, and enough on-hand to pay you for four more of the same,” Esgarius said. “Can you make them?”

“Of course.”

“Then I look forward to a profitable relationship, partner!”

And Orodan himself looked forward to facing down that oversized dragon this loop.

#

“Your name, sir?”

“Orodan Wainwright.”

“And you said you’re a former member of the county militia?” the evaluating panelist asked.

“Yes. Joining any form of secondary employment or education without written authorization from the duty sergeant of the barracks is an offense warranting discipline or discharge,” Orodan recited. “I chose voluntary resignation instead.”

That was, if telling the mounted unit rider that he was quitting counted as a resignation.

“Are you truly just a militia man? Who are your parents?” the judge asked.

“My parents are dead. I grew up an orphan and remember them not,” Orodan answered. “I’m a former militia man from Ogdenborough.”

“This is outrageous, it must be some sort of set up or practical joke!” an enraged competitor from another stall declared. And one of the judges who looked a little too similar to said angry contestant, was nodding along in agreement. “This man registered in the middle of the academic year, defaced academy property throughout the night by setting up that hideous workshop, and is then allowed to compete? This is a travesty!”

“I must agree with this objection,” said the judge who was certainly related to the angry contestant. “The story of this… Orodan Wainwright, does not seem clean.”

“Even if his story were clean, what’s he doing at a county level crafting competition hosted by Elmswith?” the disgruntled student pointedly asked. “Crafts of this level should be hosted at the Grand Maker’s Symposium of Bluefire. Someone must have put him up to this in order to make Elmswith look bad!”

“I doubt these ineffective instruments are capable of making anyone look bad. I’ve seen such things peddled by wandering traders of a conniving nature. These are black powder firearms, aren’t they?” the harsh judge asked, and Orodan hummed in affirmation. “Impotent tools from a failed experiment. We’ve seen how ineffective rifles and black powder weaponry are when the Novarrians put them to the test in years past. Adepts render these toys useless.”

The one judge who was looking couldn’t take his eyes off of Orodan’s rifles though.

“The political trifles of Elmswith’s prestige are no concern of ours. And you judge these through a lens clouded with assumptions,” the curious judge said. “Look closely at them. This metal’s of excellent quality, and the powder… this isn’t regular black powder is it?”

“In fact, it is regular black powder,” Orodan clarified. “Just refined to perfect purity, with the size of each and every grain being uniform.”

The judge’s eyes widened as he looked closely at the powder and brought it up to his spectacled eyed. Immediately, he waved down a colleague who was assessing an alchemical concoction at a separate stall.

“Caecia, come look at this black powder!”

“It’s just ordinary powder Calixtus, why waste her time with this?”

“You called? Black powder? No… wait… who the hells made this?”

“That would be me. Orodan Wainwright,” he spoke up. “The powder is of hundred percent purity and every single grain within is the same size and composition.”

“I’ve heard of specialized workshops and high-level alchemists in the capital who can achieve perfect purity, but it’s done through painstaking labor and much expense,” the woman said. “But this… how did you make this? I’ve never actually seen something with one-hundred percent purity in my life. How beautiful it looks…”

“I just cleaned it. I have a skill centered around cleaning,” Orodan explained.

“C-cleaning? Can such a skill do so much…?” she asked, dumbfounded.

“A lot of skills taken to their extremes can do some incredible things,” Orodan said. “Anyhow, might I get your professional opinion on the powder itself?”

“Why it’s utterly incredible! The granulation is perfect and uniform, and just at a visual glance I can tell this black powder will burn incredibly hot and produce some fantastic power,” she praised. “The mining industry will undoubtedly want to hire you, and I can see much military application in this.”

While neither the Republican nor Novarrian militaries used firearms, black powder was still used in mining and the military. The army, however, didn’t use it in its regular form. What they did use though, was magically amplified powder, which fuelled certain magical artillery pieces to give them more punch. Such magical siege weapons lined the walls of Karilsgard, Anthus and any city of import within the Republic.

And the purer the base black powder, the more powerful the resultant magical alteration would be.

“Military application, eh? Think I could show up at Anthus and present these weapons for live testing?” Orodan asked, giving the woman one of the regular rifles he’d crafted.

His Blacksmithing was at the Adept-level, however the bottleneck with these guns was the strength of the metal. He didn’t have the Metal Communion skill, and he couldn’t just permanently make the steel stronger no matter how great his Blacksmithing was. He planned on improving this, but metallurgic advancements had a limit, and the strength of steel was something he could only stretch so far by itself.

One option was to make the guns out of dothril, but that was an expensive and rare metal, it wouldn’t be economic if he were to present that to a buyer or if he wanted to encourage their adoption into militaries. The other, which Orodan had chosen, was to enchant them to be capable of withstanding his pure black powder. Hence, all of his rifles were enchanted with durability in mind.

“The army might not let you leave either… this rifle’s enchanted. How’ve you managed that? Enchanted black powder weaponry has been attempted before, but the black powder reaction should cause the barrel and any inscribed enchantments to wear out within a few shots at best,” the curious male judge said. “The enchanting language used in the Imperial tradition isn’t suited for such heavy-duty usage.”

“Right, and if I’d used the Imperial enchanting language, this wouldn’t have been possible,” Orodan clarified. “Two-dimensional enchanting is ill-suited to heavy stress.”

In fact, it was a limitation that human enchanters on Alastaia had to work around as they primarily used the enchanting languages of the Empire or the Eastern Kingdoms. The two traditions, though slightly different at times, were mostly similar in how they approached enchanting. They were also two-dimensional, unlike the runic enchanting language of the dwarves and drow.

Two-dimensional enchanting was akin to merely drawing upon paper with a quill. There was no depth to the inscription, which meant it lacked a certain resilience. Enchantments which improved durability had to be placed in the parts of the item which weren’t expected to sustain direct damage, and cases of human enchantments falling apart after sustaining direct damage to the inscription weren’t too uncommon.

Orodan’s chicken scratch though, was three-dimensional. Furthermore, being three-dimensional meant that the inscription was more durable. It wasn’t a mere drawing, but a carving. It had depth, and this made it more resilient. Well suited for use in firearms and cannons.

“This is runic enchanting then? How have you learned the secrets of this from the dwarves?”

“It isn’t runic enchanting, it’s chicken scratch. An enchanting language of my own making,” Orodan explained. “Or rather, one I forced to make work despite the impossibilities of such a task.”

“…what? This is simply too much, you cannot just tell me one impossible thing after the other,” the judge said. “Who are you?”

“I’ve already said my name, it’s not relevant at this point. Now go ahead and test the rifle against something at the Adept-level,” Orodan said. “We’ll have guests soon and I’m on a time limit.”

“Guests? What guests?” the judge asked, pointing the rifle at one of the many designated target dummies made of material simulating Adept-level durability.

“The divine sort I have a grudge against.”

The trigger had already been pulled, and the judge didn’t get to ask any further questions. The rifle went off with a roaring bang and a shockwave of decent power was dispersed into the air. A minor addition to the enchantment, lest the recoil cause severe injury to any wielder not physically trained to a certain extent.

Nobody present save Orodan was quick enough to see it, but the bullet visibly warped the air as it tore through the distance to reach its target. And upon contact…

…the dummy practically disintegrated from the sheer force.

And Orodan smiled as he acquired the first level of a skill he had been striving towards. Having someone use his crafted weapon successfully had been the impetus which caused the gain.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

[New Skill (Uncommon) → Gunsmithing 1]

Thankfully the area behind the target dummy was clear - a basic safety precaution - and the bullet went on to hit a small hill a half mile away, tearing up a carriage-sized crater of destruction upon impact. The sound of the impact could be heard for miles too.

The judges were mute. The other competitors silent. Even the angry student who was protesting prior looked pale. The crowd of spectators and merrymakers made nary a peep.

Until a singular drunk spoke up at least.

“What’d he shoot at? There’s nothing there! Is that some kind of vanishing gun?”

“Did you not see that dummy disintegrate Krenvus?!”

“No…?”

“Enough drink for you!”

With that, the rest of the shocked mutters began.

“Not bad, eh?” Orodan asked, a grin on his face. “Although that bullet was enchanted to be durable, it’s just regular black powder which propelled the shot.”

In truth, Orodan’s benchmark wasn’t the average Adept-level martial mortal, but monsters. This gun he’d made could at the very least kill a young dragon at the Adept-level. In terms of humans… it might even kill an Elite. An excellent improvement to his last long loop where the guns might kill an Adept, and the cannon could perhaps hit one tier higher.

Orodan was excited about how much further he could push this craft.

Could the militaries of Alastaia be revolutionized?

“The beginning of your ambitions of world conquest,” Zaessythra said playfully.

“Heh… while Orodan the galactic conqueror might be an amusing thought, I have no such desires,” he said. “For the longest time, my enemies have attempted to target Alastaia in some way or another. With this… I’ve taken the first step towards making these people able to defend themselves.”

Training was well and good, but what recourse did the average man, woman or child have against the horrors of the cosmos? For every talented individual with the will and grit to succeed, there were hundreds of average folk who wanted nothing to do with a life of combat. Not everyone could be a fighter or a mage. Did that mean their lives were worth less?

Orodan didn’t think so. And if he was going to draw the ire of multiple System-shaking foes throughout his loops, the least he could do in order to give back to his home world, was to make it and its peoples capable of defending themselves. It was a small advancement, and it certainly wouldn’t help them against the Gods and Transcendents among the ranks of Orodan’s foes. Yet this was just the start, and Orodan had much room for advancement.

Plus, it gave him something to focus upon when he made for Lonvoron.

And speaking of his enemies…

…the familiar High Oracle of the Cathedral of the Prime Five descended from the skies upon a griffin. Alongside her, the High Burgher, though Orodan had no enmity with the man.

“A void… your soul cannot be detected, and you have no presence in the tapestry of fate,” Lady Lakshiya said. “Identify yourself. Which God has Blessed you so?”

“None. My power is my own. Which is more than can be said for the Blessings you bear,” Orodan said. “Worry not. You shall be liberated of them soon.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, stepping backwards at the threat as the High-Burgher took a step forwards.

Unnecessary, for Orodan had no ill intentions towards this lackey of the Goddess of Fate. Though for her patron God, he did.

There was no need to follow a thread this time, nor was there a need to peel the dimensional boundary apart and pass through. Dimensional Step, learned from Orodan’s close study of the similar enchantment he’d inscribed over ninety-one loops, involved not peeling any layers apart, but simply walking with the natural and subtle dimensional flows present everywhere.

The dimensional boundary was omni-present, there was no part of Alastaia where if he went, it wouldn’t be around. And this dimensional boundary for the material plane they were in, was quite universally porous. These pores allowed for energy to pass through. It was how Gods could so easily send divine energy to the material plane and Orodan also suspected the porous nature of the dimensional boundary was what allowed for Eldritch infection of a God’s followers whenever the God themselves was corrupted.

He was quite sure that this skill, or a version of it, was how Dimensional Phase Spiders moved about. Unlike Orodan, who had to rely on his uniquely endless reserves of power to get past the dimensional boundaries, their travel didn’t take much in the way of energy at all. Talricto had seemed almost casual in how easily the spider could move about.

Now it was these pores within the dimensional boundary that Orodan focused upon as he stepped. Peeling the dimensional boundary apart was one option, and it was a good tool to have in his arsenal, but this was the true and efficient method of dimensional travel.

[Dimensional Step 1 → Dimensional Step 5]

Unlike the peeling of the boundary, which was still detectable, this step wasn’t. A God’s domain was naturally porous, and Ilyatana was a low-level one who didn’t consider the possibility of anyone interloping within her domain in the divine dimensional. And why should she have? Nobody capable of such a feat would bother assaulting a weak Goddess.

It was just her unfortunate luck, that in another time, she had earned the eternal enmity of the time looper.

The Goddess of Fate was sent flying to the ground below as a powerful shield bash slammed into her.

“Get up and prepare for battle,” Orodan said, giving the tyrannical wretch an opportunity to collect herself and get ready for battle. “My vengeance will not be exacted through any surprise attack.”

“Who are you? What have I done to-”

[Dimensional Step 5 → Dimensional Step 6]

There was no spatial fluctuation to warn her as Orodan’s shield once again drove her into the ground.

“You talk too much. I give you the opportunity to stand and die fighting, take it or I execute you right here.”

“No, please! I-”

Her life was ended as his sword descended. A corresponding wail of the broken connection, and her domain shattered shortly thereafter too.

Pathetic.

Ilyatana was cruel, oppressive. She had committed genocide upon the dragons during her mortal days, and she had attempted to rewrite Orodan’s mind and will when she’d discovered he was in a time loop. She was domineering and controlling, a tyrant.

What right did she have to beg for mercy when she would gladly show none if the power was in her hands?

“Remind me to never earn a black mark in your book,” Zaessythra said. “Even after the universe fades away, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Zaessythra jested, but Orodan wasn’t blind to his own faults. Perhaps it was a character flaw of his, but it was one Orodan readily admitted to and accepted. He was loyal to his friends but held to his grudges just as deeply. He always squared away his debts.

And there were two more Gods to repay for theirs.

The next Dimensional Step netted him one more level, and it brought him right in front of Eximus, the God of Time.

To Eximus’s credit, multiple spells, defenses and countermeasures prepared ahead of time for such an occurrence activated, and a time field hastened the God of Time while numerous chronomantic spells attempted to freeze or slow Orodan.

It was all for naught though, as each spell shattered in the attempt to manipulate someone whose reserves of power were without end. Chronomancy increased in cost depending on how much power the target object or being had, and how large the timescale was. And against Orodan Wainwright, enemy chronomancy of this level would find no purchase.

Of the three Gods of the Prime Five he detested, Eximus was possibly the bravest of them. At the very least, Orodan could respect that.

The God swung his staff towards Orodan as soon as the spells shattered. Time-strengthened wood roiling with divine energy met basic steel which was soul strengthened. A direct clash.

However, it was one Eximus clearly lost as his staff exploded while Orodan’s blade continued downwards.

Eximus’s eyes widened as the blade carved right through, splitting the God in half and causing divine blood to spill forth across his domain.

A wail of agony ensued, and the divine domain of the God of Time followed its owner in death, shattering with a mighty shockwave which caused the gigantic veins of System energy between the Gods’ domains to tremble.

One more.

[Dimensional Step 7 → Dimensional Step 8]

Orodan slipped through the pores of the dimensional boundary, re-appearing right before his most hated foe.

“Greetings, coward.”

Orodan’s fist connected with Agathor’s jaw, sending the Inuanan God of War into the ground of his domain. Immediately, like the craven he was, Agathor sought to back away and retreat.

“Who dares assail the God of War within his divine realm?! Hold… a mortal? Here? How?”

“Your realm? An ant should not presume to call itself king of the forest when it scuttles about the dirt,” Orodan spat. “You are but a small, insignificant little thing within this vast realm of monsters. And as expected, your first instinct when confronted with true danger is to flee. A poor showing from the Prince of old Hasmathor. Is that why you never dared to try and resurrect the fallen empire? Were the memories of your cowardice too much to bear?”

“You speak of things you should not know of! Who are you?! How have I offended one of your caliber?!” Agathor demanded, looking wary and angered in the same vein.

“I am Orodan Wainwright, the time looper. Once, I was weak, suffering death after death in the hopes of gaining a modicum of strength. I sought answers from the divine, relying upon you for strength,” Orodan said as he menacingly stepped towards his foe. “Unfortunately, I trusted the wrong God.”

What one did when they had power was telling of who they were. When Orodan was weak, vulnerable and seeking knowledge, Ozgaric and Malzim had treated him fairly and helped. Either of those two had every opportunity to stab him in the back or extract their own gain in a forceful manner but had chosen not to.

Agathor however, had.

The God of War looked both hesitant and fearful as Orodan raised his sword. He had given him time to prepare enough. He could either stand and die fighting or accept death.

The two clashed, and Agathor stood no chance as he was overwhelmed by Orodan’s raw might.

“A foe of overwhelming force and utter rage. The same sort you fled from so quickly after passing the first gate, prince Agathor.”

“I hope you suffered at my hands, time looper.”

Orodan smiled.

“I did. And for that, you have my gratitude, for you’ve made me who I am today.”

Agathor’s face twisted into a scowl of hatred. And the God retained that look even as Orodan separated his head from his shoulders.

“You know… at a certain point this stops being cathartic vengeance and veers into the territory of unsettling hatred. How many times have you slain Agathor by now?”

“Not enough.”

“You’re beyond salvation, Orodan.”

Funny enough, Orodan didn’t disagree with her. Perhaps when all was said and done with these time loops, he might allow himself to consider moving on and learning to make peace with these grievances. But for now, they burned hot, and they were a part of who he was.

Orodan went all-in on everything. And the approaching world-devouring dragon making its way towards him was one more thing among the many that he’d fully committed to.

If the three Gods he’d slain before were pests worthy of little but death, then the approaching foe was a true behemoth of size and power. While not comparable to Orodan himself as a whole, Avraxas was a daunting foe. The mangled abomination was infamous for being one the Hegemony’s primary weapons against its foes, and a mighty deterrent against any overt acts from other factions.

He welcomed the challenge. And after ninety battles against it, and a fight in a previous long loop, Orodan was beginning to understand and recognize its combat patterns.

It began with an attempt to swallow him whole into the lethal zone which was its maw. In response, Orodan’s eyes glowed with raw soul energy as he threw it into a world-sized shield light which was a projection of his existing shield.

The dragon slammed into it, hissing in pain as its gigantic mass was brought to a sudden halt against the projection. It was a skill he’d learned from the cultivators, and Orodan had to admit, the ability to create a solid projection of his shield with naught but willpower and soul energy was rather useful.

The dragon glared at him, and Orodan glared at it.

Thus, a furious melee began for the ninety-first time.

A human-sized warrior against the might of a world-sized dragon. Both combatants fought with fury and rage, and Orodan despite being but a speck of sand in comparison to his enemy’s size, gave as good as he got. He lost out in clashes of direct force as he was sent flying away, but won out in contests of agility and maneuverability where he circled around its massive body and forced it to abort attacks lest it hit itself while continually peppering it with attacks and seeking to burrow inside of it,

Technically, Orodan could launch many more attacks in a single second than this dragon could. Its size worked against it in this regard. However, what use were ten All-Strikes when a single draconic claw could overpower them all?

Magic, if Orodan was the type to take the easy way out, might’ve been useful. But attempting to use chronomancy or spatiomancy to directly manipulate this dragon was asking for death. It held so much raw power within its body, beyond even multiple world cores, that the amount of energy he’d have to use in order to affect it would send him right back to Ogdenborough.

It was one of the few creatures he’d encountered in System space that could field power comparable to his own. At least, when considering how much power he could field at any one time.

Still, the benefit of a time loop was that he was learning its patterns.

Fighting Avraxas was like fighting an entire planet. But Orodan had done this ninety times by now. A large claw descended towards him, and he expertly moved between the gaps of it, smashing All-Strikes into it as it passed.

The mutated dragon wasn’t stupid. A fusion between a level 150 Transcendent and a God of the same level was a lot of combat experience. Consequently, the second claw practically rived space as it came in far faster, a noticeable decrease in power for a far greater gain of speed. And the dragon adjusted for Orodan’s dodge too.

Which was just fine, as Orodan memorized this particular adjustment too. The second claw was likewise evaded by a hair’s breadth, and he smashed multiple All-Strikes into the attack to divert it, creating further openings which he began ruthlessly capitalizing upon.

The third, fourth and fifth attacks from the dragon were similarly countered, and it then began to grow very wary. As Orodan had seen ninety times before, it flew away to gain distance, thinking that a duel at range would suit it better.

Shimmering orbs of lethal power were charged up within its maw. Each orb was a roiling conglomeration of intersecting dimensional boundaries, a miniature version of the death zone within its maw.

The dragon seemed surprised as Orodan allowed the first to strike him head-on. His body was grievously damaged but recovered almost immediately.

It was all part of his budding efforts.

The second and third orbs struck him similarly, yet he weathered them without complaint even as each one disintegrated the majority of his body.

Just as Avraxas was charging the fourth though, it suddenly twitched as it noticed the manipulation of space within Orodan’s hand.

[Spatial Fold 85 → Spatial Fold 86]

Unlike the material plane, the divine dimension functioned off of different laws of reality. The manipulation and compression of gigantic amounts of space was easily disguised a space didn’t work the same way in this strange dimension filled with ethereal and impossible shapes.

Still, at the sheer scale Orodan was conducting it, the compression of space was bound to eventually be noticed. And the dragon had, but it was too late.

The minuscule packet of space, compressed to an incomparable degree, was sent flying at the dragon with deceptively fast speed. And here, its gigantic size worked against it as evading such a small and swift projectile was out of the question.

Orodan maintained an iron grip upon the compressed packet through his soul energy and will, and just as it impacted the scales of Avraxas’s form…

…he allowed it to explode.

A roar of pain shook a large portion of the divine dimension. The dragon had managed to shift itself away from the worst of the attack, but upon its back was a newly created continent-sized furrow. Its roiling lifeblood, bones and bits of flesh were floating about in the air. A grievous wound, one which Orodan fully intended to prey upon.

Prior to this, the dragon was wary of him but seemed confident in its victory. Now though, Orodan had shown it that a ranged duel wouldn’t work out in its favor. The dragon’s dimensional orbs weren’t enough to kill Orodan in a single hit, not before he simply regenerated through Harmony of Vitality. It too had self-healing capabilities, but they were nowhere near his own. And staying at range meant allowing Orodan the room to launch compressed packets of space with impunity.

The very first time, in response to his Spatial Fold, it had resorted to once again resuming melee alongside the usage of spells meant to disrupt spatiomancy. Ninety loops ago, it was a fearsome foe in melee, and Orodan had to give his all in order to fight evenly.

Now, on the ninety-first loop, it appeared far less confident about re-entering melee combat against Orodan Wainwright. At range, it faced guaranteed death via Spatial Folds re-purposed to explode from extreme compression. And in melee, Orodan yet again began ruthlessly exploiting its patterns.

Both of its claws, each carrying power enough to shatter worlds, came for him at the same time. Yet, Orodan had seen this before as well. He moved himself into the point between both attacks where the force was lowest and battered his way through with All-Strikes.

For fifteen minutes, the furious trade of melee continued. Each and every one of the dragon’s attacks were nullified with skill, positioning and foreknowledge of just how it would strike. Orodan hadn’t initially known how to apply his combat skill against a foe the size of a gigantic planet, but now he did And at the zenith of it, as Avraxas was reeling, a gain came.

[Combat Mastery 99 → Combat Mastery 100]

[New Title → Combat Grandmaster]

And with it came the corresponding increase… yet Orodan immediately shut it off. The crutch was weakness.

Mere Combat Grandmastery wasn’t the height of his ambition.

He knew combat, Orodan was combat.

What was it really?

Combat was violence, aggression, bloodlust and rage. Yet it was also sorrow, nostalgia, fear and dread. The ebb and flow of this dance encapsulated every human emotion one could think of. He recalled a discussion he’d heard on Eldiron, where an argument was had about the merits of emotion in a craft. His own words from back then came to mind.

“Cleanliness of the mind, is not the absence of emotions altogether. Rather, it’s the distillation and understanding of them. The acceptance of what you feel, and the mastery of one’s mind.”

As aid for the beleaguered dragon arrived in the form of a fifty-armed God, Orodan reaffirmed that emotions were important. He felt anger and hostility towards these foes and the Hegemony they were a part of. They’d slain Zaessythra, taken her world, her future and shattered her very soul when she’d refused to serve under them upon achieving Transcendence.

And this fifty-armed God in particular had slain her in front of him.

After a minute of searching, he slowly began to accept it. His heart was heavy with the pain of loss, and he turned it outwards into rage as his fist clenched. Orodan had experienced death himself and grown up around enough of it… but this hurt all the same.

What even was pain, if not losing the people you treasured and had formed bonds with?

Orodan remembered that moment. The pain, the loss, the sheer rage he’d felt. Even as Zaessythra tried sending a mental feeling of warmth his way, it did nothing to dull the sting of that memory.

Rage consumed him and fuelled his vigor in combat.

“Who are you?! Why do you fight us?!”

The fifty-armed God beckoned, but Orodan didn’t care.

All fifty arms converged towards his position, and Orodan met them with an All-Strike.

Space was loose within this dimension, less prone to being shattered through colossal feats of battle. Yet all the same it was torn asunder as Orodan and Astalavar collided. Fifty golden weapons converging to meet a singular almighty All-Strike.

The veins of System energy nearby trembled dangerously, and even visually Orodan felt them at risk of leaking their contents if this battle went on.

Astalavar was weaker than the world dragon he’d been fighting. But therein laid the problem. The fifty-armed God of the Hegemony was far smaller, being merely the size of a nation. This meant that it could bring the totality of its power to bear within a single point against Orodan.

Which meant clashes between them caused far more damage to the divine dimension than clashes between him and Avraxas, where he simply evaded or was sent flying away like an ant due to the power difference.

Ninety repeats of the same battle would force anyone to get better though, and Orodan was a quick learner.

The two were mutually blown backwards from the first clash. And it was on the second that a difference was made.

[All-Strike 92 → All-Strike 93]

As Orodan connected against all fifty of the enemy’s golden weapons, this time it was Astalavar who was on the losing end. Being sent backwards. Yet, it wasn’t a mere gain in All-Strike that Orodan sought.

As the clash between him and Astalavar occupied him, the gaping maw of a dragon came his way, promising death and an end to the loop. This was fine however, he welcomed it.

What was combat?

Orodan had been fighting all his life. An orphan found amidst the wreckage of a northman raid upon a coastal caravan. He didn’t remember it, but the matrons at the orphanage oft told him how obstinate he was when he’d been first brought to town by the military patrol. How he’d stubbornly held onto life despite being turned over to the town herbalist for treatment of the minor burns he’d suffered.

Then came life in a destitute orphanage which could barely afford to feed all the hungry mouths within it. Nominally, the Lady Sashwari Home for the Wayward was supposed to be under jurisdiction of the Cathedral. Yet House Argon’s dirty deeds and insistence on keeping outsiders away from Ogdenborough had made life a lot harder than it needed to be. Orodan initially grew up somewhat malnourished until he grew large enough to begin fighting for his fair share.

From there, having to fight for scraps, taking a life at far too young of an age, and eventually reaching adulthood where he began working odd labor jobs until the county militia took him. He’d fought and caused trouble all throughout yet had worked hard. Life was a struggle, yet he’d spat in its face and continued living despite it all.

Finally, came that fateful day where he’d fought in battle against foes who were far stronger than him. And died.

And so began the time loops, where Orodan stubbornly grinded away. Death after death, struggle after struggle. Painful blow after painful blow. No matter how difficult it got, despite the impossible challenges before him, whether it was a necromantic demon minion, an ancient machine, an Eldritch Avatar or a Boundless One which threatened the entirety of the System…

…Orodan had never stopped fighting.

Existence itself was a struggle, as particles constantly jockeyed for position and shifted about, life unseen to the eye warred for scraps upon decomposing leaves.

Similarly - even discounting the actual combat - everything he did, from crafting, to walking, to talking, to breathing… it was all a fight. When he slept, his body fought to recover and grow. When he thought, his mind fought to reach new ideas. When he ate, his mouth fought to fuel him. When he crafted, his being fought to produce an item.

And of course, when he fought… he fought.

Combat then, was his whole life.

It was eternal, never-ending.

Others might have suffered a bout of shock at the realization. Perhaps their spirits might have faltered.

But Orodan?

Orodan liked it.

A mad grin came upon his face, yet this wasn’t one borne of mere battle lust, but the combination of every single emotion Orodan had ever felt in his lives. The rage, the pain, the sorrow, the joy, the confusion, the trust, the sense of betrayal… it all came together; his emotions harmonizing as he accepted them all.

They were all part of combat.

All he did was a fight, a struggle. Every little measurable instant of his life was battle.

Combat encompassed everything. Everything was combat.

Orodan Wainwright would be fighting forever.

A burdensome truth for anyone else.

Yet for him… a liberation he accepted gladly.

[Combat Mastery 100 → Combat Mastery 105]

[New Title → Combat Transcendent]

“Everything is a fight…” Orodan muttered, a trance, nay… a realization upon him. “And I shall create the perfect battle.”

The maw of the dragon swallowed him whole, the multiple intersecting layers of the dimensional boundary colliding with his body.

Yet, it was all a battle. And the first step to creating the perfect battle was Orodan’s own mind, his skills and knowledge.

Harmony of Vitality fought to heal his cells. It demanded first and center stage in resolving the approach of the foe! Yet Shield Intent made its presence known, violently demanding victory against its competitors and the external foe by forming numerous projections of his shield all around him.

[Shield Intent 78 → Shield Intent 80]

The dimensional death trap within Avraxas’s maw sputtered against the shimmering white projections. And Shield Intent appeared smug, satisfied in its superiority as two entire skill levels were gained.

Yet as the projections of his shield shattered, other skills came to the fore and demanded their place in this glorious battle. Endless Blitz demanded he use it once more, bellicose and rowdy as it commanded Unassailable Fortress to defend Orodan’s body against this imminent death through a barrage of defensive moves and evasions.

[Endless Blitz 95 → Endless Blitz 96]

[Unassailable Fortress 91 → Unassailable Fortress 93]

Parts of Orodan’s mind assumed control of his skills, making them have minds of their own. All of them, intent on battle, both within against one another, and without, against the enemy he faced.

A most surprising skill… Logistics, came forth. Its voice, tiny, yet bellowing like a lion taking charge of all the separate efforts and attempting to guide them towards a whole! Shield Intent battled to form numerous shield light projections once more, Harmony of Vitality fought to keep him alive and the dual combination of Endless Blitz and Unassailable Fortress worked even better together as Logistics bullied them into coordination and advised the driver of the flows, Incipience of Infinity, to how best make very efficient movements of his soul energy.

[Logistics 14 → Logistics 18]

And connecting this battlefield of his own skills together, his mind fought, the commander warring to bring these disparate competitions under a singular banner that they might give rise to innovation.

The two grand warlords of this internal battlefield, Incipience of Infinity, and Domain of Perfect Cleaning, remained silent for now. Though, his Domain questioned whether it should step in and simply cleanse the dimensional death trap outright. An easy solution, a convenient way out.

Yet, both it and Orodan knew that this would lead to an imperfect battle.

This death trap of intersecting dimensional boundaries which was about to kill him; the only way a perfect battle could be achieved…

…was if Orodan approached it head-on.

As the war within raged to keep his body alive, Orodan finally understood what needed to be done.

He called upon one more combatant that had thus far been silent. Lazy, which was unacceptable if a perfect fight was to be had. Absolute Body Composition roused itself to life, almost unwillingly, yet the harsh crack of Orodan’s whiplike willpower woke it up.

And with it, he demanded the thus far eager, but inactive Dimensionalism come forth.

The cells composing his body, his very essence, all of Orodan; it all began gradually changing.

There was the material plane, the divine dimensions, the hells and the bowels of System space where the Boundless One empowering it resided.

And in order to resist this many intersecting dimensional boundaries…

…there was now an Orodan plane.

[New Skill (Mythical) → Dimensional Resistance 10]

Dimensionalism went to war against Harmony of Vitality, destroying his cells only for the latter skill to create new ones guided by it. This small internal battle gave rise to a new skill.

Dimensions could still be destroyed if an attack of enough force struck them. However, in general, they were far more resistant to such damage than a regular material body was. Though, the resistance of a dimension to being destroyed depended on the total amount of energy within and how much power was supplied in maintaining the integrity of its boundaries.

Then, when it came to Orodan…

…this world-devouring dragon would now be in for a very bad time.

The raw energy contained within Avraxas was nothing to scoff at. Even though Orodan had more power than it overall, it could still field more energy in any particular moment than he could, courtesy of its gigantic planet-sized body. It was due to this extreme amount of energy it possessed, that when the death zone in its maw struck Orodan…

…he was left with many deep cuts instead of being completely unharmed.

And in return, Warrior’s Reciprocity finally reared its head, having remained quiet thus far at Orodan’s behest. It joined the battle with a roar and let the world dragon have a manyfold return of its own attack.

[Warrior’s Reciprocity 89 → Warrior’s Reciprocity 90]

The gain in skill level and the subsequent multiplication of return damage did its work.

A guttural groan of agony erupted throughout the divine dimension, the death zone attempting to disintegrate Orodan exploded outwards, and with it, the remainder of the dragon’s colossal body.

Perhaps he’d successfully killed the world dragon with return backlash in the last ninety loops, but he hadn’t been alive to see it. This time though, he saw clearly as the shockwave from this cataclysmic explosion expanded outwards, tearing into many of the giant veins of System energy present in the divine dimension.

Astalavar, a being the size of a nation, was sent flying backwards like a ragdoll. And the veins of System energy in the path of the shockwave ruptured, leaking something familiar.n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

“Eldritch energy…” Zaessythra muttered.

It wasn’t a surprise. Orodan knew that the Boundless One at the heart of the System, empowering everything, was the source of it. But what this did do, was add evidence in support of his theory, that the divine dimension was meant to stopper or filter the Boundless One’s power.

The energy leaking out of the ruptured veins was a mixture of Eldritch power and System energy after all. This place must have been utilized as the grounds for a filtration process.

If Orodan went deeper, would a path directly to the System’s bowels be accessible?

In any case, the shockwave had drawn attention, and the Hegemony had a leader who finally decided to make an appearance.

A gigantic set of cosmic eyes. Within the divine realm, Agrimon, the leader of the Hegemony looked imposing, intimidating.

Yet now, this level 150 God looked wary, fearful even.

Their mightiest asset, the world-devouring dragon, dead. Which just left these two.

Orodan was confident in his ability to handle them by himself now. They were mostly divine, and what soul energy they had wasn’t enough to truly kill him. With his new Combat Transcendence, his burgeoning abilities, and his ability to recover from whatever damage they inflicted, Orodan felt he would gradually wear them down and win.

Of course, as space rippled and Orodan’s least favorite Administrator arrived, he was forced to put that plan on hold.

Rather than speak, the Prophet merely chose to stare at him for a full minute in a display that would have unnerved anyone else. Orodan though, merely took advantage of the reprieve, allowing Astalavar and Agrimon to slowly back away as they pondered fleeing. They would die eventually, this loop or another. Instead, Orodan churned the internal battle within himself to greater heights, preparing measures, countermeasures and attempting to glean how the upcoming fight would go as hundreds of combat scenarios began playing out in his mind.

Each and every cell within his body began thinking as hundreds of combat simulations became thousands, and then tens of thousands and beyond. And they all came to the singular conclusion that he would die.

As expected, he was no match for the Prophet yet. The information he had on this Administrator, though sparse, was enough to inform his predictions that he was woefully outmatched.

The Prophet decided to break the silence.

“Intriguing. A body which is a separate dimension… did one of those scurrying little rats hiding outside the galaxies teach you that trick? I met one who ran from me a few millennia ago, the Dimensional Body skill I believe…”

“If you’re referring to those at the Embodiment-level, then you’d be wrong. I have yet to meet any of them,” Orodan said. “I learned this myself, and it’s not the Dimensional Body skill.”

“Upon closer inspection, I can see that too… what a strange skill. It’s as though your cells aren’t really cells. The matter-form composition is most strange,” the Prophet said, and then his eyebrow quirked upwards. “Cells capable of thought? How fascinating! Now then, who are you and how have you managed to enter this sacred corner of the cosmos under protection of our progenitor? Are you perhaps the reason why the provider has been so restless as of late?”

“Your progenitor? The Boundless One empowering the System is hardly the parent of all life within it,” Orodan said. After all, according to the Reject, life had existed prior and instead been suddenly pulled into the System one day. And over time, the souls within and any new souls born were twisted into being Eldritch at core as they were tied to the energy of the System, which was provided by the Boundless One.

“You know much for an interloper from beyond System space,” the Prophet said. Beyond System space? Orodan was confused. “Do not act ignorant of it. Your soul’s foreign nature is as apparent to me as the wetness of water is evident to one in the desert. Your soul lacks any trace of our great protector, and whatever mangled mutation is within, I cannot decipher well, though the Custodian might want to have a look at you. And your presence in the tapestry of fate is non-existent… my ability to glean the future is ineffective.”

Of course, the Custodian might want to look at him. That particular Administrator seemed far more knowledgeable about affairs concerning the System than the rest did. Though, it was interesting to also know that the Prophet had the ability to look into the future and scry what others would do through the tapestry of fate.

As befitting a Prophet.

“Then, it appears we’re at an impasse,” Orodan said. “For I have no interest in going anywhere with you.”

“Oh? You mistake me, I would rather you continue doing what you’re doing,” the Prophet said. “That oversized muscle-bound cretin will soon arrive here, and if I were to spread the truth in so destructive a manner, he would hem and haw, unhappy at the breaking of that silly accord. If you do it however, it allows me to claim innocence when he comes to investigate why so many of the funnels carrying our savior’s lifeblood have been ruptured.”

“You misunderstand me. First, I’m not from outside System space, I’m from within it. Orodan Wainwright, county militia man from Volarbury County in the Republic on a little world known as Alastaia,” Orodan explained. “And second…

“…I’m the time looper. And I’m here to cleanse the Eldritch, and in particular, you.”

The Prophet frowned, but it was too late.

Orodan’s chief skill, the one he felt utmost familiarity with, shot out. Incipience of Infinity and Domain of Perfect Cleaning working in sync, spread far and wide, an attempt to encompass as much of the divine dimension as it could.

Specifically, his major targets were the System energy flowing through the gigantic veins. Those, and the Eldritch infested deeper portions of the divine dimension.

Not that skill levels gave Orodan power when it came to his Celestial skill, but a level of 138 meant he was unfathomably good at cleaning. This made itself known in how instantly and immediately the Eldritch corruption began vanishing and receding all throughout the veins of System energy and the deep parts of the divine dimension.

[Domain of Perfect Cleaning 138 → Domain of Perfect Cleaning 139]

The Prophet was quick, brutally so. The old Administrator’s face twisted into a rictus of tranquil fury, and he immediately moved faster than Orodan could hope to see.

Unfortunately for this foul old peddler of the Eldritch, the veins of System energy and Eldritch that Orodan had aimed for were mere secondary targets. The primary target…

…was the Prophet himself.

[Domain of Perfect Cleaning 139 → Domain of Perfect Cleaning 140]

The Prophet was quick, impossibly so. Yet the Administrator’s speed worked against him as Orodan had wisely managed to place his approaching broom in the path of his foe’s charge.

Orodan’s eyes weren’t fast enough to keep up with a charging Administrator yet, thus he didn’t see it. But whether it was hubris or misplaced arrogance, he certainly felt the broom connect.

And a horrifying wail of pure terror crossed dimensional boundaries to echo out across not just the divine dimension, but the very cosmos. The roar itself flayed a majority of the flesh from Orodan’s body.

Last time he’d tried this, he hadn’t attained even Grandmastery in his Celestial skill. The Eldritch corruption within the Administrator was of a stronger, far more deeply rooted sort. Incredibly difficult to cleanse, even with the entirety of Orodan’s power. He’d only managed to cleanse 1% of it then.

Now, with a skill level of 140, it was a different matter. He’d purged over half of the accumulated corruption…

…and given birth to a being straight out of a nightmare.

He didn’t see it; it was far too quick; but Orodan felt himself be utterly annihilated. The only thing stopping a return to Ogdenborough being a few cells that were sent flying, enough to fully reform himself from.

Even as he reformed, he saw the abomination turning into what it really was.

Last time he’d cleansed it, it had rushed towards him on all fours like a feral beast, far away from being an old man.

He’d thought the Prophet a madman who forcibly propagated the Eldritch.

Orodan had been mistaken.

The Eldritch was a balm, something which soothed and contained the real creature within.

Its entire bone structure shifted, shattering, cracking and forcing it grow many more feet taller in what appeared an agonizing process. The nose, mouth and eyes collapsed inwards, squelching about as though whatever spell kept them in place had been broken. In place of two human eyes, appeared two yellow ones. In place of a human head, the bone structure cracked and shifted to become a long white one. And from its ribcage four more arms protruded outwards, giving it a total of six.

All six of these arms glowed with the fury of light. Though periodically, the glowing golden light - akin to that which the warriors of the Conclave used - sputtered and turned purple, as though the Eldritch was fighting to re-corrupt its body.

Its human legs remained mostly unchanged, but Orodan suspected that was due to him not having completely purged the Eldritch from it.

Before thoughts of a second attempt could be formed, golden chains of burning light wrapped itself around him. Despite his best struggles, these chains were simply too strong to break without expending soul energy enough to end the loop.

“A monster… you’ve turned me into a monster…! Not again…! Never again!”

The voice was guttural, deep and full of anguish.

The chains began burning right through his flesh. His body being a separate dimension didn’t matter, the Prophet practically melted him all the same. Its shrieks of rage increased in their intensity, uncaring that it was receiving returned damage through Warrior’s Reciprocity.

Finally, it came to its senses and realized that killing him would be counter productive.

“Time looper… you shall never die. For as long as the cosmos maintains motion, you shall endure torment at my hands. You shall never loop again!”

Orodan though, remained calm. Torture was nothing for him, and he could simply end the loop by channelling a fatal amount of soul energy.

“You’re a Fallen Void Archon…” Orodan remarked, curious. He had encountered such a creature before in the abyssal depths of Alastaia serving as one of the Gate Guardians for the first World Gate. “I wasn’t aware that causing you to revert to this form would cause you such pain. Does the Eldritch allow you to disguise yourself as a human?”

Indeed, Orodan had thought the pain the Prophet had experienced last time was due to the Eldritch being in conflict with its uncorrupted self. But to learn that the Eldritch had been a part of what kept its transformation in place?

“You seek explanations when torment is all you shall receive,” the Prophet said as burning chains of light began entering Orodan’s eyes.

“This will get you nowhere,” Orodan replied calmly even as his eyes had holes burned in them. “I’ve been through far worse. Your attempt at torture is amateur at best.”

A hiss of rage came forth as it began trying to torture him further. And when physical attacks were evidently useless, the Eldritch assaults came forth. These too were completely ineffective, until it finally decided to try mental attacks.

The force of a galaxy slammed into his mind…

…and Orodan had to focus, for it was a genuinely mighty attack. But all the same, he weathered it just fine.

He’d taken far worse mental assaults. And the return through Warrior’s Reciprocity stunned the Administrator, causing it to flinch backwards and release him.

An opportunity to finish the job and cleanse it entirely presented itself. Though, with how enraged it was at being free of the Eldritch, Orodan was almost guaranteed a death afterwards.

“Now’s your chance!” Zaessythra urged.

It was tempting, the convenient way out. In fact, this loop was priceless just for the fact that he’d learned how vulnerable it was against his Celestial skill. In the future, with more strength, he now knew of a convenient way of besting the Prophet.

It was the obvious path.

Which was why Orodan’s answer was simple.

“No.”

She was confused, and rightly so. Only for a moment though till she grumbled something about remembering who she was dealing with.

It wouldn’t have been right. What manner of cheap victory was that?

He put his broom away.

“There must be a reason you chose to maintain the guise of a human,” Orodan said.

“Silence!”

Recovered from the moment of weakness, it bound him in burning chains once more. Though Orodan wasn’t threatened by the prospect of death or torture.

“You said you’ve become a monster… but this is your original form, is it not?” Orodan asked, calm even as the chains burnt his flesh and practically disintegrated him.

“I see… whatever you’ve done throughout the time loops, it makes you invulnerable to pain and mental assault, does it not?” it asked, yellow eyes peering into his soul. “Yet, you’ll find your soul is perhaps a bit more vulnerable.”

He had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Of all the threats the Prophet could have menacingly made, his soul was the last one Orodan would ever be concerned about.

It tried, and it predictably failed to do anything to him at all. His soul rebuffed all attempts at damage from the Administrator. For even if Incipience of Infinity wasn’t actively producing galaxy-shattering power, his soul was resilient enough that he’d withstood the Boundless One outside of the System and came out the other side with his mind and soul intact.

“Has your temper tantrum abated enough to answer me now?” Orodan asked.

“You time loopers trample and trod over that which you do not understand. You wish for answers? Fine. Here, on the eve of your permanent end, as you suffer the wrath of the monster you’ve created, you may have them.”

A wormhole was created, leading directly outside of System space. A tactic which would previously have worked splendidly to kill a time looper permanently.

“The classification that the System uses… did it never occur to you that it favors some races, yet disadvantages others?” the Prophet asked. Orodan didn’t understand though. “Think, time looper. The very basic skill, ‘Observe’. Does it not list the species for anything one uses it upon?”

“Correct…? It lists the species for everything. Wait… everything except-”

“Everything except you mortal races. For the rest of us, those who had the mere misfortune of being born a certain way… we are monsters. While the chosen ones of this System prosper, we can only watch as the elves, dwarves… and most insufferable of all, you humans bask in the radiance of our progenitor’s rewards,” it said. “I worked so hard… I spread light and understanding all across System space and was the mightiest one among my kind who were pulled into this pocket of the cosmos upon the System’s creation. And yet, at the pinnacle, when I reached the height of Embodiment itself, what does the System say? That I am a monster and unfit to become an Administrator. Only you precious mortals are capable of using the mantles.”

Orodan was silent for a moment as he digested its words.

“Then why? Why do you propagate this System?” Orodan pointedly asked. “Why not work to destroy it like the Reject does?”

“That rejected fool went about things the wrong way. I have no interest in destroying that which provides succor from the harsh terrors of the cosmos outside,” the Prophet said, and the fists of its six arms clenched in range. “Rather… with the power of our guardian, many things are possible. Even the alteration of a monster’s soul into a form granted more privileges under the System. Why, the Custodian was forced to do the same. I simply wished not to be a monster any longer. Something you stole from me as I will now be denied usage of the mantle which I have rightfully earned for many millennia.”

“You are right, Prophet,” Orodan admitted. “You are a monster; not for being a Fallen Void Archon, but for wantonly spreading the Eldritch in a twisted attempt at gaining acceptance within the System. However, I see now that the Eldritch is a part of you, and I was wrong to cleanse it.”

“Spare me your diatribes. There is no forgiveness for what you’ve done.”

Thus far, it had been careful to avoid killing him. Now though, as a blazing light capable of shattering a galaxy formed in its hands… he realized just how far he had left to go before he could match this foe.

“Light magic, and the ability to read one’s fate… should the future not have been apparent to you?” Orodan asked.

“Your soul is an abhorrent one, time looper. I know not what you have done to it in your covetous bid for power throughout your loops, but neither your lack of presence in the tapestry of fate, nor that mangled soul-less thing deep within will save you from receiving judgement at my hands.”

Mangled, soul-less thing?

“Explain yourself,” Orodan demanded. He had a bad feeling about this.

“You call me a monster, yet what sort of cruel master are you that you would tow around an amalgamation of memories without a soul core? Every waking moment must be agony for that wretched existence, and no amount of healing or resurrection will aid it.”

What? Zaessythra?

He inwardly demanded answers, yet all Orodan received was silence.

“Oh? Did you not know? I see, how pitiful. I do not know how one would even destroy a soul core outright, yet you have somehow managed it. Slaying you would be a boon to the universe, time looper.”

It wasn’t him. It was the Boundless One that had struck him at the end of the last long loop.

And Orodan was livid at the thought,

“I’ll return, I always do,” Orodan said, trembling in rage.

The golden chains pushed him into the wormhole, where the last thing he saw was a beam of galaxy-shattering light.

“And I’ll see you on Lonvoron.”

It was a promise. The Prophet would receive its due in fair battle and in no other way.

The light struck, and the darkness took him.

#

A keening wail ringing in the night sky awoke him.

And Orodan instantly dove into his mindscape.

Zaessythra appeared before him, her entry similarly instantaneous. She knew what he came for.

“Explain. Now.”

“I did not wish to worry you,” she defended. “You have a calling greater than fretting over me.”

“You didn’t wish to worry me? In what realm does not telling me your soul core is destroyed supposed to help me?” he sharply asked, his tone demanding. “You’ve kept your soul under close guard all this time, and I respected your privacy, but now… show me.”

And she did.

There was no softening the blow; it was bad.

Orodan had never seen a fully destroyed soul core before. That the Boundless One he’d encountered outside the System was capable of such a feat… it painted it in an incredibly dangerous light. Frankly, Orodan was fortunate to have gotten away as relatively unscathed as he had. And he’d only done so due to his anomalous will and strength of mind and soul.

Unfortunately, not everyone was Orodan Wainwright. Something he was now learning the hard way as he looked closely at the tattered amalgamation of memories that Zaessythra was.

His eyes softened as he considered the sheer agony she must have been going through, and to be hiding it and pretending all was well, even now…

“Why?” Orodan asked, still angered.

“You have more important things to do,” she softly said. “Demanding the time looper destined to solve the plague of the Eldritch instead devote his time to fixing me; it would’ve been selfish, no?”

“Selfish? I wouldn’t be here without you!” Orodan angrily said. “We fought together, we bled together, and we even died together! How many times have you saved me? Did you not stop to think and consider that this would be relevant news?”

“I will not apologize, but now that you’re aware, we can move forward constructively,” she said.

Orodan exhaled. It was a slow thing; one meant to center himself and calm the anger he felt.

All he could think of was the long loop in Novarria where she’d died for him. A most painful memory, and the feeling of that in this situation wasn’t a good thing.

“To point fingers and pout like a child is not my way. What’s done is done,” Orodan said. “Will you tell me how this impacts you? On the surface, your soul looks damaged, but deeper within… the lack of a soul core is a glaring thing. How are you even here and maintaining any semblance of coherency?”

The outer layer of the soul could be flayed or destroyed, but the soul core could recover, and reform said layer. But for the core itself to be gone? Orodan had never seen such a thing.

The only two beings he knew that had received full power attacks from Boundless Ones were he and Zaessythra. He’d come out alright, with his System and all the Eldritch at soul core being entirely purged. For Orodan, it was a boon. Zaessythra however… had suffered a far darker fate. Hidden from him till now.

“Your reasoning is correct. In fact, upon receiving that attack, while you were recovering, I too was slowly undergoing madness,” she admitted. “Yet, throughout it all, I found that the closer I drew the tatters of myself towards your own soul… the stabler my thoughts and memories became. It wouldn’t have been possible with the soul of any other, but with one as strong as yours, I seem to be fine for now.”

“How sustainable is this?” Orodan asked, getting to the real question.

“In truth, indefinite. It should be a severe drain of your power, akin to a drowning person flailing and holding down the rescuer attempting to save them,” she explained. “With your energy though, such an issue is entirely sidestepped.”

“But your soul… how will you be able to manifest and come back?” Orodan asked.

“Unless you’re capable of true soul creation, which should be an utter impossibility… never.”

Orodan’s fists clenched.

“No.”

“No?”

“If it’s impossible, then I’ll be the first one to make it possible,” he declared.

“While you were empowering the time loop during that long loop of ours, I spoke with the Administrators, with the Boundless One,” she said. “Even it cannot perform true soul genesis. It knows not of any being that can.”

“The Boundless One also wasn’t capable of empowering the time loop to affect the entirety of the greater cosmos,” Orodan said.

She said nothing and seemed to concede this point.

If anyone could do this, it would be him.

Just one more thing to press onwards in his eternal battle for.

“On the bright side, Orodan,” Zaessythra said, a sly smile on her face. “One could say that we’re soul mates now.”

He looked downwards, almost certain that it was a mental attack stronger than most of the ones he’d received throughout the loops.

“If the lack of a soul core has led to that terrible sense of humor, then it’s imperative we fix it immediately,” Orodan said, sighing. Though, he couldn’t stop an exasperated smile from forming.

What an idiot she was.

And what a stubborn fool was he.

Their hands met, and Orodan vowed that he would uncover the secrets to true soul creation, no matter the cost.

The entirety of System space was relying on him to solve the Eldritch matter. And Zaessythra was relying upon him to bring her back to life and restore her soul.

For them, for her.

A pillar upon which dreams could become reality.

#

Combat Transcendence was powerful.

Every step he took was a fight between his muscles to optimize themselves. Every thought, a brawl between thousands of ideas to innovate and push forward the best one through the fire of pressure.

Matter of fact, he had a strong suspicion that he’d pushed this standard mastery skill well beyond what it should be capable of. Having crossed the very first Transcendence trial already, no other trials would come forth. By default, any other skills which crossed level 100 would now be Transcendent for him though he’d still need the insights capable of crossing into that tier. Hence, he hadn’t had the opportunity to pit his Transcendent Combat Mastery skill against a System unit.

He genuinely felt that he was approaching the creation of a powerful skill which included Combat Mastery.

Still, that was a while away for the moment. For now, the combat within, the war not just with his enemies but within himself as he continually debated ideas and strived to be better, was relegated to the background. While it would forever now be a part of him, it currently ran in the background, even as Orodan himself spoke with people and did what he had to in regard to the outside world.

After Zaessythra and he had finished speaking, Orodan had dealt with the ancient machine, built the warehouse and decided to go for a small trip.

He had many goals in mind, and the very short loops thus far, while useful and entertaining, wouldn’t serve them any longer.

For starters, while he now knew Dimensionalism and could sneak off to Lonvoron… Orodan felt dissatisfied with this.

Using an overpowered Dimensional Step to skulk about felt akin to admitting defeat. Why not instead get so good at spatiomancy that he could replicate what Destartes did? The man had been capable of somehow sneaking past anti-spatiomancy wards.

Orodan was stubborn, and while Dimensionalism was an excellent tool to have in the belt, the obstinate perfectionist in him refused to accept the inability to use spatiomancy to enter the Vystaxium Galaxy stealthily as well.

Second, a big one, was reconnecting himself to the tapestry of fate.

Zaessythra groaned even as he reaffirmed to himself why this was necessary. It was a goal rife which would only bring problems upon him. Not only would reconnecting himself to the tapestry of fate, and consequently the System, mean that he could use observer orbs to show people his Status. It also meant he could use Observe and Identify himself while being a target for them too.

His fate in the tapestry would stick out like a sore thumb, but Orodan would have the benefit of being able to connect and reconnect as necessary. The tapestry of fate ran off of System energy at core. Learning to connect to it would be excellent training for interactions with System energy.

Not only would this let him potentially reconnect to the System control spike and perhaps access Quest Rewards again, but mainly, this was needed as preliminary practice in affecting a large-scale system which everyone was connected to without harming innocents. Critical practice for when Orodan intended to offer his own System to the inhabitants of System space. It would be an endeavor that could cause much death and destruction if done in a sloppy manner. Thus, practicing with the tapestry of fate first was a good conceptual exercise.

However, the true reason, and why Zaessythra groaned, was because Orodan wanted his fate to be visible in the tapestry of fate…

…simply so that the Prophet could read it and utilize fate scrying abilities against him.

He was incredibly dissatisfied that his opponent had a neutered arsenal against him. Orodan Wainwright would accept nothing less than a victory fought against the Prophet at full power. No tricks, no clever sidesteps and no cleansing of the Eldritch. Orodan was dead set on allowing that Administrator to read his fate, and then countering its fate-reading anyways.

Anything less would be an imperfect battle.

Beyond that, was the continual honing of his understanding of enchanting and new weird methods of improvement. Frankly, such contradictory methods of learning things could be applied to many of his skills. His time attempting chicken scratch had inspired him.

Consequently, he planned on hitting up a few places in these medium-length loops. Old Man Hannegan had once mentioned a crazy carpenter he’d apprenticed under in his youth, known for extreme and ludicrous training methods. That was a good spot for not just Woodworking, but various crafts. As was Talricto the Wanderer, that hyperactive and haughty dimensional phase spider. Quite the excellent teacher for Dimensionalism, and Orodan was all too happy to learn new tricks from it.

For fate-reading he’d need to do the one thing he truly disliked. Which was deal with the Cathedral, who were the tried-and-true specialists of the tapestry of fate. And what better way to do that than returning someplace he hadn’t gone in a long, long time. The Lady Sashwari Home for the Wayward. The orphanage in which he’d grown up.

And finally, enchanting, engineering and his other crafts. If Orodan wanted to be capable of repairing the ancient machine so that it could access the deep bowels of System space where the Boundless One, the Custodian and the deep innards of the System were… then he would need to learn and advance himself in ways beyond just fighting.

Building the ancient machine to its intended state would allow him to witness the direct dimensional path to that deep dimension. And from there, he would no longer require someone else’s ascendancy trial to jump the connection. Necessary for his end goal of dismantling the existing System and replacing it with his own.

For honing his crafts, he considered the interesting suggestion of going directly to the military with his weapons for testing and demonstration.

In particular…

…all Orodan could think about was the latest mad goal that drunk at the county craft competition had mentioned.

The incredibly stupid suggestion of crafting a rifle which could kill someone by just pulling the trigger.

That drunkard had inspired him and made Orodan wonder about what other nutty ideas he could try. Forging not with fire… but ice? Burning the wood in Woodworking? Or perhaps… enchanting the air itself?

Mad ideas all; but showing his weapons to the military and proving their power would give him plenty of leeway to receive funding and materials for this experimentation. Not that he needed either of those from them, but what he did need was access to certain people.

Such as Destartes, who was a known shadow player behind the scenes when it came to the Republic of Aden’s military.

A small trip beckoned. The Republic’s most heavily militarized city beyond even Karilsgard, built around an energy well, and the main base for the army of the Republic.

Anthus awaited Orodan.