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The moon was still high in the sky, Zaessythra was slumbering deep within the secure pocket of storage space he’d acquired, and Ogdenborough was quiet.

The first order of business then, was cleaning.

No System skill, no crutch aiding him. It was time to see just how impacted his bread and butter skills were.

On one hand, he could raid Fodgarton’s and attempt to acquire some decent cleaning supplies, but on the other hand… a dirty rag would be the ultimate litmus test for his cleaning.

Cleaning with a bunch of fanciful supplies versus cleaning with a dirty rag were two different things. Being able to achieve the same result with the latter was an indicator of true skill.

And so, dirty rag in hand, he assailed his derelict bedside table.

A singular swipe, and the entirety of the table was spotlessly clean and practically sparkling.

Good.

He’d always felt that his cleaning ability and talents were something not of the System, but borne of his unnatural talent and innate understandings. It was good to see that theory confirmed. In fact, all the skills under the umbrella of Domain of Perfect Cleaning, he felt were functioning normally.

Likewise with the latest Celestial addition to his repertoire which he didn’t want to broach at this time.

He continued his work, making the bed, cleaning the rugs of all debris and polishing each and every rock within the property lines of his hovel. The difference however was that this was all done with naught but the dirty rag in his hands.

Finally, the work was done, and Orodan stepped outside his hovel and onto Briar Court, his home road.

Quiet.

Nothing alarming or unnatural, it was just past midnight, the moon hung high in the sky and the only things out and about in Ogdenborough were the night patrols of the militia, stray animals and the harpies which had passed overhead and were at their hunting grounds by now.

That was on the small scale. On the large scale, he’d received no Quest notifications for the ancient machine or the Eldritch Avatar, nor had he gotten any warnings that he was a Quest Subject. Additionally, the Reject clearly hadn’t appeared and begun attacking him. Thus, Orodan could only conclude that whatever that almighty Boundless One had done, it had practically eliminated his System and consequently the ability for any of his foes to really track him.

Did he even have a presence in the tapestry of fate? Would his Celestial skill still cause an eruption of energy alerting various factions? And most importantly, were the Administrators and the Boundless One at the heart of the System aware of the changes he’d made to the time loop? Who the hells was that green-colored power that had thrown him back into System space? Orodan owed it a debt and would see it repaid.

Orodan wanted answers to all of these questions, but currently, he faced the small problem of being weakened in certain ways.

His body was strong, his combat skills, fresh. He had no doubts about his ability to handle himself in a fight, after all, he grew up fighting; combat and violence were as natural to him as breathing. The problem though, was in his other skills, particularly those for which he relied upon the System a decent bit for.

The smallest of nudges, and his soul produced a veritable tide of energy, courtesy of his new Celestial skill which he dare not indulge in too freely. The power was then poured into a Spatial Fold aimed skyward.

However, as he did so…

…his control over space trembled and fell apart, as though he was lacking multiple foundational understandings about how to maintain a stable Spatial Fold at such high levels of power.

Like a crutch, the System had forced him to become reliant upon it without even realizing. As his skill levels grew, his connection to the System and its natural wellspring of knowledge and instinctive assistance increased. Everyone had it incorporated into their souls, this was natural. But to have it taken away? It was akin to losing a limb one spent their entire life with.

Only now did he realize the crutch he was relying upon all this time. The gaps in understanding shored up through connection to the System and its natural assistance at higher levels.

He could still perform a smaller scale Spatial Fold, but even Orodan’s unfathomable capacity for energy didn’t exempt him from the fact that his control was now severely hampered. He could still cast the spells, but throwing copious amounts of power into them wouldn’t be possible until he repaired his System or truly mastered the subtle control himself.

His second Celestial skill was also a problem, albeit, one that loomed over the others like a mountain.

Incipience of Infinity. An ominous name, even if it just seemed to be a standard upgrade from Eternal Soul Reactor. Yet it had allowed him to tap into enough power while in disembodied soul form that he shattered galaxies. A feat he wouldn’t be replicating anytime soon now that the time loops were back in service.

Worst of all, when drawing upon it to empower the time loop mechanism deep within the System’s innards… he had utterly lost himself.

To fight a foe, no matter how terrible, was easy. Gods, Transcendents, Administrators and Boundless Ones? No problem.

But to have his sense of self eroded by his own endless willpower as he churned his soul harder and harder and continued to draw upon it to produce power enough to affect a universe? Terrifying.

The threat wasn’t anything external, but himself. The very tall task of mastering his own will loomed over Orodan’s head.

At the end of the day, if he wanted to best his foes, then he needed to be capable of not only drawing upon the full extent of Incipience of Infinity while remaining alive… but to do so without becoming a mindless font of infinite will.

Too much of anything was bad. Too much exposure to the truth? People became maddened by the Boundless One. Too much System energy? World cores faced corruption by the Eldritch. And too much willpower and the churning of his own soul? Orodan had lost himself, even if temporarily.

And while Zaessythra had given him something to remember… Orodan really didn’t want to broach that topic anytime soon. His feelings on the matter were a mess. For once, he found himself glad that she was aslumber.

As for the task before him. He would have to repair his System, master his second Celestial skill and attempt to fix the ancient machine under Mount Castarian. All of those things required learning new skills and mastering many of the ones that had become weakened due to the sudden cutoff of the System.

And of course, increasing his battle power so that he could honestly fight peak-Transcendents and worse in straight battle. His feats as a disembodied soul weren’t at all indicative of how he would do against an Embodiment-level being, or worse, an Administrator. Not at this time.

It was time to grind in a different manner.

Perhaps it was time to actually attend his shift with the county militia once more.

#

He’d spent most of the time just cleaning the neighborhood.

Running laps around Ogdenborough was completely pointless at his level of Physical Fitness. Before the destruction of his System, it was at level 95, and his Body Tempering at 66. Unlike magical skills or crafts, his physical body was something familiar and instinctive to him. He was a warrior, and that involved being rather talented at the physical arts, which meant he couldn’t really feel any downgrade in strength or stamina as he idly juggled the stacks of lumber using a single finger.

“Morning old man…” Orodan said, a smile on his face as he took in the familiar face of Old Man Hannegan. The man had a frown on his face at Orodan’s casual display of strength. “Still the same shoddy quality lumber I see?”

“O-Orodan! How in the hells did you get so strong?!” the old man exclaimed. “Why that’s at least… 30? No… perhaps halfway to level 40 of Physical Fitness? Unless you awakened a Bloodline?”

30? Halfway to 40? Orodan doubted any non-monster upon Alastaia had a Physical Fitness of 95 like he did, and even then, Body Tempering gave him an overwhelming advantage in strength on top of it. Although, without knowledge of it, people might assume Body Tempering to be a Bloodline giving him an advantage.

“Lots of battle and a dash of hard work,” Orodan answered. “Say, want a hand with your warehouse? I could use the practice in putting things together.”

Especially since he had quite a few things he needed to put back together.

“Are you trying to get me beaten? With strength like that, the Burgher will undoubtedly take notice of you, and I’ll be questioned for not informing the militia immediately,” the old man said. “Especially if you acquired it all of a sudden. It must be a Bloodline then? Or a Blessing?”

“It’s definitely not a Blessing,” Orodan immediately corrected. His days of relying upon the power of Gods were behind him. His own sweat and blood were the only true path to strength. “Nor is it a Bloodline. And you don’t have to hire me, I just want to help. I need to test my abilities in Woodworking and Construction.”

“Hmm… well as long as you explicitly tell anyone who asks that it was you who wanted to play around, and not I who tried poaching you,” the old man said. “In any case, I see you’re not willing to say how you acquired your sudden growth in strength. So I won’t pry.”

“I already told you what it was,” Orodan replied. “It’s not like you’ll take it at face value if I say I’ve been through this day thousands of times.”

“Like some sort of time traveler?” the old man asked, an eyebrow quirked up and then he rolled his eyes. “I’m surprised a dunderhead like you has been reading those silly stories. I thought you hated books, Orodan? Regardless, keep your secrets and spare me the jests. Your business is your own. Blessing or Bloodline, I need not know. Time travel… hah!”

Orodan simply smiled in response.

“Whether you buy it or not is your prerogative,” Orodan said, causing the old man to give him a strange look. “Anyhow, let’s get to work. These beams won’t move themselves and there’s plenty of lumber here we can prepare into construction material.”

“If only my crew had a fifth of your work ethic…” the old man muttered.

Which was a bit of an unfair assessment in his opinion. After all, the laborers of Ogdenborough weren’t exactly looking to become wealthy off of laboring, and many of them had secondary jobs which were their main trade. For most laborers, working a stint at a construction site was simply a way to hopefully gain a level or two in Physical Fitness and perhaps a few levels in Laboring. Both of which would

Orodan moved to the wooden beams laying about the area and began moving them in a synchronized manner, hoping to best replicate what he remembered of the warehouse’s building from his prior loops. The old man seemed impressed by his display of strength in pushing massive beams about like they were paper, yet the lack of connection to the System immediately became apparent.

“You… I thought you had the Laboring skill? Are you engaging in some sort of physical training?”

“I do have the Laboring skill, or at least… I did,” Orodan replied. “My current circumstances are a little complicated though.”

Oh, he could move the beams about just fine. Strength wasn’t the issue, and his body was mighty indeed. The problem lay in the fact that he was failing to stack the beams in their correct spots.

Without a connection to the System’s broader knowledge that his skill levels granted him, certain minor differences began adding up. The first few beams he placed were just minorly crooked here and there. Not intentional, just him relying on the crutch the System provided without even meaning to and then realizing it was no longer there.

The System could empower beings to heights beyond the mundane. Yet it also served as a crutch… as a weakness.

Perhaps Orodan was beginning to see now why the Reject might’ve wanted to be rid of it. Yes, the Boundless One empowering it seemed friendly enough, but even setting aside its corruptive nature, the System and reliance upon it… wasn’t true strength. And for a cultivator who knew of life before the System, that must’ve factored into the Reject’s decision to despise it.

Yet… just as a crutch could be limiting…

…so too could the loss of it be liberating.

“Look, your placements are all crooked. Vilia will yell my ear off if we go through building atop slanted foundations,” Old Man Hannegan said. “Do it again, and quit horsing around Orodan. Your Laboring should be level 17 at least, no? You’ve worked with me before and I know you can set a beam straight.”

Orodan dutifully got to work and had another go.

So much of the System simply allowed one to go through repetitive motions and simple grinding. But there was more to it! Without the System, he was forced to truly focus on the most minor of motions, such as lifting and setting a beam down correctly.

This…

…this was real training.

It was what he’d been missing all along!

A mad smile came across Orodan’s face.

What was true mastery if not focusing upon and honing the very basics to perfection? Previously, the System would’ve simply granted him levels for repetitively moving beams, but without it, he was forced to struggle, concentrate and actually improve manually.

Such a simple thing, a problem others would curse. He was essentially being forced to hit a wall right at the beginning, in an act that should’ve been doable by an Initiate-level laborer. To others this wall would’ve been their burden, yet to Orodan this would be the whetstone he sharpened his skills upon.

It was time to correct and shore up all the weakenesses that the System had covered for.

Slowly but surely, progress began to show itself. Not in skill levels, but in hard-earned comprehension, understanding. Genuine improvement!

The first five beams he set were off-tilt, but the next five were truer to where they should’ve been… and the five after that, almost passable. With each beam, he strained his mind, he focused. His reflexes and speed of thought were at the point where he was far faster than sound, and he shamelessly took advantage of this by paying stringent attention during every instant of time.

Five more beams went up.

Imperfect, but better. He brought them down.

Three more went up.

Close, but not quite.

Two more.

Almost.

As he brought the last beam up, he strained with all his mind. He needed perfection.

And it came.

“So that’s how I set the beam correctly…” Orodan muttered.

It would’ve sounded silly to anyone else. Of course that was how a beam was set correctly, why would anyone struggle with such a thing when they had the skill levels? But that was the difference. They had the System, and Orodan didn’t.

He had finally learned how to manually set a foundational beam, by himself, with no System assistance.

The feeling of satisfaction within was strong.

This was what he needed!

“What manner of prank are you playing? It took you all those tries to set a beam straight?” the old man asked, a frown of annoyance on his face. “I don’t know if you’re engaging in some weird form of training, but I can’t afford such things when it might put us behind schedule.”

Of course the old man would say so. To anyone with the System, in a calm and stress-free environment, screwing up on the basics simply didn’t occur. Not when one had the skill levels for it. From Old Man Hannegan’s perspective, Orodan had repeatedly failed something incredibly basic that anyone with a Laboring skill of level 17 should have been capable of.

To mess up the basics just wasn’t possible. Not under the purview of the System.

“I apologize,” Orodan said genuinely. “As I said before, my circumstances are a bit unique. My System’s been damaged. In any case, thank you for humoring me old man.”

“Again with your jokes? If you’ve awakened a Bloodline and it’s making you unstable, simply say so,” the old man said. “You needn’t pull my leg with fanciful tales of your System being damaged. You know what? I think you need a change of pace. My crew’s starting to come in, and my quartermaster needs a hand with organizing the materials in our stockpile. How about you give her a hand so we can work unobstructed? We’ll call upon you if we need anything lifted.”

Orodan accepted his banishment to someplace he couldn’t actively cause a mess. It was fair enough from the old man’s perspective.

The construction site’s materials were arrayed in an organized stockpile. Stacks of lumber, stone, metal fittings and various nails, hinges and the like. There were also tools, other equipment and a corner where the laborers kept their personal belongings and packed lunches for the day.

It was here that Orodan was assigned. A husky woman stood, looking down at a clipboard and grumbling to herself about the supplies; or lack thereof. Her head turned to regard Orodan.

“Oi! You’re the man old Hannegan took on? Rather big one aren’t you? Where you from?” she asked. Orodan didn’t recognize her either, which typically meant that someone was from Scarmorrow or one of the towns from the neighboring Exerston County. Not all of the people working in Ogdenborough were from the town after all.

“I’m from Ogdenborough,” he answered. “The old man’s tasked me with helping his quartermaster. I assume that would be you.”

“Right, that’s me. Bodil Bistrid,” she introduced.

“Bistrid? My corporal in the county militia is-”

“Ah hells, you’re with those useless thugs? What’re you wasting yer’ time here for?” Bodil asked with a frown. “My sister and I don’t talk much. Not since she left to try her hand at the soldier’s life and make something of herself.”

The Volarbury County Militia had a barracks in each town. And specialist units and divisions aside, the average militia soldier was organized into a troop. Corporal Bistrid was the leader of Orodan’s troop, although, learning she had a sister was news to him.

As for the militia being useless thugs…

“You won’t hear me argue otherwise about the militia,” he replied. “Good place to pick up and develop fighting skills though.”

It was a job he’d chosen because it was a quick path to combat skills, action and the beginnings of a better life. Orodan was under no delusions that the county militia were honorable and worked to strictly protect the people. Of course, they did good work, maintained order and kept the county’s citizenry safe. But they still answered to House Firesword, and within Ogdenborough, knew to remain out of the affairs of noble House Argon.

“Is that what this is then? Picking up more skills? I don’t normally see your sort engaging in menial labor,” she spat.

“If most folks in the militia are there to collect an easy salary and get a lazy posting, that’s their problem,” Orodan said. “A true warrior knows to hone their mind and body in diverse ways. I used to work with the old man regularly before joining them.”

“Oh? What’s your Laboring skill at then?” she asked.

“Thirty-four. I used to be a Laboring Apprentice.”

“Used to be?”

“My System was destroyed by a foe capable of shaking our universe,” Orodan answered. “I don’t have access to skills. Not in the way those with a Status are used to.”

For a moment, there was silence.

And then…

…laughter.

“Bwahahaha! That was a good one! Hey, Hannegan! You didn’t tell me this one was a joker with a wild imagination!” she bellowed while cackling. She finally brought herself under control, although still had a smile on her face. “What else? You’re one of the rumored Master-level ancients? Heh. Tell you what, I don’t usually like you militia types, but I suppose you’re not too bad. What’s your name?”

Amusement was apparent in his own face, and perhaps she took it as a sign that it was all one big joke. Orodan was entertained by the fact that his typically headstrong and honest nature wasn’t upending things at the moment. Oh, there would certainly be waves, not even intentionally, but simply for the fact that he didn’t care enough to lie. In fact, his physical strength would draw attention anyways.

Yet, no matter how much the quartermaster laughed, it was the very real truth. Though, expecting them to believe it was a different matter.

For a moment, Orodan had forgotten that Ogdenborough was the poorest town in the Republic of Aden. The people here became quiet and reverential when they saw an Adept, and being able to lay eyes upon Elites was a matter of generational gossip. The Republic’s official education system in martial, magic and crafting academies outside of Bluefire never confirmed the existence of the Master-level and beyond either.

What would these simple folk know of Administrators and Boundless Ones?

“Well, I’m glad to have amused you. I’m Orodan Wainwright.” he answered, a smile on his face. “Though, perhaps we should get to work before the old man finds cause to yell at us?”

“Fine, fine… I can handle the bulk of the organization. All I’ll have you do is throw whatever materials I call off onto that pallet over there,” she said. “Organizing and keeping tally of the logistics is easy work. Can’t say the same for moving these stacks of lumber and stone bricks.”

Easy enough. Orodan got to work and began casually tossing the things she listed off.

Physical size wasn’t the only determinator of strength. A large man could be far weaker than a wispy child provided the youth had a higher level of Physical Fitness. Hence, Bodil was courteous enough to not assume anything of Orodan’s strength and only started off with smaller objects, or one log of lumber at a time.

So when Orodan began throwing the objects to the other side of the work site with the ease a man might toss a pebble… she began taking notice.

“Well… I’ll be… being a big lug is good for something I suppose. How high’s your Physical Fitness, Orodan? I don’t think I’ve seen anyone throw an entire stack of lumber around like that.”

“If I flexed my muscles too hard, I might accidentally destroy the county,” he answered. Or worse.

A ludicrous claim to make, but that was how far the combination of Physical Fitness, Body Tempering and Absolute Body Composition had brought him. The destruction the ancient machine could cause, Orodan was now capable of if he chose to be careless. With just raw physical might, a full-power blow from Orodan could likely destroy all Inuan. What the Eldritch Avatar could do, Orodan could now replicate without even utilizing all his power.

He had grown.

“Ah yes, and you’re also the secret sixth God of the Prime Five and the son of Agathor,” she sarcastically said with an eye roll. “If you don’t want to answer, just say so.”

A son of Agathor? Disgusting. In any case, she clearly didn’t believe Orodan, which was just fine by him.

The work continued, and during a lull, Orodan came up behind her and began looking at her clipboard.

“It’s considered rude to peek over people’s shoulders,” she said. “Just because you’re two heads taller than me doesn’t mean you get to read my inventory sheets.”

“You’re organized,” Orodan said, a statement of fact. “You work with the old man full-time?”

“Hannegan? Nay. He’s good folk, and I’m happy to sidle over and lend a hand whenever he needs, but my main job is with the Republic’s Department of Infrastructure, I’m a supervisor at the Scarmorrow branch,” Bodil answered.

“You’re a little… highly qualified to be working here then, aren’t you?” Orodan remarked.

“Perhaps. But this isn’t a job I took for money, but because ol’ Gregory’s done me a good turn many times over,” she explained. “I was a young girl when we worked under the same carpenter. And that man was a cranky old bat who gave us some unorthodox handicaps to say the least. Hannegan acted the big uncle to me under that nutter’s mentorship, made the time go smoother and hooked me up with some decent jobs after I left.”

“That this will be one of your department’s warehouses played no small part,” Old Man Hannegan said as he popped around a tall stack of lumber. “Regaling the lad with stories of my younger days, are you?”

“Younger? You were starting to gray when I was a green-eared lass,” she retorted. “I don’t know if anyone in town’s older than you.”

“Smart-mouthed runt… who’re you calling old?” he said with a frown of irritation. “In any case, now that you’ve wrapped up here, we could use a hand with the heavy lifting, Orodan. Who knows… with your help we might even get this done a week or two ahead of schedule.”

A week or two ahead of schedule?

The old man underestimated him.

#

“If I had my Action Increases, this would’ve gone even faster,” Orodan said.

Another downside to having his System destroyed was that his ability to make ‘clones’ of himself which could occupy the same instant in space and time to do either the same action or something else, was no longer available.

It hadn’t prevented the job from being done, but it had frustrated him a slight bit as he found himself relying upon something that wasn’t truly his own power. All the better that he could hopefully fix this state of affairs and find a source of strength that was truly his own.

Rebuilding the warehouse hadn’t been too difficult. He’d successfully built it within fifteen minutes in the past, when he’d been a Quest Subject for multiple parties. Of course, without Action Increases and access to the System, everything was quite a bit worse and the foundational holes in his skills were exposed.

Still, the crew was there; as was Old Man Hannegan and Vilia Coventor the architect. And with Orodan to do the heavy lifting, he contributed the equivalent manpower of hundreds if not thousands. Any shoddy work was corrected by those he was working alongside, and as they corrected, they oft gave explanations and the chance to do better on the next attempt.

Orodan’s initial attempts at sawing planks, carving wood, setting up foundations and placing metallic fixtures were sub-par. But by the end of it all, he’d come away with a good chunk of practical experience in working those skills without the crutch provided by the System.

Even in its absence, learning could occur the natural way.

It was some phenomenal training.

“By the Gods… Orodan… you’ll be abducted by the Burgher’s men or worse!” Old Man Hannegan said. “How strong are you?”

“Strong enough that neither the Burgher’s men or these ‘worse’ folks will matter,” Orodan said. And perhaps Bodil didn’t believe it, but given all the old man saw and what he knew of Orodan, he seemed to take it seriously. “In any case. I don’t want to cut it too close for my shift, even if the barracks isn’t far.”

His shift where?

With the county militia of course.

“You’ll be reporting to them then? You could just skip all that, find the mounted unit and demand to be taken to Trumbetton after a display of your skills!” the old man exclaimed. “Why waste time with the local barracks?”

Orodan chuckled and shook his head.

“One can’t neglect the basics, old man. The training yard in the barracks will be a good place to get a good gauge on myself and how my circumstances affect me.”

“At your level of strength… perhaps the captain of the mounted unit might still pose a challenge?” the old man suggested incorrectly but accurately based off of the level of strength Orodan had displayed. “I can’t see anyone in the local barracks being a match for you. I know you’ve been making jokes, but was it truly a Blessing or a Bloodline?”

“I already gave you the answer,” Orodan said.

“Ah yes, you’re a time traveler,” the old man remarked dryly. “One who’s lived the same day thousands of times.”

“What’s so unbelievable about it?”

“I’d expect a time traveller to be an almighty, wise and mysterious individual who acts in subtle ways,” Old Man Hannegan elaborated. “Your dunder-headed tendencies immediately rule you out.”

“Eh? How have I been dunder-headed?”

“You immediately went around making jokes about it, what kind of time traveller would go around telling everyone?” the man posed. “Now enough of that. If you don’t want to say, I’ll respect that. But whispers of your strength will be spreading, and I have no interest in getting caught up in an investigation.”

“Firing me already?” Orodan asked. “I thought I was your best employee.”

“You took dozens of attempts to do the most basic of things!”

Fair enough. And the old man wasn’t wrong. What kind of time traveller would go about informing everyone of their status? Certainly not the previous looper in the Vystaxium Galaxy. And according to the Reject, it was certainly a rare enough occurrence that even the Administrator had been surprised.

Only a dunderhead like Orodan Wainwright would go about telling everyone he was in a time loop. Which was what made it so unbelievable to the average person. How could they know that a time looper such as he, with more stubbornness and determination than common sense, was gallivanting about?

“Alright, alright. I’m getting out of your gray hair,” Orodan said, earning another frown. “Thanks for having me today, old man.”

“Did you gain skill levels at least?” he asked.

“No. But I did gain skill.”

Which, in the absence of the System, was a far more valuable thing.

Orodan stepped away from the work site and made way for the local barracks. It wasn’t a long trip, and he still had some time to spare.

The building looked the same as it always did; moderately sized with an attached training yard and all. A patrol troop swung by around the corner and civilians were coming and going on occasion.

And it was dirty.

#

There were mutters and derogatory remarks about how weird he was. Whispered and only when they felt comfortable that they were out of ear shot, but then again, even before the time loops he’d been the second strongest member of the militia in Ogdenborough. Even before the loops, he’d heard such muttered jokes, but offending Orodan to his face would’ve been stupid.

Still, at least the entirety of the barracks was clean now. Although some folks weren’t too happy about their gear and assigned equipment racks being tampered with in the name of cleaning. Orodan didn’t see what the fuss was about when it would all function better now.

As for his current venture…

A singular swing. Overhand diagonal, from right to left, targeting the neck of the training dummy.

He stopped it at the last instant lest the dummy be carved right through, despite the bulky and imbalanced training sword in his hand.

It didn’t feel any different. Which further reinforced the notion that skills he was intimately familiar with weren’t really affected. Orodan had grown up fighting. Combat and violence were in his blood, it was his very way of being. Unlike his crafting skills or magic, his physical might and ability to commit violence weren’t affected. At least, at this basic level. He would have to run tests at higher levels to see if that notion held up.

Still… it felt a bit strange. Almost as though…

“Your form’s a bit off, Wainwright,” a voice called out from behind.

“Not necessarily, Edrosic. It’s more… liberated,” Orodan replied, turning to face the man.

Parthus Edrosic was a member of Orodan’s troop. The troop corporal was Bryna Bistrid, but Edrosic was another regular militia man like Orodan himself. A bit lazy, and not at all motivated to improve himself the same way Orodan was, if memory served. Even before the loops, he was the man’s better in battle.

“Liberated? That’s the fastest swing I’ve ever seen from you, but it still looked a bit different to what you normally do.”

“You’re not wrong. When the training saddle comes off, naturally some differences are to be expected.”

“Training saddle? You make no sense, Orodan,” the man said, looking a bit perplexed.

“The System. Without its influence, my very form feels a bit less constrained. No… even that isn’t the right word,” Orodan said. “I’ve always been in control, but without the System… there’s nothing to guide my form. In the absence of guidance, my own form can shine.”

The training blade in his hand practically blurred, and three more swings erupted. Raw violence, savagery and unbridled aggression were in them.

Better. Far better than anything he’d managed before while having the System with him.

“O-Orodan…!”

Ah, whoops.

The training dummy had been carved into three separate pieces, and despite him holding back, the powerful gusts of wind which emanated from him sent Edrosic tumbling to the ground.

“Apologies. I failed to hold myself back,” Orodan said, pulling Edrosic to his feet.

“W-were you always this strong? That’s… practically beyond the Adept-level!”

Was it? He vaguely recalled the fact that battles at the Elite-level were where even melee combat between two matched individuals could tear apart the surroundings and send bystanders flying.

“Looping thousands of times has the tendency to make one stronger,” Orodan answered. “In any case. I feel unconstrained by the shackles that previously limited me. But there’s still so much more to learn.”

In fact, what if he took up another weapon? What if he changed his style altogether?

He didn’t think it arrogant to admit that he was something of a natural at combat. Without the System… what if he adapted his insights and combat experience towards other weaponry too?

His System being destroyed might’ve been the single greatest gift Orodan could’ve ever received.

“Looping what now? What are you talking about?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Orodan said, picking up a training halberd from a nearby rack. “I have more training to do.”

A spear wouldn’t have been a bad weapon, but unless the spear-head was designed to allow for cutting, Orodan thought it a bit limited. Halberds on the other hand, could cut and stab. They also had similar anatomy to a spear in that they were long pole weapons which could trip or sweep an opponent alongside bashing with the haft.

A versatile weapon.

That his first mentor also wielded it cemented his decision.

Regardless, nobody became a master in a day. And it showed in his first few thrusts and swings which were more than a bit clumsy and the form was slightly off. Yet, Orodan began to noticeably improve as he began applying his years of combat experience and swordplay to the halberd. He wasn’t a master of the halberd by any means, but experience in swinging a weapon around was still valid experience. And his ability with the sword had some great transference in some mechanics and motions with the halberd.

Maybe he could use it alongside a shield? Could it perhaps be two-handed while also wielding a shield?

Further thoughts on modifying his shield to allow for that were interrupted as his troop’s corporal came up.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Wainwright… you’re picking up the halberd now? And this mess… what happened to the training dummy?” Corporal Bistrid said.

“That was my fault. I became a little overzealous,” Orodan answered, causing the corporal to quirk an eyebrow and give him a serious look. The training dummies were supposedly able to resist attacks up to the near-Adept level. “I’m looking into alternative combat styles. Perhaps I could use the halberd with two hands even with a shield.”

“With a secondary strap to connect the shield to the forearm and shoulder, it’s doable,” she said, perhaps choosing to ignore the display. “I’ve been using my spear and shield like that for years. Here, try mine.”

Bryna Bistrid. Corporal of Orodan’s troop in the Ogdenborough barracks of the militia. Initially, when he’d signed on and been assigned to Ogdenborough, Bistrid had tried challenging him and didn’t seem to like him overly much. Of course, once Orodan had trounced her and established his position as second-strongest in the barracks, she’d gotten quieter and refused to speak to him. The silence between them came to an end after Orodan had turned down the promotion to corporal. At the time, his sights were set on the mounted unit and eventually becoming an Adept and perhaps more.

Orodan caught the shield she threw and slipped the straps on to connect it to his arm and shoulder.

It wasn’t his shield, but this gave him ideas for how he could modify his own. Shield in the left hand, halberd in the right. At first, Orodan launched a few crisp thrusts, wielding it with a single hand. Then, he fluidly threw the shield backwards where it hung off his shoulder, now wielding the polearm with both hands as he launched a barrage of attacks.

In this manner, the shield could remain close at hand while he switched between one-handed and two-handed as needed.

“Fluid motions…” she muttered and caught the shield Orodan threw back at her. “I shouldn’t be surprised. Your Shield Mastery always was pretty good. But… how are you catching on to the halberd so quickly? Transference between your Sword Mastery and Halberd Mastery shouldn’t occur unless one or the other is at least Elite.”

“Which, my Sword Mastery is. Or was, anyways,” Orodan answered, causing her to give him another searching look. “My System was destroyed. Which is turning out to be a colossal boon since I’m now forced to shore up my foundations and train properly.”

“Your System was destroyed? What are you saying Wainwright?” she asked.

“Corporal… before you got here, he carved the training dummy into three pieces. Didn’t look like he was even trying…” Parthus Edrosic muttered.

“Those are supposed to resist Adept-level attacks…” she quietly said. “A Blessing? I always felt that Agathor would look upon and recognize you one day.”

Orodan barely suppressed the frown that threatened to emerge. She was right. Agathor had in fact recognized him on his first death, yet that hadn’t led to a happy ending.

“Not a Blessing. I’ve been through this day thousands upon thousands of times,” Orodan said. “I’m in a time loop.”

“What? You speak nonsense. Are you trying to hide the fact that you’ve awakened a Bloodline perhaps?” she suggested, not entertaining the notion of a time loop. “Noble houses would clamor to have you. You’re all but certain to be granted nobility yourself, even if as a minor noble. There’s no need to hide it, Wainwright.”

“I’d rather not go through the experience of being head of a noble house again,” Orodan said. “In any case, I’d like to get back to practicing with this.”

Bistrid and Edrosic looked more than a bit alarmed. Orodan doubted it was his personality, after all, he’d always been straightforward and dedicated to training and battle. Rather, it must’ve been his strength and the answers he gave as reason for it.

From their perspective, he’d suddenly gained a massive amount of strength. A Blessing or a Bloodline was the only way to really explain it.

In any case, he continued silently training, making a mental note to hit up the blacksmith’s and get some additional leather straps onto his shield later on. And a new halberd.

Time went by, and before he knew it, the head of the barracks arrived.

Sergeant Woodgard.

“Alright you lot, gather ‘round. We have a big day before us and I’m in no mood for any complications,” the Sergeant barked. “And I did say everyone. That includes you as well Wainwright!”

Orodan however simply kept training, absorbed in the motions of the halberd as he worked on committing the basic movements to muscle memory and transferring applicable insights and mechanics from the sword.

“Sergeant… he’s rather different today…” Edrosic said.

“Different? All I see is a fool asking for a beating,” Sergeant Woodgard said as the man’s face turned red and he drew his mace. “Wainwright! I don’t care if Trumbetton thinks you have potential! Get in line or I’ll tan your hide!”

Orodan himself finally turned from the training dummy and towards Woodgard.

Word from the work site was doubtlessly spreading, yet it seemingly hadn’t reached the barracks yet.

“I was working with the halberd, sir,” Orodan said.

“It’s Liberation Day, and you think now’s a good time to pick up a new weapon?” Woodgard asked, sounding a bit perplexed, but his tone low and angry. “Why not? Let’s see if that halberd helps you in a fight.”

Orodan had already disposed of the broken training dummy. And the Sergeant in his hot-headed state didn’t seem to care either way. Prior to the loops, this man had been stronger than him. He gave the man a close fight in their last spar, more than impressive for a seventeen year old. But even if Orodan was a natural at combat and meant for better things, Woodgard still had forty years of experience on him at the time and had a Mace Mastery in the early forties.

Though, these reflections on the past were a bit moot now.

Still, even if Orodan now was someone who could destroy Alastaia, without the System, his weapon skills needed all the honing they could get. Especially the halberd, which he’d picked up less than half an hour ago.

It wasn’t a fight, but an exercise to see if he could make efficient and technical movements with his new weapon while matching his speed and strength to the Sergeant’s.

Woodgard of course didn’t see it that way, and instead came barrelling in with a few probing strikes.

Parried and sent off to the sides, easily too. But he closely examined his own movements of the halberd in response to his opponent’s attacks and began noting the minute flaws.

As expected. The shadow drills against a stationary target dummy made his form seem better than it was. Against a actual opponent where attacks came in at odd angles, it exposed some inefficiencies in his techniques. Plus, he just wasn’t as practiced in wielding a weapon with both hands. Orodan was a sword-and-board fighter, as classical as it got. This was where the System’s crutch became apparent as he would’ve otherwise had no issue in two-handing a weapon, but without System access was forced to manually learn it.

He took care not to allow Woodgard to hit him, mainly because it would shatter the man’s weapon and more than likely cause enough backlash to break an arm or wrist.

In any case, he allowed Woodgard twenty seconds of attempting to get past his defense. It seemed little, but in a fight that was a long time, particularly for an exchange in which one party remained static and defended while the other pressed an attack.

It ended when Woodgard himself began to show some wariness.

“Wainwright… how do you still stand?” the man asked, a surprisingly more respectful tone. “Have you secretly been learning the way of the halberd?”

“No sir, just picked it up for the first time today,” Orodan answered, and then pointed the tip of the training weapon at the Sergeant. “My turn.”

Woodgard’s eyes widened as Orodan surged forward.

It wasn’t a fight, but an exercise in form, technique and seeing the vulnerabilities in his own movements. Unfortunately, Woodgard was too unskilled to expose any further flaws to learn from.

Orodan brought the halberd high, feinted and overhead thrust, and then brought it back around to sweep low. Even while carefully moderating his speed lest he destroy the town and cause mass death, the Sergeant was sent tumbling head over heels.

Any decent fighter knew to recover from a knockdown, and the man consequently caught himself in a hasty handstand, attempting to regain his footing. Of course, Orodan quickly rushed up close, shoved him with the haft of the halberd, and pinned him to the ground.

Woodgard’s mace tried swinging upwards to get Orodan off, but he simply caught the grip and casually pried it from the man’s fingers. His shield was capable of it, but it was interesting to note that a halberd had far more potential synergy with Wrestling and Unarmed Combat. Using the haft of the weapon to grapple, trip and pin opponents was a feasible option.

“Y-you…! How?!” the Sergeant gasped out, pinned beneath the haft of the halberd with Orodan’s weight bearing down. “A Blessing? A Bloodline? You weren’t this strong yesterday!”

“You’re right. But it’s neither Bloodline nor Blessing,” Orodan said, getting up and pulling the Sergeant to his feet as he did. “Just a time loop. Thank you for the spar, Sergeant.”

“A time… loop?” the Sergeant asked, perplexed. “Some manner of power from the God of Time? So you have been blessed then?”

Orodan kept the frown from showing in response. That backstabbing worm Eximus? Capable of empowering a time loop? In his dreams perhaps.

“No, there’s no Bloodline, and definitely no Blessing involved,” Orodan said. “In any case, my apologies for delaying things, but should we not commence with roll call?”

“Roll call? Wainwright, you used a new weapon for the first time and bested me with casual ease,” the Sergeant elaborated. “I’ve sparred a member of the mounted unit in the past, and even she didn’t trounce me with the disregard that you did. If you wish not to give an answer about your strength, it’s not my place to demand it. That being said, if I don’t get an Observer orb reading and send report to Trumbetton the higher-ups in the militia will have my head. The Burgher will undoubtedly want to harness your talents for House Firesword, and he’ll come breathing down the neck of the man who failed to report it. Please… be reasonable…”

“By all means, go ahead and bring out the orb.”

“Y-you’re agreeing?”

“Of course,” Orodan affirmed. “I want to see what it says now that I have no System.”

“No System? What do you mean?” the Sergeant asked.

“The after-effect of being hit with something very bad,” Orodan answered. “In some ways it’s a hindrance, but I’m starting to realize it’s quite the boon.”

Woodgard either didn’t want to push the matter, or thought it was above his head, thus said nothing more. The Observer orb was produced, and Orodan laid a hand upon it, accepting the thrum of a connection and mentally willing it in.

He had grown in his mastery of the soul arts, and while he couldn’t see it before, he could now. The orb simply sent a searching feedback pulse which resonated with the soul of a willing user. In the early days of the loops, even Orodan had to break past the System barriers in order to reach the deeper areas of his soul. The orb couldn’t simply overpower those barriers either.

Rather, it was akin to two hands touching, and the feedback and information was transmitted to the orb. The user had to be willing, but if they were, the orb could touch upon that connection and get a snapshot of one’s Status. To a certain extent and minus any Rewards or Blessings of course.

Consequently, the words out of Woodgard’s mouth weren’t a surprise. Not given his current state.

“It’s… it’s empty… are you sure you willed it?” the Sergeant asked.

“I did. If I denied the connection, the orb would say as much,” Orodan replied. “Rather, it’s just… empty.”

“That does not make sense…”

“On the contrary, it makes far too much sense,” Orodan said. His System had been destroyed. Of course the Observer orb wouldn’t show anything. It got a reading off of the deep parts of the soul and scanned for the System’s skills. Without them… what was there to read?

The Sergeant looked to be in deep thought, and then spoke.

“In any case, your strength is apparent and I’ll be sending for a mounted unit to pick you up. The Burgher will want to meet with you, and from there, I’m sure a grander destiny awaits.”

“Not necessary, sir. I refuse.”

“Refuse?! Why?” the Sergeant asked frantically. “Look at it from my perspective Orodan. The Burgher is oft on the lookout for promising talents in the county. If it appears that I stifled your meeting with the man… I’ll be sacked!”

“I’ll personally take responsibility and mention that you attempted to do your due diligence,” Orodan said. “Besides. I have a patrol at the plaza to get to.”

#

Mount Castarian loomed over Eversong Plaza. In fact, Ogdenborough itself was a town that was landlocked against the gigantic mountain, likely a part of what made the place so poor and limited any expansion opportunities.

Here he was once again.

Not at midnight as he tried early on in the loops where he’d faced Argon mages and the Master-level necromancer. He’d succeeded then and acquired Mana Resistance, but this wasn’t that time of day.

No. This was Eversong Plaza a few minutes from high noon. Just before the address made by the High-Burgher of the Republic. Before the arrival of the soldiers of the Republic and a fated battle in which Orodan Wainwright had died for the very first time and begun the time loops.

In the past, he recalled Parthus Edrosic badgering him with questions of potentially stealing from the stalls and the ire of the guards, but his patrol partner was on the other side of the plaza with Corporal Bistrid. None of his troop wanted anything to do with him after his display of trouncing Woodgard.

It didn’t bother Orodan. Even before the loops, his work ethic and obsession with self-improvement had made him unapproachable to the rest of them. For the majority of the militia in Ogdenborough, it was just a job which provided a living and hopefully got them some minor status above laborers and civilians. None of them saw it as the path to martial excellence that he did.

And of course, the goons of House Argon were around. One of them, giving him a sneer.

“Wainwright, your little partner run off and leave you alone?”

Orodan vaguely recognized the man as one of the thugs he’d challenged a number of times while growing up. The beatings had been vicious, but they’d made him tough and given him experience in fighting.

“I beat Sergeant Woodgard earlier today, so they’re keeping a distance,” Orodan answered.

“Really? That red-faced dog isn’t half-bad. And you beat him? Why remain with those militia weaklings? Join us. My captain Buximus would see you fast tracked into a good position within the employ of our lord.”

“I’ll pass. I intend on killing your lord and his son so that might present a conflict of interest,” Orodan casually replied.

“Your loss, Wainwr- wait, what did you just say?”

“You heard me. Baron Viglas Argon and his son will die today.”

Further conversation was cut off as a troop of riders from the mounted unit came in on armored horses. Their captain had his eyes set on Orodan.

“You must be Orodan Wainwright. I am-”

“Keharion Taj, right?” Orodan finished.

“You know of me?”

“Might’ve met you a few times.”

“Truly? I don’t recall such a thing,” the captain said. “I digress, pleasantries may come later. I’m here to escort you to Trumbetton. Sergeant Woodgard of the Ogdenborough barracks has given us report of your newly awakened abilities, and the Burgher is always on the lookout for talent. A better life and greater opportunities await.”

“Unfortunately, I have some business I need to resolve here first. In fact, I suspect that those angry-looking soldiers of the Republic are here for similar matters,” Orodan said, pointing to the group of armed and armored troops in Republican military attire.

And simultaneously, the announcement from the High Spire of Karilsgard rang out.

“To the brave and hard-working citizens of the glorious Republic of Aden, I High-Burgher Sarvaan Ilsuan Arslan, leader of your elected council, speak to you today in celebration and commemoration of the one hundred and twentieth anniversary of our liberation from the Novarrian Empire.”

Orodan tuned out the remainder of the speech as he’d heard it enough time before.

The tension was palpable. The soldiers of the Republic were making a beeline for the tavern, the House Argon guards on the balconies looked to have caught on. A group of griffin riders in the distance were in the middle of hurling a fireball towards the tavern, and the House Argon guard he’d relayed his intentions to had his weapon drawn.

Things were coming to a head, and it was time to fight.

Or in Orodan’s case, time to practice with another weapon.

His new halberd - taken from the barracks armory - swept upwards to parry the axe swing coming for his head, which was followed by a quick tap to the head with the shield rim to knock the Argon guard out. He kept his speed at a low level, meant to match his foes. Sure, he could kill them all, but fighting against people of various styles in melee was a good way to become more familiar with the weapon.

His shield, with a new strap added on, allowed for it to be quickly and rapidly slung over the arm or shoulder. This allowed him to utilize the halberd with both hands while the shield still hung off his arm or shoulder. Of course, he could also wield the halberd with one hand and the shield with the other. Which, if Orodan was being honest, dramatically improved his skill.

He typically fought with weapon in one hand and shield in the other. Naturally, using the halberd in such a manner made him more effective than if he used with two hands. Of course, this meant that training with both hands was of paramount importance.

The soldiers of the Republic were engaged in a pitched melee against the troops of House Argon. The rapidly dropping bodies of Argon troops indicated which side was winning that exchange. At the same time, the fireball cast by the leading griffin rider finally impacted the magical shield surrounding the tavern, and the explosion of force sent multiple people flying.

Orodan himself ignored the shockwave and instead walked towards the tavern.

“County militia! We’re under attack! Face the attackers! Defend your county!” ordered a burly-looking member of House Argon. An Elite. The man saw Orodan walking towards him and immediately decided that he was a threat. Warhammer met halberd, and the melee ensued.

“You’re no militia man… who are you?” the Argon Elite asked as they engaged in a deadlock where Orodan had to hold back lest he send the man through a mountain.

“A time traveller,” Orodan replied, and disengaged to sweep the man’s legs with the haft of his halberd.

The attempt was successfully read and the Argon Elite jumped over the sweep…

…only for Orodan to stop it mid-sweep and suddenly sweep upwards, right between the man’s legs. Wooden haft connected with flesh, and the squelch would’ve made any other man or woman cringe.

The Argon Elite collapsed with a squeal, and Orodan sent the piercing end of the halberd through his head to end the foe.

His opponent had read the sweep and reacted, but Orodan was still a natural at combat and could adapt on the fly. Even lowering his speed to their level, he still outstripped them.

The next foe though, he wasn’t too sure he could replicate the feat with.

“By Agorhiku… they killed that fat fool already? Unblooded, get out there and show them what Guzuharan blood is made of.”

Ovuru World-Drinker. A Master-level warrior and the warchief of the Leviathan tribe, a raider clan out of Guzuhar. Orodan was rather big, but this half-ogre raider warchief was a foot and a half taller, standing at eight feet.

This was the foe that had given him his very first death. This was where the time loops started.

The Apprentice-level raiders gave Orodan a wide berth, perhaps they’d seen how quickly he killed an Elite. Instead, Ovuru was sizing him up.

“You’re one of them town militia? Bit too strong to be playin’ around with them, aren’t you?” Ovuru asked.

“And you’re a bit far from home, aren’t you?”

“Home is wherever the call of blood and the divine power of Agorhiku guides me,” Ovuru said. “His Blessing protects my tribe and guides us in search of riches and war.”

“Ah yes, war. Is that what you call the slaughter of innocent traders and caravan followers?” Orodan asked. “My parents died to your ilk in a raid long ago, though I was too young to remember them. You raiders are the reason I grew up an orphan.”

“You think to lecture me Adenian, yet you stand differently to the rest of your soft-spined countrymen. The death in your eyes, the grip on that weapon… you’re no whelp. You’re a warrior. Your upbringing was a gift, it made you what you are. You should thank Agorhiku for the man you are today.”

“The only thanks your wretched God will receive is my blade upon his neck,” Orodan declared. “Once upon a time, I stood here. I faced a warrior’s death, and began a journey which changed everything. Funny how it all comes back to the beginning no matter how far I go.”

“What nonsense are you on about? Enough talkin’, fight me that I may make tribute to Agorhiku.”

“Certainly. I wouldn’t want to deny him the blood of his own follower.”

Great axe met halberd, and the shockwave sent all other combatants flying back.

Orodan could easily slaughter Ovuru, but that wasn’t the goal. His intent was to work on his technique, to learn. In the absence of the System and its guidance, the opportunity to develop his own style of combat involving multiple weapons presented itself.

He’d learned a lot of magic, but it was time to hunker down and focus on the basics tenets of the warrior once more.

Their weapons met, and Orodan took care to limit his strength and speed to Ovuru’s level. He sought to win not through power, but skill. Unfortunately…

…he was still a beginner with the halberd.

The disengagement from the deadlock was read by his foe, and Orodan’s attempt to hook the halberd and pull Ovuru’s great axe downwards was anticipated as the Guzuharan parried the subsequent thrust.

“What kind of hook was that? With a move like that you might as well bloody call it out,” the warchief said. “Flipping the blade before reaching my weapon signals exactly what your intentions are. Do you even know how to use that thing?”

Admittedly, it was only his first day of using the halberd, but he hadn’t even considered that flipping sides was essentially telegraphing his intentions. Oh, he’d read it in his opponents often enough, but he did it so instinctively that he’d not considered he was broadcasting his intent himself.

A sword was a slashing weapon on both edges, so he was unfamiliar with the concept of flipping a weapon to use one side over the other. The flip was a tell in combat, and he hadn’t even noticed he was doing it.

“I don’t actually,” Orodan answered. “Just started using the halberd today. I normally use a sword and shield.”

“Tch… holding back on me, are you? Let’s see if you can still do that.”

Ovuru roared. It was a deep and guttural thing, and wisps of blood began emanating from the ogre-barbarian.

His resistance skills, Divine Resistance in particular, was hard earned. And it didn’t seem particularly affected by the loss of his System. It allowed him to get a vague feeling of divine power emanating from the Guzuharan warchief.

Suddenly, the ogre approached, full of rage and fury. Intent on changing the tide of the battle.

And Orodan casually matched the increased speed and strength once more.

Ovuru’s eyes were wide with shock and a bit of fear.

“Damn it all! Who are you?! There aren’t supposed to be any Grandmasters here today!” Ovuru shouted. “Draw your real weapons, fight me seriously! Your techniques with that halberd are pitiful! I can see it in your eyes, you withhold the violence within!”

The Grandmaster non-interference pact between the Republic and Novarria. He’d almost forgotten about that. Strange to think that he was technically violating it now.

“The halberd’s a bit shaky I’ll admit, though the progress isn’t bad for day one,” Orodan said as he caught Ovuru in another weapon deadlock which was quickly transitioned into a grapple where he used the haft to trap Ovuru’s arm. “And violence? I don’t think you’d last very long if I became truly violent. That’s something I reserve for enemies worthy of it.”

Taking a hand off the halberd, Orodan delivered three square punches and pulled his foe’s head down for a brutal knee before throwing Ovuru away. The ogre-barbarian’s face was a bloody mess, and it was a good display of combining halberd techniques with Wrestling and Unarmed Combat Mastery. Combat was a multi-faceted thing, and having a weapon didn’t preclude someone from utilizing grapples and unarmed strikes.

“Kill me then, let me die and return to Agorhiku!” Ovuru roared, blood pouring down his face.

“If that’s what you wish, I’ll oblige. Though, with me coming for your foul God, I give no assurances of how long you’ll have,” Orodan said as his halberd was raised skyward. “A good training exercise. I learned much about using the halberd today. You have my thanks.”

“Keep your thanks to yourself, Adenian… you have no reason to thank me.”

“On the contrary, I have much to thank you for. After all, you’re the one who helped me begin this entire journey. Once, I was an Apprentice-level militia man whose lust for battle got him killed against a Master-level warchief, only to wake up again on the day of. The journey since then has made me grow… so thank you, Ovuru World-Drinker.”

The halberd descended, and a head tumbled to the ground.

Mercy wasn’t an option. Orodan hated raiders to the core. They were the reason his parents were dead and he’d grown up an orphan.

Honor, respect and courtesy were things that he tried to abide by. But they were separate from the natural decisiveness he held against his enemies. Certain enemies and the grudge Orodan held for them… could only be resolved through the finality of death.

Behind him, the soldiers of the Republic had mostly won, so with the smallest of flares from Incipience of Infinity, Orodan made sure to obscure himself in a cloud of soul energy as he set foot inside of the tavern.

#

The trip down through the tunnels had been mostly uneventful save his meeting with and subsequent slaying of the Master-level necromancer who’d tormented him for many loops.

He’d fought actual Arch-Devils in the hells. Her undead demonic pet simply didn’t compare in any way.

The Novarrian penal battalions simply let him through, and he knocked out the rest of the loyalists who were determined to stand their ground.

It was with a shove that the giant metal gates were thrown off their hinges and smashed into the walls of the central control chamber.

The ancient machine.

It looked much as it always did. Except, Orodan now knew far more about it.

It had been built by the Custodian and placed upon Alastaia as an aid for Orodan himself. Although, from what W78 and the Custodian had said, it’d been built incomplete, by intention lest things from the other side catch notice. As it currently was, the ancient machine could open a passage to the hells. However, when built correctly and powered to full… it could theoretically take one to the very center of the System itself, into the strange space where the Boundless One empowering it all resided.

“It’s him. The one who slew Fausta and the Guzuharan warchief,” a voice called out. It was Baron Viglas Argon, the head of noble house Argon.

Next to him, Lord Aeglos Argon and the Novarrian Duke Arestos.

“Wait, he’s almost certainly a Grandmaster,” Duke Arestos said. The energies of the ancient machine’s core looked to be under the man’s control for the moment. “You… why do you violate the Grandmaster non-interference pact? Our own Grandmasters are heading here as we speak.”

“And yet, that doesn’t help you now, does it?” Orodan asked.

“Correct. Let me warn you then; we have the full power of this machine under our control,” Duke Arestos said. “A Grandmaster you may be, but such a quantity of mana attuned to the dimensional forces exploding in so small an area will kill even you! Attack us, and it shall be mutually assured destruction.”

“A sensible threat to make,” Orodan said, as he focused on the thread of connection between the ancient machine’s core and the Novarrian. “However, not only would such an explosion not even tickle, it would only serve to empower me. Mana is of little use.”

“You bluff, even a Grandmaster cannot endure such power at point blank ran-”

The mana within the ancient machine’s core wasn’t supplied by Duke Arestos, nor did it belong to the man. Consequently, the connection the Novarrian had painstakingly established between himself and the core was dirty and tenuous.

Domain of Perfect Cleaning shot out and did its work. System or not, that skill seemed entirely unaffected by his current state.

“T-the connection!” Duke Arestos exclaimed in shock.

Powerful blasts of fire came his way, and Orodan simply ignored it all as he walked towards the source.

The first to fall was the Baron’s son. Lord Aeglos’s head tumbled to the floor. The man was a torture artist, and Orodan vividly recalled the torture room on the second floor of the tavern.

“He closes in! Duke Arestos! Help m-”

Baron Viglas Argon’s head suddenly had the pointy end of a halberd sticking out the back of it.

The Novarrian drew his sword and shield and immediately launched a desperate attack in the hopes of catching Orodan off-guard. He limited himself to around the Duke’s level, and the clash of melee began.

The Duke was good, likely the strongest Master-level fighter between Novarria and the Republic. And yet… even with a halberd, Orodan simply saw holes upon holes.

“Don’t tilt the shield into an attack until the last moment,” Orodan said as he sent thrusts towards the man. “Tilting too early signals your intentions and which part of the shield is weaker against impact.”

“Why you…!” the Duke roared. “You’re not even good with that halberd!”

“I concur. I only picked it up today,” Orodan said. “You however, lack understanding of how to use the shield. And it’s supposed to be your bread and butter.”

The Novarrian was technically far stronger than Ovuru, and yet, even with strength and speed carefully matched so as not to overwhelm, Orodan still found the Duke to be an easier contest of skill. The main reason being that Orodan himself was a sword and shield fighter, and before his System was destroyed, a Shield Master.

If anyone was best suited to beating a shield user, it was someone who knew the ins and outs of shield fighting.

The Duke made the classic mistake of seeing the shield not as a weapon, but a purely defensive implement. It tied back to the idea that two people could be at the same skill level but different levels of ability. Orodan was certain his comprehensions in the shield were better.

A few more probing thrusts were sent by Orodan, sensing the Duke’s vulnerabilities, until at last…

…he flipped the halberd and went for an attempt to hook the top of the shield and bring it down.

“Telegraphed! Flipping the halberd first signals your intentions!” the Duke roared.

“I know, yet you bit on the feint,” Orodan said.

The Duke shucked off the hook attempt, yet had left himself open in the process. Orodan’s halberd came around in a sweeping motion, yet the Duke’s shield lowered to meet that too!

Which was fine, as his real intention had been to close the gap and get right up to the shield. The Duke’s sword was behind the shield, and the line of attack was closed off at this angle. The halberd was blocked off by the shield, and Duke Arestos’s eyes met Orodan’s own.

Only for the Novarrian to receive a crushing punch to the nose, followed by a bash to the face by Orodan’s own shield.

“The shield isn’t simply a defensive implement,” Orodan said as he rammed the Duke into the wall of the central control chamber with his shield. “It can be used to facilitate grappling, pin opponents in place, and create openings for unarmed attacks.”

The Duke was cornered, his shield raised high, and yet Orodan delivered two knee strikes to the man’s exposed legs which caused him to buckle and fall to the ground.

Orodan kicked him away, sending him skidding across the ground like a pebble.

“Why?! Why butcher us without mercy?! We surrender! Just leave us be!” Duke Arestos pleaded.

“Surrender? Would you have allowed the people of Volarbury County to surrender once the machine was activated?” Orodan asked.

The look upon the Duke’s face was all the answer he needed.

A barren wasteland roiling with deadly red energies. The people of Volarbury County were never given a chance every time the ancient machine was activated. Old Man Hannegan, Vilia Coventor, little Aliya and healer Casterton in Scarmorrow. What chance did this Novarrian intend to give them?

If one was willing to butcher innocents at a whim, then one shouldn’t be offended if they too were butchered in return.

“Pick up your sword and shield. I offer you the chance to die standing,” Orodan said as he approached, halberd in hand. “More than you would’ve given the people of Volarbury County.”

“This is… this is an execution! Novarria will not let this lie! Our Grandmasters will find you!” the Duke angrily said. “I will draw no weapon. Let the stain of executing a surrendering man be upon you.”

“Ah, you seem to be under the impression that I care,” Orodan said. “Unfortunately…

The halberd came down.

“…I do not”

And a head with it.

Orodan was all too happy to offer honorable ends to his adversaries. Yet if they refused? He had no qualms with executing the foe where they stood.

The seventeen year old Orodan had been far bloodthirstier upon his entry into the time loops. He’d grown up in Ogdenborough and death was a natural companion. Yet, over time, he’d tempered himself and recognized his wrongdoings. He wasn’t the callous young man he’d been. He had learned the value of mercy, but that didn’t mean he’d forgotten the necessity of killing.

Mercy was for the soldiers of House Argon who had no direct say in the usage of the ancient machine on civilians. Mercy was for foes who’d shown it themselves and avoided the wanton butcher of innocents. But for those who would happily slaughter others for no fault of theirs? The likes of Duke Arestos and Baron Viglas Argon? They were fit for no more than the blade.

Whether such scum surrendered or not made little difference to the final fate Orodan dispensed upon them.

Still, the fighting was now over. The Grandmasters of Novarria would undoubtedly be coming by to check in on the situation. The core of the ancient machine had yet to be drained. But, before that… Orodan pulled an item out.

A scrying orb.

A simple pulse of soul energy directed into it, and it captured a perfect image of the ancient machine within it for later viewing.

The ancient script upon it was incredibly advanced, and Orodan would undoubtedly need to learn multiple runic languages, crafts and the like in order to stand a chance at rebuilding it to the point where it could access the deep bowels of the System.

Sorrow pulsed briefly as he wished W78 was around to advise him. Yet, he suppressed the memory for now. In honor of his friend, Orodan would not rest.

The scrying orb was then deposited into his soul storage. Even though she still appeared to be slumbering, Orodan mentally apologized to Zaessythra for crowding up her room.

The machine was swiftly drained, and although All-Consuming Rage seemed far less effective than he remembered, it still got the job done.

And as he heard the furious approach of Novarrian Grandmasters…

…he leapt down an open venting tunnel and deep into the depths.

#

As expected, any hope of pursuing him had died when he’d entered the depths. The hole he’d jumped down had led all the way to the deep depths, and no singular Grandmaster with a sense of self-preservation would casually enter in pursuit of a foe.

And although he’d made his way back up to the surface easily enough, there’d been some interesting observations in the depths.

For starters. Monsters - who were normally famed for their instincts - just couldn’t sense his level of strength anymore. It wasn’t to say that they all wantonly attacked him, but that they simply couldn’t get an instinctual sense of his power level. That had in fact spooked most of the powerful monsters into avoiding him altogether.

It made him suspect whether their instincts were tied to sensing a System part of the soul, but he couldn’t confirm it.

They had sensed him moving about physically, but until coming face to face with Orodan, simply didn’t understand that they were incapable of getting an instinctual sense off of him. Frankly, one stalking phase spider had even spoken and said that it was like he was a rock… no detectable soul.

Which was again, false, as Orodan did have a soul. But it made him wonder how tied to the System parts of the soul such instincts were. Did the same apply to tracking as well?

In any case, he’d made surface in the Aenechean Forest through a combination of traversing the tunnels upwards and simply climbing through rock like a fish swimming in water.

From there, a small bit of walking had taken him to Velestok, a town bordering the Aenechean Forest and not terribly far from Ogdenborough, but more so in the northern part of Volarbury County while his home town was in the south.

As he walked the streets he saw no diviners of the Cathedral hunting for him, although he did see a priest who gave him a frown and a strange look. Likely his soul. The scouts and watchers around town seemed remarkably on-edge. Which made sense given the recent events involving the ancient machine.

A patrolling troop of the county militia were passing by, stopping and interrogating any newcomers to town, and the corporal spotted him.

“Hold, I don’t recognize you. State your name and business in Velestok traveller,” she said.

“Orodan Wainwright,” he answered. “Here looking for work at the House Simarji lumberyard.”

“Alright then, go on… wait- Wainwright? We were told to keep watch for you,” the militia woman said. “Corporal, this man says he’s Orodan Wainwright.”

“Have I run afoul of the law?” Orodan asked.

“Er… no,” the troop corporal said as he walked over. “The militia’s been looking for you though. They listed you as missing since the chaos at Ogdenborough. Normally that’d be marked as desertion, but it’s not so on the records. Rather, we were told to have you escorted to Trumbetton if we came across you.”

“Unfortunately that won’t be a possibility,” Orodan replied. “I’ve come seeking work at the lumber yard.”

“I see… if you don’t mind me asking, were you there first-hand? What even happened?” the corporal asked. The Battle of Ogdenborough was a big event. For most people, such a thing was life changing. Naturally, the man was curious.

“Aye, I was there. House Argon betrayed the Republic and joined Novarria in trying to awaken an ancient machine under Mount Castarian,” Orodan explained, and the corporal’s eyes widened as he spoke. “They were planning on using it to destroy all of Volarbury County.”

“What? That’s rubbish! I hear it was a border skirmish between the Republic and Novarria, but this nonsense about a machine is surely fabricated?” the militia woman spoke up.

“Not at all. The Novarrians and House Argon were working alongside Guzuharan raiders too,” Orodan said.

“I knew it!” the troop corporal exclaimed. “I always knew those nobles were up to no good inside of that place! Been to Eversong Plaza once in my life, and never again! The trinkets they sell are overpriced, and the produce of dodgy quality!”

“Corporal… don’t tell me you actually believe this nonsense about a machine and Guzuharans? There’s no way in the hells the Prime Five would allow those dirty savages onto our land,” the militia woman said.

“They haven’t published the paper yet, so we’ll see tomorrow how true it is,” the corporal said. “You were there though? What’d you see?”

“Killed a few Guzuharans, slew some traitors and dealt with the Novarrians,” Orodan said.

The corporal rolled his eyes.

“Right, and I’m the King of Alastaia. If you don’t want to tell, quit pulling my leg and say so. Anyhow I assume it’s classified info and you can’t tell. Is that why they want you in Trumbetton?”

“I don’t care about Trumbetton,” Orodan said. “They’re probably going to try and recruit me and it’ll cause a whole mess when I have to beat up a bunch of people in the process of saying no.”

“Right… odd one you are… don’t know why you’re in Velestok seeking work with the Simarjis, but it ain’t any business of mine,” the corporal said.

“Corporal… shouldn’t we have him escorted to Trumbetton? Orders are-”

“Lass, we’re in Velestok. House Simarji calls the shots here, and I don’t quite fancy having Count Rohanus’s men strongarm us if we try to push the issue. Orders are well and good, but the Simarjis don’t like us enforcing the law here, they handle it themselves,” the corporal said. “Be on your way, Orodan Wainwright. We won’t meddle in your business.”

He bade them farewell and carried on. The familiar pathways of Velestok eventually took him to the lumber yard and forest preserves of House Simarji.

The place was well-guarded, and workers could be seen sawing logs, processing the wood and carrying the products from yard to storage. Additionally, some of the guards were helping carry logs and trees as well, good training in the course of guard duty.

He spotted a familiar dwarven supervisor yelling orders at the workers.

“Got room for another hand?” Orodan asked.

“There’s an Observer orb in the office, register with the clerk and we’ll get you started,” the dwarf said while not even looking away.

“Observer orbs won’t work.”

“Got some secrets to keep, do you?” the dwarf asked.

“Not really, my System’s been destroyed and the orb can’t really read that,” Orodan said.

The dwarf went silent for a moment, it appears that Orodan had truly caught the dour-faced supervisor off-guard.

“Well… that’s a new one. I’m Ogrik Dothrilrock, the supervisor here. And if you’re trying to pull a prank I will have you throw into the forest,” the dwarf said. “You’re carrying too many weapons to just be a laborer. You a soldier?”

“I don’t have time for jokes,” Orodan replied. “I’m with the county militia, but seeking new employment. In fact, let me just show you what I’m capable of.”

The dwarf seemed to appreciate Orodan’s straightforward nature. Without much fanfare he walked up to a tree, placed both hands around it, and simply pulled it out of the ground and tossed it down. He then borrowed a nearby saw and began rapidly working. Sawing wooden beams, boards and the like.

The dwarf supervisor’s arms were crossed, and he had a frown on his face.

“What level’s your Woodworking?”

“Right now? Probably zero,” Orodan answered. “Used to be 67 though.”

“Alright, enough with the nonsense. What do you mean used to be?”

“I was struck by an attack from a Boundless One and had my System destroyed,” Orodan honestly answered.

“What in Varkir’s name…” Ogrik said and then massaged his temple. “Look, if it were anyone else, they’d be thrown headfirst into the forest by now. But your work is exceedingly strange.”

“Good in some aspects, yet flawed in many of the basics?” Orodan posed.

“Exactly so. Some of the fine details on these pieces are excellent, it would find you employ anywhere,” Ogrik elaborated. “And yet you can’t even saw a beam straight. Is your skill level low and you’ve perhaps awakened a Bloodline? Or is it a Blessing?”

“Neither. I did not lie about my circumstances,” Orodan said.

To his credit, the dwarf actually gave Orodan a serious look.

“I don’t know what a Boundless One is, and I’m not even going to try and understand. What I will say, is that your work is what I’d describe as unreliably good. And in this line of work, I need reliability as much as I need muscle and hard work,” Ogrik said. “There’s no way I can take you on as a regular laborer when the standard of these logs is rather… suspect.”

“I’ll take that as a no then.”

“Hold your goats. I said I couldn’t take you on as a regular worker,” Ogrik clarified. “On the other hand, with strength like that, who needs anyone else? There’s definitely a place for you when we need things lifted. But before I take you on, answer me this: what are you after here?”

“Skill.”

“You mean skills?”

“No, I mean skill. I had skills, but what I need, is actual skill. Independent of the crutches I was unknowingly relying on,” Orodan explained. “I need to shore up my foundations and develop myself.”

“I don’t understand and won’t pretend to. But there’s always space for eccentrics around here,” Ogrik said. “You’ll be paid triple the rate of a regular worker and we’ll utilize you for lifting whenever we need it. Additionally, when not lifting, we’ll have you help organize the stores and nearby warehouse. And aside from that, you’re free to use the discarded materials or trees we deem unfit for material for your own practice. Is that agreeable?”

“Quite so. I’m ready to start here and now.”

#

The next two days went rather smoothly.

He uprooted entire trees, carried dozens at a time upon his shoulder and was a one-man workhorse. At the same time, arranging the materials in the warehouse and finished products in storage was giving him a good head for organization and logistics. And in his free time, he simply practiced woodworking on the refuse material.

In just two days, he’d begun to slowly patch up the holes in his understanding and work on the foundations. It was soothing.

Needless to say, people talked, and he knew he was being watched. Mostly, they avoided him, as they feared him breaking them in half. High-level people lived in a world different to the one the average person did. The people he worked alongside were polite and respectful, but were almost afraid to hold conversations with him. Not when he’d displayed such physical might.

Throughout it all, Volarbury County and the Republic went on. The papers were published, detailing a censored yet somewhat accurate report of the Battle of Ogdenborough. It detailed how Republican and Novarrian leaders were at odds with one another, and how war might erupt any day. It spoke of the Guzuharan incursion and alliance with the Novarrians, about House Argon’s treachery and how their assets were seized, and how the public was urged to remain on the lookout for any ‘glowing spirits’.

The last one was certainly a nod to his involvement. Behind the scenes he was certain the Novarrians were seething at the violation of the non-interference pact. Even the Republic was doubtlessly trying to discover the identity of this unknown Grandmaster.

He’d occasionally see two dragon riders, Ulrusdun and Arkulnir, flying about, likely in displays of strength to dissuade Novarria from trying anything. And he’d even felt the brief tendrils of an incredibly subtle psionic web trying to acquire information. Likely the elves.

Orodan had lashed out and purified it with his Domain, causing the immediate retraction of the remainder of it, and a likely panic within Eldiron’s intelligence network.

Halfway into the third day was when a familiar old man finally approached.

Orodan uprooted a tree and laid it down upon the ground as the old man stared at him.

“Sword and shield, but a halberd as well?” the old man asked.

“I primarily use the sword and shield, but have been trying my hand at the halberd recently,” Orodan said. “Useful weapon. Allows one to cut, pierce and grapple with the haft.”

“Oh? To see someone espouse the virtues of the halberd does always brighten my mood.”

“Ah, yes… I wonder why,” Orodan dryly said, making sure to let his gaze visibly linger upon the wrapped up pole-weapon on Adeltaj’s back.

“You’re more observant than you look,” Adeltaj said.

“And you’re more prone to reckless acts of heroics than I’d like,” Orodan said, and Adeltaj looked confused.

“Pardon me young man, but do we know one another?” the old Simarji asked.

“You know… I’m probably older than you are by now,” Orodan said. “Shouldn’t it be I who calls you young man?”

“Who are you?”

“Why… a student of yours. Someone who’s had the displeasure of meeting you a few too many times for my liking,” Orodan said.

“Explain yourself.”

“Well, Adeltaj Simarji. I’m Orodan Wainwright. And I’m in a time loop.”

#

“This is ridiculous… the fanciful tales you young folk come up with these days.”

“Is that how you speak to your elders, old man? Lest you forget, I’m a few thousand years old.”

“Unbelievable… aren’t you supposed to look a bit more grayed then?” Adeltaj asked. “And how can you call me an old man when you’re supposedly older than me.”

“I’ve always called you old man. I won’t stop now just because I’m older,” Orodan said. “Besides… in terms of the years I experienced as myself… discounting the time I spent empowering the time loop, I suppose I’m not older than a century yet.”

“And yet you’ve already achieved so much. Half the things you tell me sound entirely unbelievable,” Adeltaj said. “Even the most disreputable of bookstores would not sell such indulgent fiction.”

“And yet…” Orodan said, waiting for Adeltaj to continue.

“Your abilities, your soul… and your knowledge… it corroborates your tale. That and the recent happenings in Ogdenborough. You’re the one the Republic and Novarria are looking for. It’s a good thing your soul’s damaged in such a way, I don’t think any fate or soul based trackers can find you at all,” Adeltaj said, nursing his bruises. They’d engaged in a brief spar so that Orodan could ‘prove’ his claims. He’d perhaps enjoyed running Adeltaj ragged a bit much. “Still… to think you’ve gained so much strength in so short a time.”

“I couldn’t have done it without my mentors,” Orodan said.

“Yes, but surely you’ve had many of them. How was I responsible for your current level of power?”

“I’ve had many mentors, yet the first one is sitting before me,” Orodan said, and Adeltaj was silenced at those words. “The skill I used to empower the entire time loop, I unlocked the preceding Mythical skill for the first time while sparring against you.”

“That must have caused a headache… oh wait… is that where the Goddess of Fate first began her hunt for you?” Adeltaj asked.

“Quite so. It took me a good while before I grew strong enough to strike back against that wicked tyrant,” Orodan said.

“And your System… do you truly not have one? It sounds like the stuff of outrageous fiction, to not have a System,” Adeltaj said. “We all have a Status, the System permeated every bit of our lives. To have it taken away… is this powerful foe truly so dangerous?”

“Whoever rescued me certainly thought so, as did the Boundless One empowering the System,” Orodan explained. “And given my current state… I’d say it’s certainly proved its deadly power.”

“Boundless Ones… the System… Administrators, the Eldritch… I’m afraid an old man like me just can’t keep up with all these new happenings,” Adeltaj said. “Life’s a lot simpler when all I care for is this world and what’s upon it.”

“You’re not even a thousand years old…” Orodan muttered. “Though, I see what you’re saying. Life’s a lot easier when only one thing’s before you. The larger my world gets, the more weight is upon my shoulders.”

“Not that you seem to have a problem bearing it. Contesting God in a battle of willpower? Facing down this Boundless One? You’ve made the most of these time loops and grown well,” Adeltaj said, and Orodan felt a thrum of pride.

“There’s always more growing to do, and many opponents before me. Hells, I can’t even fight a peak-Transcendent in a fair battle yet,” Orodan said. He’d cleansed peak-Transcendents using his Celestial skill, but needed to grow capable of fighting them head-to-head. “And ahead of me are those at the Embodiment-level and the Administrators at the very peak of it. And I still have to repair my System. I know a man who might be a good starting point for it, but it’ll involve me learning many new skills and perhaps re-learning a few more.”

“Then why not join an academy?”

Orodan’s face soured.

“No thanks. Been there, done that enough times.” he said. “I was hoping to work on my crafts and skills for a few long loops while my… companion, recovers.”

He still didn’t know exactly what Zaessythra was to him. He was said to be stupid, but he wasn’t blind. She’d kissed him, and he… hadn’t minded it. Still, with her slumbering and so much ahead of him, it was easier to push the issue off than discuss it. A very brave and mature thing to do.

“Exactly… why not join an academy as a crafting student?” Adeltaj asked. “You realize that part-time students exist, correct? You would be sponsored by my house and work for me the majority of the time.”

“And what would the work entail?”

“Not much, just use your muscle once in a while and spend the remaining time honing your skills and going wherever you need to,” Adeltaj clarified. “That way, you’d still have access to training, educational material and instructors while remaining independent.”

That…

…didn’t sound like the worst idea.

Orodan’s initial knee-jerk reaction came from the negative memories he had of Bluefire and how he’d fallen in with House Firesword. He’d watched his mentor Arvayne become controlled by Agathor and experienced the attempt at forced control himself at the end of that loop where Agathor, Eximus and Ilyatana had possessed him.

“I… can tentatively accept this,” Orodan said. “Still, I should warn you that I might be leaving the Republic from time to time, and even permanently, in search of answers and knowledge. Eldiron might well be a destination of mine.”

“I see no problem with this,” Adeltaj said. “You needn’t even tell me when or where you go.”

“You’re being awfully supportive, old man.”

“Is it not the prerogative of the old to aid the young? A sponsorship to Bluefire is barely a dent in my house’s coffers,” the man posed. “And the memory of this ‘hero’ you speak of, the one who gave his life to save you from a True Vampire… I wouldn’t want to disgrace his memory by not aiding his student.”

“Damn it old man, your death is still fresh in my mind. You’re going to get me sentimental, don’t joke about that,” Orodan said.

“So you’re in agreement then? Orodan Wainwright, the crafting student at Bluefire,” Adeltaj said.

“A terrible crafting student who’ll repeatedly fail at the basics,” Orodan warned.

“A dedicated crafting student, one with a diverse set of skills and a work ethic any teacher would be proud of,” Adeltaj encouraged.

“Hmmph… well if my first mentor says so and believes in me, who am I to argue?”

“Good! Tomorrow, we’ll have a dinner at Simarji manor to commemorate the event and have you meet the rest of my house,” Adeltaj said. “Or if you’ve already met them in a prior loop, then to have them meet you.”

“A large social gathering then? I suppose I’ve been through worse with Burgher Ignatius,” Orodan said.

“Nothing like the ones that young man hosts,” Adeltaj said. “Dinners in our family are smaller and of a more personal nature. I don’t think you’ll walk away disappointed.”

Orodan smiled.

“Fine then… though, I’ll be in Novarria during the day,” Orodan said and Adeltaj simply nodded in assent, showing no issue.

Hells, this arrangement already felt far better and less demanding than the sponsorship he’d had under House Firesword. He should’ve gone to old man Adeltaj from the start!

Orodan Wainwright, the part-time crafting student at Bluefire Academy.

It sounded like a good opportunity to re-learn the crafts, and in particular… focus on Enchanting, which he felt was one of the key skills to focus on if he wanted to rebuild his System.

As for where he was going in Novarria?

A heavily fortified town on the Empire’s southern border: Arkwall. And within it, one of the few people he’d met who had not only retained a semblance of mind under Eldritch corruption… but also saw the glyphs and symbols of the System and could somehow speak to them.

If anyone was a good starting point for the repair, or better yet, founding of his own System, it would be that man.

It was time to meet Alovardo Balmento once more.