The Stubborn Skill-Grinder In A Time Loop

Calling Ildisiar a village would’ve been stretching it.

It was a small settlement of less than two hundred inhabitants, with a majority of the people working in the tea harvesting trade. Yet, the other portion of the population were all ancient masters, their progeny and disciples.

And a favored pastime of theirs was to congregate around gigantic trees and share knowledge among themselves.

“Don’t you think it’s a little overbearing to simply drag me along and expect me to teach?” Orodan asked, amused.

“Is it? From what you tell me, you quite enjoy teaching people. Whether it’s through taking on a student or giving someone a beating, I’ve heard you’re rather good at imparting lessons,” Eldarion said. “Why not spend some time around the tree of wisdom? Learn a little, impart a bit of your own knowledge? The trees know more than they let on, and the venerable one here in Ildisiar is the eldest of them all. And given what you tell me of your goals… the tree may be of more help than you realize.”

The trees of wisdom.

Who would’ve thought that the oldest living things on Eldiron weren’t elves or dragons… but trees? Indeed, the trees of wisdom were towering and ancient things. Frankly, aside from the world core and its guardians, Orodan suspected these trees might genuinely be the oldest living things on Alastaia.

Settlements formed around these aged trees. And there was a reason Ildisiar, a small settlement for tea harvesting, had so many elven Masters and Grandmasters living within. It was for the chance to seek wisdom from the oldest living thing in the settlement.

And it took the form of debates and discussion between parties, with the tree serving as the mediator.

“But elder… would you not say that the intent behind one’s weaving matters as much as the object being worked itself? A cape stitched with love versus a cape woven with hatred will be two different items entirely, even if the weaver’s skill level is the same.”

“Of course, Gelarion, that is naturally evident, is it not? Emotions are a part of the weaving process,” the elderly elf said. “My argument, however, is that emotions are an unnecessary and blighted part of it. To achieve the true height of mastery, one must do away with emotions in the craft altogether. A true master can make a uniform product, emotions or no.”

“I strongly disagree. Emotions are an integral part of all living things. Even the venerable one, though their emotions may be alien to us elves, still possesses them. To feel is the nature of life, thought and being. To deny this feeling is to disregard an essential part of the process.”

“And what does the venerable one think?” the younger elf asked.

Larger than the imperial citadel of Novar’s Peak. And exuding an ancient aura of chronomancy which Orodan felt was beyond even Zaessythra’s and was only dwarfed by the world core.

Old. Very old.

The boughs and branches of the gigantic silver-leafed tree shook. The winds themselves grew silent for a moment, and then…

…a song carried upon them. And Orodan now knew why the very air upon Eldiron carried with it a note of song. It must’ve been these trees speaking. Whether to one another, or the elves, he wasn’t sure.

It didn’t speak in words, rather the song conveyed the idea for it.

The ancient branches swayed and told a tale, and the silver leaves narrated it to the minds of all present. For a moment Orodan wondered if it was a form of telepathy, yet, it didn’t really seem to intrude upon his mind at all. Rather, it was as though the very wind around him simply… expressed what it was saying.

An ancient life from olden times. This primeval oak had seen much.

“To ignore the symphony of emotion… is to risk being incomplete.”

The words weren’t spoken as much as they practically came into being through the environment around them. There was no real voice uttering them. Yet the wind, the grass, the silver leaves of the ancient tree looming above, they all came together and somehow ensured everyone received the same message.

The gathering of young elves and eager students sitting upon the grass, spectating the debate, paid rapt attention to every word uttered by the tree.

From what Orodan had heard, such discussions could go on for days, with students, masters and eager learners from other parts of Eldiron often coming and going in the hopes of gleaning just a bit more comprehension from the immemorial beings.

“I… I see… perhaps to reject emotions altogether is unwise then?” the younger elf asked. “But is purity not something to strive for? We seek purity in our materials, the crafting process and our products, then why not seek cleanliness of mind as well?”

“Cleanliness of the mind,” Orodan began as he walked up. “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. Take for example, a patch of muddy ground within a swamp. To eradicate all the filth, all the small and unseen life dwelling in the muck… does that sound clean to you?”

“Would it not be?”

“Is a swamp meant to be clean? Or is it the natural expression of life? A thriving ecosystem of diverse flora and fauna of its own?” Orodan posed. “Cleanliness… is something determined by the individual. Declaring a swamp as unclean isn’t wrong, but it should come with self-awareness of the fact that the perspective being imposed is one’s own.”

Which essentially, was what cleaning boiled down to. The imposition of one’s own reality, their personal vision of order, upon existence.

Though, the mastery of the mind… perhaps it could be extended to himself? A tall hurdle to tackle, especially when his willpower was so overwhelming when Incipience of Infinity was pushed to the extreme… but could cleanliness not be applied to such a problem?

“Emotions should be embraced then. I see, thank you human,” the elf said. “And is that… Lord Eldarion?! I see! Is this human one of your guests?”

Eldarion sighed though kept a pleasant smile on his face.

“Youngling, what have I said about referring to people by their race? I know you have yet to be allowed outside our homelands, but you cannot simply refer to people as though they are animals at a hatchery,” Eldarion chided. “I doubt you would appreciate being referred to as ‘elf’ at all times either.”

“A-apologies my lord…! I meant no offence honored hum- er, honored guest! Might I have your name?”

“Orodan Wainwright,” he answered.

“Orodan Wainwright? I have heard some of Lord Athandelu’s shadows whisper that name! They say you single-handedly humiliated Novarria and caused the fall of their empire!”

“I wouldn’t go that far…” Orodan muttered. At least, he hoped he hadn’t caused the fall of Novarria. That would be a bit much and not what he’d intended at all.

“Gelarion… come now, you shall have plenty of time to speak with Mister Wainwright later on,” Eldarion said. “After all, it seems the venerable one wishes to have a word.”

And certainly, the rapidly rustling silver leaves and boughs indicated as much.

“A blank spot in the tapestry… the absence of a soul where one should be… what has harmed you so, broken one?”

“An attack which-”

“Is best not mentioned in the presence of so many younglings and uninvolved folk,” Eldarion interjected. “Perhaps we might speak privately with the venerable one?”

The elves around the tree took that as a signal and filed away. Not one of them grumbled, indicative of just how highly they regarded Eldarion and the tree of wisdom.

“Anyhow, now that they’re gone,” Orodan said. “It was a Boundless One. A fearsome being outside System space. Mightiest thing I’ve ever encountered.”

“Eldarion has informed… your circumstances, unique. The eternal repetition of time.”

“The time loops,” Eldarion said. “The venerable one here is old… very old. Older than any elf upon Eldiron, and older than any other living being save Alastaia itself. For your purposes though… you’ll find the properties of the venerable one to be quite interesting.”

“How so?”

“Gaze into the leaves… watch closely…”

The leaves? What was the tree talking about?

Orodan frowned and looked closely, and for a moment he didn’t understand…

…until he suddenly did.

And ancient knowledge began showing itself to him.

Centuries, millennia, hundreds of thousands of years. The memories passed by, and he began to see.

“Eldarion spoke truly… the broken one’s mind is strong…”

“He did tell me he reverted time by over five-hundred-thousand years once. For him to be capable of that, his mind must naturally have been strong enough to weather the strain,” Eldarion said. “Do you see it now, Orodan?”

It wasn’t a mental attack. He’d simply looked at its leaves closely, its boughs in-depth. And all the memories, its experiences, its wisdom… it all was laid bare before him. An ordinary being wouldn’t have been capable of it, or rather, if they tried to comprehend it all, their mind might have shattered. Orodan though, even with his System broken, hadn’t lost his sheer strength and resilience of mind. Grasping hundreds of thousands of years’ worth of experiences and memories wasn’t any more strenuous than normal.

“Incredible… I’ve never seen the physical manifestation of knowledge in a living being,” Orodan said. “A lesser version of this is contained within the silk of the spider dragons of Xan’Coran, but your leaves and branches are ancient.”

The world core was also ancient, yet it was a thing bound far more closely by the System. It wasn’t exactly a living thing in and of itself, but the collective will of Alastaia itself.

This tree though, was an incomparably ancient living thing. Uniquely different to any ancient being of flesh and blood that he’d seen in his travels thus far. It comprehended memories, experiences and wisdom, and physically bore them in the form of the silver leaves upon its timeless branches. Memories, wisdom, knowledge, made real and physical.

It was the implication that knowledge could be stored in such a manner. Could his own mind and soul borrow from some of the principles this tree functioned off of?

Simply looking at it, Orodan was inspired, and the fires of the unmentioned grand ambition within burned even hotter as he now saw a true path towards seeing it realized.

“Our kind were young when Alastaia began harboring life upon itself…”

“That must have been millions… nay… billions of years ago,” Orodan said. “How have you not advanced to Transcendence and beyond? I sense your level of actual prowess at merely the level of a Grandmaster.”

“We beings of flesh and blood are always striving for one thing or another,” Eldarion explained. “Even we immortal elves, despite our relaxed pace of attainments, still possess ambitions and work towards them. Not all beings care about such things however.”

“We exist, and shall continue to exist… watching life, interacting with the younger races… and learning.”

“So, for hundreds of thousands of years, all you’ve done is live and learn?” Orodan asked, and the branches swayed in affirmation. That was…

“…it sounds relaxing. Peaceful.”

Indeed, Orodan could never bring himself to live in such a manner. The next battle, the looming foes to come and then the greater realms of power and advancement beyond even that. That was Orodan’s way of life, his very being. He was a warrior, one who craved battle and would never relent.

The younger Orodan would’ve scoffed and said something insulting. Long ago he detested magic, he hated tricks and schemes. And while he would never let go of the warrior he was at core…

…he had grown. Growing stronger had, if anything, expanded his perspective. Everyone had their way in life. And mastery, real mastery, involved humbling oneself and seeking wisdom and knowledge from more than one thing. To reach the peak, he would need to tread many paths, not just those he had a natural inclination towards.

He’d often been told that not everyone was like him. Mahari, Malzim and this tree from a bygone era were examples of it.

And that was okay.

“Illuminative, enlightening. Humans, even elves, simply seek more and more… slowing down and understanding has its own reward.”

Something Orodan was coming to understand and appreciate more and more himself.

“My System is gone, my enemies are numerous, and I lack many of the abilities I previously had,” Orodan said. He then gave a respectful incline of his head and reached an arm out. “I intend to rebuild my System, confront my enemies once more, and regain my power. However, I am at a crossroads where much is unknown to me and the path ahead, murky.”

“Broken one… the corruption across the roots of the earth is gone… the earth itself sings in harmony and speaks of your boon. If this ancient tree can help… all you need do is ask.”

It referred to Orodan’s cleansing of the Eldritch all across the planet of course.

“Then… can you teach me?”

The winds sang, the earth trembled, and the grass quivered.

And a silver-leafed branch came down to meet the hand of a time looper.

#

“Is it true? That you threw a dragon and sent it sailing through the air like an arrow?”

“I did.”

“Are all humans so strong?”

“No. That would squarely depend on your level of Physical Fitness, and the Body Tempering skill,” Orodan answered. “Anyone can achieve it with hard work, time and a willingness to embrace pain.”

And a few extreme and highly risky methods of training. Still, even without the time loops, someone could in theory get Body Tempering to the point Orodan had. Though, it would take far longer without the risky methods of advancement he was capable of using.

“Body Tempering… fascinating! Elder Mithfela and her disciple are the only known ones among us with that skill, and they’ve yet to breach level twenty! What level is yours?” the inquisitive young elf asked.

“Over sixty.”

Or it had been, until recent events. The gains from it hadn’t gone away though, and Orodan suspected that Body Tempering and Physical Fitness were two skills which wouldn’t really be impacted by the System. Not for him at least. Could someone who wasn’t keen on the physical pursuits rely on the System for them? Perhaps. But Orodan had always been inclined towards the martial arts, and his understanding of the two skills was thorough.

“S-sixty! By the four! That would… that would… you could destroy entire mountains!”

A bit of an understatement. Orodan was confident he could outright obliterate continents. And while he couldn’t completely destroy a planet fully, he could likely shatter Alastaia with a full power blow.

“Gelarion, while Mister Wainwright is kind enough to indulge you, do take care not to distract him overly much,” Eldarion said. “He works with a sensitive element and the slightest misstep could cause mass devastation.”

What was Orodan working with?

Why, the forces of Dimensionalism of course.

In front of him was a strangely shimmering orb, with numerous pulsing bubbles periodically being emitted from it. Each of these bubbles was an incredibly miniature dimension. He’d used a similar orb before while training with Destartes - a Grandmaster spatiomancer in the Republic - but this one provided by Eldarion was of far higher quality, and instead of spatiomancy, it sought to train Dimensionalism.

The training wouldn’t have ordinarily been difficult. Or rather, it was a process meant to take time. If someone was doing it the normal way of course.

Orodan though, was supercharging the orb and the bubbles in order to increase the size of them. This made the small dimensional bubbles much larger and allowed him to peer into them and the orb at the same time in the hopes of understanding how dimensions were made.

He had the Dimensionalism skill - back when he had a System - though it was primarily System-assisted, so Orodan was working on shoring up his own understanding of the skill from the ground up. And as a dimensional bubble the size of a house gently bonked Gelarion on the head and peacefully floated away after, the young elf shut his mouth.

Any of these bubbles exploding might cause the destruction of a hundred miles at least.

“I don’t mind his questions,” Orodan said. “I too ask a lot of questions. It would be rather hypocritical if I denied someone else the chance to ask them.”

“You’re too indulgent of this young troublemaker,” Eldarion said. “Anyhow, kind as Mister Wainwright is, I believe you have other lessons to attend to Gelarion.”

“Yes Lord Eldarion… though… might I meet Lord Wainwright again?”

“Just Orodan is fine,” he replied, getting an annoying flashback to when they’d declared him the head of a newly founded noble house in a prior loop. He’d grown to lose his bias against magic, books and certain outlooks didn’t align with his own. Nobility though? That was a bias he’d happily hold on to. “I’m no lord.”

“That would be disrespectful to you Lor- er… Mister Wainwright. But I will honor your wishes,” Gelarion said. “We shall meet again. Archery training awaits… ugh!”

The elven boy looked rather sour at the thought.

“If you don’t keep up with the practice, you’ll be embarrassed at the Inter-Academy Tournament next year when you enter Goldleaf,” Eldarion chided. “Not every problem can be confronted with the edge of a blade.”

“But… Mister Wainwright looks like he tackles every problem with a sword!” Gelarion said excitedly.

“Actually…” Orodan began. “I use the shield and my legs and fists too. The halberd’s been a fine addition of late as well.”

“See!”

Eldarion sighed.

“My friend… might you stop giving this little delinquent more reasons to avoid his lessons? His instructors already complain regularly.”

“Let me ask you a question then,” Orodan said, looking at the boy and the dual swords on his belt. “Two actually. Why do you favor your swords so much? And… why do you shun the bow?”

“The sword is the pinnacle of grace and lethality. I’ve been training in it for as long as I can remember!” Gelarion declared with passion. “A protector must be ready, blade in hand, to face the foe up close.”

“A good answer, strong words to live by,” Orodan admitted. “But… why do you shun the bow?”

“To fight from afar… my people would lose faith in me if I simply sat in the back line and sent arrows towards the enemy,” Gelarion said, though the excuse seemed shaky.

“Come now… do you really believe that?” Orodan asked, giving the boy a searching look. “Or are you just not keen on archery because you don’t like it?”

At this, Gelarion could say nothing and looked downwards.

“Why… he never listens to me in such a way…” Eldarion grumbled.

“Gelarion, was it?” Orodan asked, and the boy nodded. “Catch.”

The young elf looked up in time to see a halberd tossed his way, gently, with the haft positioned to be easily caught.

“A halberd?” Gelarion asked.

“Aye,” Orodan said and then drew his shield. “Now, thrust. Hard as you can.”

The boy looked hesitant at first, but the serious look in Orodan’s eyes must have convinced him. The thrust was decent, but clumsy.

“I’ve never used a halberd before… a spear, yes, but the weight on the head is-”

“Come now, should a protector make excuses? Thrust again, give it your all,” Orodan said and smirked as the boy began a furious barrage of thrusts against his shield. He tried hard and gave it true effort, which Orodan approved of. “Better. Keep going.”

Gelarion wasn’t bad. For a sixteen-year-old elf, Orodan would say he was at the middle Apprentice-level with the sword. Better than Orodan himself had been at seventeen. Though…

…the boy’s Combat Mastery wasn’t up to par. That was a separate lesson however, and likely not something Orodan could teach without replicating the sort of hellish conditions he’d gone through growing up as an orphaned street rat who fought for scraps.

The elf kept thrusting, and Orodan kept casually stopping the thrusts.

And then, at a critical juncture when the boy’s hands were moving about the haft…

…Orodan gave a light rap upon the fingers of one hand.

“Now continue thrusting, but with that one hand,” Orodan said.

Gelarion looked a little frustrated, and even Eldarion looked curious. Yet, the elf continued.

The one-handed thrusts with the halberd kept coming, and very slowly began to show some improvement.

Suddenly, Orodan, at maximal speed, rushed the boy and swapped the halberd in his hand for Gelarion’s swords. It was so quick that the elf nor Eldarion had noticed.

And the next thrust which came…

…was much better.

“W-what the! The halberd… this is my sword! And I gained a skill level!” Gelarion exclaimed in confusion.

Orodan’s work with Alovardo Balmento had allowed him to see System energy now, and the swirling of it around Gelarion’s right hand was apparent.

“That. Is the power of cross-training,” Orodan said. “Does the path of an arrow not go straight and true like that of a sword thrust? A sharp point traveling towards the foe… there are only so many ways to deliver such an attack. The thrust of a sword is one, and the flight of an arrow is another. Perhaps you can now see how studying complementary things might lead to unexpected advancements?”

“I… hadn’t even considered that…”

“If you’re going to abandon the bow because you’re lazy, simply say so. But do not make excuses for it,” Orodan said as he sheathed his halberd. “Do not think yourself above the fundamentals. True mastery starts and ends at them.”

“Yes Lord Wainwright!” Gelarion said, and then froze at the frown from Orodan. “I mean, Mister Wainwright!”

The young elf bowed and then bolted, departing the training area which Orodan was using, leaving just him and Eldarion. The boy looked much more eager for that archery lesson now.

“You really are quite the teacher,” Eldarion said. “I had initially thought you might have some disdain for someone with tutors and instructors… but you taught him fairly.”

“He didn’t choose the circumstances of his life, why should I hold that against him?” Orodan said. “A pauper should feel no shame for his poor background, but similarly a prince should feel no guilt for his advantages. What matters is how one approaches life. The boy had heart and was teachable, which is what matters.”

“Hmm… you’re an awfully tolerant and open-minded man for one who embraces violence so deeply,” Eldarion said.

“I wasn’t always so tolerant,” Orodan said, and then smiled. “If the boy had met me when I was seventeen, a fight would have doubtlessly broken out.”

“Ah, a thrill-seeker then. Gelarion is the same,” Eldarion said. “If only he wasn’t such a troublemaker, I would rest easier.”

“He isn’t such a bad lad. Being excitable and chasing conflict aren’t the worst traits to cultivate in a warrior,” Orodan said. “Why do you call him a troublemaker?”

“He is too… hasty,” Eldarion said. “And while I have been trying to push the youth of our kind towards taking more risks and venturing out into the world in the name of growth and adventure… his case is a little more complicated.”

“How so?”

“You mentioned meeting Othorion Evertree in your past loops, yes?” the elf asked, and Orodan nodded.

Othorion Evertree was a young elf who used a Bloodline to draw upon the power of the imprisoned elven Goddess Faraine. He’d fought the elf once in the Inter-Academy Tournament, and then helped Vespidia fight him once as well. Frankly, Orodan thought Othorion was a spineless bully with some real issues.

“Othorion is the outcast bastard of the royal Ethweni family,” Eldarion explained. “Gelarion however… is the crown prince of the Ethweni line. The heir to the nominal position of Steward-King, and the most talented young elf to grace Eldiron in many millennia.”

“So… you keep him protected due to his potential and royal blood? Would that not just stifle his growth?” Orodan asked as he focused on the dimensional bubbles and paid close attention to the very instant that a dimension was created. “The boy is clearly inquisitive and in search of knowledge. What’s so bad about that? And it still doesn’t explain how he’s a troublemaker.”

“Ah… unfortunately I have no say over it. My wife Cithrel rules over elvenkind, and the royals of the Ethweni line are considered her direct mortal descendants,” Eldarion explained. “Before she ascended to divinity, we had many children. And the result of our union is the Ethweni line. The royal family has the purest expression of our blood; however, it’s passed in diluted form among many other elves too.”

“Inter-familial relations?”

“It is not ince- ah, you’re jesting, of course…” Eldarion grumbled as he saw Orodan’s smile.

“Once upon a time I did genuinely ask that question,” Orodan remarked. “But I know that there are ways of imparting one’s genetic ancestry onto someone else.”

On Inuan for instance, through a ritual of minor cost, one could impart their ancestry and certain genetic traits unto a child even if they weren’t originally related by blood. People with a certain amount of wealth who didn’t care to marry and have children in the conventional manner oft used this method. Adoptions into noble families occurred in this manner, though if a Bloodline was involved the process became more costly.

Eldarion shook his head and the two continued engaging in idle talk as Orodan continued studying the bubbles produced by the orb.

“To think that you were capable of Dimensionalism with the System, yet without it are stuck at square one once more,” Eldarion muttered. “Are all skills so reliant upon it?”

“It depends on the individual. For you, I suspect your social skill will remain mostly unchanged if at all. The more intimately one understands a skill, the less impacted it is by the loss of the System,” Orodan explained. For me, my martial and physical skills seem almost unaffected. That and my Celestial skills.”

“Though I’ve never heard of Celestial rarity skills before meeting you, I can understand how they’d remain unaffected if the System’s the crutch you say it is,” Eldarion said. “Your martial and physical skills though?”

“I was always good at fighting, and my upbringing ensured it was ingrained in me,” Orodan explained. “When all one does is fight on the streets as a destitute orphan… getting good at it is somewhat natural. I’m fairly certain I knew how to throw a decent straight and cross combo before I ever unlocked Unarmed Combat Mastery.”

“Impressive. Still, I’m grateful that no children upon Eldiron need go through such beginnings.”

“My perspective is a bit warped, for it made me who I am, but I can objectively see how such an upbringing might be bad,” Orodan said. While life as a street rat could produce an Orodan Wainwright, it could also lead to death, a career in crime and worse as he’d seen all too often. “Some of the youth around these parts could stand to learn a bit more diligence though. Gelarion seems to be the exception though.”

In other words, the elven youth and children Orodan had seen thus far were more than a little…

“Laid back? I concur, and we’ve been trying to instil the value of hard work and diligence within our youth for the past fifty-thousand years,” Eldarion said. “Compared to you humans though, the drive to advance just isn’t as intrinsic to our kind. I’m afraid we’ll naturally fall short by human standards, especially yours. I ask that you remain understanding for when you’re at Goldleaf.”

“My focus remains singularly upon my own pursuits. I’m not interested in lecturing people about their work ethic, or lack thereof,” Orodan said. “Anyhow, Goldleaf Academy… the instructors will be ready by tomorrow?”

“Yes. Elven rune magic, runic enchanting and continuing studies in the magical arts as you requested,” Eldarion said. “And of course, Dimensionalism.”

Goldleaf. A name he’d heard once upon a time. An academy from where Othorion Evertree hailed. It was likely the oldest center of learning in the world.

And he was determined to extract every bit of knowledge he could from it.

Before that though, a meeting with the elven pantheon.

#

If Ildisiar was a small settlement, then the capital was anything but.

Aldenil, the capital city of Eldiron. Elves, young and old, ancient masters and immemorial beings which had existed since the founding of life upon Alastaia dwelled within. It was the home of the council of Aldenil, Eldiron’s governing body. And at the head of the council stood the royal Ethweni family, specifically, the Steward-King. Granted authority to rule through divine mandate; he managed worldly affairs at the behest of the God-Queen of elvenkind.

“Quite the city, is it not?” Eldarion asked.

“Less buildings than I’d have thought… there are trees everywhere,” Orodan said. “I’ve seen bigger cities on other worlds, but this is the largest city I’ve seen upon Alastaia. Quite ancient too, I can sense the immemorial currents of time surrounding many of these trees.”

“Many of these ancient beings predate the founding of Aldenil itself. The oak upon which the palace resides is one such elder.”

Aldenil didn’t have buildings in the traditional sense. Or not many of them at least. It was Orodan’s first time seeing a city composed mostly of trees.

It was gorgeous. An almost rainbow-colored palette of diversity greeted the eyes. Trees of all shapes, sizes and colors made up the city. The elderly plants towered high into the sky, and the tallest of them even pierced past the cloud layer itself. He sensed the undercurrent of illusory magic meant to prevent it being seen from other continents too, which explained why it wasn’t visible throughout his adventures elsewhere on Alastaia. Even in approaching the city, it hadn’t become visible to the naked eye until they’d crossed a certain threshold.

Growing up in Ogdenborough, he and the rest of his peers had always held elves as fanciful, woodland-loving caricatures in their minds. And while this capital city consisting of mostly trees helped that image, it didn’t imply in the slightest that the elves were tree-hugging hermits.

Mainly because the stunning architecture of the buildings which laid upon these trees spoke for itself. Stark white marble which glinted in the sun, and golden fittings and trim overlaid above. Regal and ostentatious banners and trappings of fine cloth oft decorated them too. The trees were old, but they bore grand architecture upon them, and it presented the picture of a people who were in tune with nature yet also a grand and ancient civilization of their own.

“Easy on the eyes at least,” Orodan muttered. “Is our destination that tree which looms over it all?”

“Rather obvious, but yes. Cithrel and Athandelu wish to meet with you,” Eldarion said. “I’ve informed them of the particulars of your situation, and now that the initial meeting between us has gone well, they wish to have a word.”

“Ah, more political sabre-rattling?” Orodan asked.

“Hmm… perhaps. I oft do not know what my wife is thinking,” Eldarion admitted. “Though, I’ve tried my best to advise her on what it is you’re after and what you seek from this arrangement.”

Fair enough.

The streets of Aldenil were bustling with life. Elves walked about, occasionally a bonded animal companion could be seen as well. Elven children ran about playing and engaging in general mischief, and even elves who looked to be fully grown adults were acting quite juvenile alongside them. Which, Orodan had been told, was the result of slower maturation due to having an immortal lifespan. While a human would have a trade by the time they came of age, an elf might not be pressured in the same manner. The timespan considered formative must’ve been longer for them.

Not only elves inhabited the city, but drow too. Many of them looked quite affluent, and perhaps sought to get away from the war and general misery back home. A few of them even gave him knowing looks of respect and awe when they recognized who he was.

Guards outfitted in fine armor patrolled the streets, though with far less frequency than he’d seen in Novar’s Peak. He figured that the existence of the invisible elves on the tops of the buildings above might have something to do with that.

He wondered if that was where Vespidia learned her invisibility magic from.

“Lot of unseen watchers above,” Orodan said.

“If you were hoping to surprise me with the fact that you can see them, you’ll remain disappointed,” Eldarion said with a smirk. “Athandelu’s order of shadows. Each of them are painstakingly trained from a young age to serve as the eyes and ears of the God-Queen. As is the nature of intelligence operations, we even had a few near priority locations on your home continent. Though, your shattering of Athandelu’s psionic web caused the immediate withdrawal of all agents.”

“Sorry, but I needed to trim down the number of eyes on me at that time,” Orodan remarked.

“There’s no blame from me, rather seeing Athandelu scramble was quite the spectacle. Not often that the wand’s effects are discovered,” Eldarion replied.

They continued down the streets until they reached the base of the grand oak which towered above all. It was the oldest tree in Aldenil, and from what he’d read, the largest tree in the known world. The royal palace of Aldenil was at the very top, and at least a third of Goldleaf Academy’s buildings were built into and halfway up the trunk. Many of the trees of wisdom were older than it, but what it lacked in knowledge, it made up for in sheer size.

Frankly, the tree of wisdom he’d met in Ildisiar was old, but Orodan’s instincts gauged it as not particularly suited to combat. Though, this humongous cloud-piercing tree was. He detected a massive network of roots which connected to it, and the awareness that they, alongside the tree itself, were very capable of movement and battle. Its overall battle power seemed stronger than even the uncorrupted Void Horror guarding the world core.

He wouldn’t have been surprised if this tree was one of the elves’ planned countermeasures against the Eldritch Avatar.

The guards at the base of the tree allowed them through, and a teleporter to the palace was taken.

They stepped through as it brought them just before the open doors of the council chamber. Where an argument was taking place, and his exceptional hearing could pick it up.

“No, Othorion, your petition to face the enemy upon the northern continent is denied.”

“Father I must protest this! While we sit around and wait, the foe will grow stronger! The corruptive effects of the Eldritch are well-known, and it will only gain strength as it spreads its virulent plague,” Othorion said vehemently.

“And if we commit to facing it upon the northern continent, we shall face terrible losses while the majority of our stratagems remain inaccessible to us,” the Steward-King, Virion Ethweni said. Orodan had met this elf before. “If this is about your broth-”

“No, it is not. Though, if only my words carried equal weight to his, you might listen,” Othorion spat.

“Gelarion would not move us to confront it upon its landing either. You overestimate his influence upon me, and need I remind you that we serve the God-Queen? She makes the final decision,” Virion said. “If you covet the throne of the Steward-King you would push yourself harder in your training. Your birth has little bearing on your ability to ascend upwards, provided you can prove yourself.”

“Tch! How am I to compete with one who has such natural talents?” Othorion asked. “I don’t even care for the throne, all I ever wanted was your respect!”

“This is not the time or the place for such arguments! You have my blood, and the Bloodline I bear which allows for the channelling of divine power. Such advantages and yet you whine like an aggrieved child,” Virion scolded. “Have you not heard that a visitor of great importance will be coming today? If you want something, go earn it!”

Orodan never knew his father, but even he thought that was more than a bit harsh.

“Of course… you speak truly father,” Othorion said, a look of grim determination on the elf’s face. “I shall prove myself.”

Little wonder then, that Othorion had hopelessly tried throwing himself against the Eldritch Avatar in Orodan’s very first loop on Guzuhar. Cause and effect. Everything had a reason behind it; the time loops simply allowed Orodan to see it all very intimately.

And while he didn’t like Othorion at all, he wasn’t about to let a troubled boy die in a foolhardy attempt to earn his reticent father’s respect. The Eldritch Avatar would be dealt with by Orodan.

Eldarion had a frown on his face, though he seemed unwilling to intervene.

Othorion’s fists were clenched as he walked out, a rictus of anger upon his face. The angered son briefly gave a sharp nod of respect and acknowledgement towards Eldarion, but so great were the clouds upon his mind that he simply walked past. Following him though, was a young drow.

Orodan had seen this one before during the Inter-Academy Tournament.

“Lord Eldarion, it is an honor,” the drow said, and then turned to Orodan, a look of gratitude in his eyes. “And you… my lord, might you be Orodan Wainwright?”

Damn it. He sighed.

“I’m not a lord, just Orodan will do.”

The drow crossed both arms, touching the shoulders with each hand, and bowed at the waist.

“I, Jegdalo Mezzer, am eternally grateful for what you have done. Lord Orodan Wainwright, Clan Mezzer will eternally be in your debt,” Jegdalo declared. “And I pledge my loyalty an-”

“Now hold on a moment,” Orodan interrupted. “That’s really not necessary, and I’m not a lord. I didn’t like what the dwarves were doing, and so I put an end to it. That’s all. And while I’m glad you found some good in it, I genuinely don’t need any thanks or a declaration of loyalty.”

Least of all for lord Orodan. Ugh.

“Lo- Mister Wainwright, many long-lost family members of mine were among those you rescued,” Jegdalo said, the drow’s voice shaky. “My mother and one of the clan elders among them. Thank you… thank you.”

“You’re welcome, though, you owe me nothing, nor do I want anything,” Orodan said. “Besides, your clan elder has helped me a lot with unravelling the mysteries of dragon spider silk and how it can be used in enchanting.”

“Ah… elder Xalyth?” Jegdalo asked and Orodan nodded. “She is a… particular sort of woman. Have you… never mind. Your business is your own.”

Orodan didn’t really get what he was trying to say, but didn’t push the matter.

“Discussions on predatory individuals aside,” Eldarion said. “Our meeting awaits. Try not to offend my wife overly much Orodan.”

“I make no promises.”

Eldarion let out a long and drawn-out sigh, yet they walked into the throne room all the same.

There were four thrones which loomed above a smaller one. The smaller throne belonged to the Steward-King of course, while three of the higher thrones doubtlessly belonged to the Gods of the elven pantheon. And the final one, highest above them all, belonged to Cithrel, the God-Queen of elvenkind.

Virion Ethweni was already sat upon his throne of the Steward-King, and as Orodan entered the room, space fluctuated and Avatars of both Cithrel and Athandelu arrived to fill their spots, while Eldarion moved to seat himself in his own.

“Orodan Wainwright.”

“Cithrel,” Orodan returned. “I notice the obvious absence of one of your number.”

“Let us not bandy words, time looper. My husband has spoken to you, and while his tendency to trust everyone is well-known, I do not share the same sentiment,” Cithrel spoke. “I know you want more from us than simply learning what you have come to learn.”

“Correct, let’s not beat around the bush,” Orodan agreed. “Free Faraine.”

“Impossible. And attempting to force the issue will court war.”

“Even if I took care of the Eldritch Avatar for you?” Orodan asked. “Even if Faraine fled, never to return upon her liberation?”

“A bold claim… yet our people are not so defenseless that we have no assurances of victory against it,” Cithrel said. “And how do you intend to ensure she does not act against us?”

“Through brute force. Her freedom will be contingent upon her agreement to stay away from you. If she acts against it… I shall handle the issue,” Orodan declared. “As for the Eldritch Avatar… underestimate it not. Surely your network of intelligence is aware of the grand ritual array at Novar’s Peak? Even with that, alongside multiple Avatars, World Guardians, Balastion Novar and myself… it still reaped a horrid toll. The infectiousness of the Eldritch cannot be underestimated. It can corrupt even Gods, and you’ll find your allies turned against you in the midst of battle if all goes wrong.”

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The gigantic tree the royal palace was situated upon looked powerful no doubt. But what would happen if it became corrupted in the midst of battle?

“Its strength and virulence are of some concern, I will admit, but this deal is still far too lopsided.”

“Then consider your husband’s trial of ascendance. And his advancement to Transcendence,” Orodan said. “You two need not be separate if that occurs.”

“You speak impossibility. Gods cannot manifest within the material plane.”

“Incorrect. Not only can they, but they may also be slain when they directly present themselves within our plane,” Orodan explained. “And all this can be achieved with Dimensionalism.”

“And how do you intend on breaching the dimensional layer leading to the divine realm? Even with the combined power of myself and Athandelu we barely scratched the dimensional fabric.”

“Allow me to demonstrate. Do you have an energy battery for Aldenil that I can use?”

Cithrel seemed curious and willing to humor him. With a gesture, she opened a spatial tunnel to one of Aldenil’s batteries, right in front of Orodan.

A hand was placed, the most minute amount of his power was channelled.

And in a single instant, the battery was fully charged.

“Such raw power… is that how you shattered the psionic web over the Republic?” Athandelu asked.

“Aye. If raw power’s the issue, I have no problem solving it,” Orodan said. “I can breach the dimensional fabric, but I need to learn Dimensionalism first.”

Cithrel looked to Eldarion.

“You did not tell me about this.”

“Some things are best demonstrated than said,” Eldarion replied. “Far easier to take his proposition seriously when you witness the proof of what he can do.”

“But… to free Faraine, after her acts of revolt and attempts to undermine my rule…”

“My love… I would not challenge you, but rather seek to persuade you. Faraine, from her point of view, took issue with many of your edicts,” Eldarion said. “It does not excuse the sting of her betrayal, but to keep her captive for so long is unjust, is it not?”

“I will not claim to have made everyone happy with my rule. Yet, her political justifications are naught but a mask for her true desire… your hand.”

What manner of sordid affair was this?

“She loved me… it is true. Yet, that does not mean-”

“Alright hold on,” Orodan interrupted. “While I’m sure it’s quite revelatory that this all started from affections gone wrong, I’m not interested in the details of your convoluted love triangle. Do we have an accord, or no?”

The Avatar of Cithrel let out a most indignant and offended squawk. Eldarion looked downwards and coughed in embarrassment, and Virion Ethweni the poor Steward-King palmed his face in disappointment. All while the Avatar of Athandelu laughed.

“I like this one,” Athandelu said.

“Athandelu!”

“Do not chide me so, he speaks truth. This ugly affair between the three of you has caused much strife for all elvenkind, simply because Eldarion could not contain his passions.”

“You cheated on your wife?” Orodan asked, perplexed. “Is that why she detests Faraine so much?”

“It is… more complicated than th-”

“No. No it is not. The time looper has accurately gauged the matter, and the summation should put us all to shame,” Athandelu spoke, anger in his tone. “Here we stand, the greatest threat in our history approaching us, and all you can do is hold onto grudges borne of wayward spousal loyalties. For the longest time, Cithrel, have you blamed Faraine, yet you refused to look to the man who allowed her affections in the first place. I say, enough.”

Huh… was that why Eldarion was both unwilling to push too hard on the matter of Faraine yet also against the length of her punishment? Was it guilt which brought him to inaction?

The Avatar of Cithrel remained silent for a while.

Finally, she spoke.

“We have an accord, Orodan Wainwright. For now, please go and leave us to our discussions.”

#

“Honored savior, it is a pleasure to greet you once more.”

“Elder Xalyth.”

“Now, elder is such a rude term which reminds me of my age. If you must insist on formalities, then Lady Xalyth will do.”

Orodan had been called an idiot, but he wasn’t blind. Even before the time loops, an innocent and inexperienced celibate, he was not. Now, she could be innocently flirting, yet from his observations she only spoke in such a manner to him specifically.

And she’d been making such comments throughout the day.

Problem was, he no longer had any interest in such casual things. Perhaps when the seventeen-year-old Orodan was finding himself he might’ve thought to have a tryst or two. Now though? A good battle was the only thing which truly got the blood flowing, and the looming threats before him in the way of his grand vision left no time for such frivolities.

Most importantly though… while he had yet to come to terms with how he felt about it, he had someone waiting on him for an answer. And in a rare display of hesitation, Orodan was procrastinating that particular matter. And even if, hypothetically, he was interested in impermanent affairs; he wasn’t about to callously give her an answer by shacking up with this drow woman.

“That would be disrespectful, elder,” Orodan said, noticing the slight frown on her face. And ignoring the fact that he was likely older than her by now. “Have you settled into Aldenil?”

“I should be asking you that. I have been to Aldenil plenty of times, it’s a favored vacation spot for the nobility of Xan’Coran,” Xalyth remarked. “I hear you’re lodging at Ildisiar and get along well with Lord Eldarion.”

“It’s not as though I sleep, so calling it lodging is a bit much,” Orodan said.

“Ah, the benefits of an incredibly high Physical Fitness. If only I wasn’t more inclined towards the magical arts myself, I might know how that feels,” she said.

“You could still put in the work and get there,” Orodan replied. “Getting to even the Adept-level of Physical Fitness removes the need for sleep.”

“Yes, but you take for granted the work which goes into honing the skill. For you, hard work, pain and gruelling physical labor might not seem arduous, but for the rest of us, it’s quite the challenge to surmount.”

Orodan wanted to say that it wasn’t as though he was outright immune to pain or that hard work felt easy for him, but he chose to drop it and focus on the work in front of him. If someone wasn’t interested in putting in the work to learn a skill, he wasn’t about to force them. There were different paths in life, and just because someone eschewed the martial one didn’t mean they were inferior.

“Fair enough. Anyhow, I believe I’m getting a better understanding for how the silk of the spider dragons operates. Though what I attempt still eludes me…”

“If you bothered to tell me exactly what it is that you’re attempting, I might be able to help,” Xalyth said with an amused smirk. “But as it stands, all I’ve watched you do for the past four hours is stare at the silk and that branch of the tree of wisdom… menacingly.”

“I’m not staring menacingly.”

“But you are staring at them as though you want to burn a hole with your gaze,” she remarked. “What exactly are you looking for?”

Calling it a room wasn’t accurate. Rather, they were inside a spacious chamber, the walls made of ancient wood. They were inside of the tree of wisdom. Not the one in Ildisiar, but the one which overlooked Aldenil and which the students from Goldleaf came to in order to seek guidance.

His conversation with the tree on Ildisiar had gone well, and it was upon its recommendation that this other tree had agreed to take him on as a student as well. Orodan had tried studying the ancient tree of Ildisiar, but its composition was too complex, it was the eldest of these wise trees and the oldest living thing on Eldiron. This tree he was currently studying though, was far younger, and Orodan could understand better what was occurring.

“Two things. Firstly, the silk of the spider dragon… it’s clearly tied to the soul, it comes from the soul. It’s a remarkable phenomenon which bridges the gap between the soul and the material plane,” Orodan said. “As for this branch which the tree has offered for study, I seek to understand how it can physically store knowledge within. Yet, it’s such a curious thing… if a leaf falls off the knowledge within instantly disappears.”

“How does a brain store knowledge?” Xalyth queried. “I’m surprised the tree is what you focus on when the organ dedicated to thought can do the same.”

“No. The brain merely stores knowledge physically, this branch of the tree of wisdom though… it stores it not just physically… but…”

…the soul. Its very soul was still present in this branch.

So that was why the leaves instantly lost all knowledge when they came off.

Now, he felt he was getting somewhere. The silk of the spider dragon was a physical object somehow produced from the soul and containing its memories and experiences, while the branches and leaves of this tree of wisdom were extensions of its soul and became useless upon losing connection to the main soul.

And while spider dragon silk seemed as though it was the superior material, the fact was that it couldn’t hold even a millionth of the sheer knowledge even a single leaf of this tree of wisdom did.

“Tree,” Orodan said. “This is… the leaves are physical extensions of your soul, aren’t they?”

“Accurately summated. This one’s very being courses through its frame, sprouting as leaves.”

Then, the tall task before him… was to find a method of combining the permanence of spider dragon silk with the storage capacity of these ancient elven trees.

He focused and looked back and forth. The branch which was intruding upon the chamber through an opening leading outside, and the spider dragon silk before him.

Unfortunately, his thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a certain Avatar.

The wooden chamber walls parted, and a familiar Avatar stepped forth, eyes glowing. Though, it wasn’t Eldarion or Cithrel.

“Athandelu.”

“Orodan Wainwright,” the elven God of psionics greeted. “Earlier we did not get to meet properly as the meeting was cut short.”

“Right, I don’t think Cithrel was happy about her torrid love affair being discussed so openly,” Orodan said.

“Yet, she chose to bring it up herself. It is good to see someone speak in a straightforward manner and force her to confront the issue,” Athandelu said. “When one is surrounded by immortals who speak in riddles or waste their time dallying on silly pursuits, it is refreshing to meet one possessed of a direct nature.”

“I have many things to do and not much time to waste,” Orodan said. “Though, for a God of psionics and subterfuge I’m somewhat surprised to see you advocating for such an outlook.”

“Subterfuge is ultimately performed with the goal of obtaining an answer. And what better way to get an answer than directly?” Athandelu posed and Orodan nodded. “Now then, while meeting you and making your acquaintance has been nice, I am sure you have little interest in small talk. Here, the item you covet.”

It was a little small to be a staff. Perhaps less than half the length of Orodan’s forearm. And the carvings upon it were intricate and four-dimensional in a way which drew his eye immediately.

“A wand, visually at least.”

“The wand. The humans of your continent refer to it as the wand of Athandelu,” the God said. “In truth, this was one of the spoils of our foray into the hells a few millennia ago. Taen from the corpse of a slain Arch-Devil. The enchanting language is unlike any we’ve seen on our world.”

“Aye, that would be because it’s the devil’s enchanting language,” Orodan said. “This isn’t just a wand either, it’s living matter, isn’t it?”

“An astute eye… Eldarion’s claims that you were a time looper seemed fanciful, but you’ve seen other examples of working devil script language, haven’t you?” Athandelu asked and Orodan hummed in assent. “You speak true. This wand is in fact the bone of something long-gone but kept alive through magic.”

“I don’t know if you faced them during your expedition, but demonkind have script-bearers whose entire body is covered in such enchantments,” Orodan said. “They can be quite powerful.”

“Our forces faced only one such script-bearing devil, and even though it was at the Master-level it gave our Grandmasters and Avatars an exceedingly difficult battle.”

Orodan would say they were exceedingly lucky then. And that this historical expedition had fought the trash and rejects of the hells. For within Druhmiyan script-bearers at the Grandmaster level were common enough, and there were even Transcendents.

Still, something was off about this wand. Orodan looked at it closely, his eyes focusing as though he wished to drill a hole through it.

“You said this is alive?”

“Yes. It has traces of vitality within, preserved through the enchantments upon it.”

“Have you ever tried looking closer at it to find out how it works?” Orodan asked.

“Only visually. This wand is a powerful tool in our arsenal. Tampering with it would pose an undue risk.”

Yet, even visually, Orodan could see something he doubted any other elf could. It wasn’t arrogance to say that Orodan’s mastery in the ways of the soul was phenomenal, unmatched by anyone on Alastaia.

And with it, he could clearly see…

“A soul. Not just life, but a soul,” Orodan said. “Kept carefully bound through the enchantments, yet an actual soul is what fuels the wand you carry.”

It was a heavily damaged one too, yet just by looking at it, Orodan was beginning to gain inspiration for his ultimate goal.

Who knew that souls could interact so directly with enchantments?

“Truly? You… can see it?”

“Yes, a soul is what powers this wand,” Orodan said. “The nature of the enchantment is quite sickening, in all honesty, but that explains why the devil-script language works at all despite the lack of a living thing.”

After all, from what he knew, the enchanting language of the hells was dark and required life to function. Frankly, the only thing stopping Orodan from just ripping the wand apart to free this thing was that he could sense it was slumbering and not being actively tortured.

“I have heard of your… morality. Will this be a problem? The wand is important to us.”

“I’m not about to allow a soul to be held captive and used as fuel for no good reason, though I think I can solve the issue by powering the wand myself,” Orodan replied. “I’m familiar enough with the soul arts that I won’t need to have my soul locked into the wand for it either.”

Coming to Eldiron had been the right idea. This continent was old, and the beings upon it, ancient. Soul skills in particular, something less known on Inuan or Guzuhar, was easier to learn here due to the simple fact that Eldiron had over a hundred-thousand years of uninterrupted civilization.

Orodan had been introduced to some important concepts involving the soul already. Souls, their existence in the physical realm, the ability to store knowledge and to make them interact directly with enchantments.

This… this was what would propel him towards the grand ambition he held.

#

When not inside of a chamber within a gigantic tree, Goldleaf Academy was quite beautiful. Many of the buildings were built into the side of the grand oak, and a trip up to the palace or down to the base of the oak wasn’t too far away. While half the buildings were built into the gigantic tree, the other half were glimmering spires and towers which housed thousands of students, staff and visitors.

Although most of Orodan’s primary pursuits were handled by tutors and specialists in private, there were a few classes for which he simply attended like a regular student. The artificing class was one of them.

And while it wasn’t unheard of for humans to attend Eldiron, typically those of exceptional talent or some uncommon ability, it was still a rarity and the human students on academy grounds were well known.

Orodan walked into the class, and all the elves stared at him as though he was an alien.

“What? Never seen a human before?” Orodan asked.

Dead silence was all that returned.

“Hrm… pardon the shocked looks of these younglings.” the instructor asked and Orodan nodded. “Many of these elves have never seen one of your kind before. Our continent is rather isolated, both geographically and culturally. And for those students devoted to the arts of making, venturing out onto Inuan or Guzuhar is not exactly a priority.”

Fair enough. Orodan was in a class full of socially stunted craftsfolk then. Even among elves, these students weren’t the sort to go adventuring and meeting other races. And even if nothing about Orodan’s visit to Eldiron had been publicized, he was sure some people had seen and spread word of him alongside Eldarion. Naturally, this made them curious.

Thankfully, the drow students weren’t as shameless as they had seen humans before.

“That’s alright. Shall we get to learning?” Orodan asked and the instructor assented, beginning class.

He’d chosen a higher year course in which the direction of study was left up to the student rather than a lecture imparted by the teacher. Even in the other academies, aside from the first year, artificers were typically expected to formulate and decide upon a direction of study for themselves. Given the broad nature of it and that it was a multidisciplinary approach, there was no uniform direction for a student to move in.

Consequently, some artificers were enchanters, choosing to use artificing class to work on a product they’d created through Blacksmithing or Jewelcrafting. Others were scroll-scribes, attempting to make powerful, single-use magical scrolls which were made through Papercrafting or Weaving and then finished through a combination of Calligraphy, Alchemy and Enchanting. Orodan considered them to be quite impressive in the sheer number of crafts involved.

And then, there were those like him, who combined Engineering and Blacksmithing to try and make a device. It was good practice for when he eventually planned to reconstruct the ancient machine beneath the mountain, but mainly…

…Orodan enjoyed making guns.

He never planned on using them, but who would’ve thought that he enjoyed the act of fashioning a rifle so much?

“A… firearm? Is that what you humans call them?” an unimpressed voice called out from behind.

“I admit, it’s not a weapon I’d find myself using either, but to underestimate what it’s capable of can be fatal,” Orodan replied, his focus upon the rifle he was fashioning.

His Woodworking - something he quite enjoyed as it’d been the first craft he picked up in the loops - wasn’t as affected by the loss of his System as his other crafting skills were. Oh, he still struggled and made basic mistakes which other students and the instructor quirked their eyebrow at, but he managed to fashion the stock quite well. Plus, his time at Bluefire had given him plenty of practice in making guns during the artificing class there.

A bit of Blacksmithing and the parts which would bear the strain of the shot, such as the barrel and the hammer were crafted to be sturdy. And some Engineering brought it all together. Orodan had no System at this time, but he legitimately knew the ins and outs of fashioning a basic black powder firearm by now.

It wasn’t a bad gun, it could likely kill someone up to the very early Apprentice-level, but that was where it ended. Middle and late Apprentice warriors and beyond were tough enough to survive the shot, and at the Adept-level they became quick enough to outright react to the bullet.

“It seems useless to focus on such things when a bow wielded by an archer can do the job faster and more reliably,” the elf said.

“Yes, but how many years does it take to train such an archer?” Orodan asked. “On the other hand, I could make hundreds of these a day and arm a barely trained peasant militia capable of killing Initiates and Apprentices.”

Plus, guns could definitely remain dangerous at higher levels. He’d seen how deadly a gun could be when wielded by a gun master with high-level skills. At the highest levels, a mighty gunslinger and a deadly archer were no different from one another. At the early levels though, the technology could make a significant difference.

Frankly, Alastaia was a bit limited in terms of technology. A big part of re-learning spatiomancy and regaining access to his System was the prospect of being able to return to Lonvoron in the Vystaxium Galaxy and learn how their superior guns worked.

Yet, even without the guns of the Blackworth Collective, so many things within this basic black powder rifle could be improved upon. Orodan pondered on whether the material used for the hammer could be improved so as to create a stronger spark, reducing the chance of a flash in the pan where the bullet did not fire. Or perhaps Alchemy could be used to create a more volatile and explosive powder which propelled a dramatically stronger shot, though this would consequently necessitate a sturdier barrel. Finally, the bullet itself could be fashioned out of stronger material, perhaps designed to pierce better. Or it could even be enchanted, and for that matter, the entire rifle could possibly be enchanted.

It wasn’t the rifle that was important, but the process of making it which forced Orodan to think in a multidisciplinary way, like an artificer. Something that was critical to his goal of reconstructing the ancient machine. He would need to learn not only Blacksmithing, Engineering and Jewelcrafting for it, but also the language of the System and Dimensionalism.

As it stood, he could only access the deep bowels of System space through the usage of the Administrator’s Mantle or jumping onto the connection created when someone was undergoing a trial of ascendance.

The elf looked dissatisfied with Orodan’s claims though.

“A mere human peasant could never compare to one of our warriors. Whether armed with a pitchfork or this crude weapon, it makes no difference.”

“Underestimating someone based on their race or background can prove fatal,” Orodan casually remarked. “When was the last time you were in a fight with your life on the line?”

The elf stammered for a bit. If anything, Orodan understood how prejudices could breed amidst an environment of ignorance and isolation. Back in Ogdenborough, people held stereotypes and assumptions about dwarves and elves. Yet, in Velestok where a dwarven foreman worked for House Simarji none of that was present. The people had met the dwarf and come to learn that he was just another working citizen like they were.

Furthermore, the cloistered academic types were far more likely to harbor innate biases and feelings of superiority when trapped in a bubble without any exposure to things. In contrast, a soldier or adventurer - even one with a deep hatred for a particular race - would be forced to develop a begrudging respect for their capabilities if they were exposed to and fought them frequently enough.

In other words, a good brawl between people often solved many problems.

“I need not have been in any battles to conclude that our warriors from Eldiron are objectively superior. We’ve had a hundred-thousand years to develop, a stark contrast to the mere thirty-thousand you humans have had since the fall of ancient Hasmathor.”

“And yet, the gap is narrowing rather quickly, isn’t it? Perhaps that scares you? Enough that you sit here and prattle on about the superiority of the elven race like a terrified old woman clutching her jewelry in the face of a thief,” Orodan said, putting the finishing touches on the rifle. “If you focused less on what your race can do, and more on what you can do, perhaps your lot in life would improve.”

The elf was about to double down and go on another tirade when a familiar face entered the classroom.

“Apologies for being late, combat practice took up more time than I would have liked,” Jegdalo Mezzer said as he entered. “Lord Wainwright! What a pleasant surprise!”

“For the last time… it’s just Orodan!” he protested.

And suddenly, the mutters throughout the class started.

“Orodan… Wainwright?”

“All the adventurers talk about him…”

“The human continent is aflame after he slew multiple Avatars!”

“Is he the one Lord Eldarion was speaking to?”

The elf who had wanted to go on a tirade stopped upon hearing Orodan’s name. Furthermore, the entrance of Jegdalo also played a role no doubt. From what he’d heard among the student body, Jegdalo was rather well known in Goldleaf Academy as being one of the strongest students. A prime competitor for the upcoming Inter-Academy Tournament.

Orodan tuned out the chatter and gossip surrounding him and instead focused on the drow.

“Apologies sir… I was not aware you took the third year artificing class as well,” Jegdalo said.

“I have a rather complicated machine that I need to rebuild which will likely involve many disciplines of crafting,” Orodan answered. “What better class to take than this?”

“True enough,” Jegdalo said and then noticed the rifle. “Attempting to match the dwarves? We’ve often tried to mimic their magical rifles ourselves, yet with limited success. Their proficiency with working metal and somehow amplifying the powder is beyond ours, even if our talent in actual runic enchanting is superior.”

“Is the amplification of the powder a trade secret?” Orodan asked.

“Yes. And the material the barrel is made of would need to be sturdy enough to withstand this increased power, something we’re a bit disadvantaged at without having anyone capable of Metal Communion,” Jegdalo explained. “We managed to make a singular functioning magical rifle which could kill an Elite, but it was disproportionately expensive and difficult to replicate.”

“Metal Communion? I wasn’t aware anyone had that skill,” Orodan said. “I have Wood Communion.”

Or had anyways.

“An exceedingly rare skill itself, with less than a hundred known users of it,” Jegdalo remarked. “Though, still not as rare as Metal Communion. Even the dwarves have less than five users of that skill, and they’re unwilling to say how they acquired it.”

Orodan recalled how he’d acquired Wood Communion in the first place. It involved not just working with wood, but understanding the very nature of it, touching upon its place in the grand arena that was life. How did one do that with metal? It wasn’t anything he’d be solving for this loop, but it was something to consider nonetheless.

They idly chattered, and they continued working.

At some point, Orodan moved on from working on black powder rifles to other projects. Wood was sawed, screws were forged and then fastened, and it was a harder project than he would’ve expected without the assistance of the System.

He was stubborn and obstinate. He decided that even when he solved the issue of lacking a System, he would not allow himself to use it for help in this endeavor.

By all accounts, it should have been a simple task, but there were just so many things which went into it. And if Orodan struggled and failed at the very basic things without the System’s aid, then this complex task which involved hundreds of little things to be done properly… was a true mountain before him.

It was good training.

Well, at least Wood Communion - by virtue of him understanding it intuitively back then when he’d acquired it - wasn’t overly impacted by the loss of his System.

“Ah… Lor- er… Mister Wainwright,” the instructor said, likely recalling Orodan’s annoyance with the title. “What is that you’re fashioning?”

“A wheel. Who would’ve thought that making a wheel could be so utterly difficult?”

In truth, Orodan had happily sawed planks, worked on fashioning construction parts for buildings, made complex woodcrafts and more throughout his time in the loops. But a simple wheel? He’d honestly never tried fashioning such a thing.

“To what end, might I ask?”

“What else? I intend to make a cart…”

“…wainwrighting is harder than I thought it would be.”

“W-wainwrighting? You’re really just making a cart?”

“Why not? There’s so much that goes into it,” Orodan said. “Fashioning the wooden parts is just one aspect of the task. Blacksmithing is necessary to create the metallic bits and reinforcements, and Engineering brings it all together. If anything, wainwrighting is the perfect encapsulation of artificing. Multiple crafts coming together to form a new one.”

Plus, he could always load a cart up with all manner of heavy things and simply hurl it towards his enemies. If that wasn’t an ingenious battle tactic, what was?

#

“Our informants upon the continent report that the Prime Five are in disarray. Was it wise to strike such a blow against three of them? Especially when the Eldritch descends and worse may come?” Eldarion asked.

“They are but cockroaches, parasitic pests which are a blight upon Alastaia and its peoples. They would have been of no help to us.”

A halberd sailed through the air, landing dead upon its target, only for the Whirlpool Whirlwind aspect of Domain of Perfect Cleaning to bring it back to Orodan’s hand.

“Mayhap you speak true, and I will not question what happened to you throughout your loops,” Eldarion said. “However, know that the relationship between mortals and the divine is not only one of parasitic worship, but can also be possessed of good.”

“What are you trying to say?” Orodan asked, showing a rare bit of impatience. He didn’t like Agathor, Eximus or Ilyatana, and any attempts to defend them consequently irked him.

“Peace, my friend,” Eldarion placated with a gesture which showed he meant no offense. “The three Gods you weakened were tyrants, no doubt. However, their Blessings also helped better the lives of many. Both things can be true and aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“Forgive my shortness, you do not deserve that. Though, this topic is one which still heats my temper,” Orodan said, throwing his halberd once more. It crisply cut through the air and struck the center dead-on once more. “I have a plan to help those whose Blessings were removed, it’s a goal for a later loop however.”

“Thank you, that you consider the ramifications is all I ask. After all, the world must go on despite the descent of the Eldritch Avatar and the time loops you find yourself in,” Eldarion said. “Now then, I see your throwing arm is quite good!”

“Not too different from throwing a shield. And I’m rather experienced in that already.”

Many skills had transferable aspects which could be carried over when learning others. While a halberd and a shield weren’t exactly the same, hurling an object thousands of times was still valid experience which carried over. And Orodan had always been the athletic sort who excelled at anything physical.

Orodan and Eldarion were within Ildisiar once again, specifically, at the training yard for archers and peltasts. Not for a moment had he neglected his martial skillset. Every single day involved some manner of shadow-drill or meditative reflection upon the art of the warrior. Sword, shield, halberd and the weapon which was his very body. Orodan refused to let up on honing these things which were his bread and butter.

Sometimes, he wondered what life would have been like if he had begun as Orodan Wainwright the time looping mage who slung spells at his enemies, or if he’d had a living and loving family. A thought which usually ended with a laugh and a feeling of gratitude for his origins. Yes, life was difficult, but nobody got anywhere meaningful without struggle.

A small part of him knew that the hypothetical mage Orodan would’ve lacked the sheer work ethic and tolerance for pain and death which the orphaned county militiaman did. When fighting the Reject, he’d seen the damned souls of so many other loopers trapped in a horrid prison within him. Many of them must have been nobles, mages, prodigies who’d had everything handed to them on a platter. Yet, they’d failed.

In a sense, perhaps his humble origins and willingness to work hard beyond the limits of reason were what allowed him to succeed where every other time looper had failed.

He continued throwing his halberd over and over, working on perfecting the form.

“Has anyone told you that your single-minded zeal is a bit unnerving?” Eldarion asked.

“Someone close to me said once that I’m more of a force of nature than a man.”

“They were not wrong,” Eldarion remarked. “I once thought myself quite prodigal, and then I began to observe how quick humans, and the shorter-lived races were capable of advancing. Yet, all that pales in comparison to the monster that you are. Even among your kind I’ve never seen anyone with the sort of deathly devotion that you have for self-improvement. I’ve had your lodgings prepared with many amenities, yet you have yet to enter that abode whatsoever.”

“I do appreciate it, sincerely. But it’s not necessary,” Orodan answered. “In fact, I won’t be using that at all so you might put it to better use for someone else.”

Eldarion shook his head and sighed.

“Your tale makes more and more sense as I watch you. Little wonder that you’ve come so far with a drive like that. Perhaps these time loops could’ve been granted to some prince or a king… yet where would they be compared to you? I admit, even if I were in them, I could not match what you’ve done. The controller of these loops truly made the right choice in anointing you to them.”

He wasn’t sure if the Boundless One would retain that opinion once it heard of his grand ambition, but Orodan would cross that bridge when he got to it.

“It’s just hard work. Anyone’s capable of it,” Orodan replied.

“And yet, you work the hardest of them all,” Eldarion spoke and Orodan hummed.

“Your own opportunity for hard work approaches in five months,” he said. “Are you sure you’re up for this trial? Even after I’ve told you the consequences it could bring upon yourself and your world? The Hegemony can sense when anyone within their territory achieves Transcendence.”

“Truth be told, the consequences are not so bad. The Hegemony arrives, you fight them as you’ve said, and I simply stay out of it,” Eldarion said. “If you lose, I simply pledge to serve them as they’ll offer, and if you win, even better.”

Well, when put like that, the elf wasn’t in any real trouble. Whatever the outcome, Eldarion and Alastaia would be fine. Though, Orodan would be the one antagonizing them, so who knew if they’d try and take it out upon the planet?

“I’m glad to see you have it well thought out.”

“Of course, the entirety of the risk falls on you. I simply sit back and reap the benefits,” Eldarion said, a beaming smile on his face.

Orodan chuckled. At least he was honest about it.

“Well, don’t speak as though I’ve won yet,” Orodan said. “Who knows how many loops I’ll need before that happens.”

“Yes, but your victory is inevitable all the same.”

Inevitable? Was it?

“I prefer not to write in stone what has yet to occur,” Orodan replied.

“For most, perhaps. Yet, look at yourself, Orodan,” Eldarion said. “Within the span of less than a century you’ve become strong enough to kill Gods and Transcendents. Breaking continents the size of planets, defeating peak-Transcendents and cleansing entire plague worlds along the way. And even when this Reject - an Administrator capable of shattering galaxies - threw you outside of the System, you simply ignored death through sheer willpower, faced down an entity capable of destroying all of the cosmos we dwell within and then proceeded to empower the time loop yourself. If all that doesn’t convince you that your victory is inevitable, then I don’t know what will.”

Was it destiny? Was Orodan ordained for this?

“I prefer not to let such fanciful notions enter my head,” Orodan replied. “It diminishes the value of the hard work it took to get here.”

“Fair enough. Ignore your apparent destiny if you wish,” Eldarion said.

“And what of your destiny? Divinity seems well-suited for you. You know, the God-Queen was quite happy when you failed the trial and ended up forced down the path of a God,” Orodan said. “You need not answer if you don’t want, but why? Why go against her wishes? Do you not wish to remain with her?”

“Why do you continually struggle in these time loops and not simply settle down somewhere quiet with that friend of yours?”

“That is… a good point.”

Eldarion had him there. A fair point.

If Orodan was dedicated to the way of the warrior and eternal battle, then it would be hypocritical to not respect Eldarion’s own goals for advancement.

“What do you mean by friend?” Orodan asked, focusing on the emphasis.

The elf looked unimpressed.

“Orodan, every time you speak about her, your tone of voice and your emotions become unusually subdued. Most other parts of your tale, you’ve narrated with some level of ardor, yet every time you’ve brought your half-dragon companion up, you’ve carefully watched how you speak, as though a child is attempting to mask how they feel.”

“That’s just preposterous…”

“And you’re also quite bad at lying,” Eldarion said.

“I won’t deny that,” Orodan replied. “There’s a reason I immediately tell everyone that I’m in a time loop.”

“Then why avoid the topic so insistently?” Eldarion asked. “If someone saved my life multiple times, I’d perhaps feel a certain way about them, particularly if we’d spent much time together over many horrible events.”

“Shared misery makes for an unsteady pairing,” Orodan said, focusing very much on the javelin he was throwing. “I’ve seen it oft enough growing up.”

“If that was the only thing drawing you two together, perhaps. Yet your recounting of what you’ve been through was more than just that,” the elf said. “Is it the pain of prior bonds breaking that makes you hesitate?”

“Not in the way you’re thinking,” Orodan said. “I’ve never cared for anything more than a casual encounter, or an extended arrangement consisting of just that.”

“Then, your dalliance with Xalyth Mezzer makes sense,” Eldarion said.

“I care not for her.”

“Then why do you dally, Orodan? From where does the hesitation come?”

“The hesitation… comes from having to see the same person die over and over again,” Orodan quietly replied. Though the words carried weight. Even Eldarion was silenced, and a look of pity could be seen on his face. And frankly… he wasn’t speaking to just Eldarion. “How many times can I see someone I care for die before I harden? Can I allow myself to feel that way, Eldarion?”

With the time loops, with all the cosmic foes he faced and everyone who relied upon him to succeed, could he afford such a thing? When so much hinged on him?

“Maybe not… but you don’t strike me as a coward, Orodan Wainwright,” Eldarion said. “Men and women with less spine than you have dared to feel such a way. How do you really feel about her?”

“I feel…” Orodan said, his javelin flying through the air, hitting the target. “That I need a distraction.”

It landed off-centre.

And an arrow landed right next to it, hitting dead-center.

“Why, if it isn’t Lord Wainwright! I’ve also come to practice my archery, as you advised!”

He wasn’t a damn lord…

…and he’d just found his distraction.

“Gelarion, was it? How about we put that archery of yours to the test against a moving target under combat conditions?” Orodan asked, a gleeful smile on his face.

“Er… certainly my Lo- uhm… Mister Wainwright,” the young elf said. “Why do you have such a sinister smile on your face?”

#

Gelarion wasn’t a bad lad, but it was telling of how differently elven youth were raised when the boy couldn’t even get up after a few minor bouts of pain. And if anything, Gelarion had done the best out of all the elven youth who’d been drawn to the spectacle of him teaching the boy.

“Did you not train Pain Resistance?” Orodan asked.

“I did… but having my ribs broken is a bit much…” Gelarion groaned from the ground. “Fighting you is like fighting a demon of rage and aggression.”

“Then perhaps you should try and match it or find a way to counter it. My strength and speed were limited to just below yours in fact. Rage, aggression, raw violence… these are all legitimate aspects of combat. Being unprepared for them will leave you dead against those who employ them. And having them in hand, ready to use, can give you the advantage over an unprepared foe,” Orodan lectured.

Gelarion had put up a decent fight. The elf was on-track to becoming better than Othorion Evertree and had numerous tricks in combat such as archery, dual swords, elemental magic and swift movement through the usage of wind magic. Gelarion had also summoned an Elite-level spirit familiar halfway through the battle. All in all, the boy was strong and would only get stronger, even if the mentality left something to be desired. No wonder Othorion felt competing against him in talent to be unfair.

“Anyhow, I just healed you, what are you on the ground for?”

“The memory of the pain is quite strong, Mister Wainwright…”

Orodan rolled his eyes at the dramatics. Though, at least the boy had learned not to call him Lord Wainwright.

“Enough of that, up you get,” Orodan said, hauling Gelarion to his feet. “How do they train you to develop Pain Resistance?”

“Through slow conditioning and meditation inside of a warded chamber which gradually increases the sensations of pain?” Gelarion answered.

“Hmm… it’s not bad. In fact, such a chamber could help develop a resistance towards mental pain and sensations inflicted by enemy mind mages and illusionists,” Orodan admitted. “But is that really all?”

Gelarion nodded, and Orodan was a little disappointed. No beatings? No regular hard combat and spars?

Actually acquiring the Pain Resistance skill through physical means was difficult and dangerous. Hells, even Orodan had actually died in the process when he’d gotten it the first time. His problem was that it wasn’t honed and expanded upon physically after the acquiring of the first level.

With all the healing magic and potions available to the elves, acquiring the skill through physical means wouldn’t be impossible either.

Where was the bloody hunger for survival? The desperate fight for each inch of ground?

It wasn’t the fault of these youth that life on Eldiron had made them, in some respects, soft.

Oh, many of these children would absolutely trounce even grown adult warriors on Inuan. They were incredibly advanced and had access to a wealth of tutors. Yet, Orodan was beginning to understand why these elves took far longer than humans to reach the higher levels.

There was no urgency or desperation. In fact, the children of human nobles on Inuan also faced the same problem! However, if the children of human nobility wanted to pursue a career in the military, it involved frequent adventuring and risk-taking beforehand if they wanted to be anyone of success. Human lives were short, and there was always that desperate drive to make the most of one’s time in order to advance.

Elven youth, however, were far more sheltered. In Orodan’s opinion, it had nothing to do with innate elven racial factors and everything to do with the culture of Eldiron which protected them fiercely. When an entire race was immortal, and death through battle was the only way they could be killed, being protective of themselves and their children was only natural.

However, this same culture of overprotectiveness was detrimental to their growth. He’d not seen a single poor elf upon Eldiron, and from what he’d read and heard, even the most disadvantaged of their kind, those without much talent, still had tutors, plentiful food and thriving communities around them.

The average elven child was superior to the average human youth in skill. But Orodan doubted whether any of these youth could stand up to the truly exceptional talents of the shorter-lived races. The likes of Mahari, Zukelmux and Aliya would easily trounce any elven youth in their age bracket.

“From now on… we shall train and amend this weakness,” Orodan said. “Tutors and safe learning within the embrace of civilization are no substitute for real combat experience with your life on the line.”

“But… I’ve slain slimes and goblins before!” one young girl cried, defiance on her face.

“And were you ever in any danger of being killed?” Orodan asked. In contrast, Aliya had delved into a level I monster infestation site and slew slimes and then clashed against skeletons raised by a necromancer before managing to flee. “We shall rectify this with regular trips to the depths to slay monsters from now on.”

Some of the parents were entirely against this, and immediately took their children away, citing how savage humans were. Some though, looked at him with interest and gladly offered their children up. These were overwhelmingly the parents from military families who could understand the value of such things. Many of the older youth who could make their own decisions also agreed to this.

The rapid gain in skill levels had perhaps convinced them.

In any case, the arrangements were spoken of for a bit, with Eldarion promising to assist, though even he seemed a little concerned about just what Orodan would put the youth through.

Just as he was about to finish however, one more elf entered the training ground.

“I heard a mighty warrior was providing invaluable combat lessons. I’ve come to test my own blade and learn.”

“Othorion… Mister Wainwright has just finished up,” Eldarion said.

“It’s fine,” Orodan allowed. “I’m always happy to fight. Especially against someone who wishes to improve.”

“Thank you, Mister Wainwright,” Othorion replied. “In my… undignified display earlier, I had not even noticed your presence. I apologize. Please grant me the honor of this spar.”

In response, Orodan drew his halberd and pointed it at the elven Bloodline bearer.

Othorion drew his bow and immediately sent glowing arrows towards Orodan, who swatted them out of their air as they came.

“Ranged combat to begin with? A safe choice, but is it done out of tactical consideration? Or because of a lack of faith in your close combat abilities?” Orodan asked.

“I have seen your brutally effective prowess in melee, I will not underestimate it,” Othorion replied as he moved about, keeping range and trying to pepper Orodan with arrows.

The Bloodline bearer was decent for his age, an Elite but strong enough to jump a tier and fight at the level of an average Master. Though, Othorion wasn’t anywhere near the level of true talents, such as his student Zukelmux who could fight a peak-Master while only being an Elite.

“It’s good that you don’t underestimate the foe, but how will you learn if you don’t push yourself?” Orodan asked and decided to force the matter by throwing his halberd at Othorion’s bow, causing it to fly out of his hands. He then suddenly lunged forwards with a burst of speed and entered melee range. “Show me what you’re capable of.”

Othorion’s glaive came out, and the elf began a melee exchange against Orodan.

“Tch! You’re… monstrously strong! Like a rampaging dragon!”

“Would you believe me if I said I’m limiting my strength to just below yours? The difference is in how I channel rage and aggression in combat,” Orodan said, deadlocking his halberd against Othorion’s blade and then using grappling and body mechanics to trip and shove the elf back. Even with matched strength, one could win contests of might through better body mechanics and aggression. “Your style is graceful, lithe, nimble. You seek to avoid direct clashes and strike blows wherever opportune. But against true aggression which simply covers the opening of one attack with another, such a style can get overwhelmed.”

“My style is… flawed then?”

“Only if you consider it to be. If you must commit to a style, over-commit and hone it to perfection until its weaknesses no longer exist,” Orodan explained.

“What do you mean?”

“The notion of a ‘balanced’ combat style is nice and all, but in the attempt to seek this fabled ‘balance’, I often see warriors crippling themselves by not reaching for the heights of their chosen style,” Orodan said, a brief lull in the combat. “I was told once that I was far too aggressive in combat. And what did I do? I simply took that and ran with it! Who cared if I had many openings during my attacks? I simply leaned so far into pure aggression and the commitment to attack that I covered my openings altogether. Opponents who ruthlessly exploit openings? I simply charge in like a bull, refusing to give them any openings as each attack is covered by the next. Foes who are defensive masters? I pit my might and savagery against their shell and find them wanting.”

“Then it’s not balance… but excellence?” Othorion asked.

“Indeed. Some things are inherently imbalanced. My aggressive manner of combat, for example,” Orodan said. “Yet, I’ve made it my own. Now then, let’s see how you adapt.”

Orodan pressed forward, and Othorion was still overwhelmed by the brutal and savage manner of fighting. Evading one attack simply meant the next came right after, parrying a strike caused a second blow to come in through the ongoing momentum, and entering a deadlock simply caused the elf to eat a punch to the face or a knee to the gut as Orodan taught him that everything was a weapon.

Cuts were inflicted, yet they closed. Bones were broken, though they mended. Through it all, Othorion channelled divine power, but only to heal and never to empower himself. The Evertree had far higher pain tolerance than Gelarion, and a part of Orodan wondered whether Othorion could simply outwork the talented, younger elf.

Orodan’s brutal pace and regimen was forcing the elf to improve, and it was showing even in the midst of the fight.

Evasions began flowing more naturally, mixed with more aggression and violence of Othorion’s own. Counters were layered with his own offenses, feints and traps. And a full minute of combat passed until the elf finally hit the ground, gasping for breath after a mighty knee strike forced the air out of his lungs.

“I… I lost…” Othorion said in-between gasped breaths.

“Perhaps. But how much did you learn?” Orodan asked. And Othorion remained silent in response, though the beginnings of a smile were forming on his face. “You know… if you weren’t such an abrasive bully, I’d be feeling better about this moment.”

“P-pardon?”

“You won’t go around bullying little girls when they try to buy Scorpionfly stingers in an exotic goods store, will you?”

“N-no? I don’t think I’ve ever done such a thing!”

Orodan looked him up and down, and then sighed.

Well, it wouldn’t do to hold against him what he hadn’t done yet in this loop. Yes, he had been about to backhand Aliya in that long loop ages ago, but perhaps that was simply this prickly elf’s personality?

And if Othorion still held the personality of a bully who battered people weaker than him… then Orodan would simply beat it out of him through endless sparring and leave the elf too tired to think about strong-arming anyone at all.

Othorion had a long way to go, but with a bit of hard work… Orodan felt confident that the difference between him and Gelarion wasn’t so definite.

Talent versus hard work and the willingness to make sacrifices. In his experience, he’d seen which one tended to win out in the end.

#

The leaves rustled and the branches swayed. The wisdom tree of Ildisiar was practically shaking in joy.

“Yes, I know that I’m doing a far better job than your caretakers. You’re welcome.”

“Countless millennia have passed, the ails unhealed. Yet, with a brush of your broom, all the scars are mended.”

“How did they not see these impurities? They’re rather apparent to the eye,” Orodan said. “To think you’ve gone this long without a good cleaning…”

Orodan felt almost a little apologetic that he hadn’t come by sooner.

“The broken one underestimates his own potential for the arts of purity.”

“Hmm… perhaps. I suppose the comparison is an unfair one,” Orodan admitted.

Especially when he was likely the single greatest cleaning talent in the entirety of System space and selected for the time loops because of that. Bit much to expect anyone else could match him in that regard.

The moon hung high in the sky, it was a clear night, and the grounds around the wisdom tree of Ildisiar were empty.

Oh, there’d been plenty of spectators a few hours ago when he’d arrived and embarrassed the elven caretakers by pointing out numerous spots on the trunk, branches and roots which were unclean and needed proper tending. The caretakers weren’t pleased, but the ancient oak had been thrilled to have someone finally notice. Hells, from what the tree implied, even it hadn’t quite recognized many of the subtle impurities for what they were.

Once upon a time, he’d healed little Aliya and made her body stronger by fixing and filling up the minute and unseen gaps and imperfections in the bones and muscles. Similarly, even this ancient elven oak which possessed knowledge of ages past wasn’t exempt from this. The very wood which composed it had minute imperfections, and Orodan worked on truly cleaning it, by getting rid of these impurities.

Each sweep of his broom altered reality itself and made the tree stronger, more whole. All imperfections were eliminated.

The very ground which it stood upon, the air, and the entirety of its body; trunk, branches, roots and leaves included… were all cleansed.

Orodan had gotten so good at cleaning that he didn’t even have to pay full attention to the act while doing it. The entire time, the dimensional training orb was in front of him, as he performed exercises with it and sought to learn just what a dimension was and how it was created.

Furthermore, Orodan was capable of using the tree for something nobody else could. Contact with it allowed one to glimpse the entirety of its accumulated knowledge. It was an act which would utterly shatter the mind of anyone else but Orodan, yet he managed to do so easily.

In a sense, acquiring glimpses of knowledge and answers from the tree of Ildisiar was far better than any regular tutor or instructor. With the glimpses of knowledge from the tree, he’d made a bit of progress in Dimensionalism. Though, it had still only been a day.

“Dimensionalism still makes no sense,” Orodan admitted. “Under the System, I had the skill, but I never really understood the very basics of it. The crutch provided by the System robbed me of the chance then… but now, I still struggle.”

“The dimensional ways are complex even for the brightest of minds.”

“That much, I’ve come to learn,” Orodan said. “Still… I think I’m getting the hang of it, but I need to see something which can cross dimensions in practice in order to learn.”

“An arachnid… one which skitters across the ways, from world to world.”

An arachnid?

…a spider.

The dimensional phase spider!

“Right! That creature! You know of it then? You really are a wise tree,” Orodan praised. “How might I find it?”

“The looper may have difficulty remaining unnoticed by it. It is never seen, merely detected. Upon which… escape.”

“Not true. I did manage to see it face to face, upon which it rapidly fled into another dimension,” Orodan said.

“The unique nature of the broken one’s soul might allow for the element of surprise.”

“Not wrong. I’ve heard a few times now that I’m unable to be tracked through the soul or magical means,” Orodan said. “Perhaps an expedition to track one of these things down can be arranged?”

“This one shall inform the immortal children of your desires.”

“Thank you, tree, I feel as though a successful display of dimensional travel will finally allow me to understand what it is that I’ve been lacking.”

A full day had passed since he’d entered Eldiron.

And tomorrow, was a meeting with a familiar old nutter. Someone whose tutelage would allow Orodan to realize his grand ambition.

#

The two of them walked towards the man they’d secured an audience with.

“You know… I was expecting I would have to kidnap him…”

“That does not surprise me in the slightest,” Eldarion said. “Knowing you, you would have broken into Arkwall, caused an international incident and used force to put down any attempts at stopping you.”

“Well, I didn’t know that sending a letter would have worked!” Orodan exclaimed. “Who just agrees to show up to a different continent upon receipt of a written request?”

“Didn’t you say you travelled to a different galaxy upon receiving a letter yourself?” Eldarion asked.

“Ahem… well…” Orodan trailed off. Fair point. “I still think it’s reasonable to believe a letter wouldn’t have worked.”

“It’s more revealing of your upbringing that you thought it wouldn’t have worked,” Eldarion said. “…Orodan, have you ever sent a letter in your life?”

“…no.”

The two of them were now close enough to their target that the man saw them.

“The numbers swirl about you most precipitously, as though on the cusp of something more… most unique!” the crazed man said, looking at Eldarion, likely referring to how the elf was holding himself back from triggering the trial of ascension.

“Alovardo Balmento,” Orodan greeted.

“Walking anomaly,” the man replied.

“Walking anomaly?” Eldarion asked. “Ah, his soul and the lack of a System.”

“Indeed. This troublemaker and his time loops are the reason for the recent agitation of the numbers,” Alovardo said. “The source behind it all is afrenzy with panic, and this in turn makes the numbers go mad. Which, makes the spread of the truth intensify.”

“What? You never said the Eldritch was spreading more rapidly when we last spoke,” Orodan said, frowning.

“In-between the last meeting we had and this one, it spread rapidly. Until somebody decided to cleanse the entirety of the world and its core,” Alovardo replied, giving Orodan a suspicious look. “I suppose if this interloping do-gooder were to repeat this feat enough times, then the spread of the truth might be halted and perhaps even reversed. Though, they’d best take care to keep that away from me.”

“That’s a part of my plan,” Orodan said, giving voice for once to a glimpse of what his true end goal was. “But we’re getting off-topic. I asked you to come here so that I might resume my study under your tutelage. I believe I’ve made some progress in expanding my mental faculties, and now, I wish to tackle the task of manipulating System’s glyphs and symbols.”

“No time to waste, let us get to work then,” Alovardo said. “Bring me a living thing, will you?”

Vision of Purity caught onto a rat scurrying about an elf’s larder, and Orodan used a new trick he’d practiced, pulling it to him.

“I don’t recognize the spell you used,” Eldarion said. “Spatial Pull? A Spatial Rift to create an opening to pull it to you?”

“No. Teleportation,” Orodan answered.

“Impossible. Teleportation only allows for one to move to areas where they’ve been in the past,” the elf stated.

“That was what I thought as well,” Orodan said. “My month at Bluefire allowed for some experimentation though, and who knew that the System’s crutch also limited me to certain pathways when it came to skills? Yes, Teleportation normally only allows for the travel from one place to another. And pulling something to oneself should be a separate skill entirely. Yet, without the System forcing things down a pathway… the standard Teleportation spell can be repurposed to pull something to the caster.”

“Incredible…” Eldarion said. “Can this gift be shared?”

Orodan didn’t answer that question, the full realization of what he intended was still too far away to make any promises.

The rat was in his hands and squirmed a bit. It tried biting his finger, only for its teeth to break. Some species were common across all continents it seemed.

“Excellent, now then… see that symbol floating about it?” Alovardo asked, pointing at a particular one, and Orodan looked deeply at it.

It was a glyph of the System, four-dimensional, with a touch of something more to it. It was continually emanating from the rat in his palm, more so than any of the other symbols.

“What of it?” Orodan asked.

“Within its soul, a symbol which is identical should be present,” Alovardo explained, and then smiled ominously. “Remove it.”

Anyone else would have been unnerved, but Orodan knew that this was necessary and felt no squeamishness. With a gentle application of his own soul energy, he most tenderly delved into the rat’s soul, all the way into the soul core. This was a feat previously impossible for him, but now, the System barriers in the soul offered no resistance whatsoever.

Perhaps they were meant to prevent tampering from beings of the System who were also composed of it, but against Orodan, it didn’t matter. And once within, he gently guided that one particular symbol out where it floated in the palm of his hand.

Almost immediately, the rat’s thrashing became much, much weaker.

“The Physical Fitness skill,” Alovardo explained. “The numbers from that skill are removed. This rat must not be familiar with its body… hmm… quite young.”

Orodan gently guided the stolen System glyph back into place, and suddenly the rat’s strength returned, and it thrashed about at its normal intensity.

“This is… this is impossible. You can affect the skills of the very System within someone?” Eldarion asked, looking incredibly uneasy.

Frankly, Orodan himself felt this was something best not used without much consideration. It was incredibly violating to just delve into someone’s soul core and rob them of a skill. It was akin to invading their very being. He could outright delete skills and leave someone a helpless and unpowered newborn if they weren’t innately familiar with the stolen skills.

“I will not use this in battle or to torment anyone,” Orodan declared. “My way has and will always be that of the warrior. Cheapening my victories with such a dirty trick simply won’t do.”

Eldarion looked a little relieved, though Alovardo rolled his eyes.

“Yes, yes… very noble of you. Now, the rat. Reverse time upon it. And remember, maintain control of the entirety of its soul as you do. Otherwise, it’ll just be a regular Time Reversal.”

Again, Orodan did as instructed and used a minor application of chronomancy, keeping a close eye on the rat’s soul as he did so, making sure to keep tight control over all the System glyphs within.

And as he watched, his eyes widened from what he saw.

The glyphs of the System… were reverting to previous versions.

The rat in his hands grew younger, not just in body… but in System.

“By the four… how… how is that possible?” Eldarion asked, utterly stupefied as he cast Observe upon it. “It… it lost a title!”

“Hahahaha! Excellent! Truly excellent! The numbers bow to you like they do to the source!” Alovardo exclaimed, cackling like the madman he was.

“By the System… what in the seven hells have I become capable of?” Orodan asked himself.

Orodan wasn’t someone easy to shake. But the System truly was a core part of life for everyone, even him. To realize that he held such primordial power over the System of others now… it left him genuinely shocked for a bit. This wasn’t just the act of punching harder or acquiring more power. The System allowed one to do that anyways.

This was the act of modifying the fundamental code of the cosmos they were in.

“Oh, how have I longed to be capable of touching the numbers myself! But in lieu of that… teaching you will do!” Alovardo exclaimed. “Come now, my precious walking anomaly, I have much to impart upon you and many experiments to perform!”

Yes, he could now technically fix things and go back to how it was supposed to be, repairing his System. He saw a quick and convenient path of mangling the souls of others, stealing their System glyphs and then applying it to his own soul. But… Orodan refused.

Not only did his honor protest such an ignoble path…

…he had also never been one for the easy way out.

And his grand ambition awaited.

Though, it would take time. And at the very least, the first part of it would require five more months of learning the script languages.

Before him, five months of learning. And beyond that… the descent of the Eldritch and cataclysmic events of his own making.