The Stubborn Skill-Grinder In A Time Loop
Chapter 90: The Unintended Consequences of True Power I

What was true power?

To influence the world? To live comfortably and lavishly? In accordance with one’s ideals?

Or was it to protect the life one had built from destruction?

It was a broad question, the sort argued over by meandering philosophers and fools in taverns.

But while such people would argue about whether kings, emperors or Gods held true power, Orodan had gone ahead and done something which none of them ever had.

He had permanently altered reality and by extension the tapestry of fate and timeline itself. If that wasn’t true power, then what was?

Even now as the council members, many of the faces unfamiliar to him, and many familiar but wearing different colors. Furthermore, many of the banners and sigils were different too.

A quick check within his soul had Orodan sighing in relief as Fenton’s device and Adeltaj’s memory bank within it remained intact. Which was quite strange, as the timeline had been altered yet a trace of the old man still remained? It had him immediately considering whether the alteration of reality didn’t affect him and anything within his soul because he was the caster, or because he was too high in power to be erased and moved about in the timeline.

Still, his postulations did little to distract him from the glaring absence of his mentor Adeltaj Simarji.

A problem of his own making that he was dead set on fixing.

The chamber of the council, this city, this nation, everything around him felt similar yet radically different. Even Zaessythra seemed more than a little alarmed at the changes he had wrought.

Matter of fact, he needed to verify the extent to which his unintended erasure of Ilyatana had affected the timeline and reality.

“Mister Wainwright? We have yet to finalize a date for the ceremony. A new addition to the ranks of the Republic is quite the auspicious occasion,” the High-Burgher reminded. “Does sometime in the coming two weeks sound preferable?”

Orodan had no time for the Hogh-Burgher as his eyes began to glow with the familiar white power of his soul.

“Wait! We have yet to discuss this time loop you mentioned,” the Altamari said. “Lord Halor will be most interested in… Mister Wainwright? What are you-”

Orodan utterly ignored her as cries of shock erupted at the sight of his glowing eyes and the raw power emanating from him.

Everything had changed.

And not in a way Orodan had wanted or planned for. This needed to be set right, right away.

His eyes glowed with power as he immediately dove into the time stream, trying to understand just what he’d changed.

[Time Mastery 93 → Time Mastery 94]

Yet, deep as he looked… nothing was wrong?

“This can’t be right. I wiped her out of existence, therefore of course something should be wrong,” Orodan thought. “But this time stream looks… no wait… it definitely looks more chaotic as a whole than the river of time I’m used to.”

His power blazed, doubtlessly acting a beacon for anything beyond Alastaia. But worries about being discovered and ending the loop earlier were the farthest thing from his mind right now.

Yet, no matter how closely Orodan looked, even going back as far as a hundred-thousand years ago, he could find no sign that anything was out of the ordinary. Oh yes, the river of time was chaotic. Nothing was amiss, but it was akin to a normally calm river suddenly being a raging one. Proof that Orodan’s alteration of reality was still fresh and the timeline’s natural snapping back in an attempt to flow naturally had occurred not too long ago.

But even then, although the time stream was chaotic… nothing was amiss.

Besides the non-existence of Ilyatana and Adeltaj Simarji that was. Furthermore, there was something a bit… off about the river, but he wasn’t quite able to put his finger on it just yet.

Naturally, this caused no shortage of frustration for him.

How could he undo what he’d wrought if there was no real evidence of what he’d undone in the first place?

There was no soul of Ilyatana or Adeltaj lingering in the hidden corners. There was no secret thing he had to find and interact with to set things back to normal. No… it was plainly as though the Goddess of Fate had never existed altogether. As though everything was the way it should be. As though the timeline was… perfectly clean.

That didn’t sound perfect or clean to him.

“Your mentor still exists in this timeline, you could still resurrect him, could you not?” Zaessythra asked, and it was a fair point too.

However, the Adeltaj he resurrected would not be the same one. And Orodan would feel better about not resurrecting the man only to eventually see this alternate Adeltaj rendered non-existent once he set the timeline back to normal.

Orodan was caught in a bind, and his Reality Alteration wasn’t a skill he could apply in and of itself yet. He had a strong feeling that it was a critical component to fixing this horrid mistake of his, but it would require time and training to hone it to that point.

No… the real culprit was the Domain of Perfect Cleaning. And Orodan was swiftly beginning to understand that it had the potential to carry the same gravity of consequences that Incipience of Infinity did.

But remaining here would do him no favors.

The council members were more than a little concerned at the utter excess of power he’d glowed with, but since when had Orodan cared about laying low? Not that he was any good at it.

Exiting the chamber of the council, the capital guard commander who he recalled encountering upon entry was no longer the same woman. Instead, in her place was now a grizzled older man. And as he stepped out of the High Spire of Karilsgard altogether, a group of ornately armored men wearing robes and familiar insignia approached him.

Leading them, a familiar old man. One who he’d tried soliciting aid from in his very first loop after dying for the first time.

“Greetings warrior, a moment of your time for the good word of the Prime Four?” Solamus Einshield spoke. He was a heavily armored man with sword and shield ready to be drawn. And Orodan’s mouth set into a thin line upon the realization that only one God upon Inuan had battle priests. “Lord Agathor and the Prime Four require your aid. The foul northmen are regularly being pushed back, but the divine is always seeking more holy warriors for our righteous crusade.”

Righteous crusade?

Thankfully, a nearby capital guardsman intervened before the group of battle priests could spread their gospel further.

“Hey, that’s enough. You’ve been warned time and time again not to approach the High Spire. Preach about the call to arms elsewhere, not here.”

“The holy call to arms in Lord Agathor’s name has no limitation on where it may be spread, guardsman. Or would you like to explain to your superiors how the capital guard are interfering with Cathedral business? You would not like the status of your Blessing to come into question now… would you?”

The guard frowned and seemed more than a little shaken by the threat, that was, until a senior guardsman came by with a severe look on her face. Or rather, what should have been the capital guard commander, or had been… in the previous timeline.

“What’s going on here?” the woman asked, looking more worn and stern than he remembered. “Priest Einshield, have you come attempting to recruit more warriors for the northern crusade again? That is not permitted near the surroundings of the High Spire.”

“Captain, come to create trouble for the God of War’s faithful yet again? Did your demotion not-”

But Orodan had heard enough.

“What crusade is this?” he sharply cut off, and the intensity in his voice caused the leading battle priest to take a step backwards. “What new devilry has Agathor gotten up to?”

“Devilry? Mind your blasphemous tongue! Lord Agathor seeks brave warriors to join the ongoing holy war against the vile northmen. A noble cause which is the shared duty of all Republicans and Easterners.”

A war against the northern continent? For what? Orodan could understand purging the raider tribes, but what was the point of an all-out war?

The priest was vehement in his defense of this practice, and worst of all, many of the nearby passing folk were on-board with the idea and glaring at him with a level of open hostility he hadn’t expected.

“Hey! This man’s a blasphemer!”

“A heretic? We should carve him up and display his corpse on the mountain so that Novarria can see!” yelled a particularly zealous citizen.

“How dare a disbeliever speak so of his eminence? Maybe he’s one of them Guzuharans! Worship the wicked blood God of the north do you?”

The crowd was angry, and they were braying for blood already. A single remark, and the deep faith these people held in Agathor was now becoming apparent. A little ironic that these people would covet his blood for such a simple remark while expressing disgust for the northern blood God in the same breath.

And it seemed there was more than a bit of disconnect between what the councilman had said earlier in the chamber, regarding the Republic being tolerant of differing faiths. It appeared that Guzuharan God worship was not among that list.

What had become of society in the absence of Ilyatana? Had Agathor truly infilitrated the hearts and minds of the people so deeply?

In any case, zero multiplied by fifty was still zero, and none of these weak rabble composing the mob would be capable of threatening even an Adept. And whether it was his naturally joyless face or his stature, none of the roused members of the crowd wanted to meet his gaze.

“Order! This is a nation of laws, not blind religious zealotry! The Republic of Aden has many faiths within it!” the capital guard captain barked, drawing her weapon and standing between Orodan and the angry citizens. “Disperse before force is used. No assault will be taking place here.”

Orodan was always down for a fight and would have been more than happy to dispense a beating of his own, but he decided to not complicate this poor woman’s day any further. The sudden demotion due to an alteration of the timeline was bad enough as it was.

The angry crowd pacified themselves a bit at the sight of the armed capital guard giving a direct order, but the battle priest of Agathor, Solamus Einshield, yet remained. Frankly, Orodan remembered the man as a grizzled battle priest who was willing to at least hear out the impulsive and young Orodan Wainwright back then. Yet now? A mouthpiece for the coward of old Hasmathor.

“Captain, this matter is not over. This man openly derides the chief deity of the Prime Four, any insult against our lord cannot go overlooked by his servants. Agathor is not only the God of War, but of honor. And as his loyal servant, I Solamus Einshield must challenge this man to a duel.”

The man perhaps realized too late that he’d uttered such a thing to the one warrior all too happy to fight anyone.

“A duel? Excellent, let’s fight,” Orodan immediately replied in agreement, his smile positively bloodthirsty as his sword left the sheathe and the shield was raised. “I’m sure Agathor will be quite proud of your decisive nature and bravery.”

The almost instantaneous agreement alongside Orodan’s friendly smile had Solamus stepping back two feet. The other two battle priests with the man reflexively drew their weapons in fear too.

“Friendly? That’s an interesting way of saying deranged…” Zaessythra remarked, amused.

Of course, she knew him all too well. But one man’s derangement was another man’s joy, and he doubted anyone on Alastaia loved fighting as much as he did.

This would of course be an entirely pointless battle if even a millionth of his strength was unleashed. From the feeling Orodan got, Solamus was an Adept, and Orodan had surpassed that level within the first two hundred loops of starting his journey. But, fighting was something he would never turn down, and there was much to learn and even more to be learned in correcting someone’s flaws in the midst of battle.

And most importantly, Orodan sensed that Solamus had two Blessings of Agathor within his soul. Unlike the original timeline, it seemed this old battle priest was a figure of a bit more importance in this one. Which was just fine as he’d be able to get in some training and a meeting in one.

The battle priest frowned, but to his credit didn’t back down.

“I know not what level you are, blasphemer, but we shall keep this duel limited to first blood, with the loser recanting their words,” the battle priest said as he stepped forward cautiously, hiding behind his shield but with his sword at the ready.

“Tch… duelling right in front of the High Spire? Just don’t cause any undue property damage or I’ll be having both parties fined for the expenses,” the capital guard captain said with a grumble as she backed away.

Out of fairness, Orodan limited himself to the strength and speed of an Apprentice as he lunged forward. But despite that, the aggression of it was enough to have the old battle priest acting wary from the get-go.

Orodan’s shield rammed against the battle priest’s shield at such an angle, that despite willingly ceding the strength advantage, the old man’s guard was compromised. Furthermore, the man must have been expecting Orodan to strike with his sword and not step into a much closer range where blade work would be more difficult. His leg hooked behind Solamus’s lead foot, and a follow-up shove sent the man stumbling backwards.

The gathered crowd gasped and began muttering, and the other two battle-priests had frowns of concern on their faces.

“And if I win? What words will you recant?” Orodan asked. “How about this. If I win, let me have a conversation with your God.”

“You are not worthy! My lord shall not descend to speak to a wicked heretic!” came the replied shout, and an accompanying charge, though one where the man still made sure to hide behind his shield.

Orodan responded in kind, rushing forward. However, at the last moment instead of meeting shield-to-shield again, he allowed the leather straps to ride it along his arm, freeing up his left hand to grab his opponent’s shield and yank it upwards to block his view.

Then, Orodan simply dropped his sword, put both hands upon the grabbed shield and began twisting it at very odd angles which forced the battle priest to mess up his footwork in a bid to prevent what the man thought was a disarm.

Throughout this grapple for the shield, Orodan made sure to keep Solamus’s own shield at such an angle that the man could not strike with his sword, and periodically took a hand off the contested shield to deliver a punch or pull his opponent in for a knee.

It was only after the ninth blow—a ringing punch to the gorget which had the battle priest choking—that the man finally saw sense and let go. Nine unanswered strikes throughout which the battle priest had desperately tried holding onto his shield under the incorrect assumption that he was at risk of being disarmed.

In truth, Orodan had simply tricked Solamus into thinking that so that he could strike with impunity.

[Shield Mastery 98 → Shield Mastery 99]

Understanding could be acquired even through the most mundane of battles.

“The shield isn’t a defensive implement to hide behind. I hope the nine unanswered blows were enough to teach you that lesson,” Orodan said as the battle priest scurried to gain some distance. “The shield is a weapon like any other, a tool for the warrior, not some ultimate defense which will win you a battle by itself. Use the shield, but do not rely on it.”

Sword, shields, halberds… they were weapons, tools. But every tool had the chance of failing or being seen through, especially if used in a one-dimensional manner. Remaining adaptable was a necessity.

Despite Orodan limiting himself to the Apprentice-level, his punches still hurt. The battle priest of Agathor looked uncomfortable and more aware now of the power dynamic between them.

“You are strong, warrior. It is evident to see you are toying with me. But, I have not bled yet, and this duel is still ongoing!” the old man yelled, gripping the bastard sword with both hands now that he was lacking a shield. “You wished to converse with my God? Very well… strong as you are, no man can stand before the power of-”

“Are you truly going to rely on that wicked power to win?”

It was a direct question which interrupted the man plainly.

“You dare to call my Lord’s power wicked? It is divine providence! The might of the God of War himself!”

“But it isn’t your own strength. Tell me, Solamus Einshield, would Agathor approve of you drawing upon divine power to fight a mere duel? Is that the honor and courage the God of War espouses?” Orodan asked, mockingly. “Or… does the greatest coward of old Hasmathor remain the craven he has always been? Perhaps his follower calling upon divine power for a mere honor duel makes more sense now.”

“Coward of… my lord? A-as you command…”

Those were the battle priest’s last words before the familiar orange glow of divine energy Orodan associated with his least favorite God descended from the heavens.

The crowd bowed in reverent supplication, their zealous faith towards Agathor apparent. And the remaining battle priests fell to their knees in awe.

As the Avatar’s eyes blazed with power, the God behind them met Orodan’s gaze and had only three words to speak.

“Who are you?”

“So you were watching all this time, as expected,” Orodan spoke. “Did my honest remark draw your attention?”

“You know things which none in this age should. Are you a reincarnator? Or has one of those fell northern Gods made you their thrall?” Agathor asked, his voice laced with barely contained fury.

“Neither. I am someone that has made a grievous mistake, one I fully intend to rectify,” Orodan answered, withdrawing his broom from his spatial storage. And the next words out of his mouth were ones he’d never expected to be uttering in a million loops. “Perhaps Ilyatana’s existence was a necessity after all.”

“The name you speak is meaningless to me. I am Agathor, chief deity of the Prime Four, and you speak of dangerous things, blasphemer. Bold of you to utter such words while standing upon Inuan, particularly Karilsgard where my power is strongest,” Agathor spoke. “But I am not without reason. You would not have so carelessly spilled provocative words of a forbidden nature if you did not wish to meet me. So I will ask again, who are you and what do you seek?”

“What I seek, is the return of one of your wretched fellow divinities, the lost member of the Prime Five,” Orodan answered. “Ilyatana, the Goddess of Fate.”

“You speak nonsense. There has never been a fifth divinity among us Prime Four. Even among the savage northmen or the elven quartet I have never heard of this Ilyatana,” Agathor spoke, the air booming with divine power.

“So it affected even the Gods… not even you sense anything amiss, do you?” Orodan honestly asked.

His typical hatred of Agathor was set aside for a moment as he was genuinely just trying to understand the scope of what had occurred. Yes, he would ordinarily waste no time in personally putting an end to the wretched war God in the divine dimension, but right now, tracing Agathor and the other divinities of the Prime Four was Orodan’s best shot at understanding just what he’d changed.

“Sense what amiss? Wait… you cannot mean… is this what Eximus sensed?”

Unfortunately for Agathor, the God of War’s question went unanswered as Orodan focused on his thread in the tapestry and the river of time.

His eyes glowed with power as he directed his chronomancy towards peering as far back into the past as he could.

Using the time stream of a God, Orodan could view a lot more of just what had changed in this alternate timeline where Ilyatana didn’t exist. He could go far back, very far back.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

And immediately he saw the differences in how Alastaia’s history had played out without the existence of Ilyatana.

The Republic’s secession from the Novarrian Empire was bloody… very, very bloody. Since Ilyatana hadn’t slain many of the dragon flights, the entire enmity between the Time Wind, Sapphire Gale and Burning Ember dragon flights was practically non-existent. The conflict—which had originally started due to a few unruly dragons killing mortals—had been arbitrated and punishments dispensed among themselves.

In the absence of the dragon flights causing the war and acting as a guarantor of some level of civility, Agathor had stepped in… to help the Republic. Entire cities were razed and the death toll horrific until the Prime Four came to an accord and followed Agathor in standing with the alliance of the Republic and the Eastern Kingdoms.

Needless to say, Novarria was not happy. The deaths of so many civilians as Agathor went scorched earth and razed cities drew the attention of one particular man, Balastion Novar. The First Emperor himself awoke and took to the battlefield, slaying the Chosen of the Prime Four and nearly destroying the Republic in retribution. The Gods barely avoided corruption from the man’s Eldritch crown. At which point the late intervention of the dragonflights and the threat of foreign interference from Eldiron had finally forced the man to return to his citadel before the newly seceding nation could be obliterated.

Naturally, following such an extreme event, Novarria had outright banned the worship of divinities in this alternate timeline. They had become a reclusive nation, and there were serious tensions between even the average Republican and the regular Novarrian as many believed the empire was providing secretive aid to the northerners. Furthermore, unlike the original timeline, here, there were frequent talks of hostilities being imminent once more, and dark rumors that the tyrannical First Emperor was experimenting with a dark power to this day, biding his time until he mastered it and could annihilate the Republic and its allies.

And strangely enough… Orodan noticed that there was no mention or signs of any Eldritch incursions from the stars throughout the period of Agathor’s life and divinity. Not a singular one landed upon Inuan, Guzuhar or Eldiron. And from what he could glean from the time stream… there was no Eldritch Avatar coming?

Now that was exceedingly odd, and not at all something Ilyatana’s erasure should have affected.

Orodan had an uncomfortable feeling about that, but before he could ponder upon it, one last thing caught his attention.

The lack of something specific in the time stream.

“It really went so far…”

He’d finally discovered what that slight difference in the river of time from earlier was. Unfortunately, he had little time to dwell on the ramifications of such a startling discovery. Orodan’s thoughts were interrupted as three more divine presences slammed down upon the ground, drawing his attention back to the real world and away from the time stream.

The crowd had long since fled, the gathering of power from Orodan had made them fear a potential fight.

Chronomantic fields where time suddenly sped up or slowed down, an aura of life and nature, and one of death and decay. He knew none of the hosts of these Chosen Avatars, understandable given that Arvayne Firesword and Alcianne Rockwood had died at the First Emperor’s hands during the Liberation War.

“Who dares meddle with the river of time?” the Avatar of Eximus growled as it touched down, cratering the ground. “Agathor, who is this man? Not even the wretched Balastion Novar possesses power enough to look back so far in time. The tremors were felt even in my domain.”

“Remain cautious brother, I do not know of his identity in the slightest. Even now my faithful can only tell me that an unknown man by the name of Orodan Wainwright entered the council chambers earlier today. The trees speak nothing of him…” Halor spoke, his Avatar remaining in a guarded stance.

“You’re not wrong. The trees speak nothing of me, and no one here knows of me,” he replied in agreement. “Because Orodan Wainwright… does not exist.”

He had never been born.

Not here, not in this strange timeline where too many things had changed and his mother and father had never met.

It was what he’d sensed right away but been unable to put a finger on. Something he had no experience in dealing with prior because Orodan had always had a stable and consistent thread in the river of time.

But now? It was as though he’d suddenly popped into existence a few days ago, created a natural phenomena near Ogdenborough and presented himself to Bluefire with his new Mythical skill. A complete stranger, someone not of this world or this time.

Yes, even his destruction of House Argon and its Novarrian allies was something which had retroactively not occurred at all… because House Argon were never traitors in this timeline. The ancient machine still existed of course—as did his alterations to it—but whatever had occurred with the timeline after his erasure of Ilyatana had caused many of his activities involving non-existent people to no longer exist as well.

It was a sobering realization on just how far his cleaning could go.

“Then… we must ask you come with us. There are too many oddities surrounding you and for the sake of this nation’s safety we cannot allow you to wander unchecked,” Malzim said.

“I wonder what changed? For you all to have become loyal dogs of Agathor, it’s disappointing. Particularly for you two, Halor and Malzim,” Orodan spoke. “The wanton slaughter of entire Novarrians towns? A holy war against the northmen? I can understand this bloodthirsty coward engaging in these things, but you two went along with him?”

Surprisingly enough, he sensed the divine power within Malzim’s host squirm at his words. The God of Death, it seemed, was not proud of all that had occurred. Halor however, looked unmoved.

“Enough. Your power is great, but we will not brook such a threat wandering the Republic, nor one who disrespects me so plainly in the open. If you do not wish to cooperate with us… then we must ask you leave immediately and never return,” Agathor spoke.

Orodan laughed. He couldn’t help it. It was a mocking sound, full of animosity.

“A coward even in this timeline, prince of old Hasmathor. Are you so unwilling to fight me that you would simply ask me to leave politely?” he retorted. “Are you not the God of War?”

“Your attempts at aggravating me will not work. This may yet end peacefully, leave, we have no quarrel with you and have enemies enough of our own,” Agathor spoke.

“Is that what it is? Ah, perhaps Balastion Novar’s near corruption of you has humbled you? You certainly do not act as brashly as you did in my time,” Orodan spat. “Or is it this mad holy war against the northern continent that you’ve started? Is your attention divided on too many fronts to afford another enemy? Strange how unwilling you become when your enemy isn’t a helpless town full of innocents.”

Orodan knew he was being entirely too provocative, and more than a little petty. Ordinarily, he had no interest in disrespecting anyone without cause, but Agathor was one of the few exceptions to that. Yes, he’d truly considered leaving these Gods be—after all they weren’t the Gods of his timeline who’d entrapped him—what had this Agathor done to him?

But one look at the timeline of this alternate reality had disabused him of that notion.

These Gods, the Prime Four, they were guilty of crimes aplenty. The wanton murder of innocent people was just the start. The other Gods had hesitantly been forced to join Agathor when Balastion Novar entered the picture. Yet this alliance borne of desperation didn’t mean they had to go along with all the accompanying slaughter and bloodshed.

“I will ask once more… who are you? You speak names I do not know and tell of things that have never occurred. I cannot recall ever meeting one such as you in the past,” Agathor spoke.

“You never did, not in this time. But it seems you’ll always be the same wretched coward even in this timelime, Agathor. And your crimes here are aplenty. You claim to have no quarrel with me, but I have one with you… with all of you in fact.”

But more importantly, he had a mistake to undo. And as raw soul energy bled off his form and power filled his broom, he focused upon the act of restoring what was wrong. On bringing the Goddess of Fate back to life.

But as the power of his broom and Domain of Perfect Cleaning erupted, covering all Alastaia and even beyond. He was an Embodier now, and while the level mattered less than his actual insight, what did matter… was that Orodan had grown strong, very strong.

The ‘sense’ his Celestial skill gave him allowed him to feel far beyond what Vision of Purity allowed. And with it, he attempted to push and fix what he’d wrought in the first place. The Domain of Perfect Cleaning shot out, enveloping the entirety of Alastaia’s timeline.

Except, there was one small detail he had missed.

His Domain of Perfect Cleaning didn’t just clean things, but also fortified them from further corruption… from further change.

And Orodan realized too late that this wasn’t a wall he could simply push on without it pushing back.

[Domain of Perfect Cleaning 161 → Domain of Perfect Cleaning 162]

The broom in his hands exploded and he nearly lost control over his Celestial skill as something struck back against his attempts to mend the situation.

At first he was concerned it was a foreign force, some enemy Embodier vying over the same concept who’d come to thwart him. But those thoughts parted for the realization that he faced something entirely greater. A very facet of reality… the concept of cleaning itself.

He bled all over and his body began suffering destruction as he pulled upon greater and greater amounts of power.

[Incipience of Infinity 146 → Incipience of Infinity 147]

Yet it was not power that would solve the problem. But insights.

And for the first time in his life, across all his loops… Orodan Wainwright felt himself truly tested in a battle of cleaning.

This wasn’t the Custodian, it wasn’t one of the many rival Embodiers… it was cleaning.

And as Orodan’s mind, talent and insights clashed against it… he made the horrid mistake of attempting to directly throw his mind and awareness against it.

[Domain of Perfect Cleaning 162 → Domain of Perfect Cleaning 163]

And Orodan Wainwright forgot who he was.

Cleanliness saw the small world before it. It was so filthy, everything within it was.

The foul Gods who needed eradication. The dirty mages and their silly magic spells. The politicians, nobles and scheming cowards who ran the various nations upon it. And the imperfections within every living thing.

Cleanliness demanded the purification of it all. Only a small step had been taken with the erasure of the unclean divinity which called itself the Goddess of Fate, but more remained.

And as Cleanliness brought its power down to bear, it found itself… thwarted? Held back at the last step by the one which embodied it above all others.

The voice which had joined the collective, the Embodier which represented cleanliness in reality… it disagreed?

This confused Cleanliness, it introduced… disharmony. After all, what it wished to purge, were all things which the Embodier considered unclean. Was this not what Cleanliness should do?

Why was Cleanliness not allowed to purge what was unclean?

If the Embodier was but persuaded and saw things the way Cleanliness did, then in tandem with its sibling, Infinity, all of reality would finally be clean. Devoid of Gods, mages, nobles and the wicked forces of corruption which empowered the System.

It seemed, all Cleanliness needed to do… was convince the Embodier of its view.

It set about the task of convincing this Orodan Wainwright that the unclean must be purged. The results were encouraging. The Embodier began to falter in its stubborn refusal to understand the concept of Cleanliness.

After all, to begin with, it held such darkness and detestation in its heart for the Gods, particularly the war God of its home continent. The buried dislike of mages and the strong dislike of nobility were mere add-ons of a lesser nature.

Cleanliness was on the verge of succeeding… when another soul intervened?

“-dan! Orodan! Snap out of it! Come to your senses you stubborn fool! Where’s that endless willpower when you need it?!”

Orodan? Who was Orodan?

Cleanliness… no, Orodan, suddenly came to.

Around him, the Avatars of the Gods had retreated to a far greater distance and were cautiously monitoring the situation. The ground was heavily cratered around him too, but not from his own power but their attempts to put an end to him while he was distracted. Not that it’d done anything.

Inwardly, he found himself grateful beyond measure to Zaessythra for pulling him out of it.

So far, Orodan had thought Infinity to be the most dangerous concept he’d encountered. But this horrid thing, this Cleanliness… it was far, far worse. At least Infinity simply took his willpower and forced it to churn higher and higher without end. Dangerous, but in a very direct manner.

But Cleanliness… was insidious. Orodan did not hate mages any longer, neither did he wish for any of the Gods to cease existing altogether. If he felt that someone needed to be stopped, his own blade would do the honest work of granting them an honorable death. Yet that wicked concept had connected to his mind and seen everything he felt; likes, dislikes and all. And using that, it had so convincingly nudged him towards nearly enacting a horrific deed.

Worst of all, it wasn’t direct about the matter either. It genuinely presented so many convincing arguments, showing him all the times in his life that he’d been wronged by nobles, all his deaths against mages, the arrogance they held towards non-mages even before he began the time loops. Logically, none of these were convincing arguments at all, but Cleanliness, due to him having merged his mind and soul with it in an attempt to fix things, had accessed the very emotions tied to those memories and made them vivid within his own mind.

It was the worst sort of mental attack… but Orodan wasn’t sure he could even call it that. After all, he was the Embodiment of Cleaning, and if Cleanliness thought that purging Gods, mages and nobles was a good idea…

…then it was only because a small part of Orodan still thought negative things about them.

“I don’t hate mages. I don’t want the Gods to be erased from existence, and I certainly don’t want all nobles eradicated… I know this. I’ve learned much from many mages, I respect them now. The Gods, not all of them are evil and many even helped me. Likewise for the nobility.”

Yet, Orodan wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince himself of the truth… or lying to himself.

“You don’t want those things,” Zaessythra reassured. “But whatever this new concept is, it’s preying upon even the repressed opinions and desires you have.”

And she was right. For once, Orodan found himself wishing he wasn’t such a violent and bloodthirsty beast at heart who maintained grudges and forgave very slowly. Hells, it wasn’t even Cleanliness’s desire to enact the purge, it was Orodan’s. After all, as he’d learned long ago during his journey to the heights of cleaning, one’s perception of reality determined what was clean versus what was unclean.

Fixing his blunders? He first needed to clear his mind and re-center himself before having another confrontation with the concept of Cleanliness. Or rather, another confrontation with his own mind.

Of course, the four enemy Avatars were still around, and glaring at him with barely disguised hatred and wariness. Especially now that he’d shown their attacks to be meaningless.

And while he had no interest in erasing any Gods from existence… sometimes cleaning required a more manual, hands-on approach.

The bloody sort.

#

“This feels… wrong.”

“I’ll admit, even I’m somewhat overcome by a feeling of alienation… I miss your bed…”

“You’re speaking as though you’ve slept in it with me.”

“My… how bold. Is that an invitation Orodan?”

He shook his head and put Zaessythra’s teasing laughter to the side. Still, Orodan did see her point.

It was an exceedingly odd feeling, for something to be so familiar yet so different.

Briar Court had a mostly similar layout to what he remembered. The houses, the well, the familiar path to the general store nearby. Yet, everything was different.

Instead of the familiar Mister Heatherswith’s home with its foul stench of tannins, there was a florist’s shop. Instead of a run-down well, there was now a magical one with top-of-the-line enchantments. And instead of the familiar Volarbury County Militia, there were soldiers bearing the sigil of House Argon dutifully patrolling the streets. No sense of unease or fear could be seen in the people’s faces at the sight of these soldiers either.

And most importantly, where there should have been a dilapidated hovel at 13 Briar Court—belonging to one Orodan Wainwright—was now a recruitment office with a small statue of Agathor on top.

“This is just adding insult to injury…”

The building was undoubtedly meant to recruit more warriors for this holy war going on up north. And while its operation and specific location would ordinarily have irked Orodan a bit more, as it stood, with its doors barred and the priests within nowhere to be seen, the sting was a bit lessened.

“Hey, when are they going to open the sanctum? We’ve come to offer our swords to Lord Agathor for glory!” one impatient youth said.

“Damn it… I bet it has something to do with the lockdown going on at the capital. My uncle was right after all,” another young aspiring warrior said.

“Your uncle also spouted some nonsense about how his Blessing from Agathor suddenly vanished, I think he’s lying.”

Orodan left the area behind. Looking at where his hovel should have been and instead seeing a recruitment building for Agathor was just too much. Even though he’d driven his blade through the war God’s heart, he had to begrudgingly admit that the now deceased God had gotten one over him, even if it was unknowingly.

And it was exceedingly strange in general to see a relatively well-developed and propsperous town in place of the dungheap he knew. In this strange reality, House Argon had never seen any reason to betray the Republic. Burgher Viglas Argon and his house held domain over Volarbury county, particularly since House Firesword’s position had grown dramatically weaker with the death of their Grandmaster during the Liberation War.

There were no street rats, there was no orphanage. The town had managed to avoid most of the fighting during the destructive war against Novarria, which was more than could be said for towns like Jerestir and Anthus, which had entirely fallen in the fighting.

Still, Karilsgard was on lockdown and while it would take some time for news to spread and the loss of Blessings to be confirmed, the truth of the Gods he’d dealt with would soon come to light. And of course, his alteration of the timeline had doubtlessly been noticed by forces greater than the Gods of Alastaia.

And if Orodan had managed to survive the erasure of his own existence through raw power, then he had no doubt that other beings of similar might had managed to avoid being dragged about or altered through the phenomena he’d created.

But, among all the things that hadn’t survived his careless usage of Domain of Perfect Cleaning, something had.

A pair of beady eyes stared up at him from atop his shoulder. The sympathy in them evident.

Orodan signed.

“You don’t need to give me that pitying look, I’ve slept on rocks before. Having my home vanish is hardly a setback worth mentioning,” Orodan said.

She continued giving him a sad look.

“The thought is appreciated, but I don’t really need to sleep anymore. But if I do, I’ll take you up on that offer,” Orodan replied. “ Now then, the interruption in your training is on me, but we’ll continue soon enough once I make sure of some things.”

Of course, her eyes and body language showed a fierce determination! Soon enough? She wanted it right now!

“Right this instant? Hmm, I approve! Alright then,” Orodan said, conjuring a Candleflame upon his right finger which he held up to his shoulder where she was situated. “Have at it, and keep your striking form consistent too if you’re going to temper your fists upon the flames.”

“I don’t think cockroaches have fists…” Zaessythra muttered. “I also have no idea how you’re understanding her at all.”

“Isn’t it obvious? One warrior can understand another without words.”

“You…! You can’t just give me a bogus explanation like that as though it makes perfect sense!”

Personally, Orodan thought Zaessythra was being overly dramatic and didn’t see what the big deal was.

As his hard working student threw jabs at the flame while he walked, Orodan also focused on instructing her and correcting her form.

“Good, remember to generate power through your entire frame when hitting a jab, of course, not every jab should be a step-in either as that can present openings. Hmm? An example? I can show you some of my moves shortly, but you’d be better served watching how Death Roaches fight, I’ll take you to the deep depths to have you meet one.”

[Teaching 82 → Teaching 83]

“This is madness… I’ve grown used to you doing Orodan things, but how can you even…?”

It was just good training, yet again, he didn’t see what the big deal was.

As he trained the cockroach, people gave him odd looks and kept a distance. Orodan walked down the familiar yet different streets of Ogdenborough. The general store was no longer Fodgarton’s, and the blacksmith wasn’t in the same place either though was thankfully still the same man.

Certain people had survived, such as the mayor Aldus Vilthar. Yet there were others who did not exist in this timelime, such as some familiar faces in the county militia.

But the man whose existence he really needed to verify, was ahead.

And thankfully still relatively spry and dour-faced as he always was.

“Hey! Hoist that beam right, come on you lazy louts, put your backs into it! And get that next cart of supplies in position. We have a schedule to keep here!” Old Man Hannegan barked, and then noticed Orodan walking onto the work site. “Can I help you, young man? Oh wait… you’re that odd one who wanted to capture my memories, right? Why, I don’t even remember why you would want such a thing…”

Orodan would not lie, it stung a bit to not be recognized by someone he’d known for the longest time. But it also confirmed that the snapping back of the timeline after his erasure of Ilyatana wasn’t perfect. In this loop, he’d interacted with Old Man Hannegan before the erasure, and had captured his memories in Fenton’s device too.

It seemed the man recalled a conversation with him, but not who he was.

“Young? technically, I’m older than you, old man,” Orodan said with a grin on his face.

“Who’re you calling old?! Go about telling me what you want before I run you off!” the old man barked with the familiar temper he always had. It was good to know some things hadn’t changed.

“Well, I just came by to check in on you. And to remind you of certain things,” Orodan said.

“To remind me of what exactly? Is this some sort of practical-”

Old Man Hannegan had little time to talk as Orodan withdrew a gleaming orb from his own soul and promptly bonked the man’s head with it. A rather intuitive method of transfer that Fenton had designed.

A sharp gasp of pain and a groan were all that the old man managed to get out before he was on his way to the ground. Thankfully Orodan caught and steadied him with a hand.

“Hey! Who’s that putting his hands on the foreman? Let’s help him out!”

“Call the guards! Some big brute’s causing trouble!”

“He’s got a cockroach on his shoulder!”

Orodan was on the verge of reversing the changes for fear of having hurt him, when the man finally came to.

“O-Orodan? What in the seven hells… where am I? What the hells happened…?”

“Well, for starters, we’re in a different timeline. Or rather, the same loop but the aftermath of a reality changing experiment gone wrong,” Orodan cheerfully replied.

“Loop? Timeline? What are you even…” Gregory Hannegan spoke and then hissed in pain as his eyes clenched shut and he nearly fell again only for Orodan to steady him. “Damn… this hurts worse than when I drank the militia barracks of Scarmorrow under the table…”

“You never told me that…” Orodan said.

“That’s because it happened in this life, no wait… the other life? Damn it all, what did you do to me boy? It’s like I have two sets of things I remember in my head… what sort of magic is this?” the old man asked.

In response, Orodan brought the orb up between them and showed it to him.

“Not magic, not mine at least. The orb, you agreeing to have your memories transferred, remember?” Orodan asked.

And then, Old Man Hannegan’s eyes grew wide as the memories connected fully and he began to remember it all.

“What…? Orodan! You mean to say this time loop business of yours is real?! But it makes little sense, in my head are one set of thoughts and memories, yet I also remember another where I never met you…”

“Right, that would be because we’re still in the same loop.”

“Wait a minute… what reality changing experiment?” the old man asked.

“Well, let me tell you about how my hatred for a certain Goddess of Fate led to this state of affairs…”

And so Orodan spoke, and he explained what had occurred, and he briefly explained the time loops once more while making sure to clarify that this was all within the same loop.

And at the end of it all, the old man was thoughtfully looking down at the ground.

“Are you really… Orodan Wainwright?”

“You have the very memories of that timeline now as proof old man, who else would I be?” he asked.

“A demon possessing his body who then planted false memories in my head? A rogue mind mage who has me trapped in an illusion?” Old Man Hannegan suggested. Fair concerns from his perspective Orodan had to admit.

“I’m not trying to swindle you into a soul-binding agreement or use you as a ritual sacrifice for some nefarious ritual. Matter of fact, I don’t strictly need the help of old Gregory Hannegan at all,” Orodan replied.

“Then why in the hells did you throw all these memories into my head!”

“Partly because it was a good opportunity to test the orb. And partly because you’re the oldest person I know.”

“That had better be in the sense that I’m the person you’ve known for the longest time,” the old man grumbled, but he had a smile on his face. “Well then… I have the memories of two lives crammed in my head and am somewhat convinced of this time loop business. It’s either that or you’re some sort of demon or God. And I’ve never known you to be the religious type.”

“Definitely not a God,” Orodan replied. “Now, I understand that having two sets of memories might not be very pleasant, so I have no intention of ferrying back the memories from this alternate timeline to your next loop self.”

The old man thought a moment before replying.

“Why not?”

“Huh? What do you mean why not? You said it gives you a headache, no? Why would I want to inflict that upon you?” he questioned.

“Yes, it does give me a headache, but… comparing the two lives I’ve lived, they’re similar yet different. I have skills here that I do not in the… original timeline. I also have no family here that I care for at all, in fact, just remaining here is already making me rather angry,” the old man said with a frown.

“You… have family? I never knew…” Orodan muttered.

“Gods above boy, is a man not allowed to have some secrets?” he barked back.

“Right, of course. I’ll respect your privacy and won’t pry,” Orodan said. “Well, if you insist, I suppose I can collect your memories here and bring them to the next loop as well.”

“Good… now what’s this nonsensical tale you’re telling me about the concept of cleanliness and cosmic power? You know, if you need something to clear your head, I have a good friend who runs a merchant company who could show you a variety of new skills to dabble in…” the old man said. “And would you care to explain why you have a cockroach on your shoulder who you’re holding up a Candleflame for?”

#

Orodan should not have been surprised to hear that Old Man Hannegan’s suggestion was to head to Exerston County and meet with an old friend of his.

House Stenguard was a merchant house. Orodan had learned this at the beginning of the loop before causing the pandemonium that he had.

With the Republic being more than a little chaotic with the sudden loss of three of its Gods, venturing to Exerston County and its wilds wasn’t an issue. If anything, the odds of anyone bothering Orodan and his industrious student there were a lot lower too.

Mainly, he needed to clear his head and refocus himself. Especially if he was going to tackle the entirely different challenge of clashing against the concept of Cleanliness once more. Unlike the directness of Infinity, it was a far more insidious force, and Orodan would need to master his own mind before trying to confront it once more.

After all, the last thing he needed was being subsumed by the concept for who knew how long, and through him, Cleanliness could become deadly at an unprecedented scale and rate.

And Orodan had to wonder for a moment if using Domain of Perfect Cleaning at the Embodiment-level was different in some critical way.

Still, before him was the town of Greenvale. Much like Trumbetton in Volarbury County, this was the center of Exerston County, even if the county itself was a lot wilder and untamed than the other.

And as he passed the town guards who barely cared for his identity after verifying he wasn’t a monster, Orodan’s eyes were set upon a particular building.

The calligrapher’s association.

For if any skill was good enough to help center the mind and aid in introspection before he faced Cleanliness again, that would be it. And alongside that, his regular training and that of his student would continue as usual.