The Stubborn Skill-Grinder In A Time Loop
Chapter 91: A Conceptual Responsibility

Despite being the largest settlement of a wilder and comparatively less-developed county, the town of Greenvale was in fact larger than Trumbetton. It didn’t make sense until Orodan connected the fact that there were no other ‘central hub’ style towns in all of Exerston County. Unlike his home county where Trumbetton had to compete against Velestok and to a smaller extent other towns such as Scarmorrow and Loviaston, here, Greenvale was the only central town which offered certain specialized services.

Merchant associations, examination centres for aspiring academy applicants, specialist craftsfolk and the county’s administrative and judicial power were all located here. And when this was the only town in the entire county to have such things, by necessity it was a thriving town with a booming economy. The smaller towns—while not considered unsafe—were still not monster-free enough to warrant the building of these centralized amenities. And investment in such a thing had a steep upfront cost which deterred locals and non-nobility.

Unlike Volarbury County, Exerston was a wild frontier region bordering a savage stretch of Novarrian wilderness which the imperials hadn’t tried settling either. The woods were savage and full of monsters, with smaller towns frequently having to ward off attacks. Furthermore, unlike the civilized nature of his home county, the towns here were all surrounded by walls, with dour-faced men and women of the militia manning them, more than used to battle.

Though that didn’t mean the county was struggling, far from it in fact. It was wild, but positively ripe with resources and opportunities for work. Many adventurer companies set up permanent base here, as did a number of merchant and crafters’ associations. Alongside direct backing from the Republic’s council itself, Greenvale was the beating heart of an expansionist endeavor to colonize the wild southern woods of the Republic. And despite Orodan’s mangling of the timeline that didn’t look to have changed at all.

Although Orodan’s arrival as a solo traveler had raised an eyebrow or two and caused them to subtly straighten at the implication of his combat strength, the guards out front were more concerned with keeping known criminals and monsters out of the town—with a greater focus on the latter. After all, Orodan knew from his upbringing that city authorities not only allowed but wanted a certain level of curated criminal influence in their cities.

Easier for a town’s ruling elite to have fingers in the populace when a town’s criminal underbelly answered to them.

Kids were too obvious as pickpockets; oldest trick in the book that everyone knew to watch for. Elderly women carrying baskets of vegetables on the other hand, were a different matter. And Orodan could see a few of them picking out easy marks among the new arrivals to the town.

Of course, the size of him and his well-armed appearance had them giving Orodan a wide berth. And thus he made for the calligraphers’ association without issue.

The streets were bustling with activity, and numerous employers were looking for workers.

“Runners wanted! Paying three silver per delivery! Make good money if you’re quick!” yelled a chef’s assistant from a nearby busy restaurant.

Decent pay and a good way to develop skill levels for the untrained, in his opinion.

“The county militia wants you! Come serve Burgher Rockwood and your county! Food and board provided alongside arms, armor and training! The people need your help!”

Always a reliable path to starting out as a warrior. he could already see a few youth gravitating towards the recruiting sergeant.

“Can you swing an axe? These trees need a good choppin’! Join Stenguard Lumber and get paid for every bit of work you put in!”

Tangentially related to his current destination, but Woodcutting wasn’t the goal this loop.

“Need gold? References? New skills? Join the Unyielding Shield Adventurers Company today! No combat skills needed, we’ll teach you the basics long as you’re willing to work hard!” a decently-sized and stocky man in heavy plate armor said, and the adventurer then caught sight of Orodan. “Don’t see anyone bigger than me too often! You look like a big lad, what did they feed you? The whole farm? Why not give us a try?”

“No,” Orodan denied, walking past the man’s attempt to stop him by the shoulder. If the man was surprised at how Orodan walked through and nearly yanked him off his feet, he didn’t mention it.

Long ago, at Bluefire, he’d been educated about adventurer companies. Bluefire was the Republic’s premier academy, but not every student there was guaranteed a nice job afterwards. Post-graduation, those without the talent or connections to secure preferential posts in the military, capital guard or a noble house often found themselves gravitating towards a life of adventuring.

It could be a decent-paying, if risky, job. Though most of the pay would be going to the core members of the company who pulled the most weight in fights and consequently made the decisions. Orodan felt that the two hapless young men trying to sign on would be little more than pack mules, laborers and at worst… meatshields. Whatever ‘training’ they got would come second to their poorly compensated labor.

Decent adventurer companies had contracts and apprenticeships. It was one of the few ways someone who hadn’t been to an academy but had raw talent could enter an adventuring company. An experienced adventurer would take notice of a promising prospect and in exchange for service and some rudimentary pay, would receive training, mentorship and experience.

This adventurer company looked green, and their core members seemed more interested in hiring lowly paid laborers from the looks of it.

“For someone who knows so much about them, I’m surprised you never tried your hand at that line of work,” Zaessythra said.

“It was an idle thought, once upon a time before the time loops came along. Not that it matters when I wander from world to world and battle all manner of exotic foes anyhow.”

The calligraphers’ association was in sight, and Orodan was on the verge of making for it when he noticed one more man head towards the adventurer company.

His eyes narrowed.

“Oh? You want to join up? We’ve got plenty of opportunities for gold, glory and combat experience! You look a little soft, but we’ll break that out of you in no time,” the burly adventurer said. “What’s your name?”

“Parthus… Parthus Edrosic. I want to learn how to fight, I don’t care what I have to do… even if I have to die…” his former colleague of the county militia spoke.

This was Orodan’s doing. The Volarbury County militia didn’t exactly exist in this timeline. Of course Edrosic wouldn’t be with them. But why had this occurred? Why did the man sound so hateful?

His destination put to the side for a moment, Orodan stepped forward and laid a hand on his former colleague’s shoulder.

“There are better ways to learn how to fight than signing on with a relatively fresh company of adventurers,” Orodan said, causing the man to turn around. “Why not try the county militia? Or even enlisting with the military?”

“You… what?” Edrosic asked, clearly confused as to why a stranger would walk up just to interrupt him. Still, the militia man of another timeline was more than willing to give an answer. “You think I haven’t tried those? The militia fails me on their psychological evaluation… a loose cannon prone to getting himself or his fellows killed they said. The military? Same damned thing! Nowhere will take me!”

This Edrosic looked different too. Gone was the carefree and lazy look in the man’s eyes, instead, all Orodan saw was pain and anger. A few scars too.

“I don’t get the feeling you’re someone who sits behind a desk. Those scars didn’t come from nowhere. Been out hunting have you?” Orodan asked.

“Just wolves and slimes in Volarbury County… at first. I don’t like to remain near there if I can help it, not since… not since…” Edrosic muttered and then schooled himself. “Bah! I don’t know why I’m wasting time talking. I need to get stronger. Stronger so I can kill some bloody imperials and avenge them.”

Orodan had a feeling he knew the answer already, but asked anyways. In Edrosic… he saw a very familiar person.

“And… who is it that you want to avenge?”

“My mother and father… they were innocent folk, they didn’t deserve Novarria deciding to send a scouting party into the wilds… in Republic territory,” the grieving man said. “But enough of this! I don’t know why I’ve let all this slip to some stranger. I have a goal in mind and I won’t be swayed.”

This was his doing. Orodan had caused this to happen, indirectly as it was. Ilyatana, wicked as he thought her to be, had been the glue which linked the pantheon of the Prime Five together. She had Chosen in all three human nations of Inuan. Without her existence in the first place, the nations had warred as usual, but it had been a far bloodier thing.

Bloody to the extent that frequent border incidents still occurred and the Republic and Novarria considered themselves enemies in all but name. Incidents which Parthus Edrosic’s mother and father had fallen victim to.

Even before the time loops, Orodan knew that the man’s mother was a seamstress and his father was a carpenter. Yet in this timeline where the Goddess of Fate didn’t exist, they had died—casualties of a Novarrian border patrol or scouting party. One of many frequent incidents which both nations had seemingly tallied up against one another without official war being declared.

“Forgive me… Edrosic,” Orodan solemnly said. “This won’t happen again. I’ll make it right…”

The final part had been a quiet declaration. Orodan had messed up, and he now felt responsible for Edrosic.

“You… who even are you? I have things to do and can’t be-”

“There are better ways to train. If you want to learn how to fight… I’m always glad to dispense a beating and a lesson in equal measure.”

One individual whose recruitment he’d interrupted didn’t look all too happy though. Especially since Orodan’s earlier comments had driven other prospective recruits away from the adventurer company.

“Alright, what the hells are you doing? You trying to cause trouble here?” the armored adventurer whose hand Orodan had ignored now spoke up, his face taking on an ugly sneer. “I was content to leave things be, but now you dare try to steal away someone interested in working for us from under our nose?”

An Adept, that’s all he was. The expensive armor, the arrogant stride, the tone of speaking which seemed to scream as though the less-fortunate should stay out of the way or obey… it was rather apparent to Orodan who’d grown up poor what an academy graduate looked like. Relatively young too, no more than his early twenties, which implied a recent graduate.

“Am I wrong?” Orodan asked bluntly. “I have no interest in offending you, but your group all look like fresh academy graduates who’ve not seen true battle. The expeditions hosted during your learning years don’t really count as solid experience, you know this. If this man seeks combat experience and training, an apprenticeship might suit him better. Would you join your company in his shoes?”

A female mage in the adventurer’s party overheard and also came forth. She didn’t look too overjoyed either.

“Who in the seven hells are you? Mind your business and leave us be,” she said, standing behind the warrior recruiter of the company. “Your gear looks shabby, where did you even graduate from? Are you even an adventurer or some low on his luck sellsword guarding caravans and merchants?”

“I studied at Bluefire, though claiming I graduated would be a lie,” Orodan replied and then looked to Parthus. “It’s your choice Parthus. I can train you if you’d like. Get you some decent gear too.”

The burly adventurer laughed upon hearing his words.

“Know what? I think you’re no more than a fraud! I don’t believe for one second that you studied at Bluefire. I never saw you in my life, and I’m sure I’d have noticed if you were in any of the classes,” the man sneered. “Sure, you’re big and have a bit of a hardened edge to you, but anyone can get that with time. I mean, damn, look at you! What sort of bumpkin outfit is that? Served in some village watch did you? And… Gods above, is that a foul cockroach on your shoulder? You can’t even afford to keep your clothes clean you fallen sellsword!”

His devoted student who had come out to see what all the ruckus was about didn’t take too kindly to the comment either.

“Hmm? Did the rambling of these weaklings interrupt your physical training?” Orodan asked. Indeed, he’d instructed her to remain in his pocket and attempt to clamber up the walls as he moved about. Climbing while inside a continually shifting pocket was a decent enough regimen in-between bouts of Fire Resistance training. “Ah, I suppose this is a good time for a practical lesson then. The cautions of watching your mouth around people you know nothing about.”

The mage was beginning to narrow her eyes in suspicion. Particularly as he’d been talking to his student who was now on his shoulder. She began taking a few steps back, though the air around her staff did heat up a tinge, the subtle sign that she was a pyromancer sneakily readying herself for a fight.

Behind these two adventurers, the company leader’s eyes were wide as the woman saw what was about to occur, but it was too late for her to reach them and the hustle and bustle of the crowd drowned out her shouts.

“Alright then, how about a duel so you can show me the cautions of watching my mouth eh?” the adventurer spoke as he pounded a set of spiked gauntlets together while walking towards Orodan. Not a weapon choice seen too often, but he could respect the willingness to engage in violence up-close.

Of course, Orodan never refused a fight. With a happy grin he marched forward, clenching his fists.

The adventurer was the sort who loved fighting too it seemed, for the man was in the middle of a straight cross when Orodan spoke.

“I’ll limit myself to the Apprentice-level for this one.”

“What?”

Edrosic and the crowd backed away at the sudden eruption of violence between two martial specialists.

His student remained on his shoulder, watching as Orodan simply remained out of reach of the punch. A simple application of spatiomancy had her secured and safe from flying off due to the forces involved in an Apprentice-Adept duel.

“Distance management and footwork are critical in an unarmed fight. Getting a feel for your opponent’s reach is a big part of melee, armed or unarmed,” Orodan explained to her as she intently watched, though he wasn’t sure how quick her eyes were. “As you can see, real combat tends to be quick, violent and unpredictable. But even amidst that aggression, there are patterns and tells.”

“Quit talking and fight me!” the gauntlet-wearing man roared, closing the distance for more jabs. To his credit, the man was now aware that something was up and Orodan was no mere sellsword.

His opponent’s moves were more measured now. Orodan had the height and reach advantage, but the man was trying his best to get his measure and evaluate the proper striking range through a series of jabs. Of course, Orodan had been in enough fights even before the time loops that simple distance management and head movement were rather casual to him.

“See? That’s good jabbing form,” Orodan explained, praising the man while explaining to his student. “The power starts not from the arms, but from the feet, carries through the core and then finally culminates in the fist. “Although, as I warned you once… not every jab should be a step-in jab.”

And that was the problem with stepping in for every jab, it made you predictable, and it created an opening. It forced one’s lead foot out of position by necessity to achieve the step-in. An opening Orodan ruthlessly exploited as his head shifted out of the way and he stepped outwards, putting his opponent in horrid position as a series of hooks followed by an uppercut bruised his liver, tenderized his ribs and rang his skull.

His student watched excitedly and began mimicking many of the motions already.

“Yes, yes, you can also throw in combinations, but it’s better to understand the basics behind each punch before getting too crazy… then again, not like I followed that advice myself,” Orodan muttered and then looked to his opponent who was now bleeding. “First blood? Or did you want to go further?”

“This… this isn’t over! You hit like a pillow-fisted mage!” the man roared, overcome with battle lust and rage. “So what if you know a few tricks and have decent hands? Face my punch head-on and I’ll show you the difference between a true warrior and some no-name sellsword!”

“Alright then, let’s clash blow to blow,” Orodan agreed, punching his knuckles together.

He held his strength back to the Apprentice-level. But even then, jumping a tier wasn’t too difficult. What was difficult though, was overpowering the oncoming fist without using his natural might and toughness of body.

Orodan threw a straight right of his own, severely limited to only the Apprentice-level of power.

Bare fist connected against steel gauntlet and the loud sound of metal shattering rang through the air. The shockwave hurled a few nearby spectators onto their rears and caused one of the two participants of this duel to go flying backwards.

It wasn’t Orodan who’d gone flying, but he wasn’t happy either.

“Pathetic… was it delusional to think I could jump the tier difference through pure skill alone?”

The adventurer who’d met his fist was embedded in the town wall fifty metres away, while Orodan’s own hand was naturally unharmed. But… this was a failure, not a success.

Even his devoted student looked at him in confusion, her tiny eyes wondering why he seemed disappointed.

“I had intended on trying to beat his raw power in a head-to-head clash through pure technique, but it seems I still have a ways to go,” Orodan answered. She rubbed her forelegs together, curious. “No, no… just smashing things with strength isn’t always the goal of a warrior. Sometimes, self-improvement comes through pursuing difficult paths to power, even when relying on the strength you already have would be trivially easy. You must constantly challenge yourself—that is the only way you can truly push your limits.”

What had Orodan dissatisfied with the result was the fact that he’d limited himself to the Apprentice-level, met the adventurer’s spiked gauntlet directly, but then only smashed the man away through the raw toughness of his body.

“That is… exactly how you win a direct strength-to-strength clash. What are you trying to do?”

Zaessythra was right, but Orodan knew there was more. Yes, it sounded utterly impossible and stupid, but he genuinely thought that he could win a power against power clash through skill and technique. Not by just having the raw toughness of his body send the man flying, but with something… more.

That sounds… confusing. How else can you win a direct clash without technique? You didn’t even parry the arm, or try to divert it or strike it at a weak spot.”

Right again… but Orodan was stubborn, and he genuinely felt that there was a way to overpower a stronger attack without actually being stronger.

Edrosic was gaping like a fish, and the now battered adventurer’s mage friend tried powering up their staff only for Orodan to casually catch the resultant Fireball in the palm of his hand and squeeze the explosion to death.

“Did you see how I resisted that fire? It’s admittedly a weaker one, but the principle is what matters,” Orodan explained to his insectoid student who only rubbed her forelegs together in deep concentration. He then looked at the frightened mage, and the warrior in the distance who was still struggling to recover from their clash. “He has an acceptable punch. Tell your friend I’ll be back to train with him again.”

And as he turned to walk away the leader of the adventurer company came by, furious. Not angry at Orodan, but rather, at his company member who so stupidly picked a fight with an unknown warrior.

“Stop! Stop! He’s at least a Master!”

“M-master… how were we to know?” the mage asked, baffled and more than a little afraid now.

“Idiot! Look at how he approached you all! Nobody acts so casually unless they’re-”

Orodan tuned them out and walked away.

“Well? Offer’s still open… Parthus.”

Edrosic had never rushed towards something faster in his life.

#

The Greenvale calligraphers’ association wasn’t nominally under the purview of any particular house, but that didn’t mean much when House Stenguard employed more than four-fifths of all calligraphers in town. It also helped that the merchant house had the means of production for paper, ink and all the tools any aspiring calligrapher might need.

While the old man had suggested the art of quill and ink as an option, Orodan himself didn’t quite see how it would help with clearing his mind specifically, but he had never been one to shirk learning new things—his early prejudice against magic aside.

The man behind the counter was graying and busy handling a quill and putting it to work upon some high-quality parchment. A quick usage of Identify informed that he was a Calligraphy Master—which made him staffing the front desk of an association to be out of place. Furthermore, Orodan knew the bearing of a swordsman when he saw one.

“Greetings sir, looking for something to be inscribed? A sign or letter to be penned?” the man asked, not taking his eyes off of the calligraphy in the slightest. A quick glimpse had the man giving him a nod of respect. “A fellow swordsman then, no… a warrior. Yes… I can practically feel the violence emanating from you… the constant readiness for battle and blood at a moment’s notice. My respects to a Master… our association was not prepared to receive one such as you today, but we are honored.”

And some method of roughly gauging Orodan’s own strength, in relation to his own at least.

“You look as though you handle a blade yourself,” Orodan replied. “But… no inscriptions or letters for me. In fact, I’ve come to learn calligraphy. Gregory Hannegan from Ogdenborough recommended I come here.”

He then fished a letter out from his uniform pocket and placed it on the desk, alongside a common iron dagger.

The front desk calligrapher quirked his eyebrow and then did a double take as his eyes widened after a closer look at the weapon.

“This…! It’s a Master-level enchanted weapon! I can’t accept this as payment! It’s far too much!” he immediately refused, but did pick up the letter, giving it a read. “Gregory… Hannegan? Gerace did mention that he’s a good friend. I wasn’t aware that a foreman from Ogdenborough knew Masters.”

“I’m hardly an esteemed individual, and I’m not a Master,” Orodan scoffed. “I’m just here to learn and did not wish to arrive with an empty hand and a sense of entitlement.”

“Not a Master? Yet I can sense… but then…!” the man muttered and then suddenly became even more respectful in posture, which made Orodan feel more than a little out-of-place for only having corrected a simple misconception. “Your thought and kindness honor us then. But truly, someone such as yourself walking in and asking to learn would not have to pay any fee. If you do not mind me asking… is sharpening your blade the purpose behind your pursuit of the quill?”

“Sharpening… my blade?” Orodan asked.

“Of course. While I’m no swordsman of your calibre, I’m an Elite, and the quill helps steady my hand and clear my mind.”

During his time on Xian, Orodan had heard brief whispers of sword cultivators who did something of that sort. His world and the worlds of the Ascendent Sword Cluster where the dao-practicing beings hailed from weren’t the same, and they had access to restricted skills which the people of Alastaia didn’t, but that didn’t mean training methods were different.

“I hadn’t really considered that…” Orodan muttered. Anything learned was wealth earned; even better if it provided transferable insights to his usage of the sword. A weapon he primarily used but had stagnated in—relatively speaking. “I’ve come seeking calligraphy to help clear my mind, that is my main purpose. My thoughts… my intent and desires, they’re clouded.”

“Not to send you out the door mister…?”

“Wainwright. Orodan Wainwright.”

“Mister Wainwright. Have you considered seeking out a mind mage? At your level, psionics—particularly the experts at Bluefire—might be of more practical use to you than us. I would not wish to be held responsible if-”

“A psionic will not help me, nor would entering my mind go well for them.”

And Orodan worked best by solving problems on his own. Having some practitioner of mind magic try to surgically solve his issue wasn’t only unreliable and potentially dangerous for them, but also a cheap way out in general

Better to work hard and master his own demons.

“But worry not, I have no interest in blaming anybody. My problems are my own and only a weakling would point fingers at another for their own failings.”

The calligrapher seemed a bit relieved at that. He produced a ledger and a set of keys.

“With what you’ve paid, you should have access to a dedicated room and workshop, please, feel free to practice as much as you want. We hold communal lectures and tutoring every day at times marked on this schedule,” the man said, handing Orodan a slip of paper. “Otherwise, you won’t be bothered at all.”

“Ah, you mistake me. I’m looking to learn and also be employed. Unless this large building is for show, I assume there are other calligraphers here who do something useful? Throw me in with them,” Orodan spoke. “Surely there must be something I can do around here. Better to put my skills to practical use.”

“…very well. Truly, you are an eccentric Mister Wainwright, but I suppose one does not become as powerful as you are without a focus on odd methods of advancement. I hadn’t wished to overstep my biunds by suggesting it… but I too approve of this plan of learning,” the man spoke. “Gerace might even swing by to make your acquaintance. Not often we have someone like you come by.”

Which was entirely fine by him long as he got to learn.

And train Edrosic and his student at the same time.

#

“M-mister Wainwright… you must go smoother than that… your ink… it’s so… so…!”

“Violent?” Orodan asked, frowning at his quill.

The senior calligrapher didn’t want to comment on it, but the man’s body language spoke volumes. After all, it wasn’t often that someone put quill to parchment and sparred at the same time.

Right hand on the quill, left hand on the sword. An unconventional setup, but the instructor wasn’t about to say anything to Orodan, and neither were the other aspiring and student calligraphers in the small classroom.

It wasn’t a proper academy, but there were enough calligraphers in Greenvale’s association that sharing knowledge had become something of a practice. And the class he was in was one meant for aspiring calligraphers and very new ones, taught by an Adept-calligrapher of the association.

A clang of metal against metal rang out. Orodan casually intercepted Edrosic’s sword swing with his own and then diverted the blow to the side. A standard parry wasn’t usually how he fought, but Orodan felt that his former colleague would learn nothing and be discouraged if he fought like the violent and hyper-aggressive berserker he usually was.

Yes, there were prodigies of combat like Zukelmux and Aliya, who could pick up lessons quickly through the crucible of combat. Even Fenton—though the lad hadn’t been quite as talented at pure fighting as the former two—had good instincts and could learn quickly under pressure.

But, part of Teaching was recognizing that everyone was different and had varying levels of talent, work ethic and optimal learning methods. Edrosic… the man’s parents had died last year, and since then he had been on the warpath to getting stronger and seeking vengeance against Novarria. Over the course of the year Parthus had travelled Volarbury County doing odd jobs, picking fights where he could and generally trying to learn to fight.

Just a year prior, the man had been a bit of a lazy layabout who’d coasted by on helping his father’s carpentry shop. In this timeline, Ogdenborough was a relatively well-off town, and the man must have found the trade more palatable and the standard of living decent. But with his parents’ death, it had all changed. And the Parthus of this timeline knew little of fighting save for the few fights and attempts at getting stronger.

In some ways, he was far weaker than the Edrosic of the original timeline. No formal training and an unconventional and inefficient form alongside lacking Physical Fitness. But then, there were times where Orodan recognized that this Edrosic was mentally far stronger and more driven than the one from his time. The desperate longing for revenge; the pain of loss driving him onwards even when the man had no clue of who or what his target was…

…Orodan pitied him. And in seeing Edrosic he also reflected on the rage and grief within him still after the loss of Fenton. And really, the loss of many people throughout the loops. Mahari, whose friendship he’d lost. Vespidia and Balastion who’d died for him. W78… a wound he still didn’t want to recall. And of course, old man Adeltaj Simarji who’d yet again paid the price for Orodan’s decisions.

“Well, at least you’re still here Zaessythra.”

Her feeling of warmth suffused him. It made him feel a little less lonely in these time loops where he’d been alone for the longest time.

Parthus’s sword came in, a raw and brutish overhand chop full of emotion and zeal. It was apparent that the man had had no proper instructor until now, and he was desperate to impress and show his dedication.

A simple sidestep followed by a relatively gentle smack on the head sent Edrosic to the ground.

“While some instructors will tell you that brutish and widely telegraphed moves are universally bad, as are emotions… I subscribe to the belief that nothing is truly wrong… you just haven’t found a way to make it work,” Orodan instructed. “Although, I would usually be saying this to someone who has at least some basic training. But that’s alright, I trained a young child without much of one too. Make sure to actually land the blow and not get hit yourself if you’re going to wind up and put such emotion into your blow. Now, another circuit and try again.”

[Teaching 82 → Teaching 83]

And off his new student went again, running a lap around the classroom while the other calligraphers tried to ignore the desperately panting jogger. They’d been disgusted by the sight of the cockroach upon Orodan’s desk too, but who among these non-combatants would dare say anything? And the instructor simply considered it good training in keeping the mind steady, which Orodan could respect.

His insectoid pupil who was jabbing a Candleflame—spouting from his extended pinky finger which remained unused as he held the quill—looked on in confusion. Her eyes conveyed an expression of questioning.

“You doubt my methods?” Orodan asked. She quirked her head. “Yes. It seems counterintuitive, to simply let him run himself against me and get thrown down each time. But you cannot hammer every metal the same way. You… you and I are warriors. I saw it in you the moment I truly looked. But Edrosic is not. He was the son of a carpenter and a seamstress until a year ago when his father and mother were slain. Not everyone can be pushed too hard without shattering or breaking.”

She didn’t seem too convinced.

“If he asks for it, certainly. But for now, as per his words, he just wanted someone to spar against and to help him get stronger. The emotion runs hot in him, and his willingness to open his mind is a little low,” Orodan said, voicing why he hadn’t just brutalized Edrosic repeatedly until he grew stronger. “The true training will come once his mind opens and his heart is ready for it.”

But as for his own training…

…the parchment didn’t look too good.

The writing medium and implement he was given weren’t anything magical either, just regular quill and parchment fashioned from the hide of a non-magical creature. But even then, a close look revealed just how forceful and jagged his quill strokes were on a minute level.

Sure, on the surface his writing looked rather fine. A natural benefit of being an enchanter and swordsman of Master-level skill was that his hands were steady and took to the early levels of a craft well. Yet if one paid closer attention, the differences between him and the exquisitely fine and harmonious strokes of even Adept calligraphers became apparent.

The fact that he didn’t get up to much writing even before the time loops, didn’t help matters.

“And remember, calligraphy is as much an art form as it is a craft. To all you aspiring wielders of the quill I remind you that your mind and mental state are as important to the outcome as your hand is. Take Mister Wainwright here, a man used to war whose hand thrums with martial prowess,” the instructor said gesturing towards him, using Orodan as a point for the other learners. “His mind bleeds onto the parchment with every stroke of the quill. You might lie to others, but you cannot lie to the parchment, not without many skill levels first.”

And wasn’t that the truth? Orodan never knew calligraphy of all things was such a revealing art. Through closely scrutinizing the ink upon the page, one could learn a lot about someone.

“But teacher… how long will it take us to obtain the skill itself? I’ve been here for a week now…” one learner muttered.

“Patience young lady, such things do not come immediately. Calledro’s Average affects us all, as the academies teach,” the instructor reminded. And in this case, it seemed to hold true for Orodan as well, as he didn’t have any natural talent for such an artistic craft. “Although, that will be our allotted time for the day. Remember to continue practicing whenever you can, and tomorrow we will resume where we left off.”

The instructor remained even as the rest of the class filed out. Whether it was a sense of intimidation or the general sense of reclusivity most of these people carried, nobody among the students he’d met had really wanted to talk to Orodan—which suited him just fine.

“Mister Wainwright? Master Aresos spoke of you. He also mentioned that you wished to work in exchange for tutelage?” the instructor asked, and Orodan hummed in confirmation. “Right… I don’t think we’ve ever had a Master work for us before. It’s an honor to be in your presence my lord.”

“I’m not a lord and I’m not…”

Orodan thought to correct the assumption, but stopped himself. Having people walk on eggshells around him was off-putting enough as it was.

“Of course, apologies sire. Now, I shall not waste more of your time. Let me show you the sort of task our aspiring calligraphers might be put towards in exchange for their learning.”

The man produced a set of dusty scrolls and laid them upon the table.

“As you know, calligraphy does not simply deal with the writing of letters and the inscription of signs. That sort of task we put our Initiates towards, but for the more skilled practitioners of the craft, we inscribe scrolls. Specifically, spell scrolls,” the instructor explained and then gestured to the set of hundred scrolls before him. “And as you requested, we’ve found a relatively easy if somewhat laborious task. The recycling of used spell scrolls. Now, the task would be far easier if one had the Recycling skill but-”

“I have the skill.”

“Y-you do? That is an oddity, but a welcome one, I suppose a Master such as yourself must have picked up a great many skills in his long life… though you don’t look old at all…” the man muttered and then gathered himself. “With the Recycling skill, this becomes quite simple. The old and worn ink must be wiped off using this special solution, and the parchment must be cleared of dust and detritus before being placed in a new case, properly rolled of course.”

Spell scrolls, Orodan had heard of them before, but they were the sort of item nobody of real combat power bothered to use. They were a low-power alternative to casting a spell yourself, mainly used by merchants, civilians and those who didn’t know how to fight but couldn’t afford guards or an enchanted item.

In truth, he’d never fought the sort of person who would use these things—which consequently meant he’d never seen one used at all.

“I’m surprised they remain intact after usage so that they can be recycled,” Orodan remarked.

“The ones before haven’t been inscribed with anything particularly potent sir. Repeated uses of the scroll will eventually cause the inscription to wear, but not the parchment itself. Which still leaves it in good enough condition for recycling. But the higher level scrolls, those will certainly wear and destroy the parchment… unless special methods are used, and those tend to be more expensive than they’re worth.”

Which made sense, since Orodan had seen nobody use spell scrolls in combat against him. He didn’t exactly go around fighting civilians and non-combatants, and they were the only sort who would use spell scrolls to begin with.

“I’ve never seen one of these things used in a fight, but what would a high-level spell scroll even look like?” Orodan asked.

“Er… given the sort of fighting you’re used to, I do not think they will impress. That being said, a high-level spell scroll can typically output enough power to match the lowest rung of its tier. An Elite-level spell scroll with an inscription for Fireball might hit as hard as a newly advanced pyromancer’s flame,” the man explained. “Of course, this is without accounting for things such as Fire Magic Mastery, Mana Manipulation or any Bloodlines which make flames even stronger. Why… just two years ago the noble Lord Aeglos held a demonstration in Eversong Plaza where he showed the difference between a Fireball produced from a spell scroll, and one from his own hand. The results certainly harmed our sale of the product.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

“And Master-level? Surely there’s a market for these things when they allow a civilian to cast a powerful spell?”

“That’s just the thing sire, nobody’s lining up to buy the higher-level spell scrolls. If a noble needs protection, they’ll just have powerful guards or actual enchanted items. Magical ink and high-quality parchment made from the skin of magically powerful monsters is also necessary lest the scroll burn out and the inscription be rendered useless. All in all, they’re expensive products which nobody wants to buy. Even Master Aresos only makes them rarely and only for the purposes of training his skills.”

Understandable. Although the more Orodan looked at the shoddily made scrolls, the more he wondered if he could make things from the ground up and craft a truly powerful scroll.

As the instructor left the room, he realized that he had his work cut out for him. Especially since Edrosic was collapsed in a heap, having failed to finish the lap.

#

“Why… why are you training me…?!”

As the man nearly collapsed again, Orodan pondered the question. Why indeed?

Not only did Orodan feel a miserable burden of guilt for having allowed this timeline where Edrosic’s parents had died, but he also remembered the words of his old colleague.

“That’s fine Orodan! I figured that’s what the matter was, I’m not stupid you know? When I say you’re my friend, what I mean is, you’re the friend I need to help give me the kick in the rear to do better… even if you don’t know that you’re doing it.”

The old Parthus had considered him a friend.

And Orodan did not abandon his friends.

“You remind me of an idiot I know. You look quite like him in fact,” Orodan said as he sent a Galewind towards Edrosic, ushering him to keep running. “And I wasn’t about to allow you to run off and squander your potential slaving away as a pack mule and servant for some rich adventurer children.”

“Children? They were mighty warriors and mages themselves,” Edrosic said, finishing the lap and standing before Orodan, sword at the ready.

“Yes, children. Educated in the premier academy, garbed in the finest clothing and gear, wielding the highest quality weapons… all paid for by their families. Where is the struggle? When have they ever had to make something of themselves with their backs to the wall?” Orodan asked. “If you were born into it, you could be where they stand today too.”

“Well, I wasn’t born into anything like that. Not like them… I lost my father and mother like you did, but it wasn’t a bad life.”

Which made the sting of Edrosic’s loss hit all the harder. Orodan at least had the benefit of never having known his family, Parthus on the other hand had it all torn away, a harsher pain.

“Sometimes, it’s better to have never had a good life than to have one only for it to be stolen away,” Orodan said, drawing his blade and intercepting the man’s swing. It was a more measured thing this time, the fruits of the past twelve hours of basic training and forms Orodan had shown him.

Edrosic’s anger and insistence on clinging to his emotional manner of fighting had finally broken after he’d failed to land a blow on Orodan. Being run ragged through a combination of running laps and weight training hadn’t helped either.

“Damn… if I was well-rested I guarantee I could land a blow on you! “

“And which enemy will allow you to be well-rested, fed, hydrated and in peak condition? Shall I roll out a red carpet for you too?” Orodan asked as he returned a few blows with his left hand, his right hand focused on inscribing intricate designs onto the parchment.

He kept things manageable, allowing Edrosic to parry in time, and the man did well using the momentum from a parry to counter strike. Of course, he then made the amateur mistake of thinking his sword was the only weapon in combat; something Orodan made him pay for by grabbing his wrist and delivering a headbutt upon the nose.

Red flowed, and Edrosic had unwilling tears flowing down his cheeks as he fell to the ground.

“Damn… bloody hells… I can’t see… I can’t…”

The man’s voice was nasally and pain-ridden. Hells, Orodan could sense the panic, fear and anguish rolling off of Edrosic. With a singular hand, Orodan grabbed him by the collar and hoisted him to his feet.

“Get up. Your enemies won’t stop just because your nose is broken and you’re in pain,” he instructed and then hit Edrosic with a practically tender one-two punch combo followed by a simple leg sweep which Edrosic down again. “And keep your footing ready and guard up.”

“I can’t… I can’t breathe… please…”

Not everyone was the same. Different dispositions, different starting points, varying levels of talent. Orodan had simply continued on blind, fighting through the bloody haze of pain and swinging back to knock out the larger boy who’d broken his nose for the first time in his childhood. Edrosic however, was seemingly crippled by the shock and pain of it.

For the first day, he’d tried to be gentle; to ease Parthus into it. But in truth, at some point the training gloves had to come off, and Edrosic would have to learn the ways of violence.

And sometimes, pain of a different sort was a good motivator.

“Imagine if I was the Novarrian killing your mother and father. Would you still be whimpering in pain like a worm then?”

As Orodan suspected, Edrosic did have a real fire inside. Everyone did if pushed the right way. With a guttural growl of agony, he rose to his feet and howled like a madman as he swung for Orodan’s neck like a berserker.

The blow was parried, but an aggressive counterstrike followed right after.

“Good, good. This is how you bring aggression and emotion into your fighting,” Orodan praised, countering the next few blows and giving the man a chance to attack. “But don’t forget the basics, even when you’re enraged.”

[Teaching 83 → Teaching 84]

And before his eyes, Edrosic began to slowly get better at fighting. A man who hadn’t even been fighting for a year was now visibly improving within seconds.

And as Orodan guided Parthus’s development, he saw his other student pressing harder and harder into the fire as well, unwilling to be outdone.

They were good disciples, good people. It was just a shame that their lessons would end once this loop did.

…

It took Zaessythra giving him a mental cuff over the head to remember what he had access to.

#

Like that, five days passed.

The Republic was in utter disarray due to Orodan’s actions and had neither the time nor the energy to launch any sort of manhunt for whoever had slain three of the Prime Four. Malzim… was a coward, but no killer. If simple non-action against evil was all it took to receive death, then Orodan’s list of foes to slay would have no end.

Calligraphy, despite his struggles, was something he still failed to acquire the first level for. It really shouldn’t have been difficult, but something about holding a quill and putting the ink to parchment was rather difficult for Orodan. He mechanically had everything right, but there was some manner of final puzzle piece that he was missing.

Funny enough, it wasn’t just him either. From the aspiring calligraphers he’d met over the past four days—those who attended the lectures with him—he’d learned that many of them also took an unnaturally long time to attain the skill. It was a skill which seemingly defied Calledro’s Average despite being of common rarity. Both he and Parthus Edrosic struggled to acquire even the first level. And that wouldn’t have been so bad if his devoted and hardworking insectoid student hadn’t then acquired the skill herself while scrawling ink upon parchment with her forelegs.

Still, the time he’d spent hadn’t exactly been wasted. While he struggled with calligraphy, he also worked on his cleaning—specifically the Celestial skill itself. Recycling had gained multiple levels, and his Domain of Perfect Cleaning had gained two. A frightening gain over only four days, but it spoke to his natural talent. The task of recycling and making used scrolls ready for reuse had also helped in contributing towards those gains.

Though Orodan had a feeling that attempting to tackle the concept of Cleanliness wasn’t a battle that could be won through raw skill levels alone. It wasn’t as though he lacked power, no, what he wanted for… was congruence in his mind. Something that concept had clearly seen and exploited to nearly cause untold disaster.

If his mind and intentions weren’t perfectly aligned, the attempt to reverse the changes he’d wrought could end very, very badly. In fact, Orodan suspected that the concept of Cleanliness was why he’d unintentionally erased Ilyatana from existence in the first place. He truly hadn’t meant to go so far, but the concept itself likely realized his innate desires and enacted them anyways.

After all, cleanliness was dependent on the beholder.

And he needed to attune his own mind with his desires. This was his chief goal this loop and why Body Enchanting, finding Fenton and looking into bringing Zaessythra back had fallen to the wayside for this loop. It was a blade hanging over his neck which he simply couldn’t ignore lest he cause further unintended harm over the loops through the usage of Domain of Perfect Cleaning.

However, at the end of it all, Orodan was on a time limit. He had been ever since he’d achieved Embodiment. At the very beginning of the loop he’d contended with every single Embodier related to the concept of Cleanliness and above all others had proven himself its rightful bearer. With five days having passed, the true end to this loop was soon to come, whether Orodan wanted it or not.

He’d felt the tapestry of fate shift and quiver. Something, a great many powerful and terrible things… were approaching Alastaia. His actions in vanquishing Ilyatana had likely drawn their notice even sooner than otherwise. Hells, over the past five days even he’d gotten a very vague sensation that colleagues… no… rivals, of the same concept, drew nearer and nearer to him. It was a discovery to realize that Embodiers had a vague sixth sense for discovering one another.

Which meant the end of the loop would likely be today. Hence, he had both his current students before him, their eyes fixated upon his own.

Parthus Edrosic merely stared at him.

Orodan solemnly stared back.

“That is the truth, whether you believe or disbelieve it.”

After an entire hour spent narrating his tale, he certainly hoped the man did believe it.

His cockroach student had already heard and understood much of what he’d said to Old Man Hannegan. She wasn’t nearly as uninformed about it as Edrosic was.

More importantly, he’d come clean about the fact that it was his fault.

“This, all of it… is my fault. Your parents’ deaths? I caused them by erasing the Goddess of Fate and causing time itself to snap and then correct itself by creating a new timeline… one where the consequences of her non-existence take place,” Orodan spoke, taking responsibility. “This is my doing. My mistake.”

And what did Edrosic do?

Did the man froth and rage; blaming Orodan for everything? Did he collapse to his knees in grief? Did he strike Orodan in fury?

He was prepared for all of those possibilities and would have bore them without complaint for it was his responsibility. But what Orodan hadn’t been prepared for was Edrosic simply continuing to stare at him.

“Well… either I’ve stunned you into silence, or you’re planning ways of killing me where I stand. Understandable on both accounts.”

And then finally, he spoke. And it wasn’t what Orodan had been expecting.

“Take me back.”

“What?”

“This… orb you’re talking about. You said it can bring memories back with you, right? The Parthus Edrosic where you come from… were his mother and father alive?” he asked.

“To my knowledge. He certainly never stopped blithering about them during basic training,” Orodan replied.

“Then… take me back. Put me in his head, do whatever you have to… I don’t care!” he howled, suddenly desperate and clinging to Orodan’s feet. “You’re basically a God, aren’t you? The places you’ve gone, the things you’ve done… wait… wait… is that why all the temples have shut down recently? Is that why everyone’s saying their Blessings don’t work?! You did it, didn’t you?”

“I did, but I am no God. Look Parthus… I was going to offer this regardless, but I feel it fair to warn you that it doesn’t directly bring you back, it simply brings your memories back and puts them inside of the next Parthus I touch with the orb,” Orodan cautioned. “The offer is open, but consider carefully whether you want to inflict this upon the other Parthus Edrosic. I’ll be asking him for permission as well, so it’s not as though you get the final say.”

“If he’s the carefree idiot you say he is, then he needs this… he needs me. And I… I don’t want to be here any longer. I want to be someplace where my mother and father are alive, and he needs a driving force to help him. Look, please… just bring me back, I’m begging you. If he doesn’t want it, then fine… this all ends, you can delete the memory afterwards and I won’t know any of this ever happened because you’re apparently some mad not-God in a time loop.”

“…as you wish. I make no promises about how the Parthus Edrosic of my time will react to the proposition,” Orodan said, and then took in his current favorite student. “And you… you also wish to come along?”

She wiggled her forelegs, her eyes giving him answer enough.

“There’s no guarantee of how well your form and soul will take to having a sudden deluge of memories inserted. You are insectoid, more specifically, a cockroach. Not only is your form at the start of each loop quite frail-”

She vibrated in offense.

“-relatively speaking. You’re also possessed of a fairly simple mind, which is not a critique of your intelligence.”

“Which would be a bit ironic since you often with far less intelligence than anyone else I know.”

Zaessythra’s staunch defense of her aside, the problem was that the cockroach’s mind was… small. Not in a bad sense—certainly she was far from stupid and could feel many emotions and complex thoughts—but in the sense that her mind was lacking in scale. She was plenty smart, but it was akin to the comparison between the body of a human and the body of a dragon. Dragons were giant creatures who could generate and channel far greater amounts of mana than a human at the equivalent skill level could. In a similar vein, compared to a human, a cockroach like her just didn’t possess the scale of mind that a human did.

For Old Man Hannegan, stuffing the memories of his main timeline self into the mind of this timeline’s Hannegan hadn’t been too rough. But the qualifying bit was that it hadn’t been too rough. Even without permanent harm, an untrained human mind struggled and faced at least some strain when absorbing the memories of another self of theirs.

To try this with a cockroach? Orodan liked her too much to risk it.

She glared at him and he shook his head.

“I respect your guts and spirit, I’m not saying you’re weak, but I’m simply stating my thoughts on the matter. This orb… my student built it to work with humans. Although let it not be said that I would deny anyone their own choices. If that’s what you want, that is what you shall receive.”

Fenton’s orb came forth, and a simple pulse of mana went from him to it.

“If you’re both ready,” he said, and received two assenting gestures.

It was a beautiful thing, truly. The last memento of someone who’d died to give him victory. And although the memory of it left a scar upon his heart, he would not dishonor Fenton’s sacrifice by daring to think that he should not have done it. Frankly, it was one of the few things he guarded preciously and carefully, not willing to risk even the presence of any nearby magic.

Threads of mana went out from the intricately crafted device towards his targets. He’d tried once, to idly put a copy of his own mind inside.

That attempt had immediately been aborted upon realizing that his mind wasn’t like anyone else’s. The orb had a limit, and holding a copy of the mind of Orodan Wainwright was far beyond those limits.

Here and now though, the orb was not pressed to such limits. It seamlessly connected to the minds of Parthus Edrosic and the cockroach.

Of course, she frantically waved her forelegs at him, causing him to hesitate.

“You… what? You want a name before we do this?” Orodan asked, more than a little taken aback.

How was he supposed to name anyone?

“W-what? On the cusp of something like this you now think to remind us that you want a name?!” Edrosic exclaimed, baffled. “What name do you even want?”

She wiggled her head side-to-side, in thought herself.

“Hmm… how about… Speck?” Orodan suggested.

“You are henceforth banned from ever naming something.”

It wasn’t that bad of a suggestion, he defensively thought.

“Oh? You want to be called Queen Flame-killer? Isn’t that a bit of a mouthful?” Orodan asked.

“I still don’t know how you understand her… there’s no language being spoken here!”

Orodan ignored her and was about to suggest the excellent name of Blot when Edrosic angrily interrupted.

“Who cares?! Just call her Wainroach and be done with it!”

“…Wainroach? I don’t have an ego nearly big enough for-”

Her eyes were practically shining as she frantically leapt from foot to foot, wriggling in excitement.

“…Wainroach it is,” Orodan said, wondering just where he managed to pick up such weird individuals.

The tethers quickly connected then, and with barely any discomfort, two sets of copied memories were stored within the device.

Now he wouldn’t need to feel as guilty about ending this loop.

“With that out of the way, I suppose it’s a good time to say that my time here is quickly coming to an end,” Orodan said with a cheerful smile.

“Already?! But, I barely got started on learning how to fight…” Edrosic muttered.

Wainroach herself also shook with fury, throwing jabs with her forelegs into the air. Frankly, given how she managed to burrow through a dense block of wood a day ago, Orodan was beginning to suspect that training a cockroach her size in physical combat might give rise to a real terror.

“No. My battles are my own and you would die a pointless death without contriburing anything at all,” Orodan persuaded, and although she was reluctant, she understood and backed down.

Further talk of farewells were interrupted as the Master calligrapher of the association walked into the workshop.

“Mister Wainwright! The last set of scrolls you prepared have allowed me to reach the 99th level…! With just one more…”

“Well, that one more shall have to wait. I’m afraid I’ll have to take my leave of you today.”

“W-what? Why?! I mean… you are free to go wherever you wish, but it’s just… your scrolls they…!”

“I’ll be back, don’t you worry,” Orodan replied. Although whether this place would even exist in the original timeline… who even knew?

More importantly, it seemed as though the Eldritch signature he’d felt a few hours ago near the periphery of town was finally making a move towards his location.

Wainroach and Edrosic thought to follow him as he walked out the association doors, but he bade them stay. The man he was due to meet was an alternate version of the one he knew, though it seemed he still preferred the same headwear.

Five minutes of a relaxed stroll brought him to the south gate of Greenvale, and it was there that he saw a hooded figure. The man was decently tall, almost as much as Orodan himself, and he still wore the same crown.

“Balastion Novar.”

“God Slayer. You know of me?” the First Emperor asked.

The founder of Novarria looked relaxed, but the subtle tension and readiness for combat was apparent to Orodan’s eyes.

“I knew an emperor who strove for a world of peace. One where civilians aren’t slaughtered en masse for no reason,” Orodan curtly replied.

The crowd around them weren’t privy to the conversation, but the aura of danger from Balastion caused many nearby non-combatants to begin shaking and getting some distance all the same. The guards became aware too and their communications amulets lit up, but the aid would be unnecessary.

“Very few know of such things. And fewer still would dare to speak so directly to me,” the first emperor replied. “However, if you know me… you should also know what those wretched divines did to my people. What that filthy cur Agathor enacted upon the towns of-”

“I know. But that does not excuse you butchering multiple towns of the Republic in recompense. Kill as many of the Gods and their lackeys as you wish, but to commit mass murder of uninvolved civilians? Why would you allow yourself to stoop so low?” Orodan sharply asked. “Your dream does not align with your actions, Balastion Novar.”

“And who are you to tell me that? What I have suffered, the treachery against me by the elves and the wretched Prime Four…! But, I digress. Let us not be discourteous. I came seeking the one who slew three of those vermin, though I would have preferred you slay the coward as well. With them gone, I can finally commence with a peaceful reunification, and then, I shall achieve a world of peace despite your mockery.”

“Is that what you tell yourself?” Orodan asked, truly curious. The man seemed so… blind. How could one’s desire conflict so deeply with one’s actions in achieving that desire? And then Orodan wondered… perhaps that was the problem he himself faced. “This state of wanting something yet acting contrarian to it, what does it feel like?”

The man scoffed.

“Contrarian? Hardly. I desire peace, now with the worst warmonger in our world’s history gone, that can be achieved.”

Yet even these words were an answer, a mirror.

“I see… perhaps I too want one thing but act in a contrary way to it. I say I want to be the pillar which dreams can become reality upon, but then I go around ending the dreams of many, including those of my enemies… but is there anything wrong with this?” Orodan muttered, coming to a realization. “Perhaps the critical step I was missing in calligraphy, was this. Acceptance. Embracing… myself.”

“Acceptance? Of what? You slew three wicked tyrants and liberated the people of this continent, how could that be incongruous with those aims?” the ancient monarch asked.

“It isn’t, but my mind is. Perhaps it’s time I began accepting that despite my lofty dreams, what I want… what I desperately and really want…

…is violence”

[Combat Mastery 120 → Combat Mastery 121]

Orodan laughed. The skill level gain at such a moment simply added weight to his understanding.

The ancient emperor frowned. A venomous gaze of wariness.

“Then you are like that coward of old Hasmathor. A bloodthirsty reaper of lives.”

“I am violent, I take lives, and I am a warrior. But I am no Agathor who would go killing the weak and the uninvolved,” Orodan corrected.

In fact, he saw clearly now why he was failing to acquire even the first level of calligraphy. It was an art which demanded mastering the self yes… but also understanding it. And the first step to that was acceptance. A full and unashamed acceptance.

Orodan’s life had begun with violence. The System, the Administrators and the Eldritch Boundless One itself had marked him as a harbinger of battle and violence from the very beginning of his existence where his mother and father were slain. Violence was the core driver in everything he did; hells even when crafting his progress was often violent and driven by the aggressive desire to advance and succeed in his goals.

Perhaps his foolish attempts to make the quill act against his true nature were what stifled him.

He had a feeling that if he were to pick up the quill now… the results would be different.

“Enough of this. I came to give thanks, but to also ascertain whether you would stand in my way, stranger. I know not who you are or how you have directly slain Gods, but what I do know is that I possess an artifact of terrible power.”

“An artifact whose power drove you into the depths of darkness. Come, it is time I continued keeping my promise to the man I knew.”

“Promise? What promise are-”

“Enough of that, Orodan. In the next loop you encounter me… do me a favor, will you?” Balastion asked, and Orodan nodded. “Destroy this damned crown which has brought me naught but misery. And for now, grant me the mercy of going out while I’m my own self… I dread returning to that shadowy nightmare. The voices are still whispering…”

The memory was still in his mind, the significance of it heavy. And Balastion’s words were interrupted as Orodan suddenly moved.

The air tore apart and the fabric of reality shuddered from the raw ferocity of it.

He had surpassed Balastion Novar long ago, even at the height of his battle against the Eldritch Avatar in Novarria. But this? This was different. The very fabric of reality seemed to shudder at the violence of something as simple as his mere passage.

The first emperor had no time to register the shock before a brutal hand clasped the crown upon his brow… and Domain of Perfect Cleaning shot out.

This time, Orodan paid close attention. When he’d cleansed the scrolls, he hadn’t called upon the true power of his Celestial skill, but here and now he did… and he plainly saw the insidious influence of that concept of Cleanliness move to enact his wishes.

Eldritch… he hated it. He despised it.

Cleanliness saw this and began acting in accordance with its Embodier’s wants. It moved to aid in erasing the Eldritch and the crown from existence altogether.

But this time…

…this time Orodan was ready. And he had something of his own to put this concept in place.

Cleanliness, on the verge of erasing something from reality yet again, froze. It froze as it felt something very, very horrible. A fell thing, a terrible thing… a violent thing.

Violence came forth, backed by something unnaturally endless. And the only thing Cleanliness could sense was a feral grin which desired only carnage. Cleanliness was a fundamental concept, a force woven into reality itself. Yet despite the utter illogic of it, when confronted with this foreign force… it shuddered.

[Combat Mastery 121 → Combat Mastery 125]

A mad laugh tore free from Orodan’s lips, a berserk rage flowing through each and every one of his cells and his very soul.

This was who Orodan Wainwright was.

Last time he’d nearly fallen to the concept for he had no proper notion to ground himself against. But at core, having now come to terms with who he was, it was a different matter.

Yes, Orodan accepted that he hated the Eldritch. He accepted that he likely had an implicit bias against mages, Gods and nobles despite the rational side of him stressing that it was wrong. And yes, in normal circumstances his Domain of Perfect Cleaning—a skill which was fully empowered by the very concept of Cleanliness since he’d proven his insights against every other Embodier—would latch onto his perception of clean and wipe all the filth away.

But right now all his prejudices bowed before one simple thing… the overwhelming thirst for carnage within his heart. Orodan accepted who he was at core, he embraced his thoughts and perception of what was unclean… and he stomped it into oblivion with sheer brutality. His soul and his personality, wielded like a barbaric implement of finality against the undesirable parts of his own mind.

Acceptance… followed by utter annihilation.

[Combat Mastery 125 → Combat Mastery 126]

Truly, calligraphy was quite helpful. That, or Balastion Novar was.

“Ah yes… who needs careful introspection when simply squashing the offending thoughts into non-existence through brute force works. Might as well have skipped this silly ink and paper farce and just spoken to the first emperor instead.”

A fair point, but without the calligraphy he wouldn’t have even known that their was such an incongruity between his perception, thoughts and goals. And instead of smoothing these out, he chose to simply annihilate the offending thoughts with raw bloodshed.

Cleanliness recoiled but naturally refocused its aims as the perception of what its prime Embodier considered clean had suddenly changed. The crown did not vanish from existence at all, instead, simply the Eldritch and only the Eldritch within it was cleansed.

Anything further than that… and Cleanliness did not want to meet whatever the source of the manic smile was.

“M-my crown!” Balastion shouted, shocked by the sudden aggression and loss of an important artifact.

He would not have normally done it… but this Balastion was a cold-blooded murderer. And sometimes it took one person who had blood on his hands to end another.

Reluctantly, and out of respect for the man he knew from his timeline, Orodan ended the life of this Balastion Novar. If he’d slain Agathor, Eximus and even Halor for their senseless butchery of the innocent, then it would have only been hypocritical to have not done the same for the first emperor.

And as he did, the skies and the very fabric of reality quivered in terror.

His usage of the concept of Cleanliness once more had narrowed his position down even further. Alastaia was about to have multiple visitors of an otherworldly nature.

Well, he’d had a good loop, but it was time to leave his home behind, different as it was. He had no intention of allowing the world to get caught up in the crossfire of this coming battle.

[Teleportation 97 → Teleportation 98]

With a simple flare of power, he found himself crossing the distance between star systems and appearing someplace dark and ominous… right between galaxies.

Specifically, it was where he’d previously been caught and repeatedly battered by Alagameth, although the spatial Embodiment was nowhere to be seen now.

And as he teleported, other things caught notice too.

The first of which was a white gel-like substance. Or rather, a white slime the size of an entire star system.

[Identify 6 → Identify 8]

[Name: Savaan the Blinding Horizon (Species: Fusion Slime)

Title 1: Embodiment of Purification

Title 2: Amorphous Combat Transcendent

Title 3: Fusion Transcendent

Title 4: Fire Transcendent

Title 5: Black Hole Conqueror]

He had scant time to ponder on the implications of what Identify told him before the entire horizon turned white. Blinding, scorching white, like the sun itself exploding.

But Orodan had fought enemies capable of such destruction before; he would not be cowed.

[Elemental Living Enchantment 14 → Elemental Living Enchantment 17]

The entirety of his power went towards creating a Draconic Fireball, which was then poured into an enchantment of explosion which he wove into the flesh of his right arm.

His cells were dying in droves, but he wasn’t dead yet, and he had time enough to launch an attack using his gathered power.

[Smite of Abrupt Deliverance 90 → Smite of Abrupt Deliverance 91]

[Fire Resistance 71 → Fire Resistance 73]

The pure white horizon clashed against a terrifying flame of Orodan’s own making. His body charred and he neared death before managing to reform. And as he did, he looked on in awe as the flaming white wave of destruction simply absorbed the flames of his own Elemental Living Enchanting infused strike and carried on.

Hells, the damned slime’s attack had been made even stronger! He thought he’d fought Embodiers before… but this enemy was a step above even the Mantle-less and System-less Prophet.

Still, Orodan had reduced the effectiveness of the attack by a third through his raw physical might alone. But that was the extent of it. The white wave approached, threatening to end the loop then and there…

…only for it to stop before reaching him.

“Usurper! Give back the concept you have stolen!”

The void between galaxies trembled at the anger in its voice. The blinding white horizon akin to an exploding star subsided to reveal a gelatinous creature smaller than his head. A slime. It could shift sizes too?

“You could just kill me and take it,” Orodan suggested, re-chambering himself for another blow as he floated through the gravity-less space.

“To strike a young Embodier would be disgraceful. Such oppression of the weak is reserved for the likes of the erased zealot and the maddened cultivator. Honorless vermin who will never reach the heights of true power.”

Erased… what? He felt something at the very edge of his Domain of Perfect Cleaning’s aura too.

“He does not lie, bright one. Hmm… no… reckless one? Thieving one? Must find moniker which fits. Fight more that you may receive proper moniker.”

It was… a giant eye? No, an eyeball.

He tried casting Identify upon it…

[Identify 8 → Identify 15]

…only for the skill to fail and a wave of backlash to strike his mind. He weathered the mental assault with casual ease of course, but that was likely the strongest anti-Identification countermeasure he’d ever encountered.

“Impolite of you. Reckless one it shall be. Orodan Wainwright the Reckless. Soul mangled and not of System… but also not from outside? Very odd! Maybe Custodian will have answers,” it spoke, its gigantic eye seemingly staring right through him. “If reckless one must know, am Embodiment of Identification. But reckless one very odd, very un-Identifiable.”

“Let me guess, you’ve come to kill me too?”

“System no! Identifier simply comes to watch, and Identify.”

And that was all that oddball eyeball said before the white slime reached him.

“Do not pay any heed to that disturbed voyeur. You, duel me now, our cleaning skills only! Lose, and you cede whatever portion you’ve stolen. Win, and I shall aid your escape and leave you be.”

What a truly odd creature this slime was! He recalled facing it in the strange conceptual space of cleaning where he’d dueled all of them, but in-person it was far stronger, with a plethora of combat skills Orodan would need many loops to bridge the gap against.

And it was also oddly honorable and not quite intent on killing him.

“Blinding Eyesore full of arrogance, but also honor. Does not lie,” the Identifier spoke from the side, lazily drifting in the void but eagerly watching.

“Blinding Eyesore…! You dare-”

Orodan had little time for this prattle. His answer to the Fusion Slime and Embodiment of Purification was a simple one. A full power smash of his Domain of Perfect Cleaning against its own aura of purification.

[Domain of Perfect Cleaning 165 → Domain of Perfect Cleaning 166]

The enemy Embodier strained hard, the slime truly did. But every one of its purifying white flames were erased by the power of Orodan’s Domain of Perfect Cleaning.

A cataclysmic shockwave of energy rang out through the void, threatening to reach the edge of the nearby Vystaxium Galaxy if not for his opponent casually burning it with fire. How a physical shockwave would be burnt with flame, he didn’t know… but the Embodier somehow did it.

Worst of all, although its form was sunken inwards in shame, Orodan knew that it had been holding back the majority of its combat power. It dueled him purely with its cleaning ability, but in actual fight he knew it would be many, many loops before he was this slime’s match.

“You… have won, a fair and honest victory earned through valor. I accept your Embodiment and ownership of the concept of Purification. As agreed I will-”

“No.”

“…”

“There are more enemies to fight,” Orodan declared, a feral grin on his face. “And I need answers for what’s occurred in the greater cosmos. Who is this… erased one?”

“You… do not know?” the slime asked, confusion wobbling through its gelatinous form. “Perhaps a dozen planar spins ago, the timeline shattered and the zealot was erased.”

“The zealot?” Orodan asked, but he had a feeling he already knew. “You mean-”

“The Prophet. So the reckless one knows? Identifier sees now. Orodan the Reckless is Orodan the time looper. Subject of Custodian’s ire,” the Identifier spoke, still content to watch. “Come Eyesore, we depart before Warrior angers at our absence.”

“It… it is you. You erased an Administrator… but how can this be?” the slime asked.

And frankly… Orodan didn’t know either.

Just how powerful were concepts?

Orodan was beginning to understand now that truly employing a concept was something which could cause permanent changes to the time loops themselves. Was that why there’d been no Eldritch Avatar? No history of Eldritch incursions throughout Alastaia’s history? The only Eldritch thing he saw was the crown of Balastion Novar, and that was caused through the gradual corruption of Vylrystia’s world core over time.

He didn’t know how, but even without beating the other Embodiers, something about the concept of Cleanliness must have recognized him as its rightful Embodier. Ever since then, it had likely been permanently erasing things whenever he used the skill actively.

No wonder the Boundless One itself raced to end him near the finale of the battle for Lonvoron… it must have realized how he’d permanently erased the Prophet. And it was a rare moment where Orodan was truly grateful to something for having slain him before he could have caused more untold havoc.

“Reckless one is confused? Why? Reckless one is first person in System history to fully claim concept. But Identifier speaks too much. Custodian coming, and Custodian unhappy.”

Both the slime and the Identifier departed swiftly after that. Hells, he didn’t sense any other Embodiers inbound either.

None save one, whose presence he knew very well. The reason for his very existence.

The fabric of reality shuddered as space, time and the tapestry of fate ripped apart at the Custodian’s forceful arrival.

“Orodan Wainwright. How? Why?” it asked, a cold and calculated fury in its eyes. “The design of everything falls apart. Where there were five Administrators there are now four, with one horribly maimed. Even now the Warrior remains occupied and nearly overwhelmed by his charge. Undo what you have done. Undo it, or we shall all fall once the circling predators of the greater universe enter this sacred space.”

“Believe me… undoing what I’ve done is the first thing I intend on doing. That taint-spreading abomination will fall by my blade and nothing else,” Orodan declared, steel in his voice. Neither Cleanliness nor anyone else would steal the rightful glory of killing the Prophet from him.

“You… truly mean that? And what have you done with your soul? Why is it… I… I see,” the Arch-Devil spoke, its voice becoming solemn. “You somehow connected to the time loops, did you not? Empowered them too, but how can a mortal do so? Not even all five of us together could hope to provide a millionth of the raw energy required. Even if every Embodier came together, it would be hopeless… yet you…”

While the fabric of reality shuddered at the Custodian’s arrival, it now completely unfurled as the source of everything itself came forth.

Galaxies began unraveling at the seams. Madness spilled forth unto the material plane, and the Eldritch Boundless One’s tendrils gently grazed the Custodian who had to strain and fight to avoid madness and corruption.

“Yes great one… I see… your wisdom rings true,” the Arch-Devil choked out through gritted teeth, the very contact between it and the Eldritch Boundless straining the Administrator greatly. “Orodan Wainwright… you have claimed a concept fully and completely. Not just one, but two… you are a complete and utter impossibility. A random particle of matter would have a greater chance of becoming a God than you should have had in claiming two concepts. G-great one, you wish to… very well… use me as a vessel. Use me that you might guide him towards salvaging this.”

Academically, Orodan knew what the Boundless One was. Some sort of alien entity which was the source and propagator of Eldritch, yet which also empowered the System in an attempt to protect and provide a safe haven for the living things within it. He’d encountered another Boundless before, when he’d truly died and been separated from the time loop mechanism.

But academically knowing about something, and directly encountering, even via proxy, were two different things. Whatever it did at the end of his long loop in Lonvoron must not have been direct. This however, was.

[Eldritch Resistance 68 → Eldritch Resistance 80]

For the first time, Orodan Wainwright came into contact with the Eldritch Boundless One…

…and his soul began igniting in agony.

Whispers flooded his mind and the wicked corruption of the Eldritch threatened to enter his very soul and being.

And then… Orodan’s own essence flared and pushed back.

The agony grew greater, but a shocking revelation occurred as he heard the shrieks and howls of something else too.

The now dead shell of the Custodian was writhing, as though whatever possessed it couldn’t bear to be near him. Just as Orodan struggled to remain in the presence of the Eldritch Boundless, so too did it struggle to remain around him.

“Agony.. Agony.. Agony.. Agony. Impossibility.. Impossibility.. Impossibility. Boundless like us… true impossibility…”

“I’d tell you to stop, but this is causing my Eldritch Resistance to soar,” Orodan muttered through the haze of pain. And oh how long had it been since he’d registered actual pain? He hungrily fed the pain into his Incipience of Infinity. “I suppose this is the first time we’re holding a proper conversation. I… am Orodan Wainwright. And I intend to purge your corrupt System and replace it with my own.”

[Incipience of Infinity 146 → Incipience of Infinity 147]

Zaessythra was utterly and completely terrified. Her consciousness was practically nestled into the deepest part of his soul that she’d been able to find, and there she was hiding for dear sanity.

Regular people—hells, anyone else— should have been driven utterly mad. But Orodan had left the bounds of normalcy behind long ago. Even before the target of his ire against the System, he boldly declared his intentions.

And it seemed almost… pleased?

“Good… good… good. Impossibility will do…. impossibility will achieve… what this one has failed to. Strive… strive… strive. Rise… rise… rise. More will come… more will discover impossibility… fight forever… protect… mortality.”

Its words were brief, but the ideas and intent flowed through to his mind.

“You want me to succeed? But why? No, wait… you truly love everything within this space, don’t you?”

A series of transmitted memories and images flashed through his mind. Orodan initially considered them a mental attack, but relaxed his defenses. He was confident in withstanding anything directly even if he didn’t defend.

Memories of a lonely foreign being with too much power and not enough understanding. Memories of an escape from its sibling, a tyrant who enjoyed hurting. Images of it seeing the kindness and love in mortals, but not from the flesh, but from something which was… metallic? The kindness and desire for friendship in a single metallic thing. A being whose kind soul had driven the Boundless into conflict with its sadistic sibling. And Orodan saw a singular painted identifier on the metal.

“W78?” Orodan whispered, his heart twisting.

Memories of it dragging vast swathes of a universe into its own pocket, selecting the first time looper—a proud cultivator—in the hopes that it could resolve the newly discovered issue of its very nature eroding mortal beings.

And finally… memories of it reluctantly agreeing to the Custodian’s last ditch effort. The creation of something… someone, among the mortal races. One capable of cleansing everything.

“You… you created me,” Orodan whispered. “You allowed my mother and father to die.”

“Accept… accept… accept. Guilt… guilt… guilt. Mortal emotion… this one has learned.” it projected, the voice a haunting howl of madness and impossibility. It then shifted tone. “Impossibility must undo… must undo… must control force of reality. Impossibility… controls both concepts.”

And its mental impression told him the rest of the picture.

There was a reason why Orodan had been able to empower and take over the time loops. And there was a reason why he had been able to permanently erase the Prophet and have it stick through the loops.

Concepts.

Infinity and Cleanliness.

Orodan was now the herald for both of them.

And it was now up to him to reverse this tide of unwanted change and chaos that his actions had caused.

He hated the Prophet. And he hated the Eldritch. But their existence in the first place was a necessity. And on a smaller scale as was Ilyatana’s.

Just as the people of Alastaia were doomed to suffer without her, so too would the beings of System space be relegated to invasion and conquest from foreign entities and other Boundless for as long as the Prophet remained gone.

He wasn’t sure exactly what role the zealot played in keeping the System safe, but it must have been an important one.

“Very well. I will do this, I shall fix what mistakes I’ve wrought… but at the end of all this, I will be coming for you.”

“This one… accepts…”

And there was nothing else to be said between them as Orodan soul blazed with limitless power. Power enough that the faint shape of a broom composed of soul energy formed between his hands. A shape he then plunged downwards.

[Domain of Perfect Cleaning 166 → Domain of Perfect Cleaning 167]

Domain of Perfect Cleaning hit Alastaia.

The concept of Cleanliness struggled against him, but a burst of violence from Orodan stabilized his own mind. The brute force of Combat Mastery—projecting a tangible power of violence—hit his thoughts and biases like a hammer, but it was also aided by his introspective realization that a world without Ilyatana was an objectively worse one than one with.

And then came the big one.

[Incipience of Infinity 147 → Incipience of Infinity 148]

Cells died, power filled his frame and he began calling upon the limitless will fueling his spirit to create energy. This power he gathered, the drawing of it lasting for a solid hour. Power which all went towards the faint shape of the broom between his hands.

The faint shape of the broom roiled with power as Orodan brought it to his chest, and then when the tension was at its height and his body could tolerate no more… he let it go.

And Orodan willed reality to return to a state of affairs where Ilyatana existed, and where the Prophet did too. For that… was the natural state of cleanliness.

[Domain of Perfect Cleaning 167 → Domain of Perfect Cleaning 170]

[Reality Alteration 70 → Reality Alteration 85]

As he let his power go the cosmos turned white. Not from the explosion of any star or any fanciful magic. But from the utter excess of the light of his own soul. How could a mere exploding star compare to this?

The Eldritch Boundless One barely managed to retreat back into its cage before the all-consuming wave went out.

All was meant to go well… until Orodan encountered the hard resistance of something else. Something similar to Cleanliness.

Ilyatana snapped back into existence and the timeline retroactively snapped back with her, everything righting itself. But as for the Prophet? His erasure was now tied to the time loops.

And the time loops? Orodan had empowered them with the concept of Infinity.

Suddenly, his mind felt like tearing itself apart as two concepts pulled in separate directions.

Cleanliness demanded the Embodier right the natural order as per his perception. But Infinity—whose power kept the loop going—demanded that the changes remain for it had sealed them into place at the end of the last loop.

And in-between it all? One increasingly maddened warrior whose mind fractured over and over as two separate parts of him used his endless nature to attempt conflicting orders.

His mind tore apart, but Orodan refused to quit. In an act which surprised both concepts—which should have been impossible as they were not sapient beings—he began brawling them both.

Solid punches to the face of Infinity. Crushing knees to the gut of Cleanliness.

It made absolutely no sense whatsoever! Cleanliness was not a person, neither was Infinity! They had no face, no gut! They were concepts, fundamental forces of existence and reality!

Yet, as more and more of Orodan’s fists and knees crashed into them, they became… vulnerable. They began to somehow become mundane. They began to understand… violence. And they began to fear it.

Stars shattered and planets were reduced to rubble as Orodan Wainwright brawled two concepts in a reality-defying display of impossibility. They fought partially in the material plane and partially in… whatever odd dimension of existence that concepts lived in.

His opponents fought against each other, but they also fought against him, and they were no push-overs. As he beat them into becoming material and understanding pain and carnage, they too understood how to hurt him in his own language. Infinity slammed endless fists into his soul and Cleanliness hit him with purging knees to the gut.

They were excellent opponents! Orodan loved every second of it! And slowly, time passed as they brawled. He wasn’t sure how long, exactly, but it did.

Alastaia’s surface changed, sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse. The cosmic scenery changed too as planets were destroyed over the course of the various cosmic wars that occurred. But it was when the Eldritch Boundless reached out to tell him that the System’s boundaries were being compromised as invaders sought the blazing beacon that he had become… that Orodan finally decided enough years had passed and he needed to bring his two warring concepts under control.

The final skill level gain came just in time too.

[Combat Mastery 139 → Combat Mastery 140]

[Unarmed Combat Mastery 100 → Unarmed Combat Mastery 101]

[New Title → Unarmed Combat Transcendent]

He didn’t exactly get System trials anymore—not since passing his very first trial of transcendence and especially not since disconnecting from the System—but he doubted whatever being came down would have survived more than a casual backhand from either of the three parties involved in the brawl.

Not that the fight would last for much longer.

For as good as Cleanliness and Infinity had learned to become at brawling… Orodan was better.

He grew up fighting. Violence and bloodshed were all he knew.

And as Cleanliness threw a punch at him from one side, and Infinity from the other…

…Orodan’s new Unarmed Combat Transcendence gave him much raw power, but it also gave him an absolutely preternatural understanding of each and every part of his body that could be used as a weapon and even each and every part of his opponents’ forms that could be used as weapons too.

Cleanliness’s fist smashed into Orodan’s elbow, gliding across a specific tendon to redirect right into Infinity’s face. And Infinity’s fist did the same to Cleanliness. And then when they were both stunned…

A fist from Orodan slammed downwards and brought each of them down, flying through the void…

…all the way until they landed upon an asteroid.

Two more pounding fists delivered to the faces of each finally got his point across.

Suddenly, upon defeat, the oddly material bodies of both concepts vanished, returning to their usual place in composing existence. And the changes Orodan demanded came to be as he fully returned to the material plane.

Fate, time and reality snapped… and what were four Administrators and a wounded one now became five once again.

Orodan was utterly spent, but he was more than happy to go another round.

Plans which were dashed as his full return to the material plane had caused one of the many intruders to take notice of him.

A familiar pink shard was the last thing he saw.

#

A keening wail ringing in the night sky awoke him.

Orodan leapt right out of his bed.

His bed…! His harpies! And of course, him!

It was all back to normal once again as Ilyatana, the Prophet and Orodan Wainwright himself existed once more.

“Punched back into existence, I should say.”

And wasn’t that a fantastic new ability? Who new Combat Mastery was capable of doing such a thing at higher levels?

Still, as the familiar and intrusive sensation of challengers to his reign over Cleanliness prodded at him, Orodan felt that there was a lot of work ahead of him.

Not only did he have these Embodiments coming after him, many of whom he stood no chance against in direct combat yet. But he would also have to contend with the Administrators as always.

With the matter of these concepts resolved for now, he could finally focus on developing many of the skills he’d been meaning to, alongside using Fenton’s memory orb to begin bringing people’s memories across the loops properly.

He could finally focus on bringing Zaessythra back too, Almyra’s book was still waiting in his soul space for him to peruse its secrets.

There were a lot of destinations on his travel list too.

But he really wanted to learn calligraphy properly if just to spite Zaessythra and prove he wasn’t just a barbarian who liked punching things.

And at the end of it? Now that he could ferry memories across, perhaps it was time to begin training some of his students, old and new. And mayhap the restoration of a long lost world of half-dragons and their World-Queen.

All of which meant Orodan had plenty of skill grinding to stubbornly get up to.