The Stubborn Skill-Grinder In A Time Loop

Chapter 76: Origins & Fate

[Dimensional Step 12 → Dimensional Step 13]

Orodan’s travel through the dimensional boundary and out the other side brought him to Eversong Plaza, specifically, to the second floor of the tavern at the foot of Mount Castarian.

A man, dark hair, angry-looking eyebrows turned downwards in what appeared to be a perpetual frown, was cleaning a few blood-slicked tools on the table. And behind this man was a corpse on a chair, recently tortured to death.

“Aeglos Argon. Enjoy torturing prisoners for fun, do you?” Orodan asked, appearing behind the Elite pyromancer.

The man was more than a little shocked at the sudden intrusion and took at least two seconds to react appropriately. Rather telling of his lack of close combat experience, and something that would get him killed in a fight against any decent martial specialist who got close enough. Personally, Orodan thought Surena Argon could beat her evil brother in a fight rather easily if she wanted to.

Still, Orodan was always happy to test his spellcraft against another mage toe-to-toe.

A Draconic Fireball came to life, blazing hot in the palm of his hand. The other participant in this magical duel nearly stumbled backwards in fright, unused to being overpowered by anyone else in pyromancy. Orodan’s hand went forth and his fireball made contact with Aeglos’s spell in close-quarters, and with the contact, came a fierce battle of wills to determine who would hold control over the flames.

One which Orodan had won before realizing it was meant to be a contest.

[Fire Magic Mastery 49 → Fire Magic Mastery 50]

[New Title → Fire Magic Adept]

The fire from Aeglos’s hands joined Orodan’s Draconic Fireball, and he put the spell out lest he destroy Eversong Plaza.

“Folding immediately when your trump card is overpowered is the sign of a weak mind,” Orodan chided. “You didn’t even put your heart into it. I can see you’re empowering those flames with soul energy, it’s a powerful Bloodline but one that’s made you soft and complacent. Your sister is leagues superior to you.”

“Who the hells are you?! You do not know me! You do not know my sister!”

Anger; good. Perhaps this mage might fight with some grit now. Aeglos’s hands turned ablaze with pyromancy once more, and two fiery spells were on the cusp of being cast when Orodan’s spellfire hit first.

[Flash Freeze 24 → Flash Freeze 26]

Ice to quench flame, he was getting the hang of thinking like a mage! In his opinion at least.

The flames were immediately extinguished and the pyromancer’s hands froze entirely, becoming brittle as fragile glass. Aeglos Argon’s pyromancy was decent, but Orodan’s unfair power made even a basic cryomancy spell overwhelming.

He screamed in agony.

“M-my hands!”

“What’re you screaming about? Didn’t you happily torture this man to death a few moments ago?” Orodan asked coldly, and upon seeing Aeglos’s reaction was certain the man felt no real remorse about the misdeed. “I’d thought there might be some backbone to you, the possibility of redemption. Out of respect for your sister, I’d thought to perhaps try taking you alive.”

“Please! I’ve never offended you! Guards! Guards! Master! Help me!”

“Pathetic... no different to all the times I slew you in my early loops. A craven dog: all too happy to torment and kill the innocent when you hold power, but far too quick to beg for clemency when you do not,” Orodan spat. “Well, I suppose not everyone can be brave, least of all when facing death. But if you’re going to live by the sword and torture captives for fun, then the least you can do is have some dignity when you die by the sword.” ɽἈŊoBËs̩

“N-no! Wait! Do you want wealth? Power? My father can-”

Aeglos Argon’s head was pulled off his shoulders. On one hand, he’d thought to try leaving Surena’s family alive, he did owe her for a lesson on swordsmanship she hadn’t even realized she’d imparted. Yet, on the other, Aeglos Argon was a cruel man, one who would not stop harming others even if given a beating and humbled.

Orodan wasn’t the law, nor was he a jailer with access to a cell. Simple problems sometimes required simple solutions. And while he wanted to repay Surena, to leave such a wicked man alive would doubtlessly cause harm to others down the line.

He silently apologized to Surena and moved on. The remainder of the Argon guards within the tavern and Eversong Plaza were unconscious. While normally he would simply drain the machine from a distance, perhaps there was a chance to redeem this monster he thought.

He’d thought wrong.

Everyone else within Eversong Plaza was unconscious thanks to Orodan, but the Master-level necromancer who he met while walking down the tunnels towards the central control chamber, was not.

Master Fausta, the necromancer who’d tortured him to death via her pet Demonic Berserker thousands of times. Little wonder that Aeglos Argon enjoyed the sick delights he did when this woman was his master. Next to her was her snarling little pet, the eight-armed freak which had torn him limb from limb so many times so long ago.

It looked quite wary of him too.

“Who are you?” she asked, immediately wary of Orodan. “Grandmasters are not allowed to interfere, and we have our own on standby who’ve already been informed of your arrival.”

“My identity does not concern you. All I need to know is that you and your little research group plan on destroying Volarbury County once you’ve secured the machine,” Orodan coldly said. “Give me one reason why you feel that’s justified.”

“Surely a long-lived ancient such as yourself would understand that the lives of mortals are fleeting? The lands and the people within will eventually recov-”

A sudden movement, too quick to be seen by the necromancer, yet within speeds for her pet. And a clash began where Orodan kept himself moderated to give it a fair fight.

The necromancer sent in an Elite-level skeleton and a couple undead wolves to aid the Demonic Berserker, but it was all for naught. The minions died within moments of touching him. And even with strength and speed equalized, the eight-armed undead demon fell to his raw wrath and ferocity, overwhelmed by his ceaseless aggression worse than the Warrior had overpowered Orodan.

Within a second, all of the necromancer’s minions were dead, and the blast of pure necrotic energy which came his way was swatted aside contemptuously, causing the entire mountain to shake and many of the reinforced tunnels to shake precariously.

The necromancer’s reaction speeds and abilities were inferior to her pets, typical of most summoner-type combatants he’d met. Still, he lowered his own abilities to her level, giving her a fair chance. Naturally, she cowered and sought to flee, leading to her swift end.

Orodan tired of the ‘justifications’ and excuses for Volarbury County’s destruction. Those who lived by the sword could die by the sword.

He could clearly see the remaining path before him. It was littered with Novarrians, some of whom were penal battalion soldiers, and some who were not. All of them were far too low in the rungs to have any say in how the machine was used, so there was little point to dealing with them.

Another Dimensional Step took him far deeper below the mountain, and there was no corresponding level gain this time, signifying that he’d plucked the low hanging fruits of understanding through repeated usage now. He stepped through the dimensional boundary and out to the scene of a battle in the central control chamber of the ancient machine.

Ovuru World-Drinker, the Guzuharan who’d killed Orodan the very first time, was slowly overpowering a Master-level unarmed Republic loyalist. All while Duke Arestos the Novarrian and Baron Viglas Argon were teaming up against a scythe-wielding Master who looked to be in desperate straits.

Orodan channelled power into Domain of Perfect Cleaning, cleaning the consciousness from the two Republicans and yanking them backwards to where they’d be out of the way. They’d wake eventually, but for now better they remained asleep.

“Who the hells are you? Where did you even come from?” Duke Arestos asked, suddenly paranoid and backing away. “Viglas, guard the control orb. I shall deal with this unknown interloper.”

“And what then? You destroy most of Volarbury County using the ancient machine?” Orodan asked, drawing his weapons.

“I know not who you are or how you bypassed every single spatiomancy alarm we set, but the Grandmaster non-interference pact between the Empire and the Republic forbids your interference,” Duke Arestos said.

“I’ve run afoul of the law then? How unfortunate, will you arrest me?” Orodan asked, challenge in his tone. “Come, let me expose the inadequacies in your usage of the sword and shield.”

Sword and shield met one another, and for the briefest of moments Duke Arestos’s face showed surprise at how evenly matched his strength was. There was no way Orodan was a Grandmaster, the Duke must’ve thought.

The delusion didn’t last beyond that particular moment. Even with strength and speed moderated, Orodan utterly overwhelmed the Novarrian. A thrust was followed by a shield bash, which was followed by multiple strikes using each individual muscle of Orodan’s left arm, a trick he’d recently picked up, allowing for even more aggression and offense in each motion.

Technically, Orodan was limiting himself to the Novarrian’s level, but with how he fought it looked as though an Adept was bullying an Initiate with a vicious beating.

The Novarrian tried hiding behind the shield to recover, but Orodan ruthlessly yanked the shield down, punched the Duke twice and delivered a headbutt which broke the man’s nose. And when his foe then desperately corrected by raising the shield, Orodan stamped his foot onto Duke Arestos’s own like an anvil thrown from a tower.

The resultant crunch of his ankle and the yelp of pain imbalanced the man and opened up his guard once more, causing the rim of Orodan’s shield to smash into his nose yet again. He was then thrown to the ground, and a brutal pounding began as Orodan got on top and began raining down savage blows.

The sight of the beating caused Baron Viglas’s eyes to widen in fear. The man must’ve then realized that they stood no chance.

At last, Orodan simply ended the Novarrian’s life with a powerful downward hammer fist which pulped his opponent’s skull over the floor.

It was then, that Orodan felt the tickle of metal striking his back. He saw the attack coming, and it was as utterly ineffective as Orodan’s own backstabbing strike had been at the very beginning of the time loops.

“Tell me, raider. How does Clan Leviathan mourn the loss of their war chief?” Orodan asked, turning around.

“The death of the war chief is a great honor! And today... I shall pay tribute to Agorhiku with my death!” the ogre-barbarian roared and charged Orodan once more.

More than the raider gave him in his first death, Orodan kept it fair and moderated himself. But the outcome was still a foregone conclusion. Within a second, Ovuru fell, head separated from his shoulders, just as he’d slain Orodan Wainwright many thousands of loops ago to begin it all.

The Guzuharan’s death left just one man. The reason Orodan had come here in the first place.

Baron Viglas Argon.

He detested the man, and the dislike must’ve been apparent enough that Baron Viglas frowned and took a step back, hands blazing with fire, ready to cast.

“O-Orodan Wainwright?” the Baron choked out, finally recognizing him. “It... no, it cannot be. Who are you, to have possessed the body of a mere street rat. What have I done to offend you?”

“I see you recognize me still, Baron Viglas. I suppose your men told you often enough of the reckless youth who challenged them to battle,” Orodan remarked. “There’s no possession here. I am Orodan Wainwright.”

“Impossible! Orodan Wainwright is a mere Apprentice-level militia man in the Ogdenborough barracks of the county militia,” the Baron said. “His potential is notable, I’ve had an eye on him for some time, but you cannot be him. I will ask again, who are you and what have we done to offend you?”

“Believe it or don’t. As for how you’ve offended me? How about keeping Ogdenborough mired in poverty? How about your plans to destroy most of Volarbury County once you’ve secured this machine?” Orodan pointedly asked. “Your crimes are many Baron Viglas Argon. And while your crooked schemes to keep the Republic out of Ogdenborough might not be worthy of death... your willingness to slaughter tens of thousands of innocents is.”

The man tried stammering out apologies and excuses, but it was no use. Vision of Purity let him closely examine the Baron’s soul, and all Orodan saw were lies and the lack of sincerity in his words.

“Enough. Spare me your words,” Orodan said, putting a hand out to shut the man up. “My hatred for you is deep-rooted, just beneath those who’ve directly wronged me in the most grievous of ways. Yet, I’ve been trying to move past my detestations, after all how can I clean when my own mind is filthy? I came here today, thinking to perhaps spare you if there was something redeemable in you, but I see that won’t be possible. Perhaps it’s a good thing your daughter is estranged from you. Being around you and your son might have turned her just as rotten, and then I might’ve had to make three heads roll instead of two.”

Orodan was trying to let go of his hatred, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t kill whoever needed to be killed. Previously, he killed for the wrong reasons, but now, when it came to this murderous vermin, he was all too calm when faced with the prospect of ending Baron Viglas Argon’s life.

“My daughter... Surena?” the man hissed and practically lunged for Orodan, hands blazing with fire. Orodan slapped him down to the ground.

“The only good thing you’ve done it seems,” Orodan remarked, standing over him. “She’s become a decent woman, no thanks to you.”

The Baron’s fists clenched, and the man lowered his head.

“I sent her away that the distance might keep the horrid business of this family away from her!” the Baron said. “If you’ve dared to harm-”

“She is fine and well, likely headed to Anthus as we speak. Unlike you, I do not harm uninvolved innocents,” Orodan clarified. “Why do you want to destroy Volarbury County? Enough with your false excuses and apologies, your soul exposes your insincerity.”

For a moment perhaps, Baron Viglas thought to make more excuses. Then, an ugly and most hateful sneer came upon his face. The first honest expression Orodan had seen thus far.

“May the Republic burn. The destruction of the county... all of it was worth it if it meant striking back against the Republic who betrayed us after the blood we spilt for them,” the man said, and Orodan noted the hatred in his voice. “My father and mother, dead. My elder siblings, all fallen in battle. For what? To help the cabal of nobles at its head secede when it was less bound by the Gods under Novarrian rule?! And then the Council has the gall to turn around and dispense such pitiful rewards upon us while rewarding themselves first. Where was our reward? Our recognition? The houses of the Republic held lands here, all while House Argon was forced to migrate from Novarria and pay the ultimate price! It was we who spilt the most blood of any house during the war!”

“Your hatred runs deep; I’m no stranger to that myself. Your grievances are entirely justified... but only against those who’ve committed them. To allow your loathing to involve those who’ve done you no harm... is pathetic.”

“Then I, Viglas Argon, admit to being a pathetic man. I never asked for my family to join the Republic’s little secession... I didn’t want them to die,” the Baron said, emotional. “My mother... she-”

Viglas Argon regained himself and the sneer on his face re-appeared.

“I’ve spoken too much. You will kill me today, won’t you?”

Orodan’s sword rose high into the air.

“Do it then... I will not beg for my life. I assume you’ve slain my son?” the Baron asked and Orodan nodded. “Tch... in my final moments, I can only accept his upbringing and end as my own failure. I should never have let him study under that deranged woman...”

“Your son was a fiend who made his own choices, as are you too a man who must accept the responsibility for his.”

“...true enough. Perhaps I will be reunited with my brothers at last... though I ask of you one thing; look after my daughter. She’s the only good thing this noble house’s legacy of sacrifice and hatred has produced. Perhaps... if I did not have this hate in my heart, things might have been different.”

Orodan’s sword descended...

...into the ground.

“Do you truly mean that?” he asked.

“End it, I have made my peace.”

“If the hatred was gone, what would you do?” Orodan inquired.

“Pah! Perhaps in another life... I shall meet my daughter again, or mayhap my family.”

He truly had been intent on ending the existence of this wretched cur. So what that Baron Viglas had a daughter? The tens of thousands he intended to kill also had children or were father and mother to someone.

But hatred was an abyss all too easy to sink into. Especially for Orodan whose will and determination meant he held onto grudges far longer than most.

What was cleaning? Sometimes it meant sweeping the dust from a tabletop, purging the physical filth. And other times, like now, it meant purging the hate from himself... and from the heart of Baron Viglas.

Orodan’s eyes took on a subtle glow, the soul energy pouring towards a chronomantic spell.

“You can’t keep resurrecting everyone,” Zaessythra said. “It’s a heavy responsibility to put upon yourself.”

“The weight of the System’s eventual failure and the corruption of all is already upon my shoulders. What’s one more added to that?” Orodan retorted. “I have never been one to shirk responsibility.”

“It’s less to do with that, and more to do with the fact that you’ll never get anything done if you keep stopping to involve yourself. But... I suppose you would never have met me either if you hadn’t done that.”

“Once this is all done, I might see to reuniting the dead across the cosmos. But for now, I will not stand idle while something can be solved right before me.”

Some might’ve said it wasn’t their problem.

Some might say death was a natural consequence of life that couldn’t be solved... Orodan partially agreed.

Death was a natural part of life. Orodan simply disagreed with the notion that it wasn’t his problem, and that he couldn’t solve it.

A smart time looper would’ve perhaps saved resources, admitted that they couldn’t solve all problems, adjusted their own mentality in accordance. Orodan had in fact seen many of these previous time loopers while fighting the Reject, in that churning, screaming pit of agony and despair where they all suffered and lost all identity and sense of who they were.

Many sought to use the time loops to become warlords, others to advance their own power and earn wealth. Some simply acted like monsters. Others were benevolent too, yet these benevolent and hard-headed idealists also understood their limits.

They accepted certain things, that they could not solve everything.

And they had all failed in the end. Reduced to churning, writhing cogs within the soul of a mangled being who tormented them and drew power from them.

While other time loopers might accept the natural order of things, Orodan would not.

There would be no excuses, no justifications. He would settle for nothing.

If he saw a problem he disliked, he would make it his problem. For that was Orodan Wainwright’s way.

Time Reversal didn’t gain any levels, not when he’d done far grander feats in the past. It was a simple thing, soul energy poured towards the control of time, all directed into the past.

From Viglas, Orodan saw the wisps and threads of connection to his deceased family. Thankfully, none of them were reincarnated, which made the task easy. Orodan’s awareness spread out across the time stream.

Baron Viglas’s father and mother had been slain during their house’s migration from Novarria. Butchered right in front of their children for their treachery and aid towards the seceders. In recompense, the four siblings joined the Republic’s Liberation War, where three had fallen in battle near Karilsgard, leaving only Viglas Argon.

And as Baron Viglas’s parents returned, as this wicked man’s siblings shifted back in time, Orodan used spatiomancy and pulled them from their very graves, alive and restored... directly into the central control chamber.

“Where...? Where am I?” an older man said. A face Orodan instinctively disliked due to the similarity.

“Viglas? Is that you? You’ve gotten gray hairs my son... how?” a woman asked in a warm voice.

As for the Baron himself, he could only stutter and choke at what he saw. He was on the verge of breaking down.

“How? Is this... an illusion? What are you?”

A sword tickled the underside of his throat.

“Before you get too emotional, I have a warning for you. From this moment on, you’re dead,” Orodan coldly said.

Orodan made no secret of the fact that he hated Baron Viglas. The man’s resurrected siblings, however, took offense to this, mid-charge and ready to rescue the Baron.

“Wait! Wait! Do not lay your weapons on him!” the Baron shouted, causing the three raised Argons to still.

“From this moment on, House Argon is no more. Baron Viglas Argon, the head of house... is dead,” Orodan declared. “And if for some reason, that man comes to be once more... I shall separate his head from his shoulders.”

“Who are you to threaten-”

“Mother, please! He is... he is right. I’ve failed. As a soldier, as the head of my house and... as a father.”

“Then it’s time you began rectifying that last bit, isn’t it?” Orodan asked, throwing him a ring he’d inscribed with a particular enchantment. “Hold onto that, it’ll be my way of receiving assurance that you haven’t reneged on your death. That will take you to Fort Redvane. And from there, a Master-level pyromancer and five Elites should have no issue getting past the swarms assailing Anthus I assume?”

“We will not,” the Baron said, and after a pause continued. “Aeglos was my failure. But, why me? What made you spare me? If you hate me so much, and I would have destroyed all you hold dear... why help me?”

“Why indeed? I still wonder if this is the right decision. I certainly slew your vile son for there was no redemption within him,” Orodan said. “In fact, my mind was set on ending you too.”

“Then...?”

“Because you mentioned your daughter,” Orodan simply answered. “In one’s final moments, their true character becomes clear. You are a wicked man who has allowed his hate to warp him into a monster; but beneath that... I saw a man who loves his daughter. Hold onto that feeling, to the love you have for her. Hold on to that, and never turn back, for if you do, I shall be waiting.”

He did this, not for the wicked cur Baron Viglas, who would allow his hatred to affect all of Volarbury County, but for the hapless girl Surena Argon who still held some hope of reconnection with her father.

Orodan had no issue executing those who required it. Agathor, Eximus and Ilyatana, he doubted those wicked three had any true chance of rehabilitation within them. Baron Viglas too, had doubtlessly slain plenty of innocents.

But the man’s death would have achieved little save sating Orodan’s desire for vengeance. Something he was learning to move past.

“I will not... I... thank you.”

Nothing else needed to be said.

House Argon, in its current state at least, was gone.

But it was still the dead of night, the beginning of the loop. And Orodan had work to do.

#

[Gunsmithing 21 → Gunsmithing 22]

Orodan’s finger squeezed the last imperfection on the cannon’s barrel into shape.

“Alright, the warehouse is done now,” he declared.

“Done? Done? You’ve modified it beyond recognition! This job was contracted out by the Republic’s Department of Infrastructure. It’s meant to be a backup warehouse for overflow storage, perhaps with unused space being sold to interested buyers. It’s not meant to be a fortified bunker!” Old Man Hannegan exclaimed. “How am I supposed to present this to the inspectors with a straight face?!”

“By smiling and praising the man who built it? I’m not asking you to keep any secrets old man, feel free to tell anyone who asks that it was me. It’s not as though you made the unplanned modifications, and these enchantments are only an improvement,” Orodan assuaged. Better any investigators came to bother him than the old man. What would they do? Try and force him to work for the Republic? They were welcome to try. “Who wouldn’t want a warehouse with more space on the inside than it looks to have from the outside?”

“Orodan... how am I supposed to go about my life with the target this warehouse will put on my back? These are functional cannons you’ve built as a defensive system!” the old man exclaimed. “I’ll be the first sod they throw into a dungeon with the interrogators, and what will I tell them? That the bull-headed delinquent I knew as a little runt decided to show up and reveal a dozen improbable skills on a whim? I don’t know how you’ve suddenly become capable of all this, but they won’t accept my explanation at all.”

“Then that’s their problem,” Orodan said, and then produced two rings. “Hold onto this from now on and give one to Vilia too.”

“What are these for?”

“Moral support for when the torturers throw you into the pit,” Orodan said with a smile. “Can’t let my favorite old man rot in a dark cell now, can I?”

“Who’re you calling old?! Get out of here, you dumb delinquent!”

Orodan laughed.

“You know, your talents are somewhat wasted around these parts. I never did ask why you’ve elected to remain in Ogdenborough. Is there some dark backstory that I’ve never bothered to ask about?”

“Feh! There’s no dramatic or tragic reason to it; I simply like this place.”

“While I admit some level of fondness for this dung heap, you do realize this is the most poverty-stricken town in the Republic, right?” Orodan asked. “Though, I suppose destitution and squalor have their charms.”

“The struggle builds grit and character... and there’s much to be learned from the humblest of things,” the old man explained, and Orodan wondered if that was why Old Man Hannegan seemed to know so much about a variety of things. To the point that even the Lieutenant-General of Anthus, a renowned military commander, was impressed. “You’re one to talk though, growing up in that orphanage made you who you are today. Couldn’t pay me to go ‘round that part of town.”

“And I doubt anyone’s willing to pay for it either, not since House Argon runs most projects out of town,” Orodan remarked. “Surprised this one even got approved to be entirely honest.”

“The mayor tried getting in the way a number of times, but the Council stamped their feet down for once and sent soldiers to remind him of the matter,” the old man explained. “In the end, they came to the consensus that as long as the job was contracted out to the locals and no government workers came by, it would be fine.”

Which explained why local workers and a local foreman were working on a warehouse which was meant to be owned by the Republic. Orodan vaguely recalled a notable appearance by the capital guard a few months before the loops began. Perhaps that was why they’d paid a visit to the mayor’s manor.

“Hmm, interesting. Too little too late unfortunately,” Orodan muttered, thinking about how the Council and the Republic were trying to make inroads into Ogdenborough before the ancient machine’s awakening. “Anyhow, you should consider moving to Anthus sometime.”

“Anthus? I don’t quite fancy being sequestered away behind a set of imposing stone walls protecting me from monster hordes, nor a contract which binds me to servitude for a set amount of time,” the old man replied.

“Rumors of the contracts are spread by parties interested in seeing Anthus’s recruitment numbers fall,” Orodan clarified. “You might find yourself valued there.”

“I’m just an old foreman who knows a thing or two, Orodan, I doubt a military stronghold will have any use for me.”

Orodan begged to disagree, as did Lieutenant-General Tegin Carrotfoot in the last loop. Old Man Hannegan had a certain know-how and a knack for giving practical advice that those raised and trained in fancy towns and academies simply didn’t.

“Give it a try, old man. Just hop onto a caravan bound for Anthus and see what happens,” Orodan suggested, handing him another enchanted amulet. “This amulet will let you teleport to Fort Redvane, whenever you feel like you want a change of pace. Just focus on it, think strongly of reaching Fort Redvane and it will get you there. Should sell for a few gold pieces too; enough to pay the fare for one of the convoys inbound for Anthus. And if anyone tries robbing you, I’ll know.”

“Orodan... why are you handing me such a valuable thing so casually?”

“It’s the least I can do for a man who gave a dumb delinquent work when few places in town would.”

“You rock-head... don’t go and get me all sentimental,” the old man muttered. “I can’t promise I’ll take the offer, but I might consider it.”

“And that’s all I ask,” Orodan replied. “And if by chance you reach the city and see a certain Baron with angry eyebrows, pass a message that Orodan Wainwright is watching.”

“A certain Baron with- oh, Baron Viglas? What business do you have with him, Orodan?”

“None, unless he makes any poor decisions,” Orodan replied. “Now then, I have other business to attend to and must take my leave.”

The warehouse was done. His home and the neighborhood had been cleaned prior, and the ancient machine had been entirely drained, undoubtedly frustrating House Argon and their Novarrian allies.

His crafts had noticeably improved too, and a part of him wanted to take a crack at the ancient machine beneath the mountain at some point this loop. If only to measure himself and how far he’d progressed thus far.

It was time then, to head back to his old neighborhood.

Ogdenborough was the poorest town in Volarbury County and most likely in all the Republic, but not all parts were equal. Where Orodan lived now, Briar Court, could be considered halfway passable. Working professionals, such as the leatherworker and some laborers who’d put time into their careers and saved up could afford to live there. Old Man Hannegan’s area, nearer to the mayor’s house and Eversong Plaza, was in the better part of town, where if one squinted and kept their peripherals blinded, they could pretend the rest of Ogdenborough wasn’t a dung heap. County militia who’d put some time in and a select few wealthier tradesfolk dwelled there.

And then, in the northernmost tip of his hometown, was the Lady Sashwari Home for the Wayward; kept away from the plaza, shops and roads by design as most people didn’t want to be reminded of its existence. Nobody of sane mind wanted to enter that part of town, mainly because it was full of young delinquents and troublemakers who stole food, goods and even occasionally resorted to robbery in order to get by.

He couldn’t blame them, there simply wasn’t enough at the orphanage to go around for feeding the various mouths. Orodan had done the same when he was a street rat himself.

The Lady Sashwari Home for the Wayward, named after a since deceased woman of great mercy and compassion hailing from the Eastern Kingdoms. Renowned for traveling the lands and soothing the plights and ills of the common folk. Orodan couldn’t help but think that the woman would be horrified, seeing the state of the orphanage built in her name.

The various orphans and abandoned children, big and small, gave him a wide berth; whether it was the uniform of the county militia, known for dispensing beatings upon the rats generously, or his size, he wasn’t sure. But these malnourished orphans and castaways were nothing if not street smart. Picking a fight with someone armed was a bad idea on a good day. Even on the first day of the loops, it’d been many years since he’d last set foot here.

“Is that...?”

“It’s him... it’s Orodan!”

“It’s got to be him, right? The stories about that angry look on his face at all times were true!”

“Think he’s got any coppers?”

“Don’t even think about it... remember that boy who got gutted behind the butcher’s many years ago? Militia was looking for days but couldn’t prove nothing? Big Bertha swears it was him that did it!”

Orodan approached the oldest among them, the one who’d reminded the other rats of his reputation.

“I see you like to talk rather loudly,” Orodan said.

The boy wisely began taking a few steps back. The rats often received beatings from the guards of House Argon or the militia. Lessons learned the hard way.

“I didn’t mean nothing by it!”

“Relax, I’m not about to beat you over the head,” Orodan assuaged. “Who’s the head matron nowadays?”

“Myntasa’s head matron! She’s in her solar now, I think.”

“Myntasa? She was a junior matron when I left... what happened to Uldrine?” Orodan asked.

“Moved onto the Cathedral in Trumbetton. Never seen someone so happy to leave...”

That sounded about right.

Orodan continued down the narrow alleyways. Most of the buildings surrounding the orphanage were abandoned, part of a planned sewage system for the town until House Argon put a stop to it for fear of the Republic getting their claws further into Ogdenborough. Terrible for any sort of dwelling, but great for street rats returning from a run and looking to lose their pursuers in the messy assortment of dilapidated buildings.

He didn’t have to walk far before the double doors of the orphanage were before him. Doors which creaked noisily as he pushed them inwards.

The building looked even worse off than he left it, or perhaps that was the effect of a rose-tinted lens which made the orphanage look better in his memories than it was. An absurd thought given how much he used to hate this place and how hard he worked to one day leave it behind.

Inside, some of the smaller children were sweeping the floors and doing various tasks to keep themselves useful and earn their share of whatever scant food got passed around. Orodan remembered starting off with those sorts of chores himself when he’d arrived.

The earliest memory of a skill gain he had was Cleaning, scrubbing those filthy floorboards in fact.

“Myntasa in her solar?” Orodan asked, and the little ones nodded quickly.

He made his way up the steps to the second floor where only the matrons were allowed.

“Excuse me sir... who are you and what’s your business here?” a junior matron asked. Orodan didn’t recognize the woman, which meant she’d likely been transferred here after he moved on.

“Orodan Wainwright, here to see the head matron.”

“Wainwright... Wainwright? Why, she speaks about you often! Er... might I ask what you wish to see her for?” the woman nervously asked.

His reputation was known beyond just the street rats it seemed.

“I come in peace, be at ease. I simply wished to speak with her regarding Cathedral business,” Orodan answered. “Is she inside the solar?”

“She is... but what Cathedral business would you speak to her about? We’re mere Initiates, as is she. The temple in Scarmorrow would serve your needs better.”

“Yes, and it would also come with a few headaches I have little interest in at this time.”

Primarily of the godly sort where diviners or certain Blessed realized his soul was undetectable. From there he’d be fighting the Gods once more, and while that was well and good, it would derail the current things he had to do. Much as he craved another bout against the Warrior, Orodan needed to focus for now. That could come once he’d done everything needed for this particular loop.

“Understood, she is engaging in communion with the Gods at this time and- hey, where are you going?!”

Orodan pushed the solar door open, revealing a woman whose hairs were beginning to gray, behind a table with an assortment of ritual items and ingredients.

“Staring into that orb of scrying isn’t going to get you transferred out of here any quicker,” Orodan remarked, snapping the head matron out of her concentration.

“O-Orodan Wainwright...? You’ve returned?” the woman asked, a little shocked and wary.

“Not here to cause any trouble or hurt anyone,” Orodan said.

“Ma’am! This man simply barged in and-”

“It is fine, you may leave us,” Myntasa said.

The junior matron was quite reluctant, but eventually relented, closing the door.

“Moved up in the world, have you?” Orodan asked.

“Queen of this hole they’ve buried me in, quite the honor. Though, I could ask the same of you, scoundrel. I hear you’re in the county militia now, quite the ascension from a delinquent causing trouble on the streets,” she replied and then sighed. “My life’s both easier and more difficult since becoming head matron. I don’t know how Uldrine handled you lot. But it’s made far harder with the absence of a unifying figure keeping these little rascals in line. Feel like coming back?”

“Hells no. I was hardly a unifying figure for anything,” Orodan replied. “I went my own way and kept mostly to myself. Anyone who tried giving me trouble, I made them regret it.”

“Yes, and that kept them in line. Your accolades and the trouble you got up to kept them looking upwards, gave them an ideal to strive towards, violent and troublesome as it was,” Myntasa clarified. “Now they just steal from the shops, and I have the guards asking me questions every other week. At least two of the little delinquents have been thrown into the jail and I have no interest in advocating they be released any time soon.”

“Quite matronly of you, but I suppose they made the decision themselves, though the freedom of it is in question when an orphanage fails to provide basic necessities,” Orodan said, pointedly.

“And what would you have me do? You’re not without sense, we both know the funding we receive isn’t sufficient for the number of unwanted children we’re forced to accept on a regular basis,” Myntasa said. “Unlike Uldrine, I have no intention on spending my personal funds to relieve some of the burden. Not when I strive to gain our lady’s favor and move up in the ranks of the Cathedral.”

The Lady Sashwari Home for the Wayward was in fact punishment duty for Initiates of the Cathedral who were lacking in talent. Not only did one have to be lacking in talent, but they also had to have some black mark on their record for posting here. For some, such as the previous head matron, all they’d done was perhaps speak out a little too boldly against a superior. But for some like Myntasa, the slight was more serious, and the woman’s character accordingly reflected it.

From what he knew, Myntasa was caught embezzling donations. A common occurrence and sometimes allowed depending on whether the embezzler had connections or potential, but for one of common birth with no talent and connections like Myntasa, punishment duty serving at the Lady Sashwari Home for the Wayward awaited.

The orphanage itself was an overflow, meant to be temporary until spots in other ones opened up. Of course, this place housed those orphans with no connections whatsoever, and consequently most of them were forgotten. Orphans from wealthier towns might be housed in that town’s orphanage, but those whose parents were unidentified or those who didn’t have any groups showing an interest in them ended up getting shuffled here.

“I would have you do nothing... besides accept my aid that is.”

“Explain. What aid are you offering?”

“Your desire to move up the ranks of the Cathedral is obvious enough, but given how badly you’re struggling with it, your lack of natural talent is apparent.”

The woman’s fists clenched in frustration, but she didn’t move to deny it.

“And how will an uneducated militia man help me in this? Funds? Resources? A teacher you know?” she asked angrily.

“Correct. I have plenty of funds and the means to acquire more,” Orodan said. “And as for a teacher... you’re looking right at him.”

“You’re no diviner, what are you playing at Orodan?”

And in response, Orodan picked up the scrying orb, and his eyes glowed with power as he looked inwards.

[Fate Reading 31 → Fate Reading 32]

Frankly, he didn’t even need a scrying orb to engage in Fate Reading, he’d already learned the basics on Guzuhar a long, long time ago. That being said, the orb was the quickest way to show this woman that he was capable of it.

As it glowed, he made sure to moderate his power lest he shatter this cheap tool by overloading it. It had been a long, long time since he’d tried reading the tapestry of fate. As expected, his own fate was non-existent, unconnected to the tapestry at all. Something that quite glaringly marked him as being different from everyone else. If he wanted to get around anywhere and not immediately stick out like a sore thumb, re-connecting himself to the tapestry of fate was necessary.

It was also a point of stubborn pride, for he intended to fight the Prophet at full power. And having that Administrator function without a core skill was unacceptable to Orodan’s pride as a warrior.

Fate Reading was supposed to start from one’s own fate, but Orodan couldn’t exactly do this, hence he began using Myntasa’s fate as a starting point. He traced the lines, traversing down the stream, seeing who she was connected to, the possibilities her life could take. Fate Reading by itself merely gave one a collection of factors, probabilities and potential outcomes. It was almost mathematical, a calculation.

Orodan wouldn’t say he was particularly good at calculating the odds in the past, after all, on Guzuhar he’d merely connected to and stopped at simply viewing the tapestry of fate. But the difference between the old him who’d merely viewed the tapestry early on in the loops and the him of now who had the mental capacity to parse quantities of information that could shatter the minds of Transcendents, was night and day.

“You’re required to display at least Apprentice-level proficiency in Fate Reading to get transferred out of here, no?” Orodan asked. “I can help with that.”

“You can read the tapestry? What... what is my fate?” she asked, suddenly far more receptive.

He took in and parsed all the threads, probabilities and possibilities tied to the fate of Myntasa.

“Well, you and everyone else here was supposed to die today, but thankfully that thread’s been stopped,” Orodan muttered. “Otherwise, you’re looking to have a relatively healthy life until approximately six months later, when something horrible descends upon this world and Inuan is miserably corrupted.”

“W-what? You can read the tapestry to that extent?” she asked, shocked. “Will I truly die in six months?”

“A very strong likelihood, but not necessarily. The tapestry isn’t a guarantee, it’s mere probabilities, odds and potential outcomes,” Orodan explained. Frankly, unlike using chronomancy he couldn’t directly see any of these potential fates, merely read them as though they were the result of a calculation. Idly he wondered what he could achieve by using chronomancy in tandem. “The tapestry of fate is no guarantee, and enough power... can upend it and change fate.”

Such as the eventual descent of the Eldritch Avatar in six months. Technically, the tapestry of fate for Alastaia didn’t show the deaths of most people on Inuan in six months. No, it was that thing’s descent which utterly severed most of the threads or promised to at least.

“You lie! The Goddess’s will upon the tapestry is absolute!” she denied. “For all I know, this is nothing but bluster.”

“Fine then, let’s get more specific,” Orodan said, delving into the tapestry once more. “Oh? Having a relationship with... Sergeant Woodgard? What do you see in that angry man? Are adherents of Ilyatana allowed to have relationships until they reach priesthood proper?”

“Sshh! Do not speak so loudly about that!” she hissed and then had a look of anticipation. “Well? How do we end up?”

“I don’t know what you saw in him,” Orodan remarked. “One of the likely outcomes is that he ends up having a tryst with one of the mayor’s maids.”

“W-what? I... how can that be?”

“How else do two people who like one another in that way go about their business?” Orodan asked. “I’m not about to explain the intimate details.”@@@@

“Will he... will he truly do such a thing? But I’ve been so loyal and steadfast... was I not enough?”

Orodan felt some pity for the poor woman. And he wondered whether oracles like Lady Lakshiya preferred to keep their mouths shut on certain questions because telling someone a harsh possibility was a difficult thing to do.

Most importantly though, Orodan saw the threads and outcomes shifting even as he spoke. The result of him revealing Myntasa’s fate to her.

“Well, it’s not set in stone,” Orodan amended. “But Sergeant Woodgard? Really?”

“He’s a fiery and passionate man...”

“Who is also perpetually angry and cannot stop barking like an overly excited dog most days,” Orodan added. “Well, perhaps he has another side to him that he shows only to you.”

“He’s quite the romantic man... but is it truly so? Will he really go astray?”

“Look, you’re not a stupid woman. Whether you choose to accept what I’ve said or not is your prerogative, but you certainly understand it,” Orodan said. “As I said, it’s a possibility, one with greater than fifty percent odds too. He’s already started talking to the woman too, if the intertwining of their fate threads is any indicator.”

“Perhaps I can make it right! If I show him how much I-”

“Alternately, you could focus on yourself, and when the time comes and he does go astray, leave.”

“I... I do not know how. He is the sergeant for the local barracks and knows everyone in town, where will I go?” she asked, sounding more than a bit scared now. “Ugh... that insufferable rascal! One of the few reasons staying in this town was halfway tolerable, and now he wants to go chase the skirt of some harlot?”

“Just send him a letter? I don’t know how these affairs go,” Orodan said. Frankly, anything he’d gotten into prior to meeting Zaessythra was entirely casual. Even before the loops, he’d liaisoned with the blacksmith’s daughter once and just hadn’t spoken to her again. If anything, Orodan was the wrong person to ask for advice as he’d never been in a committed relationship until now.

“I can’t just send him a letter!”

“Why not? In fact, I can deliver it if you like,” Orodan offered. He had a letter of his own to send, so he could kill two birds with one stone. “And if the Sergeant angrily stomps over here, I’ll simply deal with him myself.”

Myntasa might not have initially believed his claims, but after seeing Orodan successfully use the orb of Fate Reading and divine the possibilities for her life, she was far more amenable to his claims.

“I don’t want to dwell on that man for now... you mentioned teaching? I can see now that your claims weren’t a lie, though I know now how you’ve come to learn Fate Reading,” Myntasa said. “But, what’s the catch?”

“The catch is simple. The texts the Cathedral provides Initiates... I would like to read them.”

“That’s all...? Why you could do that at any temple in the nation!”

“And I would also run into plenty of priests and diviners at every one of these temples,” Orodan said. “My soul has an issue that will draw more than a little attention.”

“Orodan... what have you gotten yourself into?” she asked, wary. “A Blessing from a dark God?”

“Far from it. I’m in a time loop.”

“A... a what?”

“Settle in then, as I explain.”

#

The poor woman had seemed in utter disbelief as Orodan explained the time loops. Even then, she thought it a tale of utter fancy until he began demonstrating some of his abilities.

Unlike most people he revealed the truth to who were at the Master-level and up, she was but an Initiate who knew nothing of the world. Many times, as he used chronomancy, Dimensionalism or spatiomancy, she questioned if he was a God in the flesh or whether ‘her lady’ had descended unto him as a sign.

He had to dispel her superstitions repeatedly throughout the conversation, and Zaessythra simply laughed in amusement the entire time. It was one of the few times Orodan almost regretted being so honest about the loops. If only so he wouldn’t have to thoroughly explain them to an ignorant Initiate.

Still, Myntasa’s belief in his tale aside, she did grant him access to the compendium of texts and manuals that she owned. And Orodan had briefly read them all before departing for the day.

The Cathedral’s teachings on the soul were pathetic and often incorrect. His own understandings on the soul were likely the greatest of anyone on the planet. But, despite the repetitive propaganda and indoctrination present in the texts, he had to admit that their teachings on the tapestry of fate were quite fleshed out.

Orodan had yet to sit down and practice his skills, but just from a cursory reading of them he had an idea or two on how to reconnect his own fate to the tapestry. Alongside that, he’d been practicing his magical skills and working on potentially weaving the elements into his melee combat style. Though, despite his best efforts he’d encountered some roadblocks there.

A productive morning, one he sought to continue as a Dimensional Step brought him just outside the door of a certain greedy merchant.

“A customer! Welcome to Esgarius’s Adventuring Essentials!” the man bellowed, walking out from behind the counter to greet Orodan. “What might my humble shop do for you today?”

In response, Orodan pulled out a large stack of papers from his dimensional ring, dumping them onto a nearby table.

“These are blueprints for a type of weapon. Quite some money to be made for you in selling them,” Orodan casually said. “And I also need you to send a letter to the main purchaser of these blueprints.”

To his credit, the covetous merchant took it all in stride and began perusing the blueprints without asking any further questions. Truly, it was refreshing to deal with the man.

“A rifle? The dwarves are quite good at making them, but Novarria’s tried and failed before,” Esgarius said. “But... you wouldn’t be bringing me this if it was just another design. I’ve looked at various blueprints for firearms before, but this one’s a little different. Not magical either.”

“Right, nothing magical about it. Just pure black powder and solid smithing,” Orodan said, bringing one out of his ring and handing it to the man. “It can kill an Adept and wound an Elite, though getting the shot to land on the latter is the user’s burden.”

“T-truly? If you aren’t full of hot air, then I’ll have to test this immediately,” Esgarius said, putting the rifle into a bag. “I cannot pay you until I verify for myself however.”

“That’s fine. Hold onto that, and the blueprints too,” Orodan remarked. “Pay me whenever you verify their authenticity.”

If Esgarius was expecting a quick scam, that certainly dispelled the merchant’s doubts. From the times he’d met the businessman, Orodan knew that Esgarius took secrecy and professionalism very seriously. He was certain the man would test the weapon in utmost secrecy, and upon verification, would pay Orodan his fair share to the gold coin.

“Well... thank you for the trust, it is not misplaced, this I swear upon all the gold coins I own!” the merchant boisterously declared. “You also mentioned a letter? Any postal office about town could aid with that as well... but you wouldn’t have come to me if it was just any letter.”

“Correct. The Republic has many eyes and ears within the postal system. The letter I want to send is better off being seen by its recipient alone,” Orodan said. “It needs to reach Lieutenant-General Tegin Carrotfoot in Anthus.”

“Best I can do is ensure it reaches the Lieutenant-General’s aides. The security for that city is paranoid beyond reason,” Esgarius said. “You have the letter?”

“A moment,” Orodan said as he grabbed a nearby quill and inkpot.

“To Lieutenant-General Tegin Carrotfoot of Anthus, and to his Master Destartes Rockwood. I, Orodan Wainwright, am a time looper. Yes, this means I relive the same moment in time over and over. No, it is not something related to the Gods.

I am also aware of your conspiracy to get rid of the Gods, which involves the Time Wind dragon flight and the Chosen of Halor, your sister, on the inside. I am on-board with this nefarious plot, come see me when you get a chance that we might talk more. My time in this loop is a little limited, but you can find me in the Lady Sashwari Home for the Wayward in Ogdenborough.

As a side note, the ancient machine beneath Mount Castarian has been disabled. The Republic will not be getting their hands on it. But you should choose your allies or vet how they go about things more carefully. Let Baron Viglas Argon know that I am keeping an eye on him. And should a Gregory Hannegan come by the city, I believe you’ll find his unique talents quite useful.

Contact the merchant Esgarius of Trumbetton if you need to get in touch with me.

Respectfully, Orodan Wainwright, a time looper.”

It was perhaps the first time he’d written an actual letter too!

“With a letter like that you might as well announce your presence to the entire galaxy...” Zaessythra muttered.

“Being direct has served me quite well in the past.”

“It’s also gotten you targeted by all manner of nefarious factions and individuals across the cosmos. And led to the subsequent destruction of your System.”

“All of which were good things.”

He ignored Zaessythra’s insults about caution being a lost cause for him and turned to Esgarius.

“And while I’m here, can you also ensure this letter reaches Sergeant Woodgard of the Ogdenborough county militia?” Orodan asked, passing the man a letter written by Myntasa. “Better sent via bird than person. The recipient might get a little angry.”

“It shall be done,” Esgarius said, taking both letters. “Where might I find you afterwards?”

His mind dipped into the river of time, and he travelled backwards, spectator to the event.

A caravan of three loaded wagons was traveling eastwards, along the northern coastline. The front two were loaded with goods, and some mercenary guards were riding alongside them. The wagon in the rear held an assortment of people, among them a large, armored woman, and a lean man with bronzed skin.

This was approximately three months after his birth. Noticeably, his mother’s arm was in a sling, and she had fresh scars upon her face. His father looked haggard, but with a tinge of hope lighting up his expressions.

“One more day till we reach Trumbetton in Volarbury County,” Hathradan, his father, said. “Then we can put that life behind us once and for all.”

“Good, good...” his mother muttered. “I am tired of it all and simply wish to raise little Orodan away from violence and bloodshed.”

Another passenger, curious, piped up.

“You two are adventurers?” the passenger asked, making conversation.

“We were, not anymore,” Hathradan replied. “Our last job went awry and we lost the other two members of our band.”

“May Malzim have mercy on their souls... I am sorry for your loss,” the passenger respectfully muttered.

“Thank you, but we’ve made our peace with what occurred,” Valburga said, cradling the baby Orodan who simply watched everything silently but curiously. “It was my brash nature which caused our near deaths. I will not err in such a manner again. Gods be willing, little Orodan shall not inherit my reckless nature.”

“I see... takes a wise woman to reflect on her own mistakes like that,” the passenger said. “If you don’t mind me askin’, what’re you lot planning on doing now?”

“I come from a line of farmers and nature mages,” Hathradan said with a smile. “I hear there’s this noble house in a town near the Aenechean Forest... Velestok it’s called, they have magical preserves and are renowned for their forestry. Employment with them is something I’ve been considering.”

“You must be talking about House Simarji then. Everyone who works for them tells me they’re good nobility. Not likely to stiff you on wages nor display wrath towards their lessers,” the passenger said and then turned to Valburga. “And yourself? Military service? Instructing the children of nobles perhaps?”

“Perhaps something closer to home...” Valburga said. “I hear Volarbury County is always looking for more members in their militia, might give that a try.”

“County militia isn’t a bad gig! Stable and well-paying once you reach the upper ranks.”

“Sounds promising, though I hope my son sets his ambitions a little higher than that sort of work.”

What cruel irony was this? That everything she’d hoped for had failed to be.

Orodan’s perspective in the time stream was an independent one. He could freely look around. Yet, despite looking left, right, up and down he saw nothing amiss indicating that an attack was about to occur.

The skies were clear, the waters were clear all the way to the horizon. There were simply no boats in sight, Republic or Guzuharan. Then... how?

The answer was one which made his blood run cold.

At first, he didn’t want to believe it. Yet, as the familiar feeling of it tickled his senses and the waters began shifting to warp space itself, he could no longer deny it.

System energy.

The interference of the System itself, which suddenly caused a rift to appear in the waters... revealing the raiding boats of the bloodthirsty northerners.

“What the...? R-raiders! Raiders!” one guard bellowed, sounding the horn.

“How?! The waters were clear for miles!” another exclaimed in disbelief. “Where did they come from?”

If only they knew the truth. That it was nothing they’d done.

A truth which caused Orodan to tremble in rage in the real world.

The revelation...

...that the System was responsible for his parents’ deaths all along.

“Let us turn away from this... no good can come of you watching what happens next.”

Zaessythra was compassionate, caring. Seeking to protect him. Frankly, Orodan didn’t feel he deserved her sometimes.

Yet, he rejected that suggestion. Some things, a warrior needed to face with their own two eyes.

Orodan watched stoically, an entirely calm look upon his face as his mother and father bravely gave their lives defending him.

As a much younger Ovuru World-Drinker leapt off the raider warship, slaughtering all in his wake. The ogre-barbarian, the same one to end Orodan’s life the first time, was also the one to end his parents’.

He took it all in, how from here, until the day of his first death... it was all truly connected after all.

All thanks to the System, and the Boundless One within.

And a dark part of him now found himself empathizing with the Reject, who even in the depths of insanity, never forgot the wrongs that the System and Boundless One had inflicted upon it. For a few morose moments, the thought of tearing it all down began to look appealing.

For as Orodan watched, entirely too calm in the real world as his parents were slain. So too did the three-month-old Orodan in the past watch, not an emotion visible upon his face. Even as the blood of his parents spattered upon him.

The event in time ended soon after, and he quietly slipped out.

The sky was a clear blue, and the sea was entirely empty all the way to the horizon. Just as it had been almost seventeen years ago. So too, was Orodan’s mind.

“Orodan I... am sorry.”

“There is nothing to apologize for... I now have the answers I sought. Even if a small part of me thinks they were better off buried forever,” Orodan replied, and then his gaze steeled. “There is still more to see from that point on.”

“You truly intend to delve into that moment once more? Why?”

“Call it curiosity, or perhaps hubris... but I need to know what would have become of the other Orodan Wainwrights...”

“...those who didn’t grow up as street rats.”

[Time Mastery 88 → Time Mastery 89]

His mind sank back into the river of time, straight back to the painful moment. And as it did, he used a new skill he’d obtained in tandem with his ability to view the tapestry.

[Fate Reading 43 → Fate Reading 45]

[Fate Mastery 10 → Fate Mastery 15]

He wasn’t simply reading the tapestry, but reading it as it was, in the past almost seventeen years ago on the day of his parents’ death. And immediately, he felt something resist his efforts quite fiercely. The System energy, which was roiling about, it had an inkling as to what he was doing.

Of course it did. System energy was tied to the Boundless One. Without a doubt it could tell someone was viewing the time stream and attempting to scry fate. Past or present, that thing at the center of the System must’ve been aware of any interactions to the time stream where it was involved.

Still, he overpowered the resistance and pushed on.

And the first change he made... was the disappearance of the raiders.

What would happen if Orodan Wainwright, the time looper, had both of his parents?

This alternate string of fate, in tandem with chronomancy, played out quite strangely. It was entirely illusory, but Orodan’s raw power allowed him to visualize the details of this hypothetical alternate reality quite vividly.

Orodan’s parents moved to Velestok. His mother ended up joining not the county militia, but the Simarji’s house guards, quickly ascending the ranks to become an Elite. His father Hathradan became a respected herbalist for the house, working its preserves, and most importantly... Orodan grew up beloved, in a loving family home.

Almost immediately, there were some differences.

His mother didn’t quite enjoy the thought of him taking after her, but once his proclivity for fighting became noticed, it was nurtured. The Simarjis quickly noticed too, and Orodan grew up with excellent instructors quickly becoming a martial prodigy. Hells, under encouragement from his father he was even a decent hand at magic too!

Unfortunately, the downsides were evident right away.

His talent for Cleaning, while progressing steadily, simply wasn’t nurtured the same way. His progress at magic, while encouraged, didn’t progress nearly the same without his reckless and headstrong methods of advancement. This Orodan was educated properly, versatile. Yet without the mad drive for progress that the real him had.

The battle of Ogdenborough occurred, and this Orodan spent it safe and secure at Bluefire Academy while his parents were protected in Velestok by Adeltaj Simarji. The academic year went without a hitch, he grew strong, enough that he managed to enter the Inter-Academy Tournament as a first year and even best Claridin Rockwood in a tough battle at the semi-finals. Yet he lost against an Othorion Evertree who called upon the divine.

His life went well, and he was respected.

And on the fateful day when the Eldritch comet descended upon Alastaia, Inuan was ill-prepared as the Prime Five were disunited and unprepared for it to win on Guzuhar. When the Eldritch plague and its herald came across the Sea of Uxamar, Karilsgard was in the way, and Orodan died alongside everyone in Volarbury County as the Republic’s Grandmasters fought against it and the corrupted beasts it fielded as an advance force.

And the time loops began for his alternate self.

He pressed the threads of fate harder, forcing them to generate a new tapestry for each of these loops experienced by his alternate self. And he continued watching.

He watched as this Orodan spent the first few loops warning people, gathering resources, yet still vehemently struggling to better himself. He even managed to give Grandmasters a bit of struggle after a few hundred loops! Impressive...

...but ultimately futile.

For when he fought the Eldritch Avatar directly for the first time, this Orodan Wainwright ended up corrupted.

And he had not the will to resist it like the real him had.

The rest of the tapestry and the outcomes after that grew far darker, and eventually this Orodan Wainwright was hunted down and executed by the Warrior outside of System space, for becoming a time looper corrupted by the Eldritch.

“This cannot be it, there must be other factors you ignored,” Zaessythra demanded. “Go back and alter the threads where you receive training, surely when trained from an even younger age and your Cleaning talent is identified a difference can be made.”

Orodan did as she asked, a realization dawning upon him. And rewound it all back once more.

[Fate Mastery 15 → Fate Mastery 17]

This Orodan Wainwright, after surviving alongside his parents, decided to take a rag in his hands as a child and get to cleaning. The strange talent confused everyone but was clearly noted alongside his martial abilities. He grew, had tutors and was raised in a loving home. And at the same time fostered an unexpected mentorship under Arendethar Althadin, a famed Master-level dragon rider who also honed Cleaning.

Everything progressed as normal...

...but it still wasn’t enough.

Orodan’s practice in Cleaning wasn’t as plentiful as he’d gotten as a small child scrubbing the orphanage’s dirty floors. It wasn’t done out of desperation, not born of necessity. His regular Cleaning skill ended up being decent, well above that of anyone else.

When the time came and he faced the Eldritch Avatar for the first time, he cleansed enough of the surrounding plague that it slew him immediately in anger, and the time loops began.

The loops went on, and Orodan did far better! He managed to avoid corruption by the Eldritch as he eventually created a Mythical Cleaning skill. As expected of his natural talent.

Eventually, thousands upon thousands of loops later, he managed to best the Eldritch Avatar too!

He led Alastaia to a golden age; in time becoming a Transcendent.

And that... was when disaster struck, as the Hegemony descended. Agrimon, their leader, immediately caught wind of the fact that this Orodan was a time looper, and the shards were brought out for use against him.

Orodan’s soul, fate and self were shattered as the shards struck. System gone, and no hope for recourse as he became maddened and an utter husk of his former self. Eventually, he kept looping enough times that the Boundless One moved on and selected another time looper.

Leaving naught but a broken husk of a man whose family grieved over his sudden change for the worse at the start of the loops.

[Fate Reading 45 → Fate Reading 48]

[Fate Mastery 17 → Fate Mastery 20]

He tried various combinations and alterations of fate in this alternate timeline, re-creating it over and over. A rare time or two, Orodan managed to even beat the Hegemony and come up with creative methods of avoiding the shards through expert mage craft! But even then, it all began falling apart once the Administrators got involved.

Curiously enough, he was even betrayed a few times by an unknown individual whose position in the tapestry was entirely obscured. This, he could only attribute to being the previous time looper, whose paranoia in covering their tracks in even the tapestry impressed him.

He gained plenty more skill levels in the Fate related skills. Yet no matter what he did, the alternate Orodan failed.

The key differences in all these alternate fates being that he never met Zaessythra, and that he never unlocked Eternal Soul Reactor.

And the very final alternate fate he viewed, the farthest this Orodan ever progressed...

...ended with him stuck within that horrid pit of agony and despair within the Reject, alongside the thousands of other time loopers who’d also been found wanting.

There would be no escape for that Orodan.

[Fate Reading 56 → Fate Reading 57]

[Fate Mastery 29 → Fate Mastery 30]

[New Title → Fate Apprentice]

And the eyes of the real Orodan Wainwright finally opened.

“The System, the Boundless One empowering it, and those responsible for this event. They will all pay.”

This was his solemn declaration.

Whatever he’d done with the timeline and the alternate fates was quite unappreciated by the System, and he felt the roiling of System energy beginning to flit even in the present time. Slowly but surely, they were beginning to understand just who was causing the tapestry to shake so violently.

He wasn’t sure how much time he had left and thus elected to do one more thing.

The resistance the System energy in the timeline posed was tremendous, and he was almost certain the act would give away his position. Yet he threw his soul energy into one titanic Time Reversal all the same.

[Time Reversal 85 → Time Reversal 86]

[Time Mastery 89 → Time Mastery 90]

[New Title → Time Master]

He had overpowered timeline protections on somebody’s soul before, namely Zaessythra’s. But that was an anti-resurrection measure put in place by the Hegemony. To fight against the might of the System itself? A different matter.

Even with all the power he threw towards it, the overwhelming majority of it went towards breaking the massive amounts of System energy guarding that point in the timeline. The System was determined to keep Orodan’s parents dead.

Unfortunately, he had a long track record of disobeying the System.

With a flourish of power, what was done nearly seventeen years ago...

...was undone.

Wagons and the goods within were brought back. The mercenary guards on their horses suddenly panicked at their return, and even the passenger who was speaking to Orodan’s parents was returned in the same spot.

And Orodan was all too happy to turn away.

“What are you doing?”

“Letting them live their lives? It would be quite disrespectful to insert myself where I’m not needed.”

“Unbelievable... you’ll charge headfirst towards a Boundless One bent on destroying the System and everyone within its space, but the mighty Orodan Wainwright is now making excuses to avoid meeting his parents?”

“Nothing I tell them will be pleasant... and our remaining time is short. Who knows when something descends for me.”

“Which is exactly why you should go now. Lest you regret it forever.”

She was being overly dramatic he felt. If Orodan wanted, he could simply bring his mother and father back whenever he wanted.

Though, it would also draw the System’s ire every time.

His deliberations came to an end, for it wasn’t he who ended up approaching them...

...but a large and armored woman who approached him first. It seemed all his dawdling out in the open had caught her eye.

“Ho! Warrior! Might you know where we are?” Valburga asked practically rushing to him. “Have you seen a newborn babe anywhere?!”

“In the Republic of Aden, specifically the northern coastline. Trumbetton is a day away and the waters are clear of any raiders,” Orodan said. “Your journey shall be a safe one.”

“Yes, but my son is gone!” she exclaimed. “I recall being attacked, and yet here we are, in the same place. And my baby boy is missing! The only thing out of place is you, who I do not recall... though... you have an odd familiarity about you. And you smell familiar.”

Smell familiar? Damned Guzuharans and their keen senses. Of course, his mother would also recognize him by scent.

“Valburga, who is this?” Hathradan asked running to them, eyeing him up and down. “Have we met before stranger? Have you seen a newborn child anywhere?”

Zaessythra had to nudge him. One of the rare moments where Orodan was hesitant of something.

He didn’t want to experience what he couldn’t have. Not until his goals were done. But... neither could he stand and watch his poor mother suffer the worry of suddenly being bereft of her child.

“Your son is fine, he will be alright,” Orodan said.

“You know where he is then?! Give him back to us!” Valburga demanded, her hand reaching for the sword on her waist.

It was so similar to the way he drew his own sword that it was almost painful.

“Valburga wait... let us be civil,” Hathradan pleaded. “Stranger... please. If you have our son or know where he is, I implore you bring us to him.”

“That will not be necessary...” Orodan said, before taking a deep breath. “Because he is standing right in front of you.”

“What are you saying?!” Valburga demanded, drawing her sword and swinging it right for him.

Orodan drew his own, in the same manner, meeting his mother’s blade midway.

“I... am Orodan Wainwright.”

Something about the way he said it must have made her believe it. That or the way he drew his own sword in a similarly aggressive manner. Whatever it was, it must’ve been the final thing to cement the suspicions she had that something was familiar about him.

Her sword dropped to the ground.

“It... it cannot be! Our son is a babe!”

“He certainly was, almost seventeen years ago on this day,” Orodan said, his own voice steady. “Time has a way of turning boys into men however.”

Hathradan fell to his knees, his father’s eyes watery and red.

“We... we really did die then? I thought it was a horrid dream, but those raiders really did kill us... did they not?”

“They... they did,” Orodan replied, voice shaking. “I am sorry. The fault for your deaths... lies upon me.”

Zaessythra disagreed, as did the logical part of Orodan’s mind which reminded him that he had no control over what the System did. Yet, the emotional part could only fixate on the fact that his very existence caused the System to target him, and by proxy... them.

He hadn’t even realized he was crying, not until a large and pale hand brushed a thumb over his cheek to wipe it away.

“Such a stern face, even while crying... just like me. You really are Orodan, aren’t you?” his mother softly asked, a watery smile on her own face. “Will you tell us, how this can be?”

“Chronomancy... I reversed time and brought you back,” Orodan said.

“Heh! Our son becomes a mage after all Valburga!” Hathradan declared with a grin, masking the man’s own tears. “But to reverse it by seventeen years... did you use some sort of divine artefact? A ritual? Or perhaps... are you an Avatar who can call upon a God themselves?”

His father, it seemed, was quite educated for being a farmer and nature mage.

“No, just my own power.”

“Then... our son is a God...”

“I’m not a-” he cut himself off before he could snap. Now wasn’t the time. “How I did it is irrelevant. What matters is that you’re back, though not for long.”

Valburga was closely examining his face at every moment, drawing comparisons and noting which of her features he’d received. His words brought her out of her examinations.

“What do you mean? Is this magic temporary, Orodan?”

“No, it is permanent... but what comes for me because of what I’ve done will bring an end to me,” he replied. “Forgive me.”

His mother took both of his hands in her own and squeezed tightly while his father clasped his shoulders.

“Then we shall stand and face it together!” Valburga declared, picking her sword back up.

This was what Orodan could have had. What he could never experience directly through the tapestry of fate of the alternate timelines.

Love.

And it was with great pain that Orodan was forced to admit to himself, that he didn’t even know what love was. No... that wasn’t right.

He had known love all along. It was only now, being exposed to the foundational form of it, from his own mother and father, that he realized what he’d had all along.

Old Man Hannegan...

...his first mentor Adeltaj...

...his friend W78, and most importantly...

...Zaessythra. The warm presence around his soul who’d been alongside him for so long.

And it was with great sorrow, that Orodan had to also admit to himself that he could not have this love from his parents. Not yet until all was made right, and the System was destroyed.

Who he was, a warrior raised in an environment of violence and bloodshed, would never have come to be without what had happened to him. The System was cruel, and Orodan would have his revenge... but its cruelty was one paired with a logical efficiency.

The unfortunate reality was that the Orodan Wainwright that these people loved as their son... had died almost seventeen years ago in this place.

And the acceptance of that reality came with the realization which had begun dawning from the very first alternate fate he viewed. It now fully cemented in his mind.

The miserable nights where he slept out in the abandoned buildings to avoid getting jumped. The brutal beatings he endured at the hands of the bigger street rats when he was smaller, and then, at the hands of the Argon goons and rough members of the militia. The starvation, the constant violence... it had all forged his will into something none of his alternate selves had. It reinforced the truth in his mind.

The truth, that only he could have come this far.

That he was the only Orodan Wainwright...

...that could be the stubborn skill-grinder in a time loop.

The sky began to part, System energy spewing forth from a rift which was in the process of forming.

Orodan pulled both his mother and father in for one final embrace.

“I am sorry, mother... I ended up joining the county militia after all,” he muttered. “Though I’ll have to thank you for passing your bull-headed nature onto me. It’s gotten me very far.”

“Orodan... what’s happening?” she asked, worried.

They both tried breaking free of his grip, but it was to no avail. His mother was an Adept, and his father an Apprentice, but it mattered little against his own strength.

“Father, I apologize for disrespecting mages for so long. It’s gotten me very far, and I was a fool to disrespect magic” Orodan said. “Perhaps I learned Wood Communion so quickly thanks to you. I’ll have to pay the Wainwrights of the Eastern Kingdoms a visit someday.”

Hathradan seemed far more accepting than his mother, who was screaming for him to let go.

“Will we see you again, son?”

“You will. I always come back.”

When the day came that he achieved all he’d set out to do, he would return.

He always did. He was in a time loop after all.

A gentle application of his Celestial skill sent them to sleep, and he tenderly laid both of them into the back of the wagon.

Past the rift, he felt three presences all barrelling towards him. He decided to greet them first.

[Dimensional Step 13 → Dimensional Step 14]

One of the rare moments where a direct pathway from the System’s bowels to the material plane opened up, and he took advantage of the opportunity to walk right in.

Fifteen feet of steel and muscle were before him. As was a slimy book-wielding man, exuding an aura of light which Orodan knew was corrupt beneath the surface. And behind them all... a hooded Arch-Devil with a hammer in one hand and an orb in the other.

The Warrior, the Prophet... and the Custodian. And behind those three... the cause of Orodan’s current life and upbringing.

The Eldritch Boundless One empowering the System.

“I see you’ve finally found me.”

“Orodan Wainwright... it should be you who is the time looper, but what have you done to mangle the mechanism so?” the Custodian pointedly asked. “What have you done to the time stream?”

“The better question is... what have you done to me?” Orodan queried. “Killing my parents when I was but an infant, throwing me into a life of misery. You, and all involved with you have much to answer for.”

Their expressions were subtle, but both the Warrior and the Prophet looked surprised at the revelation. They hadn’t known.

“Custodian... I was not aware there was a new time looper,” the Warrior said, his voice deep and echoing all throughout.

“Nor is it your role to know when one is anointed,” the Custodian said and then turned to Orodan. “Time looper, somehow, against all odds, you have wrested control of the very time loop mechanism. With you before me, I can see how it connects to you... but how have you empowered it so?”

“With the light of my own soul,” Orodan answered. “No thanks to that puppeteer behind you.”

“We should cut out its tongue, for speaking of the source of providence so,” the Prophet threatened.

The Custodian shook his head.

“I feared this day would come, when you would discover what was done to you. Try and understand from our perspective, do you not see the slow decay and corruption of all by the Eldritch?” the Custodian asked. “Not only was someone of strong will required, but also someone who would be capable of facing those who would hunt them. Chief among the traitorous Administrators among us. Have you met the Reject yet?”

“I certainly have... and a part of me now wonders if he was justified in his hatred of the rest of you and that thing you guard.”

“The Reject would see everything torn down to the ground. This creature is a Boundless One. Empowering the System and keeping us all safe from far worse outside the bounds of System space,” the Custodian said. “And it, like others of its kind, cannot be slain, merely displaced or altered. Not only would I stop you from assailing it, but I also fail to see what your solution is to its removal.”

“Behold then, what my solution is,” Orodan said, his eyes blazing with power as he made the inner workings of his own soul apparent to all. “A System of my own creation... one empowered by myself.”

“Impossible...” the Custodian muttered. “A living being cannot empower such a thing, where does that power come from?”

Even the Eldritch Boundless One far behind them, locked within a cage, stilled at the sight.

“The determination within my heart, and the grit of my soul. Now then, I believe you have much to answer for and this loop is nearing its end... fight me.”

“You have defied the natural order, Orodan Wainwright,” the Prophet said, book glowing. “The limited cannot become limitless, this is the basic tenet of existence, it’s what separates us living beings from the Boundless Ones outside of our sanctuary of System space. To become such a being yourself... it is heresy and a slight against our provider. Your existence threatens the arrival of countless cosmic beings who would tear apart the grace granted by our provider and saviour in the hopes of studying you.”

“And I shall face each and every one of them with my head unbowed,” Orodan declared, raising his weapons.

“But will you prove equal to the challenge? Even now the Mage and I must fend off increased assaults from outside of System space,” the Warrior said. “The things which lay outside of this sanctuary are cold and unfeeling monsters. Can you protect all within from them?”

“I will keep returning, over and over, until I do.”

“We have allowed it to speak for far too long. This sacrilege against the provenance which sustains us all cannot stand,” the Prophet declared in a melodious voice. “Come, heretic. The direct presence of the source of grace tends to drive your kind mad. Even I cannot tolerate the presence of our lord for too long.”

Orodan was certain he was about to get bound or restrained in some way, only for a great sword to suddenly appear between him and the sceptre which wished to bind him with holy light.

“This dishonorable conduct... I cannot allow it.”

“You would turn traitor like that pitiful cultivator did?” the Prophet asked with a hiss. “Fine then, see how it feels when the embrace of our creator forsakes you.”

A titanic clash began, and Orodan barely got out of the way in time as the two Administrators began fighting. In the distance, he could also see a dual-sword wielding abomination of a man fighting a staff-wielding mage who looked dead set on unleashing galaxy-shattering magical power upon him.

He hadn’t even realized the Mage and the Reject had arrived, but they were both fighting too it seemed.

Which left only the Custodian and Orodan.

“You are no match for me, Orodan Wainwright,” the Custodian stated, matter of fact. “Not yet.”

“No, but I will be,” Orodan calmly replied.

“That... I suppose you will,” the Custodian remarked. “Will you destroy all this in the end?”

“No. I intend to replace the current System with my own, so that no one is subject to the corruptive nature of the Eldritch thenceforth,” Orodan said. “So that none else might suffer the cruel meddling of forces beyond their control.”

The Administrator looked almost relieved.

“I will not lie... it was I who recommended the killing of your parents,” the Custodian admitted, causing Orodan’s fists to clench in anger. “I alone am culpable, even the Boundless One disagreed. Too compassionate, too caring of all life under its purview.”

“Why?” he hissed out.

“To create you. If the choice was presented again, I would do no differently. The birth of Orodan Wainwright... was a necessity,” the Custodian admitted. “I will not shirk the blame for this. On the loop you become strong enough, I will utter no complaints as you kill me.”

“A villainous speech or some wicked gloating would make this a lot easier,” Orodan said, frustrated at how casually the Administrator explained everything.

“There is nothing but cold logic within me. In some ways, I am the paragon of my kind, a being entirely devoid of emotion. Capable of committing the worst atrocities for whatever ends, be they good or ill.”

“This gambit of yours has succeeded, but at what cost for you? You’ve created the monster that will be your doom,” Orodan promised. “I will not forgive you arranging the death of my family.”

“Nor would I want you to... nevertheless I do wish for you to succeed. Live long enough, and existence ceases to have meaning, that is the unique position in which I find myself,” the Custodian remarked. “Perhaps, Orodan Wainwright... my cold emotion and reasoning is aimed towards getting you to kill me.”

“You want to die?”

“I have done all there is to do, seen all there is to see, and have played around with enough lives, constructs and variations of the System to last me many, many lifetimes. It has reminded me that the true universe is vast and cold... and I am pitifully insignificant,” the Custodian said, sounding very tired. “All that is left for me... is to ensure that the problem of the Eldritch is dealt with. I hope you do not get to the point of immortality where you feel the same as I do.”

“Your words will not sway my retribution.”

“I do not want them to,” the Custodian said. “Now come, soon one of these two battles will have a decisive outcome, and the Prophet does not look to be having an easy fight against the Warrior. I do not think the armored guardian will allow me to kill you.”

“Draw your weapon and grant me a warrior’s death then.”

“A reasonable request, if I were the Warrior,” the Arch-Devil said and then menacingly raised the orb in his hands upwards. “I recall recommending your selection for these time loops due to the unnatural talent for Cleaning that was detected. Come... show me how that holds up in comparison to mine.”

So that’s what this would be about then?

A broom was produced from his own dimensional ring.

This would be no duel of sword and shield...

...but one of two reality benders striving to cleanse one another out of existence.

Orodan’s first sweep met the wave of reality alteration from the Custodian’s orb, and he wasn’t ashamed to say that in a direct confrontation of skills, Celestial versus Celestial, he was overpowered.

And yet... his insights and sheer talent were not any lower.

The wave of crushing purification carried on almost unchallenged, until Orodan realized that he couldn’t face it in terms of quantity, but quality.

[Domain of Perfect Cleaning 145 → Domain of Perfect Cleaning 146]

Every single insight about cleaning that he ever had in his life came to the fore. This was the single greatest challenge in the skill that he’d ever faced. Even then, he knew the Administrator was holding each and every one of its other skills back, instead obstinately using only its skill related to Cleaning.

It was of Celestial-rarity, just like Orodan’s was. Yet, the difference in quality and insights, despite the skill level gap soon became apparent.

The wave of reality purging power emanating from the orb wiped nearly the entire battlefield clean, throwing the other battling Administrators farther away. It utterly overpowered Orodan’s own wave of cleansing sent out by the Domain of Perfect Cleaning, and yet... right near Orodan, at the tip of his broom, it stopped advancing.

This would be his ground, and he refused to give it up.

Step-by-step, he advanced. And he recalled all the insights he held when it came to cleaning things.

Scrubbing the dirty floorboards in the orphanage as a starving little boy, desperate to earn his share. Cleaning the blood off of his ragged clothes after killing another rat in self-defense. Cleaning the work site and scrubbing his hovel every single day.

His further honing of the skill throughout the time loops. Where he cleaned various parts of Ogdenborough, where he used it during crafting, and where he’d purged even the Eldritch Avatar to create a Celestial skill.

When it came to Cleaning... Orodan Wainwright would lose to no one.

[Domain of Perfect Cleaning 146 → Domain of Perfect Cleaning 147]

Up close, he could see the Custodian’s eyes utterly intrigued and yet also... bearing a trace of fear.

The broom touched the Administrator’s purifying orb...

...and an explosion which rocked the bowels of System space occurred.

And in the epicentre of it all, a broken orb, and an Arch-Devil a hair’s breadth away from being purged of its very essence.

“Do it... you wanted revenge, did you not?” the Custodian asked.

Orodan’s blood boiled, he demanded vengeance!

Yet... not like this.

“Not yet. I... have not earned this victory,” Orodan declared, lowering his broom. “One loop, I’ll grow strong enough to overpower you when you’re fighting at full power. Only on that day, will I finally strike out and take the blood I am owed.”

“You are most illogical, Orodan Wainwright... I have not felt amusement in millions of years, yet to feel it now, I suppose I could die content,” the Arch-Devil said and then stood. “You are approaching Embodiment in that skill. The path forward will only be fraught with more dangers moving forward.”

“How so?”

“Past level 150, you aren’t simply advancing a skill but loudly broadcasting your position and location to anyone else past that level who has a rivalling or related concept. Not only would your reaching of the Embodiment-level attract attention, but it would also directly challenge me and my own insights into purification, weakening me as you grew stronger unless I managed to make breakthroughs or come up with insights of my own,” the Custodian explained. “Naturally, such a challenge to an Administrator is not so easily overlooked by any of my four other fellows, or by the various Embodiment-level beings hiding in the void between galaxies who would also be weakened by your rise.”

“A contest of comprehension across System space then? Good, competition has always helped me grow faster.”

“Of course you would say that... illogical human. I advise allying with either the Reject or the Mage, pick a side and lie if you must. It will make your path forward far easier instead of having all four of them chase after you as you inch closer and closer to Embodiment,” the Custodian said, rising to its feet. “And that fate you have... it goes without saying that you should get rid of it.”

Sound advice. He sought revenge against this being... but the Custodian seemed to want Orodan to succeed. Despite his hatred of it.

Which was why he had only one thing to say.

“...I’ll be ignoring all of that advice.”

Allying with Administrators? Removing his fate and taking the easy route?

Who did it think he was?

He was Orodan Wainwright, and he knew no way but the hardest way.

A smile formed on the Administrator’s face.

“You have amused me, Orodan Wainwright. It has been too long since I have felt anything like this...” the Arch-Devil said, now brandishing its hammer. “Now, before any of my fellows with their own agendas arrive, you must perish. Die now. Die... and return once you are ready, that you might truly earn the revenge you desire.”

The Warrior rushed towards him; the Reject lunged at him like a rabid animal. Yet before any of those two could reach, the hammer of the Custodian did first...

...and the darkness took him.

A keening wail ringing in the night sky awoke him.

And Orodan had a look of utter determination on his face.

#

“The craftsmanship of you two-legged simpletons leaves much to be desired.”

“We cannot all have eight legs and an ego the size of a mountain,” Orodan retorted. “Are all your kind as prideful as you?”

“When they can shift between dimensions and appear anywhere in the cosmos, they might earn the right to be,” the haughty spider said. “When I’m not accosted by lumbering brutes who stalk my feeding grounds, I’m quite a bit more amenable.”

“Yes, you certainly let me hear it for a solid fifteen minutes about what a ‘good for nothing thug’ I am,” Orodan replied. “Do you have anything good to say besides deriding me at every opportunity?”

“My mother always said, if you have nothing nice to say, it’s best to say nothing at all,” the spider replied.

“If only you’d taken that advice...” Orodan muttered.

Who was his most pleasant and amenable companion? Why, it was none other than the dimensional phase spider, Talricto the Wanderer.

Orodan had dealt with House Argon and the ancient machine after cleaning his home and the warehouse. He’d also sent a modified letter out to Destartes though with the warning that he might not be able to meet at all. And then, Orodan had Dimensional Stepped onto Eldiron, ambushed the spider in its favorite feeding spot, and managed to get it to agree to tutelage and the occasional bit of advice when needed.

Such as now, as it looked at the ancient machine Orodan had tried his best to rebuild correctly.

“Well, what do you want me to say? I think you’re not only a brutish thug, but one with little desire to keep living. My kind reside in pocket dimensions in the small spaces between planes, and we’re incredibly careful to avoid the originating darkness. Entire cities have been corrupted when ambitious spiders dared venture out towards it and came back bearing the plague,” the spider said. “No civilized folk with good sense in their heads would dare approach the center. And you want to build a machine capable of entering the darkness?”

“The bowels of the System, and yes,” Orodan answered. “Is it doable?”

“When one has the skill level of a fat-fingered troll that dipped its hands in lard, I do not think so,” Talricto insulted. “You need far more practice before these enchantments of yours can carry you there. Do you not know that the cosmos naturally repels any from venturing towards there?”

“The bowels of the System have wards?”

“Not wards, oaf, natural defenses. Like the sun’s natural fiery radiance scorches anyone daring to get close!”

“And yet, your kind seem capable of getting close. Closer than any others I’ve seen...” Orodan said.

“Feh! Most of my kind would rather hide and enjoy teatime at the parlors than engage in such daring escapades,” Talricto corrected. “No. Such things can only be done by a rare, daring... heroic few.”

“And among the ranks of these rare, daring and heroic few... is Talricto the Wanderer perhaps?” Orodan flattered, and it had the desired effect. “Will you help teach me how to rebuild this thing?”

“W-well... I suppose they do not call me the Wanderer for nothing! I can only help get the dimensional enchantments on this piece of scrap metal right, but it shall be the finest piece of dimensional scrap in the universe!” it harrumphed. “But it shall be a very expensive endeavor! Very expensive I say!”

“As many of those fat shelled treats as you want,” Orodan offered. “Alongside all the enchanted jewelry and armaments an eight-legged warrior could want.”

“A-and... that utterly farcical Blessing you claim to be capable of bestowing? Do you honestly expect me to believe such a thing can grant endless energy?”

“Heh... come with me to where I’m going, and I’ll happily bestow it. I’ll need a teacher even there,” Orodan said.

And more than a few loops worth of tries.

Orodan had uncovered truths best left undiscovered, but now, it was time to uncover a truth he desperately needed. Namely, the matter of true soul genesis, for which a certain paranoid individual whose identity was yet unknown might be a good bet. And there, upon Lonvoron, not only might he find the previous time looper... but he also aimed to find the Administrator’s Mantles of both the Prophet and the Reject, that he might copy them and get two steps closer towards taking over the System and replacing it with his own.