The Stubborn Skill-Grinder In A Time Loop

[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]

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?”

“Ogdenborough, at the Lady Sashwari Home for the Wayward.”

“That dung heap? Well… I suppose I can make the trip down there, sullied as my boots might get,” Esgarius remarked. “What’s someone of means like yourself doing in that shanty town?”

“Changing my fate.”

#

“Focus,” Orodan reminded. “While it’s tantalizing to look at your own threads in the tapestry, dwelling on the possibilities won’t make your life any better. Nor will it speed up your progress.”

“This is exceedingly strange, to have someone like you teach me while you’re reading the beginner texts yourself,” Myntasa protested.

“I read the beginner texts not because I cannot read fate, but because I need to ruminate on the conceptual basis of the tapestry and fate itself,” Orodan explained. “You on the other hand can barely view your own fate in the tapestry without losing focus. I need theoretical knowledge, you need practical experience, our needs aren’t the same.”

She grumbled but didn’t dispute his words.

“How is one meant to view the entire tapestry for Alastaia? The task seems so daunting…” she whispered under her breath.

“By concentrating and naturally expanding your mind,” Orodan clarified. “By the mid-Adept level, you should be capable of viewing the entirety of the Alastaian tapestry.”

“Then how can you view it while being at the Apprentice-level?” she blurted out. “Just viewing it without the connection fading is difficult enough. But to then calculate the odds and actually parse the threads of fate? How?”

Orodan simply smiled and tapped his forehead.

“I have the advantage of a hard head which doesn’t know when to quit,” Orodan answered.

“I suppose you have always been stubborn… is that how you succeeded in these… time loops, of yours?” Myntasa asked. “Is that how the lady herself Blessed you to have such ability?”

“For the seventeenth time, I am not Blessed by Ilyatana or any God.”

Orodan had spared the woman the brutal truth of what the tyrant three had done to him. As well as most of the truth of the Eldritch Boundless One. The thought of the time loops was already difficult for her to understand, so he’d not bothered explaining all of it.

Yet, she still seemed to be laboring under the delusion that he was some hidden Avatar of Ilyatana here to ‘test’ her. In a pitiful way, it was entirely understandable that an Initiate who knew little of the world and had never been outside the towns might fall prey to such conspiracy theories.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“If you insist…” she reluctantly replied. “The rat- I mean, the children, they’re far better fed now with the money you’ve provided.”

For the longest time he hadn’t bothered returning here. Perhaps the place sparked bad memories for him, or he simply was too busy with his various goals in the time loops. Yet, seeing the orphans even more malnourished than he remembered made Orodan vow to send gold whenever he could.

“No child deserves to starve. And while they’re not on an entirely empty stomach, they are quite malnourished and not receiving nearly enough,” Orodan said. “Hunger leads to desperation, and it then leads to crime.”

It led to the creation of people like Orodan Wainwright. Forced to kill at a young age; a boy who grew up enjoying violence and the thrill of battle because fighting was all he knew. A dark part of his mind wondered whether his miserable upbringing was in fact what allowed him to be successful.

She accepted his words and continued working, breaking the silence after only half an hour.

“You mentioned the Alastaian tapestry. Does that mean there are more?” Myntasa queried.

“I suppose I misspoke. There is no such thing as the Alastaian tapestry… there is only one tapestry of fate,” he explained. “You can only see the tapestry till Alastaia because the distances between worlds are enormous. The texts of your Cathedral mention historic events where the tapestry will flash at the edges? These coincide with comets or spatial debris landing on our world or flying past; bearing life, hence their fates being visible while within range.”

“Then a powerful enough fate reader could read the tapestry across multiple worlds…?” she questioned, wonder evident on her face as Orodan nodded in affirmation. “Then, what is the tapestry? Where does it end?”

That… was a good question actually. Orodan hadn’t read fate or bothered with the tapestry in a long, long time. All he knew was that his own fate was non-existent. But… why?

A theory came to his mind. Perhaps the tapestry was tied to the System and all within it? He certainly hadn’t bothered to check during his time outside of System space. But if it was true…

…then Orodan had been going about this the entirely incorrect way. He’d been trying to learn a counterpart for Fate Disconnect, a ‘Fate Reconnect’. But what if he was never meant to be part of the tapestry to begin with? What if the cleansing of the natural Eldritch within his soul and the destruction of his old System had wiped clean his ability to be considered part of the System’s tapestry of fate?

What if, instead of reconnecting to the tapestry… he needed to insert himself into it as an outsider?

[Fate Reading 32 → Fate Reading 35]

Orodan’s eyes began glowing with power as he threw it all into Fate Reading.

He viewed the Alastaian section of the tapestry, but almost instantly went far beyond that. His view shot out, beginning to see the threads connected to distant asteroids, comets and space debris upon which life was hiding. He focused harder and began to see the threads from these bits of rock and debris connect to distant planets, shattered moons, distant solar systems.

His mind strained, but he held on and began seeing the planets nearest to Alastaia, poor worlds whose surface was littered with powerful monsters and wandering tribes of humans and orcs. Civilization still in its infancy. Further out, the nearest major world was Narictus, little wonder that so many True Vampires were upon Alastaia.

And beyond those, in the nearest star systems were the worlds of the cultivators, a world of metal and machinery which still caused pain to lance through Orodan’s heart at the memory, and in the far distant edges of their galaxy, the Conclave.

[Fate Reading 35 → Fate Reading 43]

He took in as much of the tapestry as he could. And at a critical juncture, added himself unto it not as someone meant to be there…

…but as an outsider.

[New Skill → Fate Mastery 10 (Rare)]

And finally, now that he had a soul which didn’t contain any traces of Eldritch deep within or have the old System… it was now that he realized what a vice this tapestry truly was. A noose around his neck, through which he could be manipulated if the force was strong enough.

Most importantly, the moment Orodan forced his soul to intrude upon the tapestry of fate and generate its own threads…

…pandemonium ensued.

The entire tapestry began vibrating in a crazed manner. Beyond even when he’d unlocked his first Celestial skill. Everything trembled and shook most violently. Orodan’s mere existence caused everything to become haywire.

In the tapestry of fate at least.

In the real world, nothing was apparent at first.

“What- what did you do?” she asked, panicked. “The tapestry flashed and began shaking violently. It threw me right out of my attempts to view it!”

“Right… that will draw some attention,” Orodan said, his words causing gigantic waves of force to emanate throughout the tapestry. “At least, given how much utter chaos this is causing they might take a while to find the source.”

“Orodan… what’s happening?”

“Nothing for you to be concerned about,” he assuaged. “If anything, reading the tapestry in this state will be even better training for you. Now let’s get to it.”

Myntasa looked at him in disbelief but swallowed her outrage when she realized he wasn’t joking. And he was right of course. Within the hour she gained five levels in Fate Reading while attempting to make sense of the pandemonium.

And as she trained, Orodan too worked on a skill he didn’t think he’d need to use any longer.

[Fate Disconnect 43 → Fate Disconnect 45]

Soul energy formed a shield around his soul, attempting to sever the threads of fate. Yet it seemed a downright impossible task. He simply had far too much power. He wasn’t sure how the tapestry of fate worked, but it wasn’t just affected by the amount of power he held within himself at present… but how much he could generate overall.

This ‘potential’ was practically tearing the tapestry apart. It didn’t get destroyed, Orodan’s Fate Disconnect was desperately working at overdrive to ensure it didn’t, but it was a close thing. And he had no clue what the ramifications might be if he outright destroyed the tapestry of fate for all System space.

Over the next thirty minutes Fate Disconnect gained ten more levels, becoming an Adept-level skill.

[Fate Disconnect 55 → Fate Disconnect 56]

And it finally paused at level 56 as he seemed to reach a sort of equilibrium where the amount of havoc his very existence caused upon tha tapestry was no longer actively destroying it. It had reached a point of sustainability, even if the entire thing was still rocking violently like a shoddy raft in turbulent waters.

Most importantly, if he focused on improving Fate Disconnect any further his position in the tapestry might be discovered if the pandemonium caused got any lower. As it currently stood, the chaos he caused every moment while connected was so strong that pinpointing him as the source was looking to be quite difficult. He felt faint threads shooting outwards from various worlds and dimensions, particularly Xian and the Hells, in desperate attempts to scry who was causing this mess. But it was to no avail.

He was almost certain the Administrators were aware of the turbulence by now, but whether they could pinpoint it to him was up in the air. Would the Prophet hunt him down for tampering with fate? Would the Warrior execute him for invading the sanctity of the System and its mechanisms? Which Administrator came after him this loop was anyone’s guess.

His musings were interrupted by an unexpected level gain.

[Teaching 56 → Teaching 57]

“I’m an Apprentice… how can this be?” Myntasa asked, incredulous.

“There you go. With that, you’ve secured your free ticket out of here, and into the better parts of the Cathedral,” Orodan praised. “I believe that concludes our bargain.”

“I gained the levels so fast too, who knew all I needed was to see the tapestry violently shift about?” she asked. “I suppose this is it then…? If you don’t mind, might I ask a question?”

“Yes?”

“How did you… how did you…” she trailed off, face red. “How did you receive such a powerful Blessing from our lady Ilyatana?!”

Orodan’s palm met his face.

“For the eighteenth time, Myntasa, I am not Blessed by any Gods or Goddesses,” Orodan gritted out.

“That’s exactly what a Chosen would say! The Goddess must have picked you for your exceptional humility, to administer this test upon her woeful faithful who remained in this orphanage for so many years,” she said reverentially, and Orodan had to resist the urge to cuff her upside the head. “And to even concoct a fanciful story about time loops in order to trick me? I never fell for it, my faith in my lady Ilyatana remains absolute!”

“You are… genuinely hopeless,” Orodan said with a sigh. Was this how Zaessythra felt when he acted exceptionally stupid?

Her cackling in the background of his mind did not help matters.

“Your taunts do not hinder my spirit. This was a trial by my lady, and I have endured!”

Orodan tuned her warbling about Ilyatana out and focused on a few approaching individuals.

Firstly, Esgarius. And following the industrious merchant were multiple figures cloaked under an invisibility spell. Orodan saw them clearly enough with Vision of Purity, and they had the distinct gait and bearing of the ones he’d seen under the command of Anthus’s leading officer.

The dagger of one pressed against Esgarius’s neck might’ve been why the merchant was sweating. Well, he wasn’t too concerned; Anthus’s shadows weren’t the sort to go executing civilians.

And the other party approaching the orphanage… was an angry, angry man. One wearing the uniform of the county militia, though with sergeant insignia on the shoulders. Accompanying him was a Corporal Botterson’s troop from the barracks.

“Well, it seems your jilted lover has arrived, and he doesn’t look too happy.”

“Roderik’s here? By the Gods… what do I do? He might not even let me leave town!” she exclaimed fearfully for a moment and then looked to Orodan, the anxiety easing a bit.

“I doubt his preferences will factor into the matter,” Orodan said. “if you want to leave, you will. Though, I’m more curious about my other guests.”

“Guests? I see only one man,” Myntasa said, peeking out the window. “I do get the vague feeling that he’s of a shady sort though…”

Shady was one way of describing Esgarius he supposed. Though Orodan would’ve used the adjectives avaricious and usurious even on a good day. At least the man was loyal to gold, which meant he could be counted upon. Or could be counted upon to count the gold meticulously at least.

The street rats below had cleared away at the approach of the two parties, and Sergeant Woodgard barrelled towards the double doors first. His face red.

Before he could reach them, they swung open, revealing Orodan and Myntasa.

“Myntasa! What’s this forged letter I’ve received at the barracks?!” the man yelled, face red. “Who put you up… Wainwright…? Wainwright!”

“Yes sergeant?” Orodan replied.

“You… you good-for-nothing orphan! I create opportunities for you in the militia and this is how you repay me?! By abandoning your shift and stealing my woman?!” the sergeant demanded, frothing at the mouth. “And you. I should’ve known better than to trust a scheming wench from the Cathedral!”

“Rod, please! There’s no such thing between the two of us!” she desperately pleaded.

“She’s right. My heart belongs to someone else, and any toadies of the divine quite repulse me,” Orodan added, standing there calmly.

“Exactly! Wait- toadies?!” she squawked, indignant and then re-focused on the matter at hand. “Roderik, I would never betray you, but… I feel I need some space to think about what I want with my life. With us. My letter said as much did it not?”

“I had no time to read most of that silly nonsense,” the sergeant imperiously declared. “We can work things out between ourselves. If you need space, I have plenty of it, why not just stay with me?”

“Roderik, in time I would love to, but please. I have my own aspirations in the Cathedral, and I have yet to hear about even the notion of marriage from you despite the years we’ve spent together. This is merely tempo-”

“Silence!”

The backhand coming her way was slow, but the sneer on Orodan’s face formed quickly.

He’d always known Sergeant Woodgard was an angry man, prone to outbursts of temper. Certainly, in a lot of loops he’d attacked Orodan quite quickly. Hells, even before the loops he recalled plenty of ‘disciplinary sessions’ where the man would order soldiers to spar against him.

Orodan considered it good training, and the sergeant had laid off once he began giving the man tougher fights. But he’d picked on the weak members of the barracks all the same.

To now see his pathetic little anger directed in violent form towards a woman that should’ve been his intimate partner… it was sickening. Orodan had seen and heard enough tales of men and women both suffering at the hands of their stronger partners when a tier gap was involved. It was one of the reasons why cautionary tales about tier gap relationships existed. Particularly those between martial specialists and untrained civilians.

The fist was about to contact Myntasa’s face when Orodan’s hand caught it.

“Easy to beat on an untrained civilian, isn’t it?” he coldly asked, slowly crunching the man’s wrist as he squeezed. He then aggressively threw the sergeant’s hand backwards and raised his own hands. “If you want to dispense a beating, then you should also be prepared to receive one, no? Come, put your hands up and show me the mettle of a man who enjoys beating the defenseless.”

“Wainwright…! You’ll be thrown in the stocks for this! Arrest him!” the sergeant declared.

“Sir… what crime has he committed?” corporal Botterson asked.

“Arrest him damn it! Or you’ll all be stripped of rank and dishonorably discharged!!”

Unlike Woodgard though, the troop of county militia weren’t as emotionally invested and consequently not as hot-headed. They’d seen how Orodan casually caught and overpowered the sergeant. They were reluctant, but under Woodgard’s threats approached cautiously and circled him.

“Sorry about this Wainwright… just come quietly and I’ll do my best to sort this out once we’re in the barracks’ holding,” the corporal said. “A letter or two to a friend in Trumbetton will see you released quick.”

Corporal Botterson, a man who Orodan had bested in a spar on his debut to the barracks, was the one who approached first. He might’ve been the man’s better in martial combat, but Orodan had always respected the corporal for leading from the front and taking on the more difficult or laborious tasks in his troop. He was a kindly man and a good leader.

With strength and speed moderated, Orodan ducked under the incoming blow and was almost gentle as he disarmed and threw the corporal to the ground.

“Stay down, corporal,” Orodan sternly said. “I would rather not injure you.”

“Damn… since when did you get so strong?” the corporal asked. Though to Orodan it was apparent that the man had thrown the fight too.

The remaining four soldiers lunged for him at the same time, clubs drawn or attempting to tackle him, only for Orodan to beat them into the ground in short order.

Which left only one coward.

Sergeant Woodgard slowly began backing up as Orodan approached.

“Wainwright… let’s talk about this! I can see now that I might have acted in haste. Have you acquired a Blessing? Unlocked a Bloodline perhaps? Trumbetton will doubtlessly want to see you. We can consider this water under the bridge,” the man pleaded.

Orodan’s hands gripped the sergeant’s wrists and raised them up to his face.

“You have two options. Either put your hands up and fight me like a warrior,” Orodan said and then a vicious grin came upon his face, and he shoved the man backwards. “Or cower like a child as I break your limbs one by one.”

To his credit, the sergeant’s face turned red in anger and the man put his hands up. He could respect that much at least.

Orodan’s straight cross knocked three teeth out, Woodgard’s return hook was ducked under and a simultaneous shoulder check knocked the wind out of the man. A jab on the nose broke it, and a final uppercut on the chin had the man getting some airtime and hitting the ground out cold.

“O-Orodan…!” Myntasa exclaimed, getting between him and the unconscious sergeant. “That did not need to happen!”

“On the contrary, it very much did. Did you conveniently forget him trying to strike you?” Orodan asked.

“This was too much! You’ve overstepped your bounds!” she vehemently defended.

“Good. Someone should have overstepped their bounds far sooner then,” Orodan replied. “You wanted to leave, did you not? You can do that now. Worry not about him, he’s simply out cold.”

She gritted her teeth but said nothing.

“Partner! I see you’ve resolved your differences with that man of the county militia! I have some friends here who came to see you,” Esgarius spoke, sweating as the invisible dagger was still pressed against his neck. “Why, your vigorous performance was so inspirational that it’s causing me to sweat profusely! And certainly not because I have anything against my neck.”

“I see. Thank you for bringing them to me Esgarius,” Orodan said and then made a show of giving each one a slow look despite the spells. “You can take the dagger off his throat and uncloak yourselves.”

If the leading shadow seemed surprised, he didn’t show it. After a brief moment, all five dispelled the invisibility upon themselves.

“Orodan Wainwright, we’ve come looking for you,” the leader said.

“Which is exactly what I wanted. Did the recipient get my letter?”

“They did, though this is not the appropriate place to discuss the matter,” the man replied. “Not in the presence of such company.”

“Fair enough. Esgarius, might you take the head matron back to Trumbetton with you? The town will soon become inhospitable for her, and she has a higher calling at the Cathedral there,” Orodan said.

“As you say partner!” the greedy merchant declared with a smile. “And might I say, you were as good as your word on the products you left me. Those will make us a killing! Come by Trumbetton later so I can pay you your share.”

“I will, but I have a discussion with these men and women first.”

#

In the end, they’d ironed out various details on how Orodan intended to help the revolutionaries at Anthus.

For starters, he really wasn’t sure how long this loop would last. The tapestry of fate was in a state of constant and overwhelming chaos. The threads and connections shook violently, as though the entire thing was in the midst of a hurricane. Administrators had undoubtedly become aware, and who knew when something would manage to pinpoint it down to him?

On the other hand, he’d confirmed with one of the shadows who knew a bit of Fate Reading, that even standing right next to him didn’t let her detect it was him causing the problems in the tapestry. And for all intents and purposes, his fate looked to be obscured, but otherwise normal. He hadn’t told them what he’d done to the tapestry either, so it was a true blind test.

Of course, there were doubtlessly some skilled and powerful fate specialists across the cosmos who were on the job. Who knew how long it would be till he was found?

In any case, Orodan provided the weapon blueprints for his black powder rifles to the shadows, and they’d agreed to pass word to Destartes about his desire for a meeting. How much could he help? With what time he had left, he didn’t know. But at the very least he could try.

With all that said and done, he now found himself standing next to Esgarius, a fat sack of gold pieces stored within his dimensional ring.

“A pleasure doing business with you, partner!” the merchant boisterously said. “Not only were those secretive folks generous customers, they also paid a premium that we sell exclusively to them! I have a workshop in an out-of-the-way part of town set up for you, so whenever you’re ready to begin production feel free.”

“Alongside a few other projects, I’ll definitely be working on making more rifles for you to sell in the coming days,” Orodan said. Though with the uncertain timeframe he was on this loop, who knew if he’d get the chance. “If anything, the blueprints you sold are fine, but I have a feeling nobody else will be capable of replicating the black powder’s fineness to the extent that I have.”

Nobody on Alastaia had his talent for Cleaning.

“Hmm, then perhaps I could sell the rifles you make at an even higher premium!” the merchant said.

“Be mindful of how you sell it and who you sell to. The Republic and its rival nations will doubtlessly want to get their hands on the blueprints for these weapons,” Orodan said. “All too easy for you to end up dead in a ditch over these secrets.”

Of course, Orodan had given the covetous businessman an amulet which would allow him to keep tabs on Esgarius.

“What’s a little risk for the sake of profit?” the merchant asked. “That one though, with how she’s trembling you’d think she wants to be dead in a ditch somewhere rather than be here.”

Myntasa was pacing back and forth, unwilling to enter the double doors of Trumbetton’s Cathedral. Orodan rolled his eyes and approached her.

“Walking in circles will not get you through that door any quicker,” he remarked.

“And your words will not relieve my anxiety about the upcoming test,” she said, wringing her hands nervously. “They not only use the observer orb but also have a practical test! If I do too miserably on it, they might send me back to the orphanage and then-”

Orodan’s hand on her shoulder stilled her words.

“Breathe,” he instructed calmly. “You reached the Apprentice-level within a day of training Fate Reading. You’ll do better than you think.”

If anything, it was Orodan’s fault for not realizing that different people excelled at different aspects of a skill. Myntasa was clearly better suited to parsing the tapestry of fate when it was in flux than when it was normal. A valuable talent.

“Only because the entire tapestry is in disarray thanks to you! What will I even tell them?”

“Whatever you want, it matters not to me,” Orodan said. “At worst it simply leads to a brawl of an escalating nature which might put you out of a job.”

“A brawl of what now? You are Lady Ilyatana’s Chosen are you not? Then… the tapestry quaking must be a result of her divine providence!” she declared, causing Orodan to groan. Her eyes carried the utmost reverence. “Worry not, as her true faithful I shall not divulge the secret to anyone.”

How someone could evoke both sympathy and irritation in equal measure, he didn’t know. But Myntasa seemed to be doing a good job of it.

“For the twentieth time…”

“You’re not Blessed by any Gods, and definitely not by Lady Ilyatana. I know,” she said and then gave a sly and exaggerated wink, as though privy to some grand secret.

Orodan frowned at her antics. Not because of Myntasa, but Ilyatana. The Goddess of Fate was a wicked tyrant who deserved no worship, least of all from a woman who seemed to believe in her so unconditionally.

“You’re stalling,” Orodan said. “Get in there and present yourself for the test already.”

“But… I’m so nervous! Can you… can you at least walk in with me?”

“Fine, now let’s go,” Orodan said. It would be a good opportunity to see if his newly inserted fate held up to scrutiny anyhow.

Orodan bullied the woman into pushing the double doors open and walked behind her as she strolled down the grand hall. Various priests, priestesses and diviners lined the halls, praying to their respective Gods or engaging in idle chatter. There were also a number of armed and armored faithful present, and they gave Orodan curious looks, sizing him up.

Mainly, nobody seemed to immediately give him any glaring looks like they always did upon realization of the fact that his soul and fate were inscrutable. Which was great news and meant he’d at the very least succeeded in his original task.

A stern-looking priestess glared at the two of them, particularly at the woman he was accompanying.

“Your period of servitude has not yet ended, Myntasa,” she imperiously chided. “What are you doing here?”

“Priestess, I have-”

“Come to renounce your vows to our lady? Has the tenure at Ogdenborough grown too tough?” the priestess snidely remarked. “With such weak will you cannot hope to serve Lady Ilyatana.”

“No! I’ve come to undergo the trial of the divination!” Myntasa angrily fired back.

“Preposterous! You weren’t even halfway past the Initiate-level a few months ago,” the priestess declared. “With your aptitude, you simply couldn’t have crossed into the Apprentice-level so quickly.”

“I have and I’ve come to prove it!”

“Girl if you’re wasting my-”

Another woman came up from behind the angry priestess. A diviner of the Cathedral.

“Calm yourself. Given the recent havoc which has started all across the tapestry we cannot turn away any potential diviners now,” the woman said and then turned to Myntasa. “You, girl, an observer orb will verify your claims of having reached the Apprentice-level in Fate Reading. And from there, a short practical test to ensure you can handle the demands of the role. Except… with the tapestry now in flux, I do not see how the test can be administered.”

“I can still view the tapestry and even read it while it’s in flux,” Myntasa revealed.

The diviner looked at her closely.

“Truly? A bold claim to make when the tapestry has caused even the experienced diviners in Karilsgard so much trouble,” the diviner said. “Still, a claim which can be proven or disproven easily enough.”

The woman handed Myntasa an orb of divination and pointed towards a large glowing slate upon the wall.

“Use the orb to view the tapestry and mark down your findings on that board.”

“She’s capable of accessing the tapestry without that,” Orodan interceded.

“And you are?”

“My teacher,” Myntasa said. “Though I would appreciate if he didn’t interfere to try and make the test even more difficult.”

“What’s the point of taking the easy way out,” Orodan lectured. “If you’re going to do something, you might as well do it the hard way and learn some lessons along the way.”

“This man taught you? I do not recognize you, stranger. From where have you learned the ways of divination?” the diviner asked.

“From reading.”

“From… reading?”

“Yes, the texts provided by your Cathedral have been quite nice,” Orodan said. “Though, before that I learned the very basics from shamans of Ozgaric upon Guzuhar.”

“You learned the ways of the dark northern Gods? To spout such heresy within-”

[Teaching 57 → Teaching 58]

The angry priestess’s tirade was cut off as the diviner overseeing Myntasa’s test gasped. The glowing slate upon the wall began to fill in but the amount wasn’t very expansive. More importantly though, the threads and possibilities which were in flux were being identified and parsed. Even if the effort was rudimentary and basic, the execution was impressive.

“By the Gods… she can actually parse it!” the diviner exclaimed.

Soon, Myntasa grew exhausted as her mana ran low, and she was forced to stop. Still, even with this display she’d successfully secured herself a good spot in the Cathedral’s hierarchy. Crisis was the creator of opportunity, and the tapestry of fate’s current state meant the demand for diviners capable of parsing it was very high.

“I believe that gets her out of Ogdenborough, does it not?” Orodan asked.

“It most certainly does,” the diviner said. “Any prior black marks on her record can be expunged, and she will be headed straight for Karilsgard with her talents.”

“Karilsgard? Truly?” Myntasa muttered.

“Don’t get too excited. Life in the capital’s not as fun as it sounds,” Orodan warned. “Rather expensive, and far too many snakes in plain sight who try to drag you into their politics.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Orodan,” she replied, and then smiled. “Thank you.”

“If anything, you helped me more than I helped you,” Orodan remarked. “Now then, off with you. I have better things to do than remain in this house of the Gods.”

The diviner and priestess tried persuading him to lend his talents to the Cathedral, but he ignored them and walked out.

Mainly because a certain Grandmaster wizard was waiting atop a nearby roof.

#

Destartes took a swig of the wine bottle he’d conjured from the dimensional ring and passed another to him.

Orodan also took a sip.

“You really didn’t need to break out a few millennia aged wine for this…” Orodan muttered.

“When else will I get the chance to unseal such a vintage? The story I’ve heard recounted is one worth having a drink over. Not only are you a time looper who’s done much for me across many repeats, but you’re also slated for an inevitable death at the end of this one,” Destartes said, taking another deep sip. “If anything, Mister Wainwright, I feel quite miserable on your behalf.”

“You need not go that far. It’s not such a bad deal, being a time looper,” Orodan defended, putting his drink down.

They’d spoken for hours.

Outside the bounds of Anthus, with no pressing business or magical lessons weighing down on them, he and Destartes simply drank and spoke. It was a refreshing side of the old wizard that Orodan hadn’t really gotten to see before. Destartes had loosened up once Orodan explained that their coup went quite well and that Arvayne Firesword and Alcianne Rockwood had been liberated from their burdens of being Chosen. It was as though an invisible burden had lifted from the man’s shoulders.

From then on, the wizard drank, made merry and simply spouted whatever came to his mind.

“Isn’t it? I feel, you lack perspective,” Destartes said. “I too enjoy the constant advancement, the promise of pushing the bounds of magic, mind and self. But I feel, Mister Wainwright, that I would go insane within a few thousand loops.”

“You give yourself far too little credit. Destartes the mighty wizard would be a fearsome time looper indeed. Imagine all the spells you could learn? All the dangerous experimentation you feared prior, now becoming possible?”

“And what would having a thousand spells do for me? Without this Blessing you’ve granted me, I couldn’t use more than a dozen at once,” the wizard said. “I’d be a knowledgeable and versatile mage, yes, but one plagued by the problem all human magicians face. A limited mana pool.”

“A problem which can be solved through time and introspection into the soul arts.”

“In the course of which I’d simply manage to explode my own soul somehow,” Destartes said. “As I said, I pity you Mister Wainwright. Not only have you undergone much death and agony over the course of these loops, but you’ve also doubtlessly lost people you care for many times over. These ‘failed’ time loopers you tell me of, they suffer yes, but they no longer bear the burden upon their shoulders at least. It must be a uniquely miserable thing, to not only be in a time loop, but to also be the only one capable of succeeding in it.”

“I’m not sure if I’d want to trade places with any of those poor sods stuck within the Reject,” Orodan said. “Now I really don’t know what you mean.”

“I don’t think I’m getting my point across correctly. Tell me, Mister Wainwright, you’re stubborn, yes?” Destartes asked, and he nodded. “You’re also quite honorable, with an obstinate desire to repay your debts. And on top of it all, you tend to make any injustices you see a personal problem of yours.”

“You’re making me out to be some paragon of justice, old man. I’m far from being a hero,” Orodan said. “My life began and ended with blood. I’ve done many questionable things and taken many lives.”

“And despite all that, in spite of your horrid upbringing, you still retain that sense of stubborn honor. I’m not calling you a saint, Mister Wainwright, far from it,” Destartes clarified. “But you do have a bit of obstinate goodness within. And at some point, one must begin to wonder whether your very upbringing, your fate itself… led towards this all along. And that is the real burden I feel. That your very upbringing shaped your character into one which simply cannot refuse the call to confront this time loop and fix it.”

“That’s a lot of words for saying I’m stubborn idiot who was meant for this all along,” Orodan remarked. “Well, your words have some truth to them. When I spoke to the Custodian, he mentioned that I was chosen for the loops due to my affinity for Cleaning. But to then upend them entirely through Incipience of Infinity… I don’t think I was meant to do that.”

“It’s fated, or it was until you broke it,” Destartes said.

“Fate huh?” Orodan mused. “Say, Destartes… the tapestry of fate’s only a canvas to read possibilities and odds upon, right?”

“Far as I am aware, why?”

“Could one utilize it in tandem with chronomancy to view alternate possibilities for oneself?” Orodan asked.

“Viewing previous points on the river of time is already strenuous, beyond what most chronomancers are capable of,” Destartes said. “But to then try and view the tapestry of fate as it was in the past? That sounds exceedingly complicated and downright impossible. In other words, the perfect endeavor for you.”

Orodan smiled.

Fate huh?

Perhaps it was time to finally see where his really began.

Though Destartes had some final words for him about the matter.

“Delving into what could have been, is an ugly affair. You might not like the answer.”

Orodan agreed. He had a strange feeling he would uncover something he was better off not knowing.

#

The northern coastline of the Republic bordered the Sea of Uxamar. The waters themselves were hazardous, containing plenty of aquatic monsters, particularly in the deeper parts of the waters. Though, these monsters weren’t the real threat.

The true danger came from the presence of Guzuharan raider ships which often patrolled the waters, looking for easy targets on the shoreline. The inner heartlands of the Republic were in many parts, covered with deep forests which were entirely impassable and far too savage to pave roads through. And the few guarded and patrolled routes through central roads were tolled, which meant a loss of profits.

Consequently, caravans looking to break even or make a better profit often took the ill-guarded coastal roads along the shoreline. And while the navies of the Republic and the Eastern Kingdoms did their best to patrol the waters and keep them safe… it wasn’t always the case.

Almost seventeen years ago, a particular caravan had fallen victim to raiders from the northern continent. A caravan containing people, goods…

…and an infant Orodan Wainwright and his parents.

And now, how many thousands of loops later, Orodan Wainwright stood upon the site of this horrid tragedy once more.

No longer as little and helpless, and not nearly as powerless.

He’d always known where it occurred. The militia and the orphanage kept records of the day the Republic’s military had come upon the burning wreck. Yet, before today, he’d never bothered coming here, to this particular section of remote road on the coastline of the Republic of Aden. There was nothing for him here, he’d already accepted his lot in life.

But with the power of time, perhaps he could now get the answers he’d never received then.

“It doesn’t look any different to any other section of the road,” Zaessythra said.

“If you were expecting the air to be roiling with holy energy which heralds my life changing moment, I think you’ll be disappointed,” Orodan replied. “It’s just a dirt road, and visually I see no evidence of any battle taking place here seventeen years ago.”

On the surface that was. Vision of Purity was already telling him that there were traces of metal, wood and bone in the ground. A cursory examination of the time stream revealed these to be from almost seventeen years ago.

“Will you bring them back right away?” she asked.

“I will eventually, but before that I want- I need, to see what happened, that we might finally put this matter to rest.”

This was where it all began, and before he even got about the act of resurrecting anyone, Orodan first needed to slip his consciousness into the time stream, a feat made feasible thanks to his near Master-level Time Mastery. Yet, he wouldn’t just be going back to the site of this tragedy, but to a few months before even that.

It was time to delve into the origins of Orodan Wainwright.

His eyes took on a subtle glow, and his mind began swimming against the river of time.

Whatever the time loop mechanism did, it was monstrously powerful. The river of time, or rather the timeline, for the cosmos they dwelled in… was reset. There would be no delving into past loops for those were entirely gone. Perhaps one day if Orodan learned the intricacies of that elaborate thing he might be capable of exploring those, but for now the timeline of this loop was all he had access to.

His consciousness flowed backwards, viewing the events through time with crystal clear clarity.

To the first day of the current year where Orodan was busy beating on a training dummy while the other militia got drunk or celebrated with their loved ones.

Past the basic training where he excelled, graduating at the top of his class, yet where he was also disliked by many of the recruits for his overly zealous love for combat and training.

It returned to his entrance examination for the county militia. Where he fought a brutal melee against some noble ponce from Trumbetton and actually won, only for the nepotistic examiners to ignore the result and ensure the noble was placed favorably instead of Orodan.

Back to turning fourteen years of age and becoming an adult under Republic law, only to realize most full-time jobs wouldn’t take him due to his delinquent history. Odd jobs hauling nightsoil from the cesspools and the occasional bit of labor were all he had access to. And then, a ray of hope; an old foreman who gave him a chance working as a full-time laborer for construction projects.

Past the old days of his harsh youth, where he slew another boy in self-defense over a piece of meat. An event which had inevitably influenced his outlook on life.

Far past his days as a small orphan, and even past the tragedy whose site he stood upon. He would view that shortly, but first…

…his birth.

At the very beginning of it all, his consciousness entered the stream of time.

Like a spectator, Orodan watched the occurrence from outside the perspective of any present.

And the first thing which stood out to him…

…was the large woman lying on the back of a rickety wooden wagon in the midst of a dark forest. She was grunting in pain, her legs spread apart as a man and two women were by her side.

Orodan had sometimes been told that his face and expressions made him look somewhat unapproachable. A severe expression. And just by the sight of this large woman, her pale skin and her angry-looking face he could immediately tell who he got it from.

She had some good size and musculature to her too! Orodan was big himself, but she was perhaps two inches taller, though he’d say he was wider of frame and possessed of more muscle.

“Sizing yourself up against your own mother, are you?”

Zaessythra’s comments were silly. It was mere recognizance of where he’d come from was all! That he found himself giving this woman a subtle nod of respect for her physicality and bearing was beside the point!

This… was his mother? It had to be. He’d seen nobody else in his life that evoked such a strange feeling of familiarity and resemblance on sight. She had raven dark hair, striking blue eyes and pale skin, but otherwise everything else was quite similar to him in terms of facial structure.

His mother was heavily armored too, and she had a sword and shield next to her. Was that where he naturally got it from?

His thoughts were cut short as the clearly pregnant woman, his mother, roared in pain.

“He’s a feisty one! I can feel it!” she declared boldly.

“Steady now, Valburga, you’re almost there!” the man encouraged, looking quite pale.

“I feel him Hathradan… our son is almost out!” his mother declared.

Our son?

Orodan looked at the man closely. Where his mother was large, imposing and had an intimidating face like Orodan himself, this man was slight of frame, though appeared to have a lean bit of strength to him. His hands were callused too, likely from manual labor. And Orodan could see where his own bronzed skin, dark eyes and brown hair came from.

And most embarrassingly… the cooling stream of water being cast from the man’s hands and onto his mother’s sweating forehead was clear evidence that his father had been a mage.

“Less talking, more pushing you big oaf!” one of the women scolded. “Whose bright idea was it to allow Valburga to come along on jobs while heavy with child?”

“Allow? There’s no stopping her when she wants to go out and fight!” the other woman added on.

His mother and father however ignored the two women. They appeared to be part of a mercenary band, or perhaps adventurers?

In any case, the critical moment approached.

Out of respect for his mother’s privacy, Orodan turned away from watching the particulars of his own delivery. Soon, a gasp from all present and a soft thud onto a creaky wooden wagon signified the birthing of life. The two women assisted with the recovery and wrap up.

And throughout it all, the babe gasped and choked, taking his first breaths, but did not once cry afterwards.

He now looked, and it was exceedingly strange to behold himself as an infant. The newborn’s eyes were open, and he almost calmly took in the world around him, not a single cry or whimper escaping his lips.

“A strong soul, even as a child,” Zaessythra said. Orodan simply thought himself exceedingly strange. What newborn didn’t cry? “Perhaps you were always meant for greatness.”

And mayhap more than just Zaessythra had noticed that too. He’d spoken to Alastaia’s world core a long time, and it had revealed that seventeen years ago, a pulse of power had gone out from the System control spike present within the planet’s world core.

As he watched the newborn Orodan Wainwright, he now saw, within this moment, how System energy roiled about the air, and the swift and almost imperceptible entry of certain glyphs into his soul.

This was the exact moment that he’d been marked as the time looper. It was from this moment that Orodan Wainwright had been watched by forces beyond his comprehension at the time.

One of the two women tried rubbing the baby to make him cry, but it was no use. At most, the newborn looked quite irate and had a frown most fierce!

“Oh ho! Such a fierce little look! He’s as angry as you Valburga!” the woman exclaimed with a laugh.

“What shall you name him?” the other woman asked. “Whose last name shall he take?”

“I have no last name,” his mother said, cradling the baby in her arms. “I hail from the north, a castaway from a tribe of raiders. We were given no last names save the monikers we earned through battle.”

His mother was… Guzuharan? The cruel irony then, that she and his father had been slain by them. And that Orodan had grown up despising the northerners for all of his first life and a portion of the early loops.

“My last name then?” his father asked. “He might not be too happy about bearing the family name of a group of farmers from the Kingdom of Shivenduran.”

“Better than my blood-stained legacy where he would have none,” Valburga said and then tenderly stroked the baby’s cheeks, and Orodan could almost feel the stirrings of affection reaching his soul.

“My little Orodan Wainwright.”

He exited the moment in time shortly after, returning to the present. To the northern coastline of the Republic where all was quiet, and everything seemed so very lonely and empty.

For a moment, he simply stared into the sky above. That feeling, it had crossed time and touched his soul. And he wondered…

…he wondered about what could have been.

“You were wrong then,” Zaessythra spoke respectfully. “Your origins didn’t begin with bloodshed… but love.”

And conflicted as he felt about it, Orodan couldn’t dispute her words. His parents, the both of them, had loved him. The affection and joy in the eyes of his mother and father were no lie.

Part Guzuharan, part Eastern. Part mage, part warrior. The union of these had come together to form him.

Yet, without them in his life, he’d grown into something else entirely.

“We could leave it here,” Zaessythra said. “That you might cherish the beautiful memory. But we both know there’s more to it than that.”

After all, where there was love…

…there was also loss.

It was time to be done with it.

His consciousness once more delved into the time stream, flying backwards till it landed upon the target memory. The one which had occurred almost seventeen years ago on the site where he was standing.

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.