The Stubborn Skill-Grinder In A Time Loop-Chapter 92: Diversifying the Basics I

[Domain of Perfect Cleaning 170 → Domain of Perfect Cleaning 172]

Orodan wasn’t sure what this strange space was but calling it a cosmic battleground wouldn’t have been inaccurate. This was his second time facing off against the competing Embodiers, but the contest was entirely one-sided. In a real fight things would have gone far differently of course. But in this odd space where the only metric used was one’s abilities in Cleaning?

Orodan reigned supreme.

The mental representation of a familiar Arch-Devil, the Custodian, recoiled in shock. Broom clashed against orb and Orodan came out on top with disturbing ease; his talent and insights proving too great.

The other rival Embodiers had fared no better either. Orodan had battered the fusion slime and the goat woman aside with even more casual ease than he’d managed the first time around. And the levels gained from establishing conceptual dominance against the Custodian were slim. A sign that the cosmic battleground for the concept of Cleanliness was swiftly running its course. Soon, there would be no more gains to be wrung from even this.

He was certain that the Custodian, and many of these rival Embodiers, had a higher skill level. But each of Orodan’s levels counted for more. The difference in raw talent being quite evident.

It couldn’t be helped. Of all the skills he had, none came as natural to him as cleaning did. With just the second conceptual clash in that strange Embodiment-space he was beginning to outpace even the most monstrous existences in System space. Further skill levels in Domain of Perfect Cleaning would have to come through practical application and self-study.

Now, as his eyes opened in the real world, it was dark, and the moon’s pale beams barely lit up his familiar hometown. Barely ten seconds had passed in the loop. Orodan began every loop in the middle of the night. Why the time loop mechanism set the start point to this moment, he didn’t know. His best guess was that it had something to do with that being the earliest ‘rousing’ or ‘wake up’ point for his soul on the day of his death. Without extended study of the mechanism he could only postulate.

“I still don’t understand how your mind reaches out someplace I cannot see.”

“I don’t think I’m reaching out someplace as much as I am wrestling with everyone else who’s trying to conquer the concept I use,” Orodan clarified.

It wasn’t as though Orodan’s mind was being yanked anywhere, which would have been akin to an attack. Rather… he was reaching out to and touching upon something that others also sought to lay claim to. Something which was now solely his. It was understandable that Zaessythra wouldn’t be able to tag along or see anything, for she had no connection to the concept of Cleanliness like he did.

Still, time was short, and he had no concrete answer for how long any pursuers would take to find him. Far as Orodan was concerned, every second counted. There was training to be done and gains to be made. And people to rap across the head with a certain orb.

And his first target was an old man likely in the midst of transporting lumber to Ogdenborough.

Space shifted as Orodan cast the Teleportation spell. In between towns, Volarbury County consisted of coniferous forests. Not quite as dense as the Aenechean near Velestok, but enough that visibility was poor at night; the canopy made it difficult for moonlight to illuminate the ground. That being said, his eyes were more than sharp enough to notice the familiar old man holding the reins for a mule-driven cart full of lumber.

Orodan had always respected the old man, but this simply proved the old codger’s work ethic. After all, to reach the halfway point between Scarmorrow and Ogdenborough by this time meant that Old Man Hannegan must have begun the journey far earlier. Traveling at night—even along the main roads between towns—wasn’t exactly safe either. A point proven by the two snarling wolves who were hungrily eying the mule.

“Away with you! Hungry mutts! This mule makes way for an important task! You won’t be taking a bite of his rump tonight!” Old Man Hannegan yelled, angrily waving his torch in a threatening manner.

Orodan hadn’t ever seen the man fight, but he always figured that the greybeard could handle himself to an extent. Nobody with a life like the old man had got this far without a trick or two. Old Man Hannegan’s continual presence at the warehouse without fail in each loop implied that he managed to deal with the wolves just fine too.

The beasts were snarling and ready to pounce when they finally caught sight of the figure behind Old Man Hannegan. The predatory animals fled upon noticing the existential threat wielding sword and board, and only then did the old man turn around

Just in time to see a cheerful grin on Orodan’s face as an orb smacked Gregory Hannegan’s forehead.

“Orodan?! Since when— argh!”

A satisfying clink of enchanted glass on forehead rang out, and the old foreman nearly fell out the driver’s seat if not for Orodan catching him. He groaned and let out a few strained cries of pain as Orodan closely monitored the process, ready to step in at any point.

It was incredible no matter how many times he saw it. The process through which the orb transferred memories that was.

Mana and specially coded information from the orb seamlessly flowed towards and interacted with the mind of the recipient. In fact, now that he looked closer, Orodan realized that he needed not have worried in the first place about Edrosic’s alternate timeline memories overwhelming that of this one. His brilliant student Fenton had accounted for even the fact that the orb’s memory transferal might be considered a mental attack.

Instead, Vision of Purity told him a different story, showing him the particulars. It was as though the stored memories had a long and extended conversation with the recipient over a short period of time. And over the course of that talk the recipient agreed to understand what was being said to them and then truly accept the orb’s contents from their alternate self.

Which put to rest his concern of what would occur if someone received memories from the wrong person. Simply, the recipient’s mind would naturally reject them as not their own. And even if they were memories the recipient found utterly abhorrent those too could be denied or at least greatly filtered down to reduce the trauma.

Truly, Fenton had thought of it all. That genius lad.

Of course, this mechanism of extended conversation between memory and recipient was what led to the pain and disorientation. The mind of an untrained individual was unused to having a very hasty conversation and exchange of ideas within an incredibly compressed period of time. If anything, the old man would have faced less discomfort if a mind mage had simply smashed the memories into his head.

Eventually the cries of pain downgraded to groans of discomfort, enough for the man to finally speak.

“What on… where even am-”

“You’re in the next loop,” Orodan said with a smile, helping him to his feet. “How do you feel? Have your thoughts melded together properly yet?”

“How do I feel? My thoughts? Wait… wait a moment…” the old man said, looking around. He looked at the cart, the mule and his surroundings. He also took in the distant forms of the two fleeing wolves whose forms were illuminated by moonlight. “How can this be?”

“Believe me now? Yes, you’re back on the road to Ogdenborough and it’s the middle of the night. Must be hard to believe, but your memories really have come back in time,” he informed with a smile. “Though, I am curious… how do you normally drive these wolves off? The one other time I came to see you here; they ran at the sight of me as they did just now.”

“…a simple mana bolt. At least… that’s what my memories are telling me, even though I cannot recall fighting these wolves in this time. Like a memory of something which never occurred… how eerie!”

Orodan chose not to comment on the old man’s natural bewilderment with having two sets of memories in his head. Who knew how much harder it would get as he continued stacking loops upon loops of memories into the orb? It bore looking into lest he cause damage to someone’s mind past a certain number of memory transfers.

“Mana bolt? I know you can cast a Candleflame, but a mana bolt too? Since when are you a mage?” Orodan asked.

“I’m no mage. I was never good enough at connecting to my mana pool and learning to cast spells with it consistently. But a mana bolt isn’t too complicated… anyone can use it with some practice, Orodan,” the old man explained. “But these memories, I… by the Gods this other world is a terrible place. Orodan you…”

“Yes. I messed up… badly.”

“Either that or you’re a demon wearing the skin of Orodan Wainwright who’s implanted memories into my head,” Old Man Hannegan said, palming his head from the still lingering headache.

“Technically, the device only forces a subconscious conversation in a very brief span of time between you and the stored memories,” Orodan corrected. “If you have new memories, it’s only because you subconsciously accepted them.”

“I would have said you’re speaking nonsense before but… this is most strange. It’s as though I’ve lived two lives. One in a time and place which no longer exist,” the Old Man Hannegan mumbled. “And the other one, here.”

“Here. The correct timeline. Where you supposedly have a family,” Orodan spoke, eyeing him out the side of his eye. The old man turned to him with a sharp frown but Orodan simply shook his head and put a hand up to stop the outburst. “I will not pry. That’s simply what you—or the you of this other time where Ilyatana never existed—told me. If you do not wish to say anything, I will not inquire.”

The man’s frown lessened and his stance became less guarded.

“It’s nothing so conspiratorial you blockhead…” he muttered. “A daughter. She’s the only family I have left, not much else to say about. But I will admit, my mood is already befouled by the memories of this other life I’ve lived where she never existed. Damn… why did this other version of me think it a good idea to merge our memories together? Worst of all, I agree with this other Gregory’s rationale for it too. I have several new skills I never had before. Although I’m going to be following directions which don’t exist for a good while.”

But Orodan had a smug smile on his face.

“Well, I don’t think too many things are out of place in our time. And I certainly have no plans on playing around with erasing someone from existence moving forward,” Orodan said and then a devious grin appeared on his face. “But really, who knew that Ilyatana’s existence was necessary for an old codger like you to finally find love?”

He deserved the piece of lumber chucked at his head in recompense.

“Damn brat! My love life is none of your business!” the old man grumbled, though his eyes softened a moment later. “You dumb rockhead… it really is you isn’t it, Orodan?”

“In the flesh. Who else will keep you young by annoying you? You can rest easy knowing that I’m no demon or figment of your imagination. I’ll take that as confirmation that your memories have settled in,” he spoke, pleased with the success. “I’ll have to let Fenton know that his device exceeds expectations… as expected of my student of course.”

The pangs of grief flared for a brief moment before Orodan suppressed them.

He would get Fenton back, but not yet. He needed to fend off the Embodiers hells bent on confronting him first. The Last thing Orodan wanted was to give Fenton his memories back only to drag the boy into a fight for a planet that wasn’t even his, against Embodiers that weren’t even after him.

“Alright, off we go,” Orodan said, patting the dutiful mule on the head as the rippling of a spatiomantic spell surrounded his finger.

“Where are you going?”

“Where else? We have a warehouse to build, don’t we?”

“That we do. But now that you’ve conditionally proven this time loop nonsense—assuming I’m not mad or locked in some demonic illusion—you have a lot to learn,” the old man declared.

“A lot… to learn?” Orodan questioned back, confused.

“Of course! All this time in these loops and how many basic crafting skills don’t you have? You say you’ve been building the warehouse for so long, but you never once mentioned having the Stonecutting or Masonry skills. And where’s your Walking skill? And what level is your Sprinting skill at?”

Old Man Hannegan’s questions came in a flurry which took Orodan aback for an instant. He had truly never seen the old foreman this interested in his development and skillset.

“I have neither Stonecutting, Masonry or Walking,” Orodan factually stated. “And my Sprinting is at level thirty-nine. Why?”

“That’s… pitiful!”

“…!”

“What? Did you expect me to kneel down and kiss the feet of the mighty time looper?” the man chastised. “Seems you’re still the same stone headed fool I’ve always known. Pressing on with the grit of a hundred workers when you’re set on something, but refusing to open your mind and truly experiment. You, Orodan, run ahead too fast. Metaphorically and literally.”

“Explain,” Orodan said.

“Can you imagine why your Sprinting hasn’t increased in level at all past thirty-nine? It’s likely because you haven’t properly ran anywhere in ages. It’s the same reason why you don’t have the Walking skill either,” the old man explained. “You’re simply running everywhere. But in your case, you don’t do even that.”

Which… wasn’t wrong? He did essentially teleport or warp space to a grotesque degree for most interstellar travel. And even if he didn’t, there wasn’t much surface to run on in the vast expanse of the void. And all other physical travel was otherwise done via powerful blasts off of the ground, where his physical might meant he was more leaping than running.

Putting one foot after the other to properly sprint? When was the last time he’d done that and not simply leapt off the ground like a cannon?

“See? The look on your face tells me you realize it now too. And I can’t even blame you lad. Who in your position has the time to train Walking? Hells, even I’m only level twenty-two in the skill,” Old Man Hannegan said. Was that why he walked with such vigor despite his advanced age? “But that’s no excuse for not polishing the basics and diversifying your lowest rarity skills. You told me how you learned Weaving and tried your hand at Calligraphy? Good. From now on, we’ll be adding a focus on these seemingly basic skills to your regimen.”

“You mean…?”

“Aye. You’ve dragged me into this nonsensical time loop haven’t you? It’s like something straight out of the garbage fiction section of a town library, but it’s very real and it seems I’m here for the journey with you. And if I’m going to be tagging along, then I intend to shape up your basics and give you a proper education in common skills.”

In other words, a trainer… but for the everyday skills which were found all over Alastaia. It sounded silly, but a quick look at how far Weaving and Recycling had gotten him squashed that idiotic thought right away. And Orodan had grown up too poor and impoverished to look down upon the skills which the common folk used to eke out a living.

Everything had a benefit. Even the most innocuous skill could give him a critical leg up against his overwhelming adversaries. He had been fighting uphill battles against superior opponents for too long to disregard the humble benefits of seemingly mundane knowledge.

“Old man… you…” Orodan muttered, touched. This was the man who’d given him an opportunity for work when nowhere else in Ogdenborough would. “Alright, I approve of this training regimen. Let’s do it.”

“Good. Now loosen old Lug’s harness and grab that cart.”

Orodan did as asked, but he wondered how such a light cart was meant to challenge him when he could shatter planets with his fists.

#

[Towing 3 → Towing 4]

“Another level too… this training is working out better than expected.”

“And yet you still haven’t gained the Walking skill you oaf. Your steps are too brutish! Too violent! Like the waves of a roaring tidal flood.”

“That’s the point old man.”

Learning the skill for Towing certainly hadn’t been in his plans for the day. It was odd how the weight of the cart could remain the same and yet his technique in pulling it along the dirt road could get easier. Not that the weight was a challenge at all, but if this skill was applied to other things? The possibilities were endless.

Old Man Hannegan also insisted that he continue walking in a slow and measured pace during the journey. Of course, Orodan was anything but slow, although he could certainly be measured if needed. Still, the Walking skill had eluded him thus far, but he was confident in eventually attaining it.

“You aren’t getting it. When you walk the aim is to have your strides take you from one point to another, the goal is to reach a destination. But when you walk it’s like you’re a beast stalking its prey! Who walks like that? You’ve always been a bit of a goon but seeing you walk makes even me a little nervous.”

It wasn’t as though Orodan had suddenly learned how to walk. But rather, it was his first time truly and consciously putting effort into performing the activity. And as with everything he now did since reaching the latest epiphany regarding himself… the burgeoning violence within himself colored his efforts.

Orodan’s physicality meant that—even when greatly holding back and slowed to let the old man and donkey keep pace—he still pulled the cart faster than old Lug did. Where the old man usually arrived just before the first rays of dawn, Orodan had arrived barely two hours past midnight while Ogdenborough was still dark.

But there were a scant few people on the street, mainly those folks beginning their trek to other towns for work. And these folk were wary of the strolling juggernaut, whose footsteps heralded brutality.

His attempts at walking weren’t normal. Each of his steps, a doom-saying omen of his arrival as the strides caused violence to suffuse the air.

And nearby people were terribly frightened at the sight of it.

“W-what the hells…? Who’s that with old Gregory?”

“Is it… that delinquent? Why is he walking so… menacingly?”

“I knew it! Once a thug always a thug. Militia uniform can’t cover that up, look how he’s walking! Like he’s headed to kill someone on the spot!”

One man even fell right on his rear during the attempt to frantically step backwards and was frozen in fear as Orodan’s vehement gait carried him towards the warehouse.

“You’re terrifying everyone in town Orodan! They’ll all come questioning me!” the old man grumbled and then hummed inquisitively. “Though it’s not like they’ll remember any of it when the next time loop rolls around…”

“Now you’re getting into the spirit of it, old man. While I’m not about to go butchering innocents, the opinions of others on trivial matters are not worth wasting thought upon. I had little patience for inconsequential things even before the loops, but now I have none,” Orodan said as they finally reached the warehouse. “Walking will come to me eventually. By the look on your face I can see that you think me a fool, and most times you wouldn’t be wrong. But in this case…”

“You’re trying to influence the development of the skill somehow, aren’t you?”

Old Man Hannegan was far more perceptive than he got credit for.

“You’ve noticed then.” It was a statement and not a question.

“I didn’t get so old by having my eyes closed. I’ve seen this sort of thing before—knew a bard who tried coloring everything he did with music—but… not with walking of all skills,” the old man muttered in disbelief. “But this is good; as a matter of fact, this is great. I wonder how many other skills you can learn. And if what you say about being able to utilize insights from them in battle is true…”

“Then that would make you one of my most important teachers,” Orodan said with a smile. “Just like old times, eh?”

Indeed, Old Man Hannegan might prove to be the most important teacher of them all. Particularly if—like Weaving and Recycling—Orodan could somehow synergize all the new skills the man planned on teaching into his combat style.

“Ah yes, just like the old times where you’d show up to work all black and blue from the beatings you received the evening prior,” the old man scoffed, but the fond smile on his face didn’t go unseen. “You have what? Two weeks? Before these cosmic horrors come by to end your life?”

“That’s the rough estimate. Unless I go around causing a ruckus like I did last loop.”

Which would cause them to take notice even earlier. But if he kept the concepts under control, that wouldn’t occur this time.

“I’ll thank you to not go around erasing any Goddesses Orodan. I can’t say I like Ilyatana much after hearing what she did to you, but a lot of good things wouldn’t have happened without her either,” Old Man Hannegan cautioned, and Orodan agreed. “Now then, you say you have two weeks? I say that’s plenty of time to have you learn some things and visit some places. Places and teachers that might be of benefit to your training.”

And as he dropped the cart near the unloading zone of the work site, Orodan paid rapt attention. After all, even the Lieutenant-General on Anthus had recognized the old man’s uncanny ability to know the optimal people to meet and the best places to search. It was as though Old Man Hannegan was a font of wisdom and practical advice.

“First, Greenvale. That town’s a good place for you. You met Gerace last loop before you threw the timeline into a tangled mess of dung, didn’t you? His house and merchant association can help you pick up a number of the skills I’ll recommend,” the man advised. “And once you’ve done a few loops of that… we can look into having you meet someone who taught me when I was a young man.”

“You were a young man once?”

Orodan deserved the pebble thrown at his head for that one, even if it harmlessly bounced off.

“Of course I was young once! Didn’t you tell me about how you rewound my body back to my youth during one of your earlier loops?!” he barked. “And I’ll thank you not todo that ever again. I can only imagine how odd it must have seemed for everyone who knew me.”

The old man then looked around the work site a bit and frowned.

“On one hand, we’re here. But on the other hand I started my journey when I did under the assumption that old Lug would be pulling the cart, not you. Now we’re here two hours ahead of schedule. Just what am I to do this early? My crew isn’t even here yet.”

But Orodan simply picked up a saw and began unloading the wood. Sometimes, a return to the basic routine was called for. And his time on Lonvoron and dealing with the problems of his last loop had made him miss this familiarity

“What else? We have a warehouse to build.”

And after that, for him, an ancient machine to destroy.

And perhaps a return to his actual job if only so he could meet a certain lazy colleague of his.

#

At the end of the day, Orodan found himself rather uncaring of the Republic’s Master-level individuals in the control chamber of the ancient machine. Yes, in past loops he’d saved them from death at the hands of Ovuru, Baron Viglas and Duke Arestos of Novarria. But his sympathies had run dry many loops ago upon learning that the Republic had also planned on using the machine against innocent Novarrian towns on the other side of the mountain.

Orodan wasn’t exactly a patriotic Adenian. And even if he were, the killing of Novarrian civilians was unacceptable. Innocent non-combatants were just that, non-combatants. Thus, in his eyes the Republican Masters were just as murderous and uncaring of uninvolved folk as the Novarrian side was. So letting them kill each other was no horrible thing in his eyes.

Swooping in afterwards to kill Ovuru and the Novarrian while ‘helping’ Baron Viglas turn a new leaf was par for the course as usual, though he left the ancient machine untouched for now as he wanted to gather as many people as possible before he took a shot at it this loop.

Mainly so they could tell him where he was screwing up.

Having done all that and finished the warehouse, Orodan was now somewhere familiar he hadn’t been to in a while. His workplace, the county militia barracks of Ogdenborough.

And although it was little over an hour before the shift change between night and day… the building looked a lot livelier than it normally did.

“What do you mean the warehouse sprung up?” the night shift lead corporal asked. “That thing’s been under construction for a two months now.”

Sergeant Woodgard was the barracks’ only sergeant and default shift commander for the days. But the man didn’t work nights. So the shift commander after hours was the senior-most corporal on-duty.

“We were doing a patrol near Ale Road and I could’ve swore there wasn’t any towering warehouse there yesterday. My eyes must be playing tricks on me sir,” the junior corporal replied. “One of my privates agreed with me too. I’m not seeing things.”

“Enough of that, forget the warehouse. Tell me about the plaza. Kelmar’s troop say House Argon’s soldiers have been running in and out all night like headless chickens as of an hour ago. And then we got multiple reports of quakes at the same time. Do we know anything? What the hells is going on?” the shift commander asked. “I don’t need the sergeant coming in and getting all red-faced when we leave him a whole bunch of problems to start the day with. Ugh… and it’s Liberation Day too. Fantastic… Woodgard’s going to turn redder than a tomato.”

“We don’t know corporal. Sent a troop to talk with them but they shooed us away… shall we contact Trumbetton and kick it up the command chain?”

“Do that. I can’t be arsed to deal with this today, and the Burgher can step in to figure out what a noble house is doing…” the shift commander spoke. He then noticed Orodan walking up. “Wainwright? Bit early for you isn’t it? Aren’t you normally running laps around this time still? Say… want some early overtime pay? We’ve got our hands full and-”

“The tremors will no longer occur,” Orodan interrupted. “No need for the overtime.”

“Eh? You know something?”

“Yes. The ancient machine’s ownership is no longer something to be concerned of, and both the Republicans and the Novarrians under the mountain have been dealt with. The Guzuharan raiders too,” Orodan spoke.

Of course, to the senior corporal, he might as well have been spouting gibberish. Without clarification and context, the man had no idea what the hells Orodan was talking about.

“Ancient what now? And what’s this about Novarrians and Guzuharans? Hey, Wainwright where you-”

Orodan had given answer enough. His feet took him towards the man he did come here for.

The barracks had an indoor practice yard with plenty of ranged targets, training dummies and open areas for spars. His troop’s corporal, Bistrid, was already there and practicing. But a particular man, little on the lazy side, was just coming in.

Parthus Edrosic’s gait was carefree, and while trained, the man seemed unready for sudden combat. Something which was immediately exposed when a training sword tore through the air towards the lazy militia man’s head. Edrosic panicked and overcompensated by rolling for the ground.

A rolling dodge. Good for avoiding something right away, at the cost of remaining horribly exposed and out of position during and after. A lesson Edrosic swiftly learned. Even while moderating himself to the Apprentice-level in attributes, Orodan’s boot sent his fellow private tumbling along the ground mid-roll.

“Don’t panic. Rolling can work in some situations but is a rather suboptimal move otherwise,” Orodan instructed, sending another swing of the wooden training sword.

“Orodan?! Wait—argh!” Edrosic cried as the wooden blade rapped the side of his face with a solid thwack. “I wasn’t ready for a spar! I didn’t even ask for-”

Another rap of wood hit the man’s knee and a follow up jab with the rim of his shield had Edrosic stumbling backwards like a drunk seeing stars, eyes watering from the bruised nose.

“Focus Parthus. I know you slacked during basic, but we were trained to fight. Remember that training, embrace it, and then advance beyond it,” Orodan said as he advanced. “Do you want to remain a private in the Ogdenborough barracks forever?”

The unplanned brutality of the sudden and unannounced spar shocked a few nearby militia. Bistrid looked ready to step in and try breaking it up if not for Orodan’s instructional tone.

To his credit, Edrosic wasn’t entirely useless and did begin swinging back. The man’s eyes were watery from having his nose stung by a blow, which meant the return swings were wild and quite haphazard.

“Hey! Clear out! We got real steel in the yard!” a nearby corporal called out.

“What are you two doing?!” Bistrid demanded. “Wainwright, stop this at once!”

“It’s fine. Edrosic needs this and I’m not concerned with being hit by steel,” Orodan replied as he parried two of Parthus’s wild strokes and stepped into very close range where the sword wasn’t as optimal unless position was readjusted. A swift knee to the gut had the man bent over and on his knees within moments. “Your blows lack conviction Parthus. And your fighting lacks the edge of violence. Training matters little if the mentality of fighting is not present within you. Get up, we go again.”

“D-damn it Orodan! Where’d this come from? You just walk up and attack me? Is that how you greet people?” he nasally said, his nose still red from the rim strike. “What’s gotten into you? Not all of us are battle maniacs. I know you’re better than me, I accept that. No need to go around rubbing it in.”

“I’ve no interest in flaunting my strength. But I see that the other Edrosic was right. You do need him…” Orodan muttered, producing the orb in his hand.

“Other… what? And what’s that Orodan? Hey, wait don’t-”

The man’s complaints were cut off as the clack of glass hitting his forehead resounded. And unlike Old Man Hannegan… Edrosic began screaming.

Orodan was about to end the orb’s transference then and there… only to stop himself as Vision of Purity and his reflexes let him see the anguished conversation occurring between the real Edrosic and the memories and pain of the alternate timeline’s one.

If not for the filtration mechanism on Fenton’s device, Orodan would have used chronomancy or even Domain of Perfect Cleaning then and there to end the matter. But what he saw put him at ease. At a speed far faster than even an Adept could see, Edrosic’s mind was connecting to and parsing the memories.

The scream came from the fact that the man’s mind was a lot weaker than Old Man Hannegan’s. Whether that meant Edrosic was weak-willed or the old codger quite steadfast, remained to be seen—though Orodan was inclined to bet on the latter.

Screaming turned to groaning, and then grunts of discomfort near the end. Unlike his favorite foreman, Edrosic took a full minute to get through the process, which seemed at least somewhat dependent upon the recipient’s mental acuity and fortitude. And from the looks of it, all the memories had been absorbed willingly, even the ones full of anguish near the end.

“D-damn… damn! Where, where are-”

The wooden training sword came at the man’s head again. But this time… Edrosic’s body moved with a level of desperation and survival instinct it had lacked moments before.

“Good. You’re learning. Quickest way to get those memories to sync is to combat test them,” Orodan explained, pressing forward with a series of blows which were beyond what Edrosic should have been able to handle.

And indeed, the man began to take a beating. A good one too.

A punishing rap of wood across the jaw, a relatively gentle but still painful shield rim to the throat, and a low kick to the calf. Edrosic was getting pummeled and Bistrid was on the verge of interfering. But then…

[Teaching 86 → Teaching 87]

…the man began reacting and fighting back appropriately. Basic training of the county militia tempered by the edge of desperation and survival instincts honed after the death of his parents in another time.

Orodan’s subsequent attack was parried and Parthus responded with a respectable thrust which was both efficient and carried with it the killer instinct of a hardened fighter. And he began letting up just a bit so that Edrosic could now let loose and begin pressing forward.

Orodan was no sadist. His ‘beating’ had been a careful and calculated thing. Just enough to get the man’s adrenaline flowing and pressure him in the right ways in order to draw out an optimal combat state. It was also a good way of getting the acquired memories to assimilate correctly.

Edrosic’s sword clashed against Orodan’s borrowed training blunt and the two held a deadlock. At least, until Orodan casually swept the foot and sent his student tumbling away with a kick to the midsection while mid fall.

“Don’t let the bad habits of your other self seep through. Basic taught us that deadlocks aren’t a muscle contest of pride, but a position to transition out of as soon as possible,” Orodan instructed, a smile on his face. “Now then, we’ll start every loop with a spar like this. Agreed?”

Edrosic got to his feet, his adrenaline fading and the gravity of his other life’s memories finally hitting him.

“My family! They’re-!”

“Alive and well. Unlike this other time you came from,” Orodan assuaged. “I see you willingly absorbed even those painful memories.”

Which meant the memories had either been convincing, or Edrosic saw something which convinced him that he needed them for his advancement.

“I don’t… I don’t know why I did exactly. But I just got the feeling that if I didn’t, I’d be stuck in Ogdenborough forever,” the man explained. “Orodan… you’re really a time looper then? This is real? I’m not hallucinating or caught in some mad dream?”

Around them, the other members of the militia—night shift troops and the early birds coming in for pre-shift training—were confused at the conversation. But neither Orodan nor Edrosic paid them any heed.

“You can slap yourself as many times as you’d like to confirm it, but you’d just be left sore afterwards. There are better ways to gain a resistance skill too,” Orodan quipped.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“I can’t believe this… this is madness! How can a time loop which even the Gods are unaware of be real? Yet these memories are so authentic. It’s as though I lived two lives. One here, and another where… where…”

“At ease Parthus. You’re free to go see your mother and father if you wish, I certainly won’t stop you,” Orodan said.

“No. My head’s in turmoil and I’d probably scare them if I went in all red-eyed and crying right now. I think for now, Orodan, I’ll tag along with you. If I recall… I’m your student now, right?” Edrosic asked with an amused smile. “Can’t believe you’re some almighty time looper who can shatter worlds. I still think it’s ridiculous and you’re pulling my leg. And why’d you decide to take me of all people on? Lazy Parthus. Carefree Edrosic who you always look at as though he’s wasting his time?”

“Because ‘lazy Parthus’ wasn’t the man I met in this other timeline—one of my making. No, I met an Edrosic who’d lost a lot. And I felt responsible for that,” Orodan said. “But you’re a free man, not bound to me. It’s up to you whether you intend to continue on with his wishes. You’re you, not him. The orb does not allow for any takeover of your soul or personality. If you want, you can walk away and I shan’t bother you again. But if you still wish it… you can learn.”

“So what? You just go around taking on students? From what you told this other me, I’m not the first and definitely not the smartest or strongest student you’ve had. Why bother? Pity?” Edrosic asked.

“Curiosity,” Orodan frankly answered. “And it’s good for my Teaching skill. You gain, and I gain too. It’s good training.”

Edrosic couldn’t help it. The man laughed.

“You know what? Somehow, hearing that reassures me more than anything that you’re still the same maniac I work with. Alright you crazy bastard… I’ll do it. I’ll learn under you. And in the process hopefully help you gain something too.”

“Great. Now let’s verify that all your skill levels have carried over correctly,” Orodan said, kicking open Sergeant Woodgard’s office door, rummaging behind the desk and grabbing the observer orb. “I don’t think the Sergeant will mind overly much if I borrow this.”

Overly much by Woodgard’s standards anyways; the man wouldn’t be happy about his door though. Not that Orodan cared about the opinion of a man willing to beat his intimate partner. Out of curiosity, he used the orb himself, noting that everything showed up just fine. And also noted the brief mana pulse heading off towards Trumbetton from each usage of the orb.

Well, that bridge would be crossed when it decided to come knocking.

“O-Orodan! We can’t just break down the Sergeant’s office door!”

“Why not? Just fight him if he gets angry, what’s the worst he can do?” Orodan calmly asked, removing the display of his own titles and skills and handing Edrosic the orb. “Go ahead. Tell me if anything’s changed. I didn’t get the chance to do this with the old man.”

Edrosic did as asked, channeling a bit of mana into the object and getting a reading back which Orodan could also see.

Name: Parthus Edrosic

Title 1: Drawing Apprentice

Skills:

Drawing 38 (Apprentice)

Weaving 25 (Initiate)

Woodworking 24 (Initiate)

Singing 23 (Initiate)

Shield Mastery 14 (Initiate)

Sword Mastery 13 (Initiate) 𝙧𝙚𝙚𝔀𝒆𝓫𝓷𝙤𝓿𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝙤𝓶

Club Mastery 11 (Initiate)

Physical Fitness 11 (Initiate)

Pathfinding 9 (Initiate)

Sprinting 6 (Initiate)

Combat Mastery 6 (Initiate)

Unarmed Combat Mastery 5 (Initiate)

“The Pathfinding, I think that’s from my other memories. I used to patrol the woods of the county looking for wolves and slimes to fight,” Edrosic explained. “The Combat Mastery too… I gained two levels which I didn’t have before. Though I don’t think my other self had the weapon skills I have.”

“Gladdens me to see the orb retains skill level gains,” Orodan said. The standard System everyone else used involved increasing knowledge being rewarded by a greater connection to the System’s repository of overall knowledge. It only made sense that linking up with one’s alternate self memories would cause skill levels to sync up as well. “Drawing’s an interesting skill to have.”

“H-hey now, that’s a personal-”

“I was not judging, Parthus. I focus on Cleaning myself, remember?” Orodan reassured.

“That and your maniacal love for fighting…” the man muttered. “Records aren’t known to anyone besides the Sergeant and Trumbetton, but be honest… how pitiful are my skills look compared to yours? You’re a monster for being a Sword Apprentice by the age of seventeen.”

“And despite that, I had not a single level in any craft. Drawing, Weaving and Woodworking, I had no such skills besides those meant for manual labor,” he replied. “Though I’ll say, I wasn’t expecting you to be a bard.”

“I-I’m not a bard! I just sing… sometimes…”

Further conversation was interrupted as a pair of boots stomped up towards the office, their owner, red beyond measure.

“What the ever-loving-”

“Sergeant. Parthus here intends on giving you a beating today,” Orodan calmly interrupted.

“What?!” Woodgard barked, furious.

“W-what?!” Edrosic exclaimed, aghast. And before his student could protest the excellent training, Orodan simply shoved him towards the man. “W-wait! Wait!”

In time, Parthus Edrosic would regret taking up Orodan on his offer of training.

#

[New Skill → Walking 2]

He felt the connection form between his mind and the central rune of knowledge, that coiled ouroboros, in his soul. And his steps became, surer, easier.

“You still walk like a damn earthquake in the flesh, but unless I’m seeing things… your steps have gotten lighter,” Old Man Hannegan said. How he walked like an earthquake without causing the ground to tremor, Orodan didn’t know. But he chalked it up to the strange and burgeoning concept of violence he was beginning to form around Combat Mastery.

“Took me long enough. This has been… nice,” Orodan said, tucking away the book on Masonry as they neared Trumbetton. He had yet to acquire Masonry or Stonecutting from building the warehouse this loop, but eventually he intended to acquire them. And what better way to multitask than by reading about the subject’s theoretical foundations while walking? “I don’t take the time to walk from place to place all that often.”

“Might do you some good to slow down sometimes,” the old man muttered.

“Slow down? Him? He practically threw me to the wolves earlier! Quite literally might I add!” Edrosic protested, still bruised from the beating Woodgard had given him until Orodan intervened and gave the sergeant a beating of his own. “Who throws someone at things they want killed?!”

“Someone with a vested interest in seeing you get stronger. You cannot hesitate in seeking out opportunities for conflict and growth if you intend to gain strength.”

Orodan felt Parthus was being dramatic. He had only thrown the man towards the pack of Initiate-level wolves—which was a manageable fight—and not towards the Apprentice-level forest troll hiding under a ridge off the beaten path. Now that had been a good fight for his student, forced to fight an uphill battle against a more powerful foe.

Naturally, after suffering a beating at the hands of Sergeant Woodgard, Edrosic had needed a morale boost. And while the man had gone home to see his parents, Orodan had picked up Old Man Hannegan and together the trio met up once more for foot travel to Trumbetton. With the warehouse built, the old foreman’s schedule was open for the next week, and rather than take a job he decided teaching and advising Orodan was a better use of his time.

Something Orodan was quite grateful for.

Technically, Edrosic and himself were in dereliction of duty after beating up Woodgard and deserting. But in the spirit of the uniform he always wore, Orodan insisted that the wilds of the county remain clear of dangerous predators and monsters. Which involved forcing Parthus to attack each and every monster within five miles of the road as they traveled.

“Having me fight an Apprentice-level troll was just madness!” Edrosic complained.

“No, that was just good training. You wounded it decently before I had to step in. You won’t always have the luxury of fighting enemies on the same level of strength as you. Your other self fought wolves and slimes one-on-one, but those are weaker than you. Insufficient for pushing your bounds,” Orodan explained. Compared to him, who’d grown up fighting House Argon guards and getting beaten to a pulp even before the time loops, Edrosic lacked the familiarity with true desperation and uphill fights for his life. Something Orodan was working on shoring up in his student. “Anyhow, there’s an Apprentice-level wolf behind that grove of trees. Would you like to charge it or would you prefer I aid your travels?”

Which essentially meant Orodan throwing him again. Perhaps the man would acquire Impact Resistance if he did it enough times? Something to ponder.

“I’m going, I’m going!”

The man still retained the lazy and carefree attitude of his actual self, which was natural since Fenton’s orb didn’t allow for personality takeovers. But that lackadaisical demeanor was now tempered by memories of a life where he’d suffered great loss. In other words, Edrosic’s work ethic had improved.

“Even your style of teaching is brutal…” the old man tsked beside him. “Isn’t it a bit excessive to send him out for that when Trumbetton is right there?”

“Every fight avoided is a potential skill level unearned. You don’t think I got to where I am by cowering away from work and battle did you?” Orodan replied and the old foreman sighed but accepted the logic with a grunt. “Say, want to teach me to use that mana bolt of yours?”

“Any wandering mage could give you a better display of it and you chose me? I suppose I can display my lack of magical talent for you,” the old man said and Orodan paid close attention as mana began flowing out Old Man Hannegan’s soul and towards the body’s natural mana pathways.

Orodan was, on a cellular level, still human. But his body’s composition was anything but. He had no real organs anymore thanks to Absolute Body Composition. Each of his cells was capable of sight, hearing, taste and touch. In and of itself, they could function without anything else besides the power of his soul.

Which meant that he wasn’t the same as a normal human like Gregory Hannegan, who had to circulate mana through the pathways in his body before directing it towards a spell. Everyone had mana, and all souls were capable of producing it. But unlike most, Orodan didn’t need to channel it through pathways, and he could simply generate it from the cells of his fingertips rather than need to generate at the soul and then flow the energy outwards.

And as the Mana Bolt formed in the palm of Old Man Hannegan’s hand, ready to zoom outwards at a thought, so too did energy materialize upon Orodan’s own palm.

[Mana Manipulation 68 → Mana Manipulation 69]

[New Skill → Mana Bolt 4]

“Y-you! On the first try…!”

While Orodan would have liked to revel in the knowledge that he was some prodigy, the truth couldn’t be more to the contrary.

The bolt in his hand was steady enough, but the stability of it and his immediate success was due to the fact that his Mana Manipulation was near the Elite-level. And he frequently used mana when Enchanting anyhow. If anything, although this was his very first spell which used nothing but raw mana, the results were almost disappointing.

Still, at least he didn’t have to struggle with attuning to his mana pool and going through multiple mental exercises to attempt connecting with it like most beginner mages did. Orodan’s first true magic had been Draconic Fireball, a long time ago, and he’d brute forced some of the drudgery by halfway absorbing dragon blood to acquire insights before forcibly reverting through willpower in order to preserve his humanity. If he’d had to learn magic in his early loops the standard way… who knew how long it would have taken? Especially with what he suspected was Agathor’s Blessing stifling his development of magic at the time.

With a thought, he decided to empower the bolt as much as he could, and as expected… it began to crackle with instability as the bolt grew larger and more radiant; fed by his endless energy.

[Mana Bolt 4 → Mana Bolt 7]

The bolt of raw mana flew outwards and vaporized the wolf which had Edrosic on shaky legs. The man had fought a good fight but would have lost if not for the intervention. But progress was progress, and it was apparent that Edrosic had gained a level in Combat Mastery from the encounter.

“Disappointing… I’ll have to train under Destartes some more,” Orodan chided himself. “This is the first pure mana based offensive spell I’ve used.”

“And yet you got the hang of it in a single cast on the first try… monstrous.”

Orodan didn’t agree with that descriptor, not with the existing skills he had when it came to magic.

Edrosic was also limping over, clearly bruised and quite possibly wounded but with a look of satisfaction in his eyes.

“Orodan…! I nearly died!”

“Good.”

“Good?! What manner of training is this?!”

“The sort that gets you more levels in Combat Mastery in a few hours than you’ve gained all your life,” Orodan calmly replied. And that seemed to shut the man up as he noticed his skill level gains. “The numbers speak for themselves, don’t they? Feel like complaining some more?”

“I… er…” he stammered and then crossed his arms. “Well I’ll still complain of course! Would I be the Parthus Edrosic you know if I didn’t? Now… could I get some healing?”

“Healing? Your injuries aren’t even bad. Just a sprain and some bruises. Healing you would ruin your development. Focus on gritting your teeth and working to develop a passive recovery or regeneration skill,” Orodan instructed.

The man did not look happy about that set of instructions, but swallowed his complaints and simply kept walking, though with a bit of a limp.

Whiny as Edrosic seemed, when it came to it, it seemed as though the militia man could shut up and put the work in. Something Orodan could respect.

The group entered Trumbetton, making way for the commercial district. As usual, despite the county not being as prosperous as some others, the largest town was doing well for itself and trade was booming. Edrosic too looked as though he’d been around these parts, which was more than could be said for Orodan before the time loops.

“Esgarius’s Oddities! Come have a look at the fascinating things which adventurers have found in their forays into infestation sites!” the man proclaimed. “Weapons, jewelry, materials, sourced directly from monsters, vermin and criminals! We have it all! Support your local adventurers! Buy now and help support their efforts to keep us safe!”

“Oh? That merchant’s affiliated with Esgarius. Rather slimy-seeming man, but my ma and pa say he always pays good money for whatever they sell,” Edrosic piped up, still limping but bearing with it.

“Oh? Is that Mister Hannegan? The boss is at the main shop as always. Anything I can get you here?” the merchant asked.

“No need Felric. Just accompanying my rockheaded protege here,” the old man spoke, ushering Orodan and Edrosic towards their destination.

“Why am I not surprised that you and Esgarius know one another. Can’t get as gray as you are without knowing half of Volarbury County,” Orodan muttered, much to the displeasure of the old foreman.

“Been working jobs and getting things done around these parts well before you were born, boy. Don’t let some time loop get to your head,” the old man shot back. And honestly? Orodan was inclined to agree. Even throughout the loops, he still didn’t know nearly as much about the small details of the county and its people like Old Man Hannegan did. “I’ve known that greedy coin-sniffer since he was a boy. Seems like a shark, and he really is, but he’ll never scam anyone and always pays a fair price.”

Since Esgarius was a boy? Just how old was the old foreman then?

“I agree. I’ve yet to see him break any agreements or not give a fair share,” Orodan said and then barged through the front doors of the main shop.

“Oy! Watch the door! I’ve had to get it replaced twice this month already!” Esgarius barked and then his face changed. “Why if it isn’t old Hannegan! Come by to pay me a visit have you? Want something nice for your-”

“No. She’s doing just fine and will not require anything else,” the old man firmly interrupted. “My protege here has something to show you.”

“Your protege?” the greedy merchant asked and then looked at Orodan. Immediately, Esgarius sized him up. Not in a threatened manner, but with the standard awareness one might have when in an enclosed room with a dragon. “Hells you geezer… since when you do you take on adventuring types? He’s got a dangerous look about him too. Well my good sir… you have something for me?”

Esgarius caught the dimensional ring he threw.

“A dimensional ring. I can make as many as you want provided you have jewelry,” Orodan explained. “I want a forty percent cut.”

“Deal. You work with me and only with me,” Esgarius almost immediately said before Orodan had even finished his last word. The man might have been greedy but let it not be said that he wasn’t competent or didn’t know when to recognize something valuable. “When can you start? How many can you deliver per week?”

“I’ll be exclusive to you for this product alone. I fully intend to work with House Stenguard and potentially other groups depending on what my aims are,” Orodan said, taking some of the wind out of the man’s sails. Yet despite this he still seemed willing to deal. “I can start now and can deliver as many as you have items to enchant. Dozens, hundreds, thousands, it matters not to me. Energy is not a concern, merely time.”

Not when he had endless energy, something which utterly bottlenecked most crafters and enchanters of high-end gear. It was either train themselves and their mana pools at the cost of a great deal of time and expense, or acquire mana crystals, enchanted workshops and other magical aids which not only had an upfront cost but also a sizeable upkeep cost.

The merchant’s eyes were practically glowing with coin-lust as Old Man Hannegan sighed at the sight.

“You’re getting him far too excited Orodan… did I tell you that he ran a gambling ring as a nine-year old runt? Give him this much potential profit and he might upend the Republic itself.” And though it sounded like the old man was joking, Orodan felt that Esgarius was competent enough to potentially do even that.

“Deal! I agree to all your terms!”

“Well, there’s one more,” Orodan spoke and then nudged the limping Edrosic forward. “This is my student, Parthus Edrosic. I need him entered into an academy. There will be other students as well. Hence the forty percent split.”

“Why I’ll get him into Bluefire itself! On my name as Esgarius I’ll see it done!”

““B-bluefire?” Edrosic stuttered. “Me?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. While I appreciate the offer Esgarius, there’s no need to bribe half-a-dozen officials to get him in there without testing. As Parthus is now, he’ll fail the entrance examination miserably and be laughed out the door,” Orodan explained. “You aren’t ready for that yet Edrosic. In time, mayhap. Now? No. Unless you want to enroll down the crafters’ track path?”

Indeed, Bluefire required either a solid resume and references from people of power, or the passing of a standardized test. Orodan had gotten in after Burgher Ignatius Firesword had recognized his ability. Hells, even Orodan before the loops could have passed the entrance exam provided he had the coin for administrative fees, and following that, tuition fees.

And although Orodan wasn’t the sort to gloat, it was simple fact that he was a vicious fighter with excellent combat instincts who was rather hardened by the age of seventeen. He had lacked perspective in the past, but knowing all he did now, he knew that the pre-loop him could have qualified for Bluefire, even if barely. Even without the advantages and upbringing that many of his same-age peers had, Orodan had been naturally talented enough that catching up was certain.

All this was to say that while Orodan before the loops could have met the qualifications for Bluefire, Edrosic could not. Not yet. Bluefire’s entrance examination required the applicant to display at least near-Apprentice combat ability, which was beyond Edrosic’s reach at the moment. And given the look the man gave at the suggestion of crafting, that avenue of action was unpalatable.

Perhaps there was a reason Edrosic joined the militia and wasn’t helping his mother or father with their crafts.

“Right, I actually agree. I’m not keen on getting bullied and beaten about by all the blue-blooded bastards at Bluefire.”

“For now, Parthus. For now,” Orodan reassured. “Whichever academy you attend, you shall earn entrance through your own merit. That sounds reasonable, yes?”

Edrosic nodded in agreement.

“Well the Oxhead Martial Academy of Volarbury County has just started their academic year. I could certainly get your disciple admitted there. Won’t even need any bribes!” Esgarius confirmed. “Hells, this county’s academies are so starved for quality students that they’ll take anyone who can pay the fee and pass the tests.”

Which, given Edrosic’s basic militia training, should be doable.

“Are… are you really sending me off to school Orodan?” Edrosic asked, bewildered. “Why?”

“Why not? Do I look as though giving lectures on each and every topic encompassing the breadth of a necessary education is my specialty?” Orodan asked. “I might have the Teaching skill, but I’m not qualified to give you sermons on history, economics and politics. Nor do I care to.”

“So you’re just going to drop me off at school and forget about me?”

Orodan rapped him atop the head with the flat of his blade.

“And let you slack off? We’ll be going on plenty of trips to the depths, be ready, pack supplies and keep your gear in good order,” Orodan instructed.

“The depths?! Do I look like I have a death wish Orodan? Why in the hells would we need to go to the depths?!”

“I have another student to recruit down there. One in Scarmorrow too, but not much for you to fight around there,” he calmly explained. “And it will be good training. For you and I both.”

“…I’ve made a terrible mistake in agreeing to come with you, haven’t I?”

“You haven’t even seen the start of it.”

#

“I must strongly object to this sir! I cannot have an unlicensed healer simply come in and treat my patients!”

“Given that I have cured a terminally ill woman and helped two patients you didn’t even know were cursed, I’ll have to argue that my unlicensed healing has some merit,” Orodan retorted. “I didn’t even tie you to a chair this time…”

Indeed, healer Casterton of Scarmorrow was standing on his own two feet looking quite nervous and disapproving. Which was a step up from being tied to a chair at least.

“This time?” the man muttered.

“I’m in a time loop, but never mind that. You,” Orodan said, looking at the little girl sitting anxiously upon one of the patient beds. “Your leg is healed now, I’d advise against sneaking into areas infested by monsters without adequate preparation.”

Aliya paled, looking as though someone had caught her stealing pastries from the bakery. And the healer turned to her sharply, a rebuke upon his lips.

“Aliya! Is that where you got your wound from?! Is that why you come by so often?!” the healer scolded, shocked. He then looked to Orodan. “How can you be so certain of this, Mister…?”

“Wainwright. Orodan Wainwright,” he introduced. “And sword wounds are quite distinct. Given that I’ve dealt out enough of them myself, it would be more concerning if I hadn’t noticed.”

“But for me to have not realized…” the man muttered.

“This is a healing house for the poor and civilians. Given that adventurers, militia and soldiers will seek healing at the temple or the barracks from their own healers, it’s understandable that you might not see and recognize combat injuries,” Orodan defended. “Being unable to recognize something not under your purview isn’t a failure on your part.”

“You are… fairer to me than I am with myself, Mister Wainwright. But the matter of this child’s unsafe extracurricular activities still remains. I must inform her parents at once!”

“You can’t! I’ll never be let out of their sight again! I-”

“Running into dungeons by yourself and challenging raised undead will simply end with you as dead as your brother. While possibly joining that necromancers’ horde.”

“W-what?! Brother? How-”

“I’ve already told him I’m in a time loop did I not? Come with me, we shall speak to your parents,” Orodan said. While he didn’t understand it, having grown up an orphan, he recognized the fact that children required the permission of their mother and father to do such things. “You’ll be enrolled in an academy and set to get a proper education. While I respect your willingness to venture into monster infestations and try your hand at combat, it’s sub-optimal to do so without the underlying theoretical foundations and concepts of combat and monster hunting taught to you.”

“W-wait! Wait! You can’t tell my parents! They’ll never let me go out by myself again…” Aliya muttered, fright and anxiety evident. “And I’m too young for an academy, I’m still in early school. My parents couldn’t afford the fees either, we’re too poor…”

Early school, which was where children learned their letters, engaged in play meant to hone skills and were closely monitored for signs of burgeoning talent. Frankly, he had little doubt that Aliya was already being watched at early school if not elsewhere for her talents, even if she tried hiding them. Orodan had never experienced such a thing himself, but the orphanage’s matrons did do a well enough approximation of it.

“Fees? I’ll have an associate of mine handle the arrangements, you need not worry about it,” Orodan spoke. “Now come, off we go to see your parents.”

Aliya seemed quite unwilling, and Casterton looked as though the man had plenty of questions now that his brain had caught up with the fact that Orodan claimed to be in a time loop just now.

Orodan’s solution was a simple one. Carry Aliya under his arm like an unruly cat while bidding Casterton goodbye.

If the man thought to protest the matter, he was rendered far too speechless by the Teleportation which followed.

And as space rippled and Orodan appeared in the town square of Scarmorrow, Aliya was rather frightened and many of the passersby were startled by his sudden appearance.

“Alright, now lead me to your house so your parents and I can have a word,” Orodan said.

Aliya, far too unsettled over being hauled along by spatial magic—and likely just having seen spatial magic for the first time in her life—quietly complied. She looked more than a little terrified at the prospect of the upcoming conversation too.

Scarmorrow was a better off town than Ogdenborough, and it showed in how much cleaner the roads were, and that the wells were actually magical and not manual like the one outside his hovel. Aliya’s home was a street down from the nearest well, which Orodan thought was a little inconvenient if he’d been living around these parts.

Yes, his hovel was dilapidated, but at least the well was right outside!

“Back so soon from the temple? Did they let you out early today?” a woman, hanging clothes out to dry on the front yard of a modest but nice home spoke. She then narrowed her eyes at Orodan, taking in his uniform. “Greetings… private? Can I help you? Has… has my daughter done anything to get into trouble with the militia?”

“I’m not here on militia business, and no, your daughter has certainly caused no trouble with me. But that might not be the case with the local monsters in the nearby infestation site,” Orodan revealed. “And I doubt the Republic’s Department of Monster Management will be too pleased

“Monsters in an… infestation site?”

“Mother I can explain…”

But from the look on her face, Orodan didn’t think the explanation was one that would please her mother. Or the man who now stepped out of the house, stone dust on his hands.

And so Orodan explained, and Aliya did too. Though her words often made the situation worse rather than better.

“So this entire time you’ve been skipping out on remedial lessons at the temple in order to go delving into ruins and fight monsters?” her mother asked, the woman’s tone sharp as a dagger.

“I can handle it! I killed a bunch of the slimes and even some wolves already!” Aliya argued back.

Her father though, looked calmer.

“And how many times did you get hurt?” he asked.

“…not too many.”

“Aliya…” he warned, voice low.

“Only a dozen times… nothing bad! Minor stuff!” she defended desperately.

“This is… this is outrageous! It’s exactly how we lost Aldin! I won’t lose another one of my babies!” the woman angrily declared, eyes brimming with tears as her husband put a hand upon her shoulder.

If anything, he had a level of respect for Vespidia and the Novarrian Intelligence Service who’d managed to convince these folk the first time around many loops ago. Orodan didn’t have a way with words like they did.

“An understandable sentiment,” Orodan replied. “Which is why it’d be better if she receives a formal education and training at an Academy.”

“…what? Does it look like we can afford that? Even with tuition covered, our late son had to pay a decent amount out of his own pocket. And she’s far too-”

“Young? That won’t be an issue. Neither will the matter of her having to cover costs,” Orodan said, pulling out a letter from his shrewd merchant associate and handing it to them. “Inside, the details of this arrangement should be self-explanatory. And if you’re still concerned… my associate has well-paying employment for the both of you.”

The mother read the letter and frowned, but the father’s brows arched upwards.

“Esgarius? He’s willing to do such a thing?” Aliya’s father asked. “I cannot accept the offer of employment for I run my own stonecutting business, struggling as it is. But darling, for you this could really help.”

“Absolutely not! No more academies, no more adventures! I’ve lost one, and I will not lose another. And I do not trust you, whoever you are. What am I to make of some strange man accompanying my child and then asking if he could mentor her?” the woman sharply asked.

“A man who sees much of himself in her. She has potential. Do you know that her Combat Mastery is level three already? That’s quite advanced for an eight year old child,” Orodan explained, not mentioning the fact that his had been more than double that at her age. “Most grown men and women will not even have the skill; hells some militia members despite the training don’t have it either. If she hasn’t been noticed in early school by now, then she’ll certainly be scouted out when somebody sees. The Burgher is likely to take interest in her talent as well.”

“That… can be discussed when the time comes. She is far too young, not prepared for that sort of violent life,” the woman sharply argued.

“She’s certainly more prepared for violence than either of you are. You two are civilians, yes? Tell me, do either of you have the Combat Mastery skill?” Orodan asked, and neither of them nodded. “Then, in all likelihood, she could give the both of you a good walloping without breaking much of a sweat if she so wanted. How can you claim your daughter unready for such a life when she could best many grown men and women already?”

Orodan had grown up fighting and consequently lacked perspective. But his education at Bluefire had taught him that Combat Mastery was a harder skill to acquire and level than he realized. Most people were not so fond of violence as he was. Pain and conflict were things the average person shied away from, and even among soldier types it was difficult to truly cultivate the mindset of liking pain. Even as a child, Aliya’s level 3 Combat Mastery would allow her to best most untrained adults in a fight.

And that wasn’t even mentioning the near-Apprentice level Staff Mastery the girl possessed. She was a prodigy, plain and simple.

“Stranger, stop. You need not explain any further…” the man spoke, frowning but having made up his mind. “You must understand our position, having lost one child to the adventurer lifestyle already. The boy thought he would change our fortunes in life by going on a delve into the depths. He did not return. So if you intend to take our little girl into such dangerous places, naturally, we will be quite averse to this. Furthermore, we don’t even know who you are.”

“That’s answer enough is it not? We’re saying no and that’s-”

The man cut his wife off.

“No Alwyna, we are not refusing. We simply have some conditions,” the man spoke. “For starters, I must see with my own eyes the enrolment letters and her attending classes at Oxhead. And these journeys you intend to take her on… I must demand an artifact which allows me to communicate with my daughter at all times. You seem wealthy and powerful, this is the least I ask for.”

“Done. You shall have all of that,” Orodan immediately agreed.

If anything, her father was being rather permissive. Growing up, he’d seen some of the normal children have some very overprotective parents. Like mother bears guarding their cubs. By those standards, Aliya’s father was downright carefree.

“Hold on! I never agreed! What are you doing Gythmar? Do you want her to end up like Aldin?!”

“Or alternately… she simply runs off and continues doing what she likes, or gets drafted into the Burgher’s personal retinue and molded into that life regardless,” her father, Gythmar spoke. “And while I do not think our little girl would raise her hand to us… we could not stop her if she truly wished it. One word to the Burgher, one moment of recognition of her abilities, and she’d be discovered and moved along that path whether we like it or not. Look at the conversation we are having now. Someone has already seen what our daughter is capable of.”

“I’m not a little girl anymore mother!” Aliya herself piped up. “I’ve slain wolves and slimes aplenty! I’ve fought many monsters!”

Orodan ruffled the kid’s hair.

“And you’re still yet to reach my belt,” Orodan jested, putting out a hand to compare her diminutive height against his own.

“That’s not fair! You’re a giant! I don’t know anyone bigger than you! What do you even eat?!” she angrily squeaked out. “And stop dodging my point. I’m not a child anymore no matter how big you are compared to me.”

“Perhaps, but go easy on your father and mother, will you? They mean well and care for you, even if it might be stifling,” Orodan said and then turned to her parents. “I will not lie to you. Though Aliya is a child, she is not a normal one. Even grown adults would struggle to enter an infestation site and kill a single monster, let alone many. I understand the desire to protect her… but is it not better that she learn under my supervision rather than go off by herself and get killed? Sitting idle during these years will only harm her when she’s already spilled monster blood.”

“That is…!”

“A fair and reasonable argument,” her father finished. “Dear, we cannot hold her back forever. If she’s so committed to fighting that she’s willing to sneak off to dungeons, then we would only be doing more harm than good.”

“That’s right, I just want to improve our lot in life like brother did!” Aliya declared.

Which was the wrong thing to say as that began a whole new series of arguments that Orodan wanted no part of. Thankfully, Aliya’s father seemed more than accepting of the arrangement, given how he pocketed the letter and gave Orodan a nod.

He wasn’t looking forward to this conversation every time. Perhaps he could outsource the talking to someone else?

Certainly, there was an old Grandmaster he knew that could help. Just so happened that Orodan needed to return the man’s memories to him too.

#

Orodan shouldn’t have been surprised that Adeltaj took to the orb with almost no downtime or discomfort. It made sense, after all the old Simarji was over seven-hundred years old and the memories which he willingly accepted from Fenton’s device were but a tiny fraction of that total lifespan.

Furthermore, the main strain in using the orb came from the fact that it forced one to have a conversation with the orb’s set of memories in a very compressed period of time. Cramming a thirty-minute conversation into the span of a singular second was bound to be uncomfortable for those unused to it. But for Grandmasters like Adeltaj Simarji who regularly fought at speeds exceeding that of sound, it was nothing of concern.

What was of concern though, was how well the two old fogeys standing before one another were getting along. Why, Orodan hadn’t even introduced them yet!

“Old Man Hannegan, meet Old Man Adeltaj.”

“Oh? So this is the reliable and steadfast Gregory Hannegan you spoke of? A pleasure to make your acquaintance. I shudder to think of how barbaric this brute would be if he did not have you guiding him.”

“My honor, to meet the fabled Grandmaster Adeltaj Simarji. I’ve got to profess my gratitude for you showing this bullheaded fool some direction when he had none.”

“You almost might not have, given that this idiot erased me from existence,” Adeltaj said, a happy smile on his face.

“Yes, he is quite the rockhead is he not?” Old Man Hannegan agreed with a serene smile of his own. “The worst possible person to put into a time loop.”

“Or the best,” Orodan defended.

Which caused two sets of doubtful eyebrows to be arched in his direction as though neither of them believed a word of what he’d said.

Maybe this meeting was a bad idea…

“A bad idea? I’m quite enjoying their accurate summation of you, please, do tell them to go on further. Shall I perhaps add some observations of my own?” Zaessythra jabbed.

“I didn’t have you two meet so that I could be relentlessly bullied by two old codgers instead of one,” Orodan retorted. “And I’ll admit, I messed up. I got you erased.”

“That’s an understatement, but I’ll accept your apology,” Adeltaj spoke. “Still, one bright side to this is that you’ve now touched upon a third concept. This is… unfamiliar territory, far outside either of our areas of expertise.”

“I can see that. I didn’t come by in order to explain what concepts are or what to do regarding them,” Orodan said.

“Right, but you did come here for something. While neither of us lowly old men can help with the high and mighty things the mighty time looper deals with,” the old Simarji sarcastically said, prompting an eye roll from Orodan. “What we can help with is shoring up your foundations for when the time comes to work with that concept directly.”

“Work with it directly?” Orodan asked. “Am I not already doing that?”

“Think Orodan, from everything you told me and what I recall of these memories of the last loop, you have two Celestial-rarity skills, correct?” old Adeltaj asked and he nodded. “And both of these skills, in their name, bear something of the concept you touch upon. Infinity and Cleanliness.”

“And I have yet to make one for violence…”

“Correct, now you see the point. While we cannot help with such absurd notions of concepts directly… what I do know is that you told me in-detail how you created the Domain of Perfect Cleaning and how you created the Incipience of Infinity,” Adeltaj said. “It was through the combination of many skills. Now that, that I might be able to help you with. Your foundations require diversification. We must create the base upon which you can reach up and seize this new concept.”

“Which will involve more training… excellent!”

Adeltaj could only look at Old Man Hannegan.

“Don’t look at me, he’s always been this sort of nut.”

“Hmm, I suppose him being a training maniac is only to our advantage. Certainly, I have a number of regimens for you to follow.”

“I’ve got a number of tricks and trades for him to learn too,” Old Man Hannegan said, hefting his pack.

And Orodan? He had two more disciples to collect.

Perhaps it was time for a trip to the depths alongside all his arrayed students and teachers.

#

One couldn’t be a good teacher without also being a student in turn.

This lesson was remained firm in Orodan’s mind as he and his group moved down the tunnels of the depths at Ranmere’s Folly.

Ranmere’s Folly—named so for a reckless Novarrian expedition leader who’d gotten all two-hundred of his troops killed by venturing too deep here—was an entrance to the depths that Orodan had been to before. Not all entrances to the depths led all the way down to the deep and then the abyssal levels. But this one did, and the way was relatively straightforward too, which could prove a bit deceptive as the travel time needed to reach the civilized, wild and then deep depths was deceptively short. Hence, Ranmere’s Folly, as the doomed expedition had descended too quickly without even realizing.

Still, convenience of access wasn’t the only reason why Orodan had come, and the depths weren’t his direct target. The tribe within them was.

That, and training.

[Mining 32 → Mining 33]

“You’re practically shattering the vein Orodan, focus! More… well… not delicate, but better mindfulness of the goal!” Old Man Hannegan instructed.

Indeed, having strength capable of shattering worlds was of no use when mining certain veins of ore required a careful touch. And while Orodan’s Apprentice-level Mining skill meant he shouldn’t be this unrefined… attempting to weave the feeling of violence into each swing of the pickaxe while maintaining quality was a different matter.

Ideally, he’d be collecting chunks and lumps of ore. Unfortunately for him, each swing of the pickaxe promised doom and brutality, and so he was left shoveling ore dust and smaller fragments into his dimensional ring. Which, technically he could smelt just fine, he had the Smelting skill and a passable understanding of its theoretical foundations after all. But it was the principle of the matter.

“You are coloring the skill with your violence, which is fine, but you must not forget the aim of your actions. What use is violence if it is mindless and unaimed? Your pickaxe would be better off without it, and you overall, weaker,” Adeltaj wisely spoke.

Orodan took the words seriously. In fact, this concept of violence he was touching upon was powerful, exceedingly so. He had somehow given both Cleanliness and Infinity a bit of a beating in an odd conceptual battle. Could he extend this to more things? Could he wrestle time? Space?

He recalled Agathor doing such a thing when he’d met the wicked war God’s Avatar for the first time. And Orodan had to begrudgingly admit that the enemy who he’d long since surpassed was somewhat talented. He had to be in order to wrestle time into freezing. If Agathor wasn’t such a coward… would even Transcendence have been possible for the prince of old Hasmathor?

A question for another time.

As the group walked down the tunnels, Orodan targeted every ore vein, gem cluster and resource he could find. Furthermore, he was under strict orders not to activate the synergistic ability of Combat Mastery which would allow multiple skills to be brought together.

It was in fact Old Man Hannegan who strictly insisted on mastering the very basics and doing things piece-by-piece first. The combined product would only be better once the individual parts were honed to perfection. A sentiment Orodan wholeheartedly agreed with.

Not only did Mining improve, but so did Pathfinding and Gathering. And besides the insistence that he target every material resource he could see…

…there was also the matter of his students.

In particular, the newest one upon his shoulder.

“As you can see, I can afford to be a bit rougher with ore veins. Even if the ore’s dust or fragmented, it can still be smelted into useable metal,” Orodan said, brutally swinging at a Dothril vein and managing to carve out solid, usable chunks this time instead of reducing it to rubble. Directing the terrifying violence within him in an efficient manner was more of a challenge than he thought. “Can’t do the same with gem veins or the crystals break and are useless.”

Wainroach simply wiggled her forelegs in agreement, paying rapt attention.

Her transference of memories had been the most worrisome and stress-inducing of the lot. If Edrosic had screamed, Wainroach had practically flipped over and writhed in agony as though she was seizing up. Orodan had to forcibly connect and grant her his Blessing for her relatively juvenile insect mind to draw power from him and survive.

Still, Fenton’s brilliance had accounted for even this. And the orb had a failsafe filter which Orodan hadn’t known of until it activated and slowed the flow of memories to a safer pace for her. All in all, she’d recovered perfectly well and was happy to be tagging along now.

Though the matter of breaking into Bluefire and kidnapping what was technically one of their laboratory roaches was something best swept under the rug.

“Orodan… do we really have to go any further? These are the depths, the depths! This is the scary place mentioned in all the fables and children’s stories my mother used to tell me!” Edrosic complained, looking quite uneasy and anxious. The man’s sword and shield were drawn and held at the ready, as though expecting an attack at any point.

“While it’s good to be ready, you’re looking too stiff Parthus. We’re in the wild depths, not even the deep,” Orodan replied, picking a particularly pungent mushroom good for brewing potions of strength. Not that such a concoction would have any effect on his body. But it was good for Alchemy training. “This is a good spot for you to get some practice in.”

“Y-you hurled me towards that blood-sucking bat earlier!”

“And? You beat it, didn’t you? Tell me Edrosic, how’d your first day at Oxhead go yesterday?” Orodan asked.

“Erm… well… I may have proven myself to be within the top three in class…” the man muttered.

If anything, Orodan fully intended on training Edrosic up to be the strongest warrior at Oxhead. Bluefire aside, the county martial academy wasn’t anything too special. Even other counties were known to have warrior academies which were superior. So for Edrosic to only be among the top three? Unacceptable in the long run.

“And how did you achieve that?” Orodan asked.

“By getting used to fighting monsters far stronger than me…” Edrosic muttered in reply, saying no more.

That was the crux of how he’d been forcing Edrosic to get stronger. For all intents and purposes, Parthus was a man of average martial talent. But through pressing battles against superior foes, even the average could be elevated into something extraordinary.

And for Aliya who he’d been throwing towards rats and cockroaches all throughout the trip? Even better.

“I’m getting close to Apprentice-level Staff Mastery teacher!” she declared, excited as she furiously smashed her staff down upon a large beetle the size of Orodan’s foot.

Even in the wild depths, the density of world energy was a lot higher than it was on the surface. This naturally caused even the fodder insects here to become rather strong, and potentially dangerous. Aliya had a modest chunk taken out of her leg while fighting the last foot-sized beetle and wasn’t keen on repeating that experience.

Her introduction to Oxhead had gone a lot more awkwardly than Edrosic’s had, but that was to be expected when she was an eight year old at an institution where the first-year students were seventeen. Of course, her classes weren’t standard, and she had to attend early school, then have private tutoring at Oxhead. Afterwards, she would train with Orodan or go on ventures such as they were doing now.

Still, while a student or two had tried questioning her, from what he’d heard, it had been Edrosic who stood up and threatened them to scram. Who knew the normally carefree and conflict-avoidant man had it in him?

Hours passed as the group traversed the tunnels of the wild depths. Orodan gained two more levels in Mining and one in Gathering. Additionally, Old Man Hannegan insisted he read the material he had on Stonecutting while walking. And once he had a ring full of ores, gems, crystals and a plethora of alchemical ingredients not found on the surface, Orodan realized they were quite near the settlement of the depths moles. Which consequently meant being near his real destination, the Rising Spear clan, a tribe of goblins who lived under the protection of the moles.

“Been a long time since I’ve been to the depths…” Old Man Hannegan muttered.

“You’ve been to the depths? It’s as though every loop I learn something new about you,” Orodan replied, surprised. “What’s an old foreman doing in the depths?”

“Bah! I wasn’t always old. And expeditions often need support workers who know a thing or two about construction, logistics and manual labor.”

Any further information on that front was cut off as the ground began to tremble.

Long overdue in his opinion. Orodan wondered when the moles would be alarmed at the fact that he was heading directly towards their supposedly hidden settlement.

“T-the ground’s quaking! We’re doomed!”

“No Edrosic, a depths mole is simply making an appearance,” Orodan calmly replied. A Grandmaster from the feel of it. “Took them long enough.”

And predictably, a gigantic depths mole emerged from the ground ahead of them. It was cautious, and Orodan recognized it as one he had met before, long ago when he’d traversed the depths and met his student.

“Humans… you are far from your settlements and taking a path which is suspiciously direct. Might I know your intentions?” the mole asked. “I am Istilvaras the Ceaseless Burrower, Grandmaster of the Bladed Crystal clan. You tread upon our lands. We bid you peace, though hope you come with the same.”

“Indeed. I do come in peace. I simply wish to meet Zukelmux of the Rising Spear clan. And following that, my mentor here,” Orodan said, gesturing towards Adeltaj before continuing. “Intends to help them relocate to a safe place within the Republic.”

The Grandmaster mole went through a range of emotions before settling upon a singular one.

Anger.

Which was fine, truly. After all, Orodan had marked this one down for death long ago, after hearing that it was responsible for keeping Zukelmux and his tribe mired in a cycle of servitude and dependence upon it.

Orodan’s blade left its sheathe.

Once they were done here, it would be back to Volarbury County. His students needed training, he needed to get to seriously studying Almyra’s tome and the secrets behind replicating Action Increases and bringing Zaessythra back, and of course, he needed to focus on his own development.

Development which consisted of diversifying the basics.