Chương 46: The Meddling of Saints

A couple of loops soon passed. Alcyr had some time to calm himself. Looking back, he admitted he might have overreacted. The time loop was both his greatest asset and paradoxically his biggest liability. While it was powerful, that same power was also capable of drawing in covetous monsters beyond his current capacity to repel should he prove careless.

If a House Patriarch or a Grandmaster knight in the kingdom's capital heard rumours that a lowly peasant possessed the ability to turn back time endlessly — and that he could carry forth all the knowledge, skills, and level he gained in each loop — what would they do? There would be no end to those who would come after him. Alcyr would be hunted down for the rest of his days. To be clasped in chains and made a slave once more. It was why he reacted so poorly to Lenore's words.

Even that vague hinting that she might know the truth was enough to agitate him. But looking back, her words weren't entirely on the mark.

"Promise me you will tell me of your dream again after today." To most people, time travel was an impossibility. Mind-altering magic, however, was a more known quantity. Does she suspect I've been erasing people's memories? To cover up the source of my rapid growth? It would be the more reasonable theory. But the fact of it was that he was operating off guesswork. He simply did not know. Hypothetically, even if Lenore did suspect time travel, there wasn't any definitive evidence she could use to prove it.

If she tried to present her case, most people would simply laugh her off. But it would start rumours. People will start paying attention as I keep pulling off impossible feats. Once enough suspicion of the 'time-travel' tales accumulates, it will be a downhill battle before someone powerful actually believes in it enough to investigate. They risk little while potentially gaining much. And once one came after him, more would soon follow. Thus, in short…

Killing Lenore is likely the most surefire option to ensure complete secrecy. But was that truly the optimal way to approach his situation? After a moment, he sighed.

"That's a short-term solution, at best. It's not going to be just her in the future. If she suspects, then others will too in time." Some part of him wondered if he was just making excuses not to kill her. When he wondered why he would do that, he was left equally confused. Since when did he grow to care so much for a stranger? Except… She wasn't just a stranger anymore, was she? The mornings waking up beside her, walking with her through the snow to meet the oracle.

Training with her, talking with her, enjoying the simple pleasantness of her company… To end that nascent relationship with bloodshed, to repay her kindness with betrayal… It felt wrong. He paused that train of thought. Forced himself to confront the true crux of the issue. Past the rationalisations and denial, what were his true feelings? I do not wish to kill her. An emotional drive, rather than a rational one. How unsightly. He thought he was past such useless sentimentality, but it seemed he was wrong.

Still, Alcyr forced himself to be honest, difficult as it was. I enjoy her company. I do not believe she deserves to die just because I deem it necessary to preemptively prevent suspicion. If his mentor were here right now, she would call him a fool. And perhaps he was. Or perhaps, rather than futilely trying to hide his secret forever, he should start considering worst-case scenarios and possible contingencies to counter them. Staying anonymous was going to be a lot harder as time went on.

Realistically, even if he kept his mouth shut and never spoke of the time loop, he was still unavoidably leaking little hints with the end of each Well — feats like the Battle of the Red Rime or his abnormal skill progression. I have to be more careful with how I finish the final iteration of each set of time loops. I need to buy myself more time. Perhaps a day might come when the true nature of his ability would be revealed, regardless of his wishes and efforts to hide it.

But Alcyr would make damn sure he would be too powerful to be clasped in chains by then. And if that still did not stop people from trying to make him their slave… Then I'll just kill them all.

Moral debates on emotions and rationality aside, Alcyr's repeating days were still mired in frustration as he continued tackling his primary plight: Climbing his way out of the Well. Or more specifically, killing the damned frost wyrm. Even with his new Epic-rarity sword skill, he still could not slay it completely. But he was doing significantly better. On the two hundred and seventeenth loop, Alcyr managed to bring the frost wyrm to death's door six times — an absurd feat.

His power was such that even against a Grandmaster monster, he was able to lay the beast low six times before he succumbed to his wound. Yet, for all his valour and skill, it was not enough. In each instance where he nearly killed it, the wyrm simply shedded its skin, magically restored itself to complete health, and continued trying to crush him. He tried everything. Bombs, blades, poison, fire. He had harmed it from within and without.

Each time, the monster shrugged off the wounds he inflicted and simply carried on its wintry rampage. Once more, he was reminded that Grandmaster abilities were outrageously powerful. The shedding Mystery the wyrm possessed must be at least in the Grand potency tier. Alcyr could not conceive of any regeneration skill that could provide such powerful healing. On one loop, he consulted Lenore about the creature, who knew a surprising amount about the monster.

"You are talking about the Immortal Pale. Where did you hear of it?" Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

"Ural speaks of it sometimes," he lied.

"So it's famous?"

"I'm rather surprised you haven't heard of it before today. Then again, it's not really a tale the Irregulars would know." Lenore paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts.

"That serpent has been the bane of barbarian warchiefs and House patriarchs alike. Stories have it that the monster originated from a petrified egg found in one of the higher worlds. The egg was old — dating back all the way back to the First Warring Age, when there were only six Saints in the Godless Heaven — but it was only relatively recently that it hatched, less than a century ago." Alcyr frowned.

"How did it hatch?"

"No one knows. The barbarians might, but we suspect the serpent only revealed itself to them a few decades ago, after it became too strong for them to easily kill it. We know it can bring forth early winters and prefers eating uncorrupted flesh. That means it often ignores the blighted monsters of the north and instead moves southward whenever it wakes from hibernation. The number of rich pastures, villages, and farmland it has ruined in our frontier territories plagues the nobility to this day."

"I suppose the barbarians must be pleased by its presence then."

"Oh, no. Not at all. While a few do worship the giant snake, most of the tribes hate the Immortal Pale. The monster is known to target their own settlements every now and then as well. In their case, the loss of corps or livestock is a lot more serious, since they can't survive the winter without them. Discounting the sheer number of people it must have eaten, the famines caused by the Immortal Pale's ravenous hunger and unpredictable rampages must have seen the deaths of entire generations." Alcyr blinked.

"It's not allied to the Northmen? I thought it was one of their warbeasts controlled by the shamans, like the blightwolves or that infamous frost cyclops, the One-Eyed Baron."

"Of course not. It's a dragon. Well, half-dragon, maybe, but that's enough so that its pride could never be fully tamed. The relationship it has with the barbarian tribe is more akin to a tyrant and its subjects. It demands tribute in meat and gold from the surrounding tribes, and whoever pays the least gets its fury the next time it leaves its nest to feed." So the shamans don't control it? Then how did it end up attacking the Regulars' base?

"Its nest must be filled with wealth," he said.

"Has no one tried to kill it? For the riches, if not for hate of its rule?"

"The kingdom once sent knights after it, but no longer. The wyrm's a Grandmaster. More importantly, it can't die. No matter how much damage is done to it, it can simply shed its skin and be reborn whole once more. Most of the frontier towns make sure to have tribute ready in case it ever comes south again. Even the 4th Regulars have a standing 'flee-on-sight' policy where the Immortal Pale is concerned. It is a good thing it rarely bothers us.

Even after four years of this campaign, we have never been forced to engage it once." How lucky for me, then.

"There has to be a weakness," he said.

"No creature is truly immortal."

"Perhaps. But this one comes closer than most." Lenore hesitated.

"The truth is, our oracles divined the nature of its supernatural vitality years ago. It was why the King himself decided to give the order to leave the creature be, lest his knights keep killing themselves upon its fangs in an ill-fated attempt at glory." Even the King gave up on killing it? Alcyr would have thought the serpent's horde of gold would prompt him to act. If nothing else, the creature's draconic tyranny would make it a threat to any kingdom's sovereignty in time.

"Don't leave me in suspense. What is the source of its strength?"

"... That draconic serpent is a direct offspring of the Second Saint." That made Alcyr freeze.

"Please tell me this is a jest."

"No jest. The purity of its divine blood confirms it. It is unknown who the other parent is, but I suspect the Second Saint communed with the awakened corpse of a Sky Dragon to bring forth that monster into the world." No wonder that damn wyrm was so difficult to kill. It was the progeny of the Saint of Creation — the Path that held the domains of healing and life itself.

"Whatever the Saint's plans for it are — why she brought the egg to this world, why she would hatch it now in this era — is unknown to us. What we do know is that the creature possesses a Mystery that allows it to shed its skin and fully revive itself thirteen times a year. You can see why the kingdom has deemed it unfeasible to slay it, despite its relative youth." Thirteen. An ability that lets it revive itself thirteen times a year.

"How many times has it died this year?" he asked, his tone filled with exasperated dread.

"None that we know of. If it helps, I heard they are certain barbarian tribes that try to kill it once or twice each summer when it sleeps, as an act of punishment for criminals or an honour trial for ambitious war chiefs. They would bring back the moulted skin as proof of the kill, which is then used to make powerful armour and as a potent alchemical reagent. I would love to get my hands on some one day."

So, in the worst-case — and most likely — scenario, he had to kill the draconic serpent thirteen times to put it down for good.

"Is there really no other way?" She looked at him curiously.

"You seem oddly desperate. Dare I ask why you are so intent on knowing?" He said nothing. Seeing as he wasn't going to tell her, she sighed.

"Fine. As a gesture of trust, I will tell you this: there is one surefire way I know of to kill it, aside from simply exhausting the number of times it can shed. But it's practically impossible to pull off." He was willing to entertain any idea at this point.

"Try me."

"Hm. Stab its heart." He waited for more. When Lenore did not elaborate further, he sighed.

"That's it? Just stab the heart?"

"If you've ever seen the creature, you will understand it's a lot harder than it seems. The serpent is highly intelligent and knows how to protect its weakness. Its scales are extraordinarily hard, especially the segments closer to its heart. The flesh, too, is reinforced with a myriad of high-rarity defence skills and abilities. Barbarians and knights alike have tried to stab the creature's core to lay claim to untold power, glory, and fortune, but no one ever came close to succeeding.

Believe me when I say many powerful people have tried and died in the attempt over the last decade. The Immortal Pale's avarice for flesh and gold only seems to grow with each year." Well, at least he had a solution now. Time to stab a dragon's heart.

The days went by. Morning after morning. Death after death. Most afternoons now he either spent sparring with Lenore or improving his bomb-making under the guidance of the artisan guild. The former greatly sped up his skill progression, allowing him to see semi-frequent level-ups for skills even after they reached past level 45. He had also been working towards the final awakening requirements for his two Mysteries.

Blessed Blood was not going to be fulfilled anytime soon, and False Life's progress had stagnated as Alcyr usually did not waste time killing the lesser foes in recent loops. Seeing as he couldn't stock up on blood echoes if he only killed the cyclops, he made the decision to stop engaging the frost wyrm at all and decided to make it his objective to instead spill as much blood as he could by slaughtering the weaker enemies. Progress felt slow.

Obtaining ten thousand accumulative blood echoes must normally be the task of a lifetime, even for blood cultists. Still, Alcyr persisted. If nothing else, the constant bloodletting had refined not just his skill levels but also his innate affinity with combat as well. However, that was not the only avenue Alcyr took to try and augment his capabilities. Aside from the Mysteries, there was still one major source of growth he might be able to tap into: The aria for his newest skill. The Tempestuous Sword Dance.

Lenore had mentioned that simply knowing and chanting the correct words would be enough. Lafmere was a frontier town, but the minister had a relatively well-stocked library. He was able to gain access to it in one of the loops with Lenore's help. Unfortunately, it did not have the information he sought. In fact, nearly none of the minister's books had anything regarding the worlds beyond the Morwyn Kingdom, much less a mention of a realm where 'the rain fell without end'. Well, it was always a long shot anyway.

His best and safest option was to climb the Well and then secure an opportunity to access the kingdom academy's libraries. Alcyr was certain he would find what he needed there. However, that would take too long. He needed the skill's power now. And so, driven by urgency, he began considering a certain unsafe option he could try. I suppose I've been putting this off long enough already. On the two hundred and thirty-first loop, Alcyr invited Ural outside the city walls.

He brought the shock trooper to a secluded spot, far from prying eyes. The shock trooper was neither suspicious nor alarmed, simply choosing to follow Alcyr with a slight glint in his eye. Alcyr eventually stopped.

"Here is good enough."

"Good enough for what, friend?" Ural asked with a chuckle.

"If you need tips on wooing our lovely captain, surely you need not bring me out so far from her ear?" In response, Alcyr drew his sword. Ural, rather than being surprised or angry, simply tsked.

"Ah, so it's a different type of questioning, is it? A word of advice before you begin, friend: you may not like the answers you hear. Some secrets are best left alone."

"That's for me to decide, abomination of Rapture." Ural's grin widened.

"So you do know. Your backstory as a 'peasant orphan' is starting to wear thin, friend. But that's fine — mysterious is better than tragic." Alcyr did not waste more time with words. His silverite sword shining, he struck to kill.