The Orchard (1)
“Ugh…”
Time dragged on, feeling like an eternity. Dallon lost consciousness five times during the surgery.
Even his resilient mind, which had withstood battles that tore his flesh and shattered his body, couldn’t endure the agony of surgery without anesthesia.
“Now that it’s over, couldn’t you have given me some anesthetic?”
[You’re joking, right? Do you think herbs capable of numbing your body are easy to come by?]
There was no arguing with that. Dallon knew better than anyone that his body was far from ordinary.
The surgery, which he had to witness without anesthesia, was proof enough.
The moment they cut him open, his body began to heal, closing the incision almost immediately.
Flames and sparks erupted whenever external magic tried to interfere.
Dozens of magic circles were employed just to keep the surgery on track. It looked more like a magical engineering process than a transplant operation.
[Remember this: your physical body may be young, but your soul’s age far surpasses it. Even I’m curious about the life you’ve led.]
“I lived a normal life. Though, these days, it seems a bit different.”
It wasn’t a lie. Before he ended up in this world, Dallon was just an ordinary office worker.
[If that’s true, then perhaps your existence is a talent chosen by the Well of Reversal. If the prophecy is indeed correct.]
“Prophecy?”
[Forget it. I was rambling. Try standing up. Can you move?]
Bourbon, who had been washing his hands at the sink, stepped out from behind the bar and asked. Dallon did as he was told and slowly got to his feet.
“Remarkable.”
The result was astonishing.
The pain that had hammered his nervous system just hours ago had vanished as if it were a lie, and a newfound strength surged through his body.
Thump… Thump…
The most noticeable change was near his heart.
The byproducts obtained from the True Dragon Cheonglin and its minions were used to replace Dallon’s heart and circulatory system.
Having acquired the mystical dragon’s blood, the most crucial need was a vessel to contain it.
Intuitively, the heart and blood vessels were the vessels for blood, and Bourbon had prioritized them.
[Now that the contents and the vessel are in harmony, the power of the Red Spear won’t crush your existence. You don’t have to worry about dying just from using your strength.]
“That’s a relief. Thank you.”
[It was a fair trade. But remember, aside from your circulatory system, the rest of your body is still mortal. Handle it with care, or it will break easily. Though it will heal quickly.]
Bourbon added with a sly smile, as if the idea of repeatedly breaking and healing was amusing.
’…Is that supposed to be funny?’
Dallon scratched his head and stood up.
They say transcendents are all a bit off in the head, and it seemed this one was no exception.
“At least I won’t be strangling myself with my own hands.”
[Indeed.]
“That’s good enough for me.”
He didn’t expect to achieve everything at once.
To gain immense power and a body to match, it was only natural that he would need to put in a great deal of effort.
Most of the beings now called transcendents had spent at least a century building up their bodies and minds.
In comparison, Dallon hadn’t even been active for a full year.
‘It’s too ambitious to think I can stand shoulder to shoulder with such beings at this point.’
There’s no need to rush. He still had plenty of time.
And there were other ways to elevate his physical form besides using a dragon’s heart.
‘I’ll figure it out gradually.’
For now, he needed to focus on the tasks at hand.
As he donned his armor and checked his equipment, Bourbon spoke up.
[Where are you headed now?]
“I’m thinking of visiting Sienna. I was supposed to receive the rewards from the Golden Palace and the Tsar’s Special Forces through her.”
[Perfect timing. While you were unconscious, she sent a message.]
With a flutter, a large black feather drifted in front of Dallon.
As he instinctively reached out to catch it, the feather crumbled from the tip, transmitting a message directly into his mind.
[If you have time, could you come to Philopon’s Orchard? A friend of mine has a request for you. Even though it’s a friend, the payment will be commensurate with your skills and reputation, so you don’t need to worry about that.]
“An orchard, huh.”
Dallon repeated the familiar name, stroking his chin.
Given the location, it wasn’t hard to guess the nature of the request.
As far as Dallon knew, the owner of the orchard was someone who preferred to solve her own problems.
For her to seek out Sienna, it must mean that the current issue was beyond her capabilities.
‘She probably doesn’t know I’ve regained the witch’s power, so she must have decided she needs the Crow’s Nest network.’
A vast network of information and manpower spanning the back alleys, lower streets, and even the sewers of the Bronze District.
If the problem required the power of such an oddly systematic yet haphazard underground organization, it was likely connected to the incidents occurring across the continent.
[What is it about?]
“A request. It seems I’ll have to deal with some drug addicts.”
[That’s your specialty. But be careful.]
The sound of liquid pouring into a glass filled with ice echoed. Dallon paused before leaving the bar.
[I’ve learned a bit about you while diagnosing your body. How you’ve grown so far and how you’ll continue to grow stronger. Both the source and origin of your power are unfathomable.]
The bartender tapped the table. The glass floated gently, gliding towards Dallon.
[I’m not here to hinder your potential. But it’s clear that your current level has grown enough to attract attention. Superhumans forged by talent and effort. Most of them are still searching for a breakthrough, unable to breach the wall of transcendence.]
The slit-like eyes of the dragon gleamed.
[Their nature will be quite different from the transcendents you’ve encountered so far. Those who have failed before the wall may feel envious of your growth. They might seek to uncover your secrets, or even take them for themselves.]
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Dallon accepted the glass.
Advice from a being that transcends the ordinary laws and concepts. It wasn’t something to dismiss as nonsense.
Believing in one’s potential is crucial, but it’s also unwise to ignore the opinions of others.
Instead, it’s best to gather all those opinions and advice as materials to pave the way to greater heights.
Clink.
The empty glass was placed back on the table. The hint of fruit in the drink had made it quite enjoyable.
[That’s it. Leave it there. I’ll clean up.]
Bourbon was already wiping down the glasses with a cloth.
Splash. Splash.
In the drizzling rain of the Bronze District’s back alleys, the unpaved ground was half-mud.
Dallon walked through the muck, wearing a raincoat. He was on his way from the Crow’s Nest to Philopon’s Orchard.
“Hierarchy.”
Domain. And hierarchy.
Words that were once dismissed as mere in-game settings beyond the monitor.
For players, the important things were the stats displayed as numbers and the skills categorized by rank.
The domain that represented the potential of one’s soul, and the hierarchy that classified the size and density of that soul, were vague concepts.
“Hmm…”
But that made them all the more intriguing.
In a world where the end was approaching and reality had become the game, the things he hadn’t considered beyond the monitor could be the very breakthroughs he needed.
‘Roughly speaking, mastering an F-rank skill would make you 1st hierarchy. E-rank would be 2nd hierarchy. Something like that.’
It’s not a perfect standard. Looking back at NPC conversations, there seemed to be a more fundamental criterion.
The domain that actualizes potential through the soul, or the abilities known as unique skills in the system, would be a much closer standard.
‘I should learn more through Felber.’
There’s a gap.
A gap between the memories of hundreds of playthroughs as a player and the things he’s learning in this living, breathing world.
But there’s no need to discard either.
As he gradually narrows this gap, he can merge what he already has with what he will gain, paving the way to greater heights.
With his thoughts in order, Dallon turned a corner into a narrower alley.
Splash. Splash.
The ground became even more of a quagmire.
Puddles filled not just with rain and dirt, but with filth and garbage.
The stench made Dallon wrinkle his nose. The back alleys always smelled bad, but lately, it was getting worse by the day.
’…Even for a back alley, this is too much.’
The influx of refugees was the reason.
Despite the efforts of various nations to eradicate monsters, the number of people losing their homes and land to them continued to rise.
‘It’s worse in Falcion. Other cities might lock their gates when things get bad, but here, there’s no such policy.’
For centuries, the southern district of the Bronze Zone had maintained an open-door policy.
From Dalen’s experience, this wouldn’t change until the demon army was practically at their doorstep.
As the chaos of monsters began to spread, the number of quests originating from the labyrinth city multiplied for a reason.
Even now, as he walked less than an hour’s distance, he passed by hundreds of refugees who avoided his gaze, heads bowed.
“The orchard’s problem is probably linked to the refugees…”
Shhh!
His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a dagger thrust. Instinctively, his hand shot out.
“Gah!”
The vagrant caught in his iron grip let out a strangled sound. The dagger, meant to pierce, sliced through empty air instead.
Applying a bit more pressure to the man’s throat, Dalen asked, “Who are you?”
“Ugh, argh!”
The man showed no intention of answering, only twisting his body to its limits and thrusting the dagger again.
This time, Dalen didn’t hold back. Once might be forgivable, but twice was pushing it.
Crack!
“Aaaagh!”
The vagrant’s wrist and fingers shattered in an instant. He rolled his eyes back and screamed like a wounded animal.
“Hmm?”
Dalen suddenly sensed something was off.
Beneath the ragged clothes, the man’s frame was frail, yet his strength was akin to that of a seasoned mercenary.
Moreover, the sour stench emanating from the man’s mouth was unlike any back-alley odor Dalen had encountered before.
“Are you a drug addict?”
“Heh, hehehe!”
”…You’re not in a state to talk.”
Knocking him out and taking him to Sienna might yield some answers. With the orchard’s meth problem, expert help would be available.
Just as Dalen was about to tighten his grip, the vagrant’s eyes rolled wildly.
Green foam bubbled at his lips, and his limbs convulsed as if in a seizure.
In that instant, Dalen’s instincts screamed a warning. Without hesitation, he hurled the man down the alley.
“Ugh, hehehe, aaaaah…!”
Even as he flew through the air, the man spewed a grotesque wail through the foam. And then—
Boom!
The vagrant’s body swelled and exploded, splattering the alley with thick residue.
Sizzle…
The bricks melted, and the ground bubbled ominously.
In this bizarre scene, Dalen noticed one more oddity.
In a fleeting moment, a thin rift appeared in the air, and something pale rose from the remains of the exploded body, sucked into the void.
”…”
It wasn’t hard to guess what had happened.
The pale thing was a soul, and the rift was a passage to the afterlife or some other realm.
Could it be that mastering dark magic and opening the gates of hell, along with his heightened senses, allowed him to witness such things?
Yet, despite witnessing countless deaths while escaping the labyrinth, he had never seen anything like this before.
“Drugs. Refugees and vagrants. The orchard’s request. A soul sucked away. Dark magic.”
He lined up the keywords in his mind, trying to make sense of the situation.
It was too strange to be just a drugged vagrant causing chaos.
”…The Night of Restless Souls.”
His mind raced, and the term he had heard from Everon not long ago surfaced, not by coincidence.
It wasn’t just his strength and magic that grew inhumanly stronger by the day. His intuition and logic, embedded in his very being, were not to be underestimated.
Splash.
To confirm his suspicions, he needed to consult an expert.
Dalen carefully collected the green liquid in an empty vial and turned to leave the narrow alley.
As if on cue, the rain began to pour, slowly washing away the green substance that had been eating away at the wall of some unfortunate soul’s home.