The Well of Reversal (1)
The wind howled, flinging snowflakes across the sky. The blizzard seemed fiercer than usual.
Snow piled up on the table meant for skinning game, and icicles hung from the leather drying rack.
Crunch.
The snow under Dalen’s leather boots made a satisfying crunch. He tore his gaze away from the familiar surroundings and tilted his head.
The dark, crimson clouds that blanketed the snowy mountains were as they always were—occasionally spitting fire and lightning, writhing and emitting low, beastly growls.
The only difference was the occasional flash of multicolored lightning beyond the clouds.
Dalen scratched his chin as he gazed up at the strange scene.
“Is this a dream?”
He wasn’t meditating, and he was pretty sure he’d fallen asleep in an inn bed.
After confirming that his body was fine, Dalen began to slowly piece together his memories, starting from just before he fell asleep.
The Northern War had ended in victory for the Tsar’s kingdom.
The triple walls of Eclahim had withstood the onslaught of tens of thousands of monsters and twice as many barbarians, and the demons leading the invasion had been expelled from the continent thanks to the efforts of the paladins and transcendents.
Heroes had defeated the two great demons that had brought down the sky fortress, and even the avatar of Suum, who descended at the end of the battle, was vanquished.
Though it was a bloody victory marked by tragic sacrifices, a victory was still a victory.
The phrase “tragic sacrifice” was a privilege only the victors could use.
“Four days have passed since then.”
Four days.
Not enough time to completely rebuild from the horrors of war, but enough to restore some semblance of order.
The Tsar’s royal family, victorious in war, had flooded the city with relief supplies. Small celebrations sprang up throughout the city to commemorate the victory.
While people drowned their war-weary fatigue in drink and revelry, the iron-blooded army and the bereaved families were busy recovering the bodies scattered across the battlefield.
The funerals were scheduled for three days later, a week after the war’s end, once the joy of victory had been fully savored.
“It’s about time I left this room.”
Dalen had only heard about all this; he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes.
The aftermath of the battles, which he had narrowly survived multiple times, had taken a significant toll on his body, even one infused with dragon’s blood.
As a result, he had spent four days resting in bed.
Outside, the sounds of victory’s joy, the sorrow of lost loved ones, the cries for ruined homes, and the hope for rebuilding all mingled together.
”…Tsk.”
Knowing that all of this was a luxury only possible because tomorrow’s sunlight was assured, he couldn’t help but feel a bitter taste in his throat.
It was a feeling he hadn’t experienced in a long time, not since discovering the graves of atonement left by a monster in the labyrinth city’s sewers.
Dalen stroked his rough beard and opened his status window.
――――――――
Name: Dalen
Level: 40
[Strength: 56] [Dexterity: 51] [Stamina: 46]
[Senses: 50] [Intelligence: 54] [Magic: 54]
Skills: Dehama’s Armored Combat (D), Night Vision (E), Leap (E), Flame Arrow (D), Lapantella’s Crushing Sword (C), Hegaleus’s Flame Rain (C), Shooting Lightning (D), Curse Ward’s Seal (D), Leredonara’s Secret Sword (B), Sacred Fire’s Ember (C), Crimson Dragon’s Blood (A), Hellgate’s Key (C), Ackerman’s Diagram (C), Filz’s Wind Barrier (C), Fire Spear Technique (D), Living Roots (D), Rapid Germination (D), Rulia’s Spring Water (C), Soul Extraction (B), Prayer of Healing (D), Skadi’s Tidal Wave (B), Kasma’s Red Wind (B)
*Unique Skills (21)
――――――――
Finally reaching level 40. Over twenty skills and an equal number of unique skills.
The status window, now several times longer than before, was proof of the potential he had painstakingly accumulated, and the abilities mostly in the 50s were the foundation for that potential to blossom.
His solid muscles could easily crush a castle gate. His tough skin was as durable as the hide of a high-level monster.
His keen senses and dexterity allowed him to see through even unfamiliar martial arts techniques.
The latent power in his intelligence and magic stats was enough to unravel the origins of most spells and even replicate them on the spot.
The omnipotence he felt now was unimaginable during the days when he was fighting monsters in the sewers and battling frogmen.
The sixth tier, a distant realm, was a place one could only reach with such omnipotence.
Even then, he had only just set his foot on the threshold, not fully grasped it.
“A place where one can fully open the domain and twist mysteries to their own will.”
Just as the boundary of the fifth-tier transcendents is not determined by mere strength, neither is the sixth tier.
If it were just about fighting prowess, Dalen was already halfway into the ranks of the sixth tier.
The breadth of the domain Dalen possessed and the richness of the scenery within it were not lacking even among the sixth-tier transcendents.
But the important thing wasn’t the potential of that scenery, but rather that he himself, who held that potential…
“I must seize the fragments of a future not yet come and make all this scenery gaze upon it.”
A deep, resonant voice. It cut sharply through the chain of thoughts that had been trailing one after another.
“Throughout history, many fifth-tier transcendents have touched the fragments of omniscience. But only a handful had the courage to grasp it.”
Dalen turned his head without moving his body. The warrior was sitting on the snow-covered skinning table.
An axe hung at his waist. A large sword was slung across his back.
His fur coat was visibly worn and patched, but the muscular body beneath it was more solid than any armor.
Like most from beyond the frozen plateau, the warrior’s face was rugged and coarse.
The man spoke.
“Sometimes, it’s necessary to loosen the tension.”
What was it about his presence? Dalen found himself instinctively reaching for his waist.
The familiar touch of metal was absent.
The relic hand axe he had received from the Golden Palace had shattered in the battle with Deltarion, and the white axe forged from lightning had dissipated after the fight with the evil god.
”…”
Naturally, he slipped his fingers into his belt and turned fully toward the warrior.
This was the third time he had seen the warrior. Once at the tomb of the High Orc ancestors, once when he absorbed Deltarion’s power and fought Suum’s avatar.
And now, with all the battles over, Dalen sensed that this warrior was someone who could answer the many questions he had harbored.
He spoke.
“Are you the ancestor of the High Orcs?”
Boom— Rumble…
The sky rumbled softly.
The roar of the dark crimson clouds mingled faintly with the echoes of the lightning sea beyond.
The man didn’t answer for a while, simply staring at Dalen. Just as the unblinking gaze began to feel uncomfortable, a smile tugged at his lips.
“Your stature has grown much since the beginning. Now you can hear my voice.”
A gentle smile on a rugged face. Dalen thought it didn’t suit him.
It was like a thug from the back alleys of a pleasure district trying to flash a friendly grin. Dalen couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight, and the man continued speaking.
“But the answer to that question is not yet.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Ignorance is sometimes a blessing. It’s no coincidence that many visionaries are plagued by madness. I didn’t come today to quench your curiosity, so let’s leave that for another time.”
He sure talks in riddles. So, does that mean he’ll just pop into my dreams again?
“I apologize for disturbing your sleep. But there was a reason for it.”
Damn, can he read my thoughts? Dalen frowned and said.
“Go on, then.”
“You never got to say a proper goodbye to her. She wants to see you.”
“Her? Who?”
“See for yourself.”
Creak.
The man rose from the table. Up close, he was even taller than Dalen had thought.
He seemed about two meters tall, a head and a half taller than Dalen. His broad shoulders were even wider, and his arms thicker.
“Normally, you’d have to travel quite a distance to see her. But a friend who’s wandered off might be able to lend a hand.”
As he spoke, the man reached out toward Dalen. The movement was slow yet precise, and before Dalen could react, the hand was already a mere span away.
The hand reached into the air above Dalen’s shoulder, tearing through the void to pull something out.
[Ugh! Ack!]
In the man’s grasp was the immortal demon Arbor. He twirled the demon around in his large hand and said.
“Tsk tsk… How did you end up in such a state? You look like a lump of dough thrown into a cold oven.”
[Who are you to comment on someone else’s appearance…]
“We need to head to the well before this friend of ours wakes up, so I’ll just give you a little nudge.”
[Groooan!]
With that, the man grabbed Arvor with both hands and pulled with all his might. The demon stretched out, screaming in agony.
Dalen was a bit taken aback, yet there was something oddly familiar about the sight of the demon being stretched like that.
So it can stretch that much, huh? I could find more uses for this.
[Ugh!]
The man stretched the demon to a suitable length and then repeatedly slammed it onto the ground like a lump of dough.
[Ack!]
With each slam, the scenery around them began to change rapidly.
Boom— Rumble!!
A volcanic landscape seething with flames.
Whoooosh…
A sandstorm sweeping across a barren wasteland.
They passed through an underwater temple, walked the deck of a ship drifting above the clouds, crossed an underground world resembling ancient Dwarven ruins, and traversed a jungle teeming with giant insects.
The snowy mountain they started from was nowhere to be seen. Though they stood still, new scenes appeared and vanished in a bizarre sequence.
It didn’t take long to realize they were moving somewhere.
And that these scenes they were passing through were landscapes etched beyond someone’s imagination.
“The Star Tree transcends time and space,” the man said, continuing to slam the demon.
“Once, its branches touched every timeline and world. Now, only the stump remains by the well…”
[Argh!]
“Thanks to you, the severed trunk has regained some of its power, so finding the well in this timeline isn’t difficult.”
[Screech!]
“Quite the spellcaster, aren’t you? No fireballs or lightning from your hands?”
“Introducing yourself now? Don’t worry. I knew from the start you were adept with spells.”
”…”
Damn it. He never misses a beat. Dalen regretted the loss of his broken axe.
He fidgeted with his hand on his belt. Around that time, the rapidly changing scenery came to an abrupt halt.
“We’re here.”
The man fiddled with the half-conscious demon a few times, then tossed it aside once it returned to its original small, doughy form.
Dalen checked to see if the immortal demon was still alive, then tucked the unconscious creature into a pocket dimension and followed the man.
They arrived at a small ruin in the forest.
Ancient stone walls were covered in moss, and the worn, cracked flagstones underfoot spoke of the passage of time.
Sparse trees grew in the forest, and the sunlight streaming over the stone walls was warm.
They walked along the stone wall for a while. Eventually, the flagstones became more closely packed, and the walls extended outward, revealing an open space.
“It’s been a while.”
A small garden enclosed by stone walls. Inside, a woman in a pure white robe greeted them.
“Or perhaps it hasn’t been long for you. Time flows a bit differently here… It feels like it’s only been a few months.”
Her skin was pale, almost ghostly. Her face was marked by a sharp nose and striking blue-white eyes.
Those eyes, once filled with an enchanting power, now shone with the innocence of a country girl.
Dalen remembered the last time he saw those eyes.
Barely meeting his gaze with her one remaining eye, her focus had drifted into the distant void.
”…Charina.”
Now, both her eyes were intact and smiling. She spoke.
“I wanted to see if my choice was the right one, Dalen.”