The Stubborn Skill-Grinder In A Time Loop

A keening wail ringing in the night sky awoke him.

Orodan was a light sleeper in general, but the shrill shriek of a harpy, even if distant, was enough to wake most people.

The bloody birds were a public menace. Living in one of the poorest towns in the Republic didn’t help of course. No archers or battlemages around to shoot the damn things down. Sometimes he found himself wishing the county's griffin riders would do a fly-over and clean up.

Worst of all, the stupid things hunted in flocks, and their flight path to and from their hunting grounds was above his town of Ogdenborough. Taken in tandem with the fact that they hunted at night?

No wonder property values in Ogdenborough were so abysmal.

Orodan still held onto his long-term dream of eventually becoming a Sword Adept, and when that day came, he’d march into their dens and kill every single harpy around town. Nobody would be bothered then.

The moon was still high in the sky and the sun had yet to show its face. As such, Orodan muttered a curse for his lost sleep and decided to freshen up and eat. A stale loaf of bread and two pieces of jerky later, he picked up a dirty rag and began his self-imposed habit of cleaning the hovel.

He always stubbornly cleaned every inch before he had to report to the barracks.

His derelict bedside table was wiped down, the bed was made, the rugs were taken outside and thoroughly beaten to rid them of dust and debris, and even the rocky footpath leading to his hovel was broomed to sweep all loose rocks to the side.

He then wet a separate rag at the nearby well and thoroughly scrubbed the floors as the finishing touch before he felt satisfied that the job was done.

[Cleaning 23 → Cleaning 24]

Well, that was long overdue. Two weeks since his last increase.

The other militia cracked jokes at him for being a Cleaning Initiate, but at this rate he’d cross the threshold of 30 and earn the title of Cleaning Apprentice before the year was up.

He had no plans to join a noble’s house staff, but unlike most of his fellows in the town militia he was an orphan and had been a ward of the Lady Sashwari Home for the Wayward till he had turned fourteen and had been deemed old enough to hold a job and fend for himself.

His current hovel in Ogdenborough was the only affordable option he and his caretakers at the orphanage had been able to fit into the budget upon coming of age. It had also been the only place that would accept him given his lengthy record of fighting and delinquency as a child.

And while his annual salary, a reasonable sum of a gold coin a year, was enough to allow for better lodgings. He kept to his hovel out of sentiment. And Orodan had never been one for fine trappings.

He sighed and mentally called forth his Status Screen.

Name: Orodan Wainwright

Age: 17

Title 1: Sword Apprentice

Skills:

Sword Mastery 34 (Apprentice)

Cleaning 24 (Initiate)

Shield Mastery 23 (Initiate)

Physical Fitness 21 (Initiate)

Unarmed Combat Mastery 19 (Initiate)

Laboring 17 (Initiate)

Club Mastery 15 (Initiate)

Sprinting 14 (Initiate)

Combat Mastery 11 (Initiate)

Maintenance 8 (Initiate)

Repair 7 (Initiate)

Thievery 6 (Initiate)

Intimidation 6 (Initiate)

Deception 4 (Initiate)

Orodan would say it was halfway decent and given his upbringing it could almost be seen as good.

In fact, he’d outworked and gotten ahead of every other child from the orphanage. A Sword Mastery of 34 by the time he was seventeen years old was decent enough to meet the qualifications for an average martial academy; if he had the means of course. That and his determination to work hard enough to reach 20 in Physical Fitness meant that the Volarbury County Militia had their eye on him, and they were more than willing to take him as a recruit once he’d given a good showing during the entrance examinations a year ago.

Serving with them, he hoped to reach at least the Adept-level in Sword Mastery over the course of his life.

He’d done odds jobs as a laborer upon coming of age, but he rather preferred the martial line of work. Fighting was all he was good at, but he could always fall back on his Laboring skill if nothing in his life worked out. But Orodan’s ambitions were not that low. And he enjoyed fighting too much to do anything else for overly long.

He mentally waved his Status away and decided to continue his routine.

***

After an hour of running laps in a loop through the neighbourhood, Orodan noticed the beginnings of the sun rising so he concluded his training and came to a stop in front of the construction site at 4 Ale Road.

Old Man Hannegan was sitting atop the driver’s seat of his mule drawn cart, the cargo of course, was stacks upon stacks of lumber. Albeit of different coloration and wood species than the delivery of yesterday, Orodan noted.

At the time, fourteen years and of age, not many jobs would accept someone like him with a lengthy record of trouble. Old Man Hannegan and his construction crew were the exception. Orodan had worked on and off for the man until he finally attended the county militia examinations last year.

“Morning old man… they shaft you on the quality of lumber today?” Orodan asked as he began unloading the thick stacks of lumber, four at a time, onto the empty pallets on the ground. Volunteering to assist the man every morning was also part of his self-imposed training.

“First thing in the morning and you call me old?! Good morning to you too, you annoying blockhead. The supplier and I had a minor argument is all. Don’t you worry, the house will get built all the same.”

Getting built and getting built properly were two different things, Orodan thought. But he kept his thoughts on the noticeably cheaper lumber to himself.

Local business and construction projects in Ogdenborough often faced difficulties like this. It wasn’t one of the poorest towns in the Republic without reason.

“I see…” Orodan replied as he continued placing the lumber down onto the pallets with a decent amount of exertion.

Two stacks of thick lumber per arm for a total of four. That was his current optimal exertion point, which was a great improvement from a year ago when he had first started helping Old Man Hannegan. Back then he had 18 Physical Fitness and could only move two stacks at a time.

At 21 Physical Fitness he could successfully lift the full cart, with all the wood inside above his head, albeit only momentarily.

Perhaps reaching even level 40 in the skill over the course of his life was not impossible.

With a grunt of exertion, he finished unloading the last of the lumber onto the pallets and made some further small talk with the old delivery driver.

Before he knew it the morning officially started as the unique sound of the county dawn bell’s chime went out across all of Ogdenborough.

There was one bell tower for all of Volarbury County and Orodan always wondered what qualifications the mages needed to work it. The noise was neither louder in Trumbetton where the tower was situated nor was it any quieter a few hours horse ride away in Ogdenborough in the farthest reaches of the county.

He cut his own musings short as he began to make his way back to his hovel to freshen himself after his exertions. His shift at the barracks was due to begin an hour after the bell and he already saw one of the night shift patrols winding down and making their way back towards the local barracks at the edge of Ogdenborough.

***

“Botterson?”

“Sergeant!”

“Bistrid?”

“Corporal…” came a resentful voice, unhappy with the recent promotion.

“Come again Bistrid?” he asked in a low and threatening tone.

“Sergeant!” she corrected herself grudgingly.

“Wainwright?”

“Sergeant!” Orodan responded back with vigor.

“Edrosic?”

“Sergeant!”

And so, on roll-call went until Sergeant Woodgard reached the end of Orodan’s platoon of fifty and twenty-five more extra detail troops that had been ordered over from their days off just for the occasion. The recently promoted man carried himself a bit more severely than usual. Orodan thought it was understandable given the upcoming public event and how much more work it would entail, plenty of opportunity for him to look bad in his new position.

“Alright… it’s Liberation Day and you all know what that means,” the Sergeant stated while sweeping his gaze across the room. “No pre-shift training and drills this morning. We’re expecting drunks, looters, fights and maybe even a body or two. So, I want double patrols, we have extra hands on deck and I want a show of presence and force out on the main roads and the main squares, particularly Eversong Plaza and the tavern. I’m sure every orphan, urchin and no-good scumbag will be gathering to pick easy targets today. Additionally, there’s been rumours that the Council in Karilsgard will be making an announcement at noon, so we need to maintain order.”

Orodan heard what the Sergeant was saying but disagreed. He was an orphan, and he knew growing up that Eversong Plaza was the territory of House Argon and their cronies.

A noble house with criminal connections was far deadlier than any street gang could ever hope to be. The local barracks of the County Militia in Ogdenborough, while not under the purview of House Argon, knew better than to pry into the affairs of noble houses. No orphan or urchin would dare cause trouble around that area if they wanted to stay in one piece. Well, besides Orodan. He had quite the reckless and delinquent character growing up; something he still retained vestiges of.

Even Orodan himself, as brash and headstrong of a youth as he was growing up, still knew not to push things too far whenever he challenged their guards to a fight. He knew they were humoring him and could easily kill a young boy if they so desired.

That the man was asking them to patrol the area meant that House Argon allowed, and perhaps even asked for their presence in the area. For what? He didn’t know. Such things were above the paygrade of a mere private such as Orodan.

“The mounted unit from Trumbetton will also be present and running patrols in the area. For everyone’s sakes, do not get in their way or bother them, if you see them take over a situation use your amulets to call it out for operational awareness. And if they require support, assist them. They might even have a griffin rider or two doing flyovers.”

Not all barracks in the Volarbury County militia were equal. The Trumbetton barracks where Sergeant Woodgard’s predecessor had been transferred to, for example, was the center of the county. And consequently, the militia barracks there was the headquarters and had all manner of specialized units such as an investigations division, the Elite response unit, a mounted unit and others. Other barracks also had specialized units; alas, the branch in Ogdenborough was one of two in the county that had nothing besides regular militia.

For the mounted unit from Trumbetton to be coming in and doing patrols meant that again, the occurrences behind the scenes were above Orodan’s paygrade.

“Listen up for your assignments! Botterson, I want you and your troop doing patrols of the road leading in from Exerston County, leave carriage and caravan searches to the mounted unit, just do patrols. Sahar, your troop is on relief duties, reinforce and relieve as needed. Bistrid… you’re doing Eversong Plaza, your troop’s to stay posted there at all times, keep the riff-raff in line and support House Argon in whatever they might need. Vargorias…”

Orodan tuned out the rest of Sergeant Woodgard’s orders as he focused on the fact that Corporal Bistrid’s troop, which included him, would be posted at the plaza itself. The militia rarely ever saw the plaza outside of special occasions as it was otherwise primarily the domain of House Argon.

Although it stabbed at Orodan’s principles, the militia and by extension himself were essentially ordered to ignore House Argon’s activities, no matter how shady they might be. And it looked as though today would be more of the same.

***

Mount Castarian loomed over Eversong Plaza. In fact, Ogdenborough itself was a town that was landlocked against the gigantic mountain, likely a part of what made the place so poor and limited any expansion opportunities.

That the town existed at all in such a location was thanks to House Argon running Eversong Plaza and the Castarian’s Boot; the tavern built into the side of the mountain.

It always had strange traffic coming in and out and a popular theory among the locals was that the tavern was where House Argon ran smuggling operations via tunnels they mined through the mountain. Another wild rumor was that wealthy clientele with forbidden desires were catered to within.

Of course, nobody of their station could or would dare to pry, especially if a noble house was involved. Plenty of strange and powerful individuals could be seen entering and exiting the tavern from time to time, and the numbers going in and coming out often didn’t match up. It went without saying that entering the tavern was via invitation only, and no local had ever set foot inside.

A town and economy had sprung up around the tavern to service its various needs even if none of the locals, including the county militia, were ever allowed in.

Orodan stood on the perimeter of the plaza alongside his assigned partner, Parthus Edrosic; they were monitoring foot traffic into the plaza. Most inbound pedestrians made their way to the various stalls set up within Eversong Plaza. While the Tavern was off-limits to the public, the stalls outside in the plaza, were not.

“Ah... those baked treats look so succulent! Hey Orodan… you think those Argon goons would care if I took something from the stalls?” Parthus asked. A question which made Orodan give his partner an unimpressed look.

“If you value your limbs, you won’t even think about it. Stealing from the plaza’s merchants is akin to stealing from the Baron himself. Even the weakest guards of their house are near the Adept level in a martial skill,” Orodan replied, speaking from experience and many beatings received when younger. Edrosic was newer to the county militia, thus Orodan did him the courtesy of a warning as it was the man’s first time working the plaza. Given how quickly he saw the rare thieving attempt get caught during his orphan rat days, he was almost certain they had people with perception type skills keeping watch too.

Although Orodan was seventeen and younger than the twenty-year-old Edrosic, the man didn’t have the same rough upbringing and street sense that the orphaned Orodan did. Edrosic was the son of a carpenter and a seamstress and simply joined the county militia to have a stable paying job and maybe move to a nicer town after putting in some time and work.

Orodan had joined the militia to pursue his goal of becoming a better warrior. The two were not the same.

Furthermore, the differences in their work ethic and talent were apparent. Edrosic often slacked during morning drills and spars. Orodan however treated each day with the proper zeal it deserved.

Orodan was probably the second strongest militia member in the local barracks after Sergeant Woodgard, a gap that he was quickly closing. It wasn’t saying much given that they were all cannon fodder with not an Adept among them. But it was still a fact worth mentioning that Orodan could give Edrosic a beating if it came to it. In fact, Orodan could likely get the better of most of House Argon’s Apprentice-level guards in a one-on-one. His Physical Fitness, Sword Mastery and Combat Mastery were decent enough and put him near the higher end of Apprentice-level warriors.

“Alright, alright! I’m just hungry is all... the baked pastries look quite nice,” Edrosic amended. “I didn’t grow up like you did... how am I expected to know the dynamics of this plaza?”

“Whether you know the dynamics or not, if you’re going to think about stealing, at least have the power to beat the enforcers or the speed to outrun them,” Orodan said. “They’re guards of a noble house though... a cut above the typical militia member. I wouldn’t recommend it... unless you’re looking to get some training in.”

A smile graced his face as he recalled all the times he had gleefully fought the men of House Argon. No matter how many times he was beaten bloody, he kept challenging them all the same.

“We can’t all be battle-junkie masochists like you Orodan, you’re a certified weirdo, you’ll fit right in at Trumbetton when you get transferred.”

Orodan felt annoyed at the description of his character but couldn’t exactly deny it. He was a conflict-seeking person, even when younger. The meaner kids at the orphanage certainly learned it the hard way within a week of him being registered.

He simply grunted and decided to focus on surveilling foot traffic.

Time passed and soon it was high noon, and as forewarned the regal trumpets of the Spire of Karilsgard, the tallest tower of the capital, magically resounded everywhere to herald an announcement. A melodious voice, one that felt soothing and uplifting despite being projected from a great distance away in the capital, began speaking.

“To the brave and hard-working citizens of the glorious Republic of Aden, I High-Burgher Sarvaan Ilsuan Arslan, leader of your elected council, speak to you today in celebration and commemoration of the one hundred and twentieth anniversary of our liberation from the Novarrian Empire.”

Upon hearing the magically projected announcement, everyone in the plaza began cheering and hollering; even Orodan himself felt a fire stir in his heart. Despite his duties demanding he keep the crowd in check, he found himself wanting to join them in their revelry. However he tried his best to stay focused and instead got back to keeping watch, which was when he noticed a group of ten approaching the plaza, all of them armed and armored in Republican military attire.

“On this auspicious day I wish to thank you, the citizens of our Republic, for your hard work, courage and sacrifices that have made our way of life and freedom from the tyrannical Novarrians possible.”

Edrosic was far too enraptured by the announcement to notice anything. Orodan tapped him on the shoulder before approaching these people himself.

“Republic military? I’ll have to ask what business brings you this way. Neither House Argon nor our chain of command in the militia informed us of your arrival,” Orodan asked, and he had an uncomfortable feeling in his gut as he did. He decided to rest his hand on the hilt of the sword on his belt.

“Ah apologies, we have business with House Argon, I’d strongly recommend you get out of the way militia man,” the man replied. He seemed to be the leader of the group.

Although the man’s words came across as rather brash and arrogant, the way of the world was that power determined all. They were Republic military, soldiers. Compared to the soldiers of the Republic of Aden, what chaff were the Volarbury county militia?

Orodan found himself wondering if this individual and his subordinates weren’t at the Adept level to be talking like this. Times like this he wished he had access to the Observe skill that all nobles and their guards knew, which allowed one to view another's titles and name.

Orodan looked around to see none of the rest of his troop present, although he felt some hope at seeing a group of five members of the mounted unit rushing their way, including the Argon enforcers.

Furthermore, he saw griffin riders flying their way. But as they got closer, he realized they weren’t the standard brown feathered with harnesses that the mounted unit rode, but instead had silver colored feathers with plate armor covering them. Only military griffins were of that stock.

And then a blinding glow emanated from the lead griffin rider, and something large and bright flew towards the plaza. Was that... magic?

“Unfortunately, freedom never comes freely. And sometimes maintaining freedom involves rooting out the poison from within. So, I use this auspicious day to call upon my fellow citizens of our Republic of Aden, to mobilize, to gather together, for freedom comes at a price and sometimes it involves facing enemies both within and without.”

As soon as the announcement’s final words finished, the group of Republican soldiers all drew their weapons...

...and carnage began.

The first thing Orodan saw was an Argon enforcer’s head sail through the air, an Adept… killed like a chicken. And the second thing Orodan saw was the bright projectile fired by the military griffin rider reach the tavern and collide with a shimmering magic shield he didn’t know existed. And the world turned orange and lit up in flame.

Years of instinct saved him as he used every ounce of his Physical Fitness to furiously leap a dozen metres out of the way in one jump and immediately dive for cover behind a stall.

The shockwave from the blast helped him gain even more distance than he could otherwise, and he hit the ground dozens of metres away, the wind knocked out of him by the Fireball’s destructive blast.

“County militia! We’re under attack! Face the attackers! Defend your county!” ordered a burly-looking member of House Argon who Orodan had not seen before, but who was now clashing against the leader of the soldiers in what was clearly a battle at the Elite-level. The shockwaves shattered the underlying paved stone with each attack and pushed Orodan back to the point where he struggled to hold onto solid ground.

“Hmmph! Tricking the local bumpkin militia into being your cannon fodder are you, traitor?” the leader of the attackers asked as his spear moved about at frightening speeds with enchanting motions while clashing against the war hammer of the Argon Elite. “Hear me, we are soldiers of the Republic of Aden, under orders from the High-Burgher. House Argon are traitors to the Republic, stay out of this fight or suffer death!”

Orodan grudgingly complied, despite how much he wanted to join in. The fight was clearly above him and although he was a fighter who wouldn’t back down, he also knew when his death would be pointless.

“Northmen! Come out and earn your keep! Delay them as long as possible!” the burly Elite-level Argon retainer roared, and on command the tavern doors opened and dozens of fur-clad warriors stormed out of the building wielding an assortment of weapons, shouting savage war cries and heading right towards Orodan and Edrosic.

Guzuharan barbarians! Sworn enemies of the republic and the very reason he was an orphan.

Orodan himself was found as a crying infant amongst the blood and bodies of a Guzuhar raid upon a coastal caravan. Both his parents had been killed that day and the trajectory of his life altered forever. His life of squalor as an orphan was due to these barbarous killers.

Orodan’s temper grew tempestuous, and his blood boiled for a fight. On principle he refused to back down in the face of the Northmen scum.

Orodan immediately drew his sword and shield for the first time and stood beside the soldiers of the Republic. He didn’t understand the first thing about this conflict, but hearing the brief bits that he did and given the fact that House Argon was siding with filthy barbarians made the decision for him. The Republic military were the loyalists, acting against House Argon who’d committed some great betrayal.

Did it make sense to embroil himself in a conflict above his head? No.

Did his hunger for battle care about the reasonable part of his mind? Not at all.

Orodan was merely at the Apprentice level of his swordsmanship, but his training, his desire to seek challenges and improve, his upbringing scrounging for scraps as an orphan, and his blood which boiled hot for a fight against the scum responsible for his misfortune all came together and sang to him. He stood beside these loyalists and prepared to receive the charge of these barbarous raiders from across the sea.

Above him the mages mounted atop the silver-feathered griffins were casting luminous and deadly looking spells at the tavern’s barrier which still held despite the bombardment. And behind him, Parthus Edrosic and the rest of the Volarbury county militia including the vaunted mounted unit itself… had all turned tail and fled.

Whether they were cowards, or Orodan the reckless fool remained to be seen.

Multiple roars were cut short as the sound of numerous steel-on-steel impacts rang out. The press of bodies, mainly Guzuharan, seemed overwhelming. Of course, the Northmen rank-and-file were merely at the Apprentice-level.

A dozen raiders on the front rank were killed on the spot by the loyalists who were all at least Adept level. The momentum of their charge slowed as a majority fell. But some survived, and Orodan himself received one of them in the form of a charging overhead blow from an Apprentice-level Northman. The axe bit into the top of his shield then attempted to pull it away from him.

Of course, the beginner habit of hiding behind the shield was one of the first things drilled out of new militia, and Orodan grew up fighting and sharpening his combat instincts even before he joined them.

He twisted his shield at an angle which exposed the savage’s arm, and with a swift burst of strength, sent a cut right towards it.

The arm came flying off and the man screamed in horror, and a follow-up stroke had the Guzuharan gurgling blood as his throat was sliced through. He had killed another street rat during his formative years; over a piece of stale jerky too. But killing a man in head-to-head battle was different.

Toe to toe, life on the line, this sort of kill felt right.

Five more barbarians rushed to charge at Orodan, seeking revenge for the death of their comrade. He was good, but not good enough to survive five-on-one. He realized that death approached; but before they could reach him, they were slain by the incredible movements of one of the Adept-level loyalists who wielded a sword and shield like Orodan himself did, but with a fervor and skill he could only strive for.

“Kid! You’ll die by daring to fight here alongside us! I respect your guts and warrior spirit, but leave now!” One of the Adept level loyalists shouted at Orodan from behind his shield, but before he could continue admonishing him, the air trembled, a shockwave blew Orodan backwards and a massive great axe split the man and his shield in two.

His saviour, an Adept, killed in a single blow. Just who could do such a thing?

The killer of Orodan’s protector was the single largest man he had ever seen, he was bigger than even the largest orcs Orodan had heard of, and was approaching the size of an ogre.

“Bah… you send the whelps out and they all die like cockroaches. Not a single shred of talent among the new group of unblooded. What are the youth coming to these days… Guzuhar blood can’t be allowed to be this weak.” The ogre barbarian derisively spoke. As he did a furious loyalist wielding a rapier charged him with murder in her every movement.

“I’ll make sure you die for that!” a murderous female voice screamed as she launched a blitz of attacks Orodan couldn’t even keep up with. Unfortunately, the ogre-barbarian wasn’t strained at all.

And in more bad news, behind the now dead line of initial barbarians came another group of three savages, and Orodan raised his shield and sword as the first one screamed like a madman, raised his axe in the air and threw himself at him.

A diagonal side-step followed by a shield bash threw the savage off balance allowing Orodan’s subsequent stab to put a stop to him.

The other two reached him at the same time however.

Fighting two opponents on the same level as himself at the same time was a lopsided affair to begin with. But so what if it was two-on-one? Orodan’s heart roared for blood and battle and he would show these Northmen what real ferocity was.

A scream of mad battle lust tore free from his lips as he counter-charged the two.

He took one of them aback with how crazed his zeal for battle was, and the opening was exploited to good effect. He roared, swung, hacked, kicked, punched and bashed. And while he gave as good as he got, unfortunately the regular rank and file of the militia like himself were provided no armor.

A deep cut to his own thigh was exchanged for a mad thrust which ran the hesitant Northman through, and the sword he received through his own shoulder was reciprocated by a frenzied overhead chop that cut through the barbarian’s helmet and split the foe’s skull in half.

He took severe wounds, but dealt out fatal wounds of his own. And at the end, while he would eventually die without treatment… the two Apprentice level Guzahar savages he fought lay dead at his feet. They’d died first. His bloodlust and battle spirit having proven too much for them.

[Sword Mastery 34 → Sword Mastery 35]

[Shield Mastery 23 → Shield Mastery 24]

[Unarmed Combat Mastery 19 → Unarmed Combat Mastery 20]

[Combat Mastery 11 → Combat Mastery 14]

[Agathor, God of War, smiles upon you]

[Received Blessing → Warrior’s Heart - Increased talent and learning rate for all warrior related skills as determined by Agathor]

He was too preoccupied with battle-lust and his own impending end to care overmuch for the messages.

And as he drew his final breaths he used the last of his body’s strength to rush at the unprotected back of the ogre-barbarian.

He struck with his all… and the blade bounced off the monster’s hide.

The massive man turned around to find what had tickled his back and was surprised.

“Three to fuckin’ one… and they still couldn’t kill one damn Adenian? Now this is what a warrior should fight like!” the Ogre-man exclaimed while casually slapping away the rapier-Adept he was playing around with, sending her flying through a nearby house dozens of metres away. “A shame that you’re in front of me and on the wrong side, you’d make a good addition to my tribe.”

And the last thing Orodan saw was his vision flipping upside down over and over.

[Title Gained: One Who Has Experienced Death]

***

A keening wail ringing in the night sky awoke him.

What?

“What the ever loving h-”

[Quest System Activated]

[Quest Bestowed → Battle of Ogdenborough - Defeat the Novarrians and their allies as they attempt to activate and commandeer the ancient war machine beneathe Mount Castarian]

Orodan believed he was dreaming. Genuinely.

A Quest... an actual Quest.

Not what the word meant in common language, but actual Quests as granted by the world.

Many people throughout history claimed to have received Quests, but only a select few could truly say they had received a Quest and completed it. The last known Quest bearer being the founder of the Republic a hundred and twenty years ago.

And now he… Orodan Wainwright, a meager militiaman in Volarbury County, was receiving a Quest from the world?

But most importantly… what had just happened?

He vividly remembered the final moments of his battle just seconds ago.

The last thing Orodan remembered was losing all feeling and his vision tumbling almost as though he was sent flying through the air. He was almost certain he had died in battle. Even if that hulking Guzuhar didn’t kill him, the many lethal injuries he took during the fighting certainly would have.

And yet, here he was back in his bed within the hovel at 13 Briar Court in Ogdenborough.

It made no sense. He needed answers and he needed them now. If he truly went back in time, did this mean the Gods had sent him back? Perhaps this was tied to the Quest he received?

He mentally summoned his Status before him.

[Name: Orodan Wainwright

Age: 17

Title 1: Sword Apprentice

Available Titles: One Who Has Experienced Death

Skills:

Sword Mastery 35 (Apprentice)

Shield Mastery 24 (Initiate)

Cleaning 24 (Initiate)

Physical Fitness 21 (Initiate)

Unarmed Combat Mastery 20 (Initiate)

Laboring 17 (Initiate)

Club Mastery 15 (Initiate)

Combat Mastery 14 (Initiate)

Sprinting 14 (Initiate)

Maintenance 8 (Initiate)

Repair 7 (Initiate)

Thievery 6 (Initiate)

Intimidation 6 (Initiate)

Deception 4 (Initiate)

Blessings: Warrior’s Heart - Increased talent and learning rate for all warrior related skills as determined by Agathor]

As he looked it over Orodan was certain everything that had transpired prior was very real. For one, his newly available title was the first bit of evidence. For another, many of his skills were higher than they were, and especially Combat Mastery was at a whopping 14 instead of at 11 like it was previously.

His childhood had been spent brawling, fighting the other street rats and orphans and occasionally picking a fight with an Argon guard way out of his league. A Combat Mastery of 11 by the time he was seventeen was excellent. It had gotten him into the county militia.

And yet, three levels gained with one battle. Did fighting in life and death battles increase skill gains that much?

But most importantly… a Blessing!

Maybe one in a thousand people received a Blessing in their lifetimes, and although most Blessings were minor, they still guaranteed a good life for their recipients.

Orodan’s life wasn’t bad. True, he had a rough upbringing, but his hard work had gotten him somewhere. Even though he was a private in the Militia, Sergeant Woodgard and his predecessor before him had both taken him aside and told him that a transfer to Trumbetton was coming up for him in the near future due to his talent and work ethic, with a spot on the mounted unit being a real possibility once he started approaching the Adept level.

He tried to avoid delusions of grandeur, but perhaps going beyond even the Adept-level was a real possibility if he kept working hard throughout his life.

But for him to now have a Blessing as well? He immediately set about his usual routine with a furious pace as he wanted to get it done with as fast as possible. His goal? To visit the nearest Temple in the town of Scarmorrow.

Breakfast was practically inhaled, the house was cleaned with such speed and effort that Orodan found himself almost breathing fast at how hard he pushed himself, and the run and subsequent assisting of Old Man Hannegan was blazed through with little to no time for small talk.

If Old Man Hannegan was surprised or curious about Orodan’s sudden urgency, he didn’t mention it.

With enough time to spare, Orodan practically sprinted the whole way for the Temple in Scarmorrow and arrived before the ringing of the county’s dawn bell.

Temples to the Gods were commonplace throughout the continent of Inuan; and while there were minor variations in the pantheons across geographical and national lines, most humans on Inuan held faith in and communed with the Prime Five.

It was early, the dawn bell hadn’t rung and consequently the Temple wasn’t too busy. The early worshipers had yet to come in, thus it was only a few priests and priestesses cleaning the Temple and performing their early duties that were on-scene when Orodan barged through the doors.

“I must speak to a priest of Agathor!” Orodan declared as he stomped in.

“Calm down my son… what has you seeking the faithful of the God of War so early in the morning?”

“Priestess, I’ve received a Blessing!” Orodan blurted out as he came to a stop, breathing heavily as he put all 21 levels of his Physical Fitness to work in running as fast as he could.

The Priestess seemed taken aback for a small moment, but recovered and smiled.

“Excellent, come my child, allow us to verify this and add you to the registry. I take it that mighty Agathor has blessed you? Are you with the militia perhaps? Do they know?” she calmly asked.

“Yes, I’ve received the Blessing of Agathor, I’m with the county militia but haven’t had the chance to tell them.”

“That’s fine, we can handle all of that. If you had to attend to your duties today you need not worry about it, they will be informed,” the priestess spoke as she led Orodan into a smaller chamber within the Temple where a priest covered in armor was praying in front of a statue of a divine figure posed with a hammer in his right hand, a greatsword in his left, and two spears strapped across his back. The statue of Agathor looked as warlike as stories of the God himself.

Without turning around to face them the priest spoke.

“I sense it, the feeling of a fellow Blessed of Agathor,” the man said and finally turned around. He was grizzled and had a scar across his face, befitting a priest of the God of War. “I am Solamus Einshield, battle-priest of Agathor. You, warrior, what is your name?”

“Orodan… Orodan Wainwright. I was blessed by Agathor yesterday,” Orodan replied, deciding to take things one step at a time.

“Oh? And what were you doing around the time you were blessed?” Solamus asked him, suddenly all too interested in Orodan.

Subtlety. Some were masters of the art, and a small part of him whispered that perhaps he ought not blurt out critical details.

That part was quickly smothered by his bull-headed nature.

“You won’t believe this, but I came back in time after dying,” Orodan declared with confidence. “Today, in Ogdenborough around the time of the Council announcement from the Capital there’s going to be a huge battle. Guzuharan barbarians attack the Eversong Plaza and House Argon is in on it, assisting them. A brave few Republic loyalists come by to try and stop whatever they’re doing… but I fell before I could see any more.”

Orodan’s explanation was earnest and straightforward. The idea of dancing around the issue and keeping knowledge to himself wasn’t in his nature. If a problem existed, his solution was to batter his head against it until either it broke or he did.

To Solamus’s credit the battle-priest didn’t scoff or laugh at Orodan. But he did suddenly become very silent and give him an almost piercing gaze.

A full twenty seconds passed before Orodan himself spoke up.

“As unbelievable as this sounds… I also received a Quest-”

“That’s enough. I believe you,” Solamus suddenly interrupted, and then he moved to close the door to the inner chamber they were in. “Aelis, what is spoken here cannot leave this room. The same goes for you as well Orodan.”

The battle-priest’s tone was severe and brooked no dissent. If the man’s hand suddenly resting on the hilt of his sword was any indication, he was also willing to come to blows over the matter.

“You just, believe me?” Orodan asked, almost in disbelief himself.

“Certain Blessed faithful can commune with their Gods… for Agathor to speak directly to me after so many years…” Solamus trailed off. “But that isn’t the issue, you… who are you? Agathor tells me he does not recall having ever given you his Blessing, and he has spoken to the other Gods and nothing adds up.”

Gods were above the realm of mortals. From what the Cathedral said, they had perfect minds and could process an unfathomable number of things at once. Simply put, there was no way Agathor would have forgotten or not paid attention to the fact that he had Blessed a mortal.

Furthermore… this carried the uncomfortable implication that even the Gods seemed not to be aware of the fact that Orodan had been sent back in time. Which to Orodan, was inconceivable.

The Cathedral’s teachings held that chronomancy couldn’t affect Gods. They were supposed to be outside of the flow of time and were immune to time magic. Agathor also presumably conversed with the God of Time, so for even him to be unaware…

Just who was responsible for Orodan’s second chance?

“I don’t know, I am and always have been Orodan Wainwright, a member of the county militia. And yesterday… or I should say, today, I died while fighting against northmen barbarians in the Eversong Plaza of Ogdenborough.”

Solamus took another moment to look at him closely, but then broke eye contact and sighed.

“As insane as this all sounds, I believe you. Lord Agathor has spoken to me and your tale has enough evidence for me to consider it. It makes too much sense... Eversong Plaza and that tavern have always been a closely guarded secret of House Argon,” Solamus spoke. “You’d best take this report back to your superiors. It might even need to get back to the Capital Guard. I’m just a battle-priest, I know some old friends but none of them are anywhere near relevant to help in a matter like this.”

The battle-priest then ushered him out with a word to the priestess Aelis to see Orodan out the door.

Orodan made it twenty steps outside the temple when something hit him from behind and he was knocked right off his feet and sent sprawling to the ground. Whatever hit him, hit very hard.

He tried getting to his feet but found that he couldn’t move his arms at all. They lacked any strength. And looking down at his own chest he saw the tip of a great arrow sticking out.

Only then did he realize he was choking on his own blood.

Orodan’s mind kicked into overdrive and he desperately attempted to regain control of his body and crawl away to safety. He couldn’t die like this! He was given a second chance!

He gritted his teeth and scrounged up every bit of spite, grit and determination within him and furiously dragged his critically wounded body to cover in the alleyway between two nearby houses. He had a Physical Fitness of 21 and his body could thus survive somewhat more blood loss and trauma than anyone untrained in the skill… but a gaping hole caused by a great arrow would still kill him. The wound was looking to be fatal.

He held the great arrow in place and with every iota of willpower and focus his adrenaline-fuelled mind could muster, he concentrated till his face was red and tried to control his breathing and attempted to mentally slow the rate of bleeding.

His vision started to slowly darken, but he felt like he earned himself maybe another minute.

[New Skill → Bleeding Control 1]

He ignored the message and the screams of nearby witnesses and instead tried very hard to now staunch his own bleeding. Perhaps if he survived long enough a priest from inside the temple could help?

That hope was dashed as a dark figure wearing a full face mask and hood stepped into the alleyway, a great bow slung across their shoulders.

As the figure drew a dagger the length of his forearm, Orodan desperately lashed out with as strong a kick he could muster and caught the figure in the knee.

The assassin’s knee slightly buckled, but they suffered no visible injury from the kick. They were likely at the Adept-level then.

Orodan refused to die quietly as he lunged out and grabbed his killer’s dagger with both hands, even when the enchanted blade sliced into his palm like hot butter and nearly broke his focus with the searing pain it inflicted.

Even with both hands against the assassin’s one, the man was stronger.

As the killer began easily pushing the dagger towards his head Orodan tried everything he could think of. He kicked, scratched, and exerted so much force he broke his own fingers in desperation. He even spat out a glob of his own blood that was simply blocked by the killer’s face mask.

Finally, as the blade reached his head he struggled and twisted enough that the dagger entered his left eye instead of his forehead. The pain was utterly all-consuming but Orodan still fought like a rabid dog to hold onto consciousness.

[New Skill → Pain Resistance 1]

As the darkness began to take over his vision he reached out and did the last thing he could, he reached out and grabbed his killer’s belt, specifically the strange green flask on their hip.

And he crushed it in his hand.

[New Skill (Uncommon) → Dying Struggle 1]

His vision faded to darkness but as he passed he could hear sizzling and frantic screams of pain even as he lost all feeling in his own body.

So much for a second chance.

[Quest Failed → Battle of Ogdenborough - You have died]

***

A keening wail ringing in the night sky awoke him.

He… he was back?

[Quest Bestowed → Battle of Ogdenborough - Defeat the Novarrians and their allies as they attempt to activate and commandeer the ancient war machine beneathe Mount Castarian]

Was this a third chance?

He was so brazenly murdered in broad daylight once he let slip about the upcoming attack. And by an Adept-level archer too. How was he supposed to deal with all this?

A mad grin began to take shape upon his face.

Who was Orodan Wainwright?

He clenched his fist. Orodan was someone who saw things through to the end. Someone who would doggedly clean every single inch of the floor in his dilapidated hovel. Someone who would train every single day and struggle despite being an orphan without a background and family support. Someone who would stand his ground out of spite and receive a charge from Guzuharan barbarians when all his peers had fled. Someone who would lash out like a rabid dog even when he was dying and make his killer feel his revenge with his dying struggles.

Maybe there was a limit to the number of times he would be allowed to come back, but maybe there wasn’t.

Either way, he cared not.

A more reasonable person might have decided to plan and scheme, perhaps gather allies and amass equipment. But not Orodan Wainwright.

What did he intend to do?

As the harpies keening wails died off in the distance he could only say one thing.

“That archer will be a good source of training. As many times, as many deaths as it takes!”

If there was a wall in front of him, he would ram his head into it until either it broke or he did.

For him there was no easy way out, no attempting to find a hidden solution, no cheap tricks or enlisting of allies. He would only ever accept doing things the hard way.

Orodan was a stubborn skill-grinder who didn’t quit.

And he was in a time loop.