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Chapter 1: A Warrior\'s Death And A Looper\'s Beginning

The bloody birds were a public menace. Living in one of the poorest neighborhoods on the outskirts of the greater capital area didn’t help of course. No archers or battlemages around to shoot the damn things down. Sometimes he found himself wishing the griffin riders would do a fly-over and clean up one day.

Worst of all, the stupid things hunted in flocks, and their flight path to and from their hunting grounds was above his district 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 the capital. Nobody would be bothered then.

The moon still hung in the sky and the sun had yet to show its face, and 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 decided to begin his self-imposed habit of cleaning the house and picked up a dirty rag.

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 on joining 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 House for the Wayward till he turned 14 and was deemed old enough to fend for himself and hold an independent job.

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 once he had come of age. It had also been the only place that would accept him on the budget he had given his lengthy record of fighting and delinquency as a child.

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 17 was decent enough to barely meet the qualifications for a bottom of the barrel martial academy if he had the means. That and his determination to work hard enough to reach 20 in Physical Fitness meant that the Volarbury County Militia was willing to take him as a recruit once he did well in their entrance examination last year.

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

Fighting was all he was good at, but, he could always fall back on his Laboring skill if nothing in his life worked out well. 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 leading back to his home he noticed the beginnings of the sun start to rise 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 aloft the driver’s seat of his mule drawn cart, the cargo was of course stacks upon stacks of lumber. Albeit of different coloration and wood species than the delivery of yesterday Orodan noticed.

“Morning Mr. Hannegan… I notice the wood’s looking different 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.

“Mornin’ kid, the supplier and I had a minor argument is all. Don’t you worry, the house’ll 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 if the old man didn’t want to talk.

Local businesses and construction projects in Ogdenborough often faced difficulties like this. It wasn’t one of the poorest places 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 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 40 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 chiming went out across all of Ogdenborough.

There was one bell tower for all of Volarbury County and Orodan always wondered what qualifications the mages in charge of magically amplifying the sound to reach the entire county had to possess. The noise was neither louder in Trumbetton where the tower was situated nor was it any quieter a few hour’s horse ride away in Ogdenborough at the farthest reachest 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 started 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.

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

“Sergeant!” she corrected herself.

“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. It was apparent that the recently promoted man carried himself a bit more severely than usual today. Orodan thought it was understandable given the upcoming public event today 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 today and you all know what that means,” the Sergeant stated while sweeping his gaze across the room. “No pre-shift training and drills today. 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 in 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 the Capital 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 people.

A noble house with criminal connections was far deadlier than any street gang could ever hope to be. No orphan or urchin would dare cause trouble around that area if they wanted to stay in one piece. Well, no orphan or urchin that wasn’t Orodan. He had quite the reckless delinquent character growing up. 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.

Even Orodan himself, as brash and headstrong of a youth as he was growing up still knew to not push things too far whenever he challenged their guards to a fight. He knew they were humouring 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? Such things were above the paygrade of a mere private such as Orodan of course.

“The mounted unit from the Trumbetton barracks 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 so we remain operationally aware. And if they require support, assist them. They might even have a griffin rider or two doing fly-overs.”

Not all Volarbury County Militia barracks were equal. The Trumbetton barracks where Sergeant Woodgard’s predecessor was 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 barracks 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 going-ons behind the scenes were above Orodan’s paygrade.

“Now for the 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’s 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 like today was going to be more of the same.

Eversong Plaza had Mount Castarian looming above it. In fact, Ogdenborough itself was a town that was landlocked against the mountain, probably a part of what made the town so poor and limited any expansion opportunities.

That the town existed at all in such a location was likely due to House Argon running Eversong Plaza and the Castarian’s Boot, that tavern that was built into the side of the mountain and always had strange traffic coming in and out. It was a popular theory among the locals of Ogdenborough that the tavern was where House Argon ran a smuggling operation via tunnels they mined through the mountain, or where they catered to wealthy clientele with forbidden desires.

Of course, nobody 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 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, with them monitoring foot traffic into the plaza. Most inbound foot traffic made its 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.

“Hey Orodan… you think those Argon goons would care if I took something from one of the stalls?” A question which made Orodan give his partner an unimpressed and severe look.

“If you value your limbs you won’t even think about it. All of their guards are near the Adept level in a martial skill.” Orodan replied, speaking from experience and many beatings received as a younger boy and warning Edrosic who was newer to the County Militia than him and was consequently working the Plaza for the first time in his career. Plus, 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 years old and younger than the twenty year old Edrosic, the man didn’t have the same rough upbringing and street sense the orphan Orodan did as he was the son of a carpenter and a seamstress and simply joined the County Militia to have a stable paying job and maybe eventually move to a nicer town after putting in some time and work.

Furthermore, the differences in their work ethic and talent were apparent. Orodan was probably the second strongest militia member in the local barracks after Sergeant Woodgard. Which wasn’t saying much given they were all cannon fodder militia members 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.

“Alright, alright! I don’t know the plaza and the shadier side of town like you do.” Edrosic amended.

“Well if you’re going to think about stealing, at least have the power to outrun the enforcers,” Orodan fired back.

“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 one day.”

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.

Orodan 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. And soon, a melodious voice, one that felt soothing and uplifting despite being projected from a far 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.”

At the magically projected announcement, everyone in the plaza began cheering and hollering, even Orodan himself felt a fire stir in his heart and despite his duties demanding he keep the crowd in check, found himself wanting to join them in their revelry. However he tried his best to stay focused and instead got back to keeping watch and noticed a group of ten hooded and masked individuals approaching the plaza.

“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.”

Orodan tapped Edrosic, who was far too enraptured by the announcement, on the shoulder as he approached the suspicious group.

“Hold there, I’ll have to ask what business brings you this way. You wear no House Argon insignia nor are you entering through their guest entrance.” Orodan asked, and he had an uncomfortable feeling in his gut as he asked and decided to rest his hand on the hilt of the sword at his hip.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Ah apologies, we have business with House Argon, I’d strongly recommend you get out of the way militia man.” The man, the seeming leader of the group of ten hooded individuals, replied.

Although his words came across as rather brash and arrogant, this was a world where power determined one’s actions. Orodan found himself wondering if this individual and group weren’t secretly 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 title 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 silvered with plate armor covering them.

And then a bright glow emanated from the lead griffin rider, and something large and bright flew towards the plaza.

“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 weapons of every member of the suspiciously hooded and masked group were drawn.

And carnage began.

The first thing Orodan saw was an Argon enforcer’s head go flying across his vision, an Adept… killed like a chicken. And the second thing Orodan saw was the bright projectile fired by the 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 himself, and he hit the ground dozens of metres away, the wind knocked out of him by the explosive shockwave.

“County Militia! We’re under attack! Face the attackers!” Ordered a massive higher ranking House Argon enforcer who Orodan had not seen before, but who was now clashing against the leader of the attackers in what was clearly a battle at the Elite Realm due to the shockwaves shattering the nearby ground with their regular attacks and pushing Orodan back to the point where he was struggling 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 in frightening speeds with enchanting motions while clashing against the war hammer of the Argon Elite. “Hear me, House Argon are traitors to the Republic, stay out of this fight or suffer death!”

Hearing that, Orodan had no problem with complying. The fight was clearly above him and although he was a fighter who wouldn’t back down, he also knew when he was beyond outmatched.

“Hmmph! Northmen! Come out and do some work! Delay them as long as possible!” The Argon Elite roared, and on command the still intact 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!

Orodan himself was found as a crying infant amongst the blood and bodies of a Guzuhar raid upon a caravan traveling the coast. Both his parents had been killed that day and the trajectory of his life had been changed forever.

Orodan’s blood boiled for a fight, and 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 took a stance beside the unknown attackers. 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 masked figures were loyalists to the Republic.

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 and 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 silvered griffins were casting luminous and deadly looking spells at the tavern’s barrier. And behind him, Parthus Edrosic and the rest of the Volarbury County Militia including the vaunted mounted unit… had all turned tail and fled.

A dozen raiders on the front rank were killed on the spot by the loyalists who were all at least Adept level. 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.

Orodan 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 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.

It felt rewarding.

Five more barbarians rushed to charge at Orodan, seeking revenge for the death of their comrade, and 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 Orodan 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 Orodan 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.

He took one of the two aback with how crazed his zeal for battle was. Orodan 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 lethal wounds, but dealt out fatal wounds of his own. And at the end, while he would eventually die… the two Apprentice level Guzahar savages he fought lay dead at his feet 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 warrior.”

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

[Title Gained: One Who Has Experienced Death]

What?

“What the ever loving f-”

[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.

Quests. 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?

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, which he would not be displaying, 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.

Did fighting in life and death battles increase skill gains that much?

And 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 those who got them a good life.

Orodan’s life wasn’t bad. True, he had a rough upbringing, but his hard work had gotten him somewhere in life. 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.

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 so he could 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.

At this time the Temple wasn’t too busy. The dawn bell had yet to ring and 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 demanding to speak to a priest of Agathor.

“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 yet?” she calmly asked.

“Yes, I’ve received the Blessing of Agathor, I’m with the Volarbury County Militia and I haven’t informed them as of yet.”

“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.

“You won’t believe this, but I came back in time after dying. Today, around noon in Ogdenborough around the time of the Council announcement from the Capital there’s going to be a huge battle. Guzuhar barbarians attack the Eversong Plaza and House Argon is in on it. 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 became very silent and gave 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 his 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. They had perfect memory 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.

Gods were supposed to be outside of the flow of time and were unaffected by 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, a member of the County Militia. And yesterday… or I should say, today, I died while fighting against Northmen barbarians in Ogdenborough’s Eversong Plaza.”

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. Eversong Plaza and that tavern have always been a closely guarded secret of House Argon, 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 relevant to help in a matter like this.” Solamus spoke and 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.

He then realized 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.

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 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]

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?

But who was Orodan?

He clenched his fist. Orodan was someone who saw things through to the end. Someone who would doggedly clean every single inch of floor in his dilapidated hovel. Someone who would train every single day and struggle despite being an orphan without a background. Someone who would stand his ground out of spite and receive a charge from Guzuhar barbarians when all his peers 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, maybe there wasn’t.

But while a more reasonable person might have decided to plan and scheme and strategize, what did Orodan intend to do?

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

“I’m going to keep going to the Temple and struggling against that fucking archer until I succeed!”

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.