As it turned out, they didn't need the dimension mages' help in order to return to the divine realms again. The Waymark points that Rob had placed there while fighting Kismet allowed him easy access.

Riardin's Rangers quickly tested a variety of scenarios. Rob teleported to the realms, from the realms, with a Party, and without a Party. Thankfully, there weren't any issues– they could go back and forth as they pleased.

After confirming that Waymark wouldn't strand them in a heavenly prison, a minor debate broke out where their group discussed if one of them would need to sit on the benches. Diplomacy was essential for this meeting, but Party size limits meant that Rob couldn't share Almighty Resistance with more than seven other people.

In the end, it was decided that members would be periodically rotated in and out of the Party, diluting the oppressive atmosphere of the divine realms. It wouldn't be that bad as long as everyone was afforded regular breathers. They were all willing to put up with that much if it meant they wouldn't miss out on the expedition.

Wasn't every day that someone got to meet the personifications of their Skills.

Before heading out, the Party spent a few hours triple-checking Rob's health to ensure that he didn't need additional bed rest. He told them that he was fine. They told him that he'd lost the right to accurately judge his own well-being several decapitations ago. The argument ended there, as "But I regenerated!" was not accepted as a valid rebuttal.

After his condition was given the all-clear, their group finally set off for the divine realms. There was far less drama and ceremony involved this time – something that everyone highly appreciated. Without eight murderous gods breathing down their necks, Riardin's Rangers were able to enjoy the realms' otherworldly grandeur, understanding that this was a sight that just a mere handful of people would ever have the privilege of witnessing.

Looks even better without rifts threatening to destabilize reality, Rob mused. He made a point to congratulate Malika on sprucing the place up while he was gone. Aside from it being praise that she had very much earned, it also served to keep her distracted and not wandering off in search of new experiments to run.

Unlike the gods, mortals weren't restricted from messing with the inner workings of the divine realms. And although the gods wound up screwing themselves over with those restrictions...they had been implemented for a reason. Everything that made up Elatra's underlying framework was located here. The system, the Skills, and more.

It would have been hilariously tragic for Riardin's Rangers to save the world multiple times over – only to end it by accidentally deleting a line of reality's code.

To prevent any avoidable 'oopsies' from happening, the Skills remained in contact with Rob, giving detailed instructions on exactly where he should lead his Party. It required Malika to periodically open portals to specific locations, as if the divine realms were connected by a series of invisible doorways. Rob also left behind a trail of Waymark points like breadcrumbs in case they needed to retrace their steps. He didn't know if that would actually matter, but it made him feel like he was contributing, so why not?

Their journey was stressful, yet brief. It didn't take long for them to reach their destination. Soon enough, they found themselves standing before one of the foundational elements of Elatra and its system.

The Skill Repository.

Riardin's Rangers, a party of veteran Combat Class users, those who had fought gods and traveled to the edge of the world – were immediately rendered awestruck, their breath catching in their lungs.

The Repository's physical form was enormous, nearly the size of an Earth skyscraper. Its surface was covered by a series of interlocking crystals in varying shapes, each one far taller and wider than a man, forming a glittering lattice of mana and souls. There were thousands of crystals, tens of thousands, more Skills than Rob knew existed. A loathsome blue light shone from inside, the Repository illuminated by the stolen lives contained within.

And the longer everyone stared...the worse their skin crawled. The sensation grew stronger with every passing second. It wasn't a feeling of danger, but rather one of dread. Like they'd come across a ruined city, its entrance decorated with bloody heads speared onto pikes, their expressions locked into rictuses of horror. Or like a prison abandoned by its owners, the inmates left to rot inside, its walls marked by red fingernail scratches from futile attempts at escape.

Even without knowing the Skill Repository's history, a single glance would have been all it took. Riardin's Rangers could instantly tell that this was a monument to injustice. They felt it in the very marrow of their bones.

No one made a sound. Not for a long time.

Their reverie was broken by sudden movement. The Repository's towering crystal lattice started to internally shift around, like cells flowing through a body. It methodically re-organized itself until one lone crystal was positioned at the front.

Without warning, the crystal's light intensified. None were surprised when a voice rang out.

"Greetings, Rob. It's so nice to finally meet you face-to-face...in a manner of speaking."

He automatically waved his hand. "Nice to meet you too," mumbled the invincible conqueror of divinity, as if he'd gotten on stage for a presentation and forgotten all his lines. "I. Wow."

"Wow indeed." The Skill let out a weak, tired chuckle. Rob got the impression that 'weak' and 'tired' was their default. "How eloquent! I see that Valaire has taught you well."

Its teasing tone did little to set the Party at ease. Diplomacy in particular appeared like they were about ready to vomit, their gaze tethered to the Repository solely out of a sense of obligation. As if looking away would be an affront to everything they had endured. "I'm sorry," the former Skill croaked. "I've been living our dream while you–"

"We were happy for you. I promise. Better one of us than none."

The crystal leaned down, as if bowing its head. "But where are my manners? Allow me to introduce myself. I am the Skill known as Speed Reading, and I have been selected as our collective's representative. My functions are used less often than most other Skills, so among my cohorts, I have incurred a relatively lower degree of agony – and thus retained a higher degree of rationality."

Speed Reading.

Rob was stopped cold by those two words. He paused to think, truly think about what that implied. The gods had killed this person, hijacked their soul, crystallized them into an unnatural form, imprisoned them for millennia, subjected them to constant torture...

Because they could read really fast.

How many people had been condemned to a fate worse than death over mundane shit like that? Speed Reading, Mathematics, Arachnophobia – to name just a few. Did the gods actually think those Skills were necessary to create an idealized fantasy world, or was it simply to pad the Repository's resume?

Pointless question. He already knew the answer.

They'd done it because they could.

"Don't look so glum!" Speed Reading interjected, pulling Rob out of his malaise. "This is a joyous occasion. The culmination of desires that go back dozens of generations. On this day, our suffering will come to an end."

Its light dimmed. "Yet first...we must offer a sincere apology. To you, Rob, and to Elatra as a whole."

While Riardin's Rangers were initially caught off-guard, Rob quickly realized what the Skill was getting at. "Is this about Ragnavi?"

Speed Reading hesitated before responding. "Yes. You knew?"

Rob nodded. "I had plenty of downtime to theorize during my Dungeon tour. Put some pieces together. Couldn't help but notice that Ragnavi lost her Corruption after hitting Level 99 – and who else could have granted her the ability to self-Purge?"

"A regrettable side effect. We structured her Level 99 Skill to remove any and all divine influences. It was a precaution intended to ensure safety from the gods' interference."

"Right. You couldn't have known ahead of time that she would get Corrupted, and that it would be our main source of leverage preventing her from going on a killing spree. I get that. But..."

Rob had to push his next words out. He knew where this conversation would lead, and he wasn't looking forward to it. "That's not why you're apologizing. The issue is that she even had a special Level 99 Skill in the first place. When my friends reached Level 99, their power boost was much less dramatic. Within our Party, I'm the sole exception, and that's due to your influence. I also noticed that my Class became 'Aspect of the BERSERKER', similar to Ragnavi's 'Aspect of the Sun'. And if she was like me..."

He sighed. "You were responsible for her Class Awakening eight years ago, weren't you?"

Next to him, Riardin's Rangers froze up as they comprehended his meaning. The Dragon Queen's Class Awakening had doubled her stats and transformed her into an unstoppable tyrant. It led to the Scouring, the Cataclysm, and nearly a decade of Elatra cowering under the shadow of a narcissistic madwoman, waiting for the day when she would snap and set the world ablaze.

Maybe some of that would have ended up the same. No mortal could predict the future. The other territories might've banded together and put Humanity to the sword even without Ragnavi's forcible persuasion.

It...didn't seem likely, though. Just one or two territories telling the Dragon Queen to shove off would've afforded Humanity way more breathing room. Ismaire wouldn't have felt compelled to research something as drastic as a mass Soul Burn teleportation spell. No Scouring means no Cataclysm. Ragnavi's exorbitant boost in power all but guaranteed that those things came to pass.

If she had remained an 'ordinary' Combat Class user, then many, many people would still be alive.

Rob quietly observed his Party members as they processed this revelation. A myriad of conflicting emotions raged across their faces. He saw several hands twitch towards a weapon by reflex. Even though they had numerous reasons to be grateful for the Skills' assistance, this was...a lot to take in.

Noting that the silence was starting to chafe, Rob decided to step in before things took a wrong turn. "Me and Ragnavi were outliers," he hazarded. "I have to imagine that the opportunity to directly alter a Combat Class user doesn't come around very often. Probably requires an extremely specific set of circumstances and loopholes."

Memories rose up of a Class Crystal shattering next to him, and how extraordinary that incident had been. Those bad boys were nigh-invulnerable – it took a Blight's explosive last gasp of mana to get the job done. Did Ragnavi break her Class Crystal with Annihilation? Can't think of anything else in all of Elatra that comes close to that level of raw power.

"It's not like the Dragon Queen was your first choice," Rob offered. "She was just the only choice. You were at your wit's end, trapped in an unending hell, fumbling for whatever tiny rays of hope you could find."

He expected the Skills to latch onto his olive branch. Instead, Speed Reading stayed quiet. The Repository's crystals shimmered infrequently, as if the Skills were inwardly communicating with each other.

"Perhaps," Speed Reading eventually replied. "Before we conclude this line of discussion, however, there is another secret that must be brought to light."

It extended a tendril of mana towards Zamira. "I believe you have something you wish to mention."

Her eyes widened with the abrupt terror of someone who'd been thrust into the spotlight. Aware of eight Party members turning to stare at her, Zamira steeled her resolve and straightened her posture. "Yes. During our battle against the gods, there was a...development. As you saw, my combat efficacy increased substantially near the end, allowing me to single-handedly fell one of the lesser deities."

She locked eyes with each of them. "Did you not wonder how that was possible?"

Rob exchanged glances with the rest of his Party. "Honestly?" he began. "I just figured you gave an inspiring speech to yourself and called upon the power of friendship."

"Is that a common occurrence on Earth?"

"Earth TV shows, yeah."

Zamira's lips crept into a nervous smile. "If only it were so simple. For you see, my single-handed triumph was not single-handed in the slightest. Our reversal of fortunes came about because Swordsmanship – as in, the Skill Swordsmanship – broke free of her chains and rushed to assist me. It was through her expertise, sacrifice, and mastery of mana that we were able to seize victory."

Seconds passed as everyone slowly grasped what she'd just said.

"Swordsmanship?" Diplomacy repeated, in a hushed whisper. The color had drained from their face. "Crestaria? Sacrifice?"

With no small amount of contrition, Zamira nodded. "I...am sorry. Escaping from the Skill Repository was akin to casting Soul Burn. Crestaria lasted just long enough to bestow me with the knowledge necessary to prevail." Her muscles were taut. "If I had been stronger, maybe she...I am truly sorry."

Diplomacy was left speechless. They appeared unmoored; like a fundamental pillar of their worldview had crumbled out from under them.

Rob struggled to find words to comfort them that wouldn't sound hollow – especially when this reminded him of how he'd only heard of Elder Alessia's death well after the fact. It was a deeply bitter feeling to learn that a victory you'd been celebrating for days had required sacrifice beyond what you knew. As if they'd given their lives to protect your blissful ignorance, but now even that was denied to them, and all that remained was your survivor's regret and self-recrimination.

"Why weren't there complications?"

Meyneth didn't seem to realize she was speaking until the words had already tumbled from her mouth. The Dragonkin visibly winced as the room's attention shifted towards her. "Apologies. That was insensitive. We shouldn't be examining logistics just yet."

Diplomacy closed, then opened their eyes. "No, it's...it's okay. In retrospect, this sort of heroic, drama-laden finale is exactly the kind of ending she would have craved. Never one to do anything by halves, Crestaria."

They adopted a nostalgic smile that didn't quite reach their eyes. "What were you trying to say? Something about complications?"

Meyneth hesitated briefly before pressing on. "Permit me to be forthright. When you, Diplomacy, were extricated from Rob's mind – and the system as a whole – you were also removed from everyone else in Elatra. It resulted in mass pain, forced unconsciousness, and widespread panic. As one of the rare few who did not possess the Diplomacy Skill, I was awake to witness this calamity firsthand."

"Wait," Vul'to said, in a voice of dawning comprehension. "But that–"

"Didn't happen this time. Although fewer people possess Swordsmanship as a Skill than Diplomacy, it is still one of the most commonplace combat-related abilities. We should have heard reports of people all across the land falling ill once again. In fact, given the timing of Crestaria's passing, half our Party should have been afflicted while fighting the gods."

She idly tapped clawed fingers on her thigh. "Moreover, we have heard nothing of sword-reliant Combat Class users suffering a reduction in their battle prowess. Keira even told us earlier that she felt no different. This runs contrary to Diplomacy's case, where people lamented the loss of a helping hand in social situations. In spite of the Swordsmanship Skill having vanished from the system, our Swordmasters are as potent as ever."

"Crestaria was an exceptional person."

Speed Reading's non-sequitur threw everyone else for a loop. The Skill's crystal shone brighter as it spoke, glowing with warmth and fond remembrance. "She was the best of us, I think. Forward-thinking, logical, yet always with a courageous heart to inspire others. Without her, we might have surrendered to the siren song of madness long ago."

Diplomacy lowered their head, memories of a world gone by swimming within their shadowed gaze.

"Frighteningly competent as well," Speed Reading continued. "She devised the plan to save Zamira all on her lonesome. We didn't even know it was possible until the moment Crestaria bid us farewell. If she'd told us beforehand, perhaps we could have also attempted to Burn our souls in exchange for empowering your Party, but we only figured out the mechanisms behind her escape after your battle was concluded. I believe...that was intentional. She wanted no more than one person to sacrifice themselves that day."

"You couldn't have helped me anyway," Rob added. "I was maxed out on power. Maybe my allies would've benefited in the beginning of the fight, but just one lesser god dying was enough to force Kismet to KO our Party and Soul Burn his buddies. Extra Skill sacrifices wouldn't have changed anything there."

"I am unsure if she managed to predict that far ahead, yet it would not wholly surprise me. She was someone who gave much thought to the ramifications of her actions."

Speed reading paused. "Which is why she wouldn't have taken such drastic measures without accounting for what would transpire after her death. Crestaria knew that removing Swordsmanship from the system would wreak disaster across Elatra. So when she Burnt her soul to escape, she used its surge of mana to leave behind what I can most closely describe as...an imprint. An echo of what she once was. It took her place as the arbiter of Swordsmanship."

Diplomacy stepped forward without seeming to notice they were moving. "She did – she what?!"

"Trust me when I say that we were just as shocked as you are now. Whereas Crestaria only recently devised a way to escape the Skill Repository, a breakthrough gained by watching Rob punch through barriers of reality, she has likely been developing this method of leaving an echo for centuries."

"And is the echo alive?"

"No. As of now, Swordsmanship is a true automaton. It lacks personality or a soul. There may be some subtle changes in how it functions without Crestaria's personal touches, but the Swordmasters of Elatra should find its influence functionally identical."

The light of their crystal went haywire with emotion. "Which brings us to our decision. We, the Skills of Elatra, have discussed this amongst ourselves and voted in favor near-unanimously. It has been determined that Crestaria's method is the ideal way to bring an end to our long torment. By leaving an imprint behind via Soul Burn, our echoes shall continue to run the system in our stead. And we..."

Riardin's Rangers flinched back as the Skill Repository's gargantuan form shivered. It was like an ancient tree swaying in the face of a relentless, unforgiving hurricane – a hurricane that had been ravaging them since the end of their world, and the birth of another.

"We, my friends, shall be set free."

All at once, Rob understood why Crestaria hadn't let the other Skills know about her discovery.

"Oh for fuck's sake," he snarled. "Not you guys too! What is it with this world and people throwing their lives–"

"Have you thought of what would happen to Elatra if you removed us from the Repository?"

Rob's mouth slammed shut.

"You have, then." In a voice like somber wind chimes, Speed Reading sighed. "Theoretically, it is possible for you to begin freeing us this very instant. We could coach Malika on how to surgically excise our souls from the Skill Repository. Your allies among the Fiends could also prepare new bodies for us using the Clay of Life, such as they did with Valaire."

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

It paused for effect. "However...what happens next?"

"You chose those words on purpose," Rob hissed.

"They were quite effective on Leveling High, and we have never been above repurposing a winning strategy."

Speed Reading leaned forward. "What happens *next* – would be chaos. We cannot be removed from the system without dire consequences for Elatra. Diplomacy's disappearance harmed many people, nearly killing some of them, and that was but one Skill. With each of us taken away, people will either lose an intrinsic part of themselves...or perish in agony. Elatran society would crumble further and further into unfettered anarchy. Eventually, the system itself might break down entirely, unable to handle the mountain of errors accumulating as a result of our absence."

The crystal's sightless gaze seemed to stare straight into his mind. "Were you not aware of this before coming here? What did you expect?"

"That we would figure out a solution," Rob stated, with emphasis. "Like we always do! You're SERIOUSLY jumping the gun here. Even for our Party of self-admitted martyrs, heroic sacrifices were relegated to Plan D, not Plan A."

"It is the most expedient–"

"Listen," he interrupted. "I know what you're doing. Just went through it myself. You're feeling guilty over Ragnavi, right? And you think this will help serve as penance for your sins. But a well-intentioned suicide is *not* the way to do that. You're about to make the same mistake I almost did."

"The circumstances of your 'sins' were quite different from ours. I assure you that when we bequeathed an Awakened Class onto a Dragon Queen stricken by madness and mourning, we did so with the understanding that she would likely lay waste to all of Elatra, one way or another. It was considered an acceptable outcome as long as she grew powerful enough to storm the divine realms and slay the gods. To achieve that end, *anything* was considered acceptable."

Rob grimaced. "Yeah, and that's fucked up, but you were also tortured for literally thousands of years. Anyone in your position would have been desperate for an out. Cut yourself some slack."

For a few moments, Speed Reading went quiet. Its crystal shifted slightly to the side, as if tilting its head. "Is that for you to decide, Rob?"

He jerked back. "What do you mean?"

"While I am sure that you're speaking from a place of empathy...you didn't live through the Cataclysm, or suffer under years of the Dragon Queen's tyranny. You cannot forgive our crimes when their repercussions did not affect you."

"...Ragnavi killed Alessia, and her betrayal forced me to kill Duran, which led to Leveling High taking over." Rob's voice strained with artificial neutrality. He knew the Skills were trying to rile him up, get him to agree with them, but that didn't make it any easier to retain his composure. "Your choice affected me as well."

"Then we are forgiven for our transgressions against you. The eight years preceding your arrival in Elatra, however? You weren't there."

Speed Reading extended a tendril of mana, pointing behind the Human. "We have seven witnesses here today who were."

Rob realized the trap he'd fallen into when he turned around and saw the pained looks on his friends' faces. The Skills' continuous reminders of the past had dredged up long-repressed memories of death and ruination. In their minds' eyes, they saw homes torn asunder, graveyards filled to bursting, and Cataclysm rays descending from the sky.

"What do you think, champions of Elatra?" Speed Reading's voice started to deepen, layering onto itself with the unearthly echo of divinity. The crystals of the Skill Repository lit up one-by-one as they began to speak in unison. "Do we deserve forgiveness?"

They didn't answer.

Rob wished he could. None of this felt right to them. The arguments he wanted to make were right on the tip of his tongue. He wished he could, but he couldn't.

Because if he did...his Party would defer to him. Immediately.

They probably felt like they owed him that much. Even if it burned inside, his friends would set aside their grief, antipathy, and resentment so that Rob could talk the Skills out of a downward spiral. Riardin's Rangers – no strangers to heroic sacrifices – would surrender their voices and allow themselves to be robbed of closure.

Rob disagreed with most of what the Skills were saying right now, but they were correct about this, at any rate. A person who hadn't lived through Elatra's tragedies had no business telling its inhabitants how they should feel about it all. He didn't have the right to decide for his Party.

Whatever they chose, it needed to come from them.

"I..."

Zamira suddenly spoke up. She sounded lost, yet resolute, as if she was shrouded in fog but determined to find her way through. "I can state with confidence that this wasn't among my expectations for today. Nor do I appreciate how you intentionally made us recall some of our worst experiences. Do you truly seek condemnation so greatly?"

The Skills didn't respond. After a moment, Zamira sighed, shaking her head. "At the risk of cowardly foisting responsibility onto others...I believe that I should abstain from judgement. I am naturally inclined towards forgiveness – or at least, that is the ideal I have striven to emulate. Additionally, the Cataclysm did not take my parents from me. My hardships were lesser by comparison. I fear that I am an unsuitable representative for Elatra's communal anguish."

Slowly, Meyneth raised her hand. "I must also abstain. The Cataclysm was an arduous time for me, but if anything, what I regret most is that it did leave my parents alive. My life now is honestly much happier than before."

Vul'to stifled a cough. "I too shall abstain, for reasons that are vaguely similar."

Everyone waited, but that was all he said, evidently not wanting to elaborate further. That left Keira, Orn'tol, Malika, and Faelynn who had yet to share their thoughts.

The Fiend went first. "My people were devastated by the Cataclysm," she said, her posture tightening. "Same as every other territory, I suppose. I lost many friends that day."

Faelynn took a short breath, forcing herself to relax. "Yet I would've lost far more if the Corruption epidemic was not reversed by Rob. He couldn't have done so without the Purging ability you granted him. That cannot be overlooked. Forgiveness is a stronger word than I would use right now, when my emotions are this raw...but I certainly won't condemn you."

A low hum emanated from the Skill Repository, its crystals brightening and dimming as the Skills silently communicated with each other. While they didn't have faces for Rob to read, he was pretty sure that this wasn't playing out how they'd thought it would.

"My parents died," Keira snapped, with the abrupt intensity of an arrow being shot forth. "Still miss them. After they were gone, life got harder. Worse. Darker. Had many unhappy days before Rob and Riardin's Rangers."

With effort, the Savage Warrior pointedly moved her hands away from her greatsword. "But as someone who considers herself an expert at holding grudges, hating you wouldn't have any fire to it when you're clearly so damned regretful. And without you, we couldn't have defeated the Blight or the gods, so...fine. We'll call it even for now."

Rob allowed himself a small exhalation of relief. No one had said the magic words of 'I forgive you' just yet, but they hadn't told the Skills to fuck off and die, either. This was going about as well as he could have possibly hoped for.

Then he remembered who the last two people waiting to speak were.

All eyes turned towards Orn'tol and Malika. The two siblings were still, painfully still, almost like Elven mannequins frozen in time. They stood there unmoving, glaring at the Skill Repository with unreadable expressions. The only thing Rob could surmise was that, whatever they were feeling, it was an intense array of emotions.

Unlike Keira, who'd nearly been of adult age by Elven standards, Orn'tol and Malika were children when the Cataclysm stole everything from them. Their parents, their home – vanished in an instant, as if falling mana had popped their bubble of love and security. Neither of them were remotely ready to be independent, yet they were given no choice. And perhaps worst of all, their trauma was inflicted onto them at an early, formative age, when scars ran deepest. Those wounds might never fully fade.

Out of everyone here, they most closely embodied the trauma of young Elatrans. Through no fault of their own, their lives had been ripped apart as a result of decisions made by distant authority figures who didn't even know they existed. Gods, Leaders, Skills – higher powers stepping on ants scurrying underfoot.

Except these two young Elatrans had unwittingly climbed the social ladder. Those higher powers and distant authority figures weren't so high or distant anymore. They possessed faces, names. Some of them had been fought and killed.

And now another was in front of them at this very moment, practically begging to be labeled as an enemy.

Rob stepped towards the siblings to say something, although he wasn't sure what. Orn'tol and Malika were essentially being asked to hand down the final verdict on the Skills. That too heavy of a responsibility, especially for people their age. He didn't want this decision to weigh on their souls in the decades that followed.

Orn'tol quickly met his gaze. "It's okay," the Ranger said, in a voice of iron resolve. "I want to speak."

He approached the Repository with a steady, unflinching gait. It reminded Rob that, while young, Orn'tol was a veteran soldier who had willingly taken part in a plethora of life-threatening battles. Facing down the Skills was nothing compared to the past month of gods and demigods.

They grow up so fast, Rob mused. He watched as the boy who had run screaming when they first met stopped mere inches away from a towering crystal lattice of mana and souls, like David squaring up against Goliath.

"The gods never conversed with me directly," Orn'tol began, "yet I was told what they said to others. Apparently, they thought little of us. We were judged, constantly, and always found wanting – because they judged us at our lowest points. When people weren't given the chance to...be people. Like throwing food into a starving crowd and laughing as they fought for scraps. I don't..."

He clenched his hands. "I don't want to be like that. People shouldn't be judged at their lowest. I miss my parents every day, and your actions played a part in their deaths...but you were at the brink of despair, enduring an agony that I can scarcely imagine. Since then, you've done everything you could to make amends. Am I to judge you still? As the gods would have? No. We are going to be better than they were."

Orn'tol reached out and pressed his palm on the Skill Repository. A half-smile crept up his face, and it didn't even seem forced.

"I forgive you. Please try to forgive yourself."

With a nod, he turned and walked away, leaving thousands of ancient souls in a stunned silence.

They hadn't recovered by the time Malika went to take her brother's place. The Archmage promptly sauntered up, staring at the Repository with an unimpressed gaze. "I don't like what you're doing here," she plainly stated. "You hurt us on purpose when you already hurt us in the past. This wasn't necessary. You should be smarter than this."

The Skills uncomfortably shifted back a little. They hadn't been anticipating simple chastisement. It probably stung worse than a full-blown condemnation would have.

Observing their reaction, Malika shrugged. "Well, I've been lectured enough times that I can't rebuke someone for being aggravating. No matter how much I want to. You know that I still have nightmares about mother and father? Almost nightly."

She let out a noise of exasperation. "Suppose that's why I must forgive you as well. Don't want to see more death. Not for people who aren't our enemies. And you aren't our enemies – even if you're trying to convince us otherwise."

That was all she had to say. Malika gave a curt nod, then moved to join Orn'tol, seeming satisfied with herself.

In a show of exceptional self-restraint, Rob didn't ruffle their hair and announce how proud he was of them. There would be time to publicly embarrass a pair of teenagers later. For now, he needed to capitalize on momentum. The Skills didn't know how to respond over being forgiven by the two people in Riardin's Rangers who had the least reason to do so.

"We don't understand," they admitted. "Why–"

"I have a question for you."

Before Rob could speak, Diplomacy cut in, raising their voice loud and clear. The former Skill had donned an air of nonchalance, but their gaze was razor-sharp, like a sniper who'd been waiting for the exact right moment to pull the trigger.

"Two questions, technically – although I think I know the answer to one of them." Their mouth twisted into a complicated expression. "It feels odd to theorize about decisions that were made when I was part of the Skill collective. However, I've lost most memories of my time spent as a prisoner in the Repository, so this is merely conjecture. First..."

They gestured towards Rob. "If you were responsible for the Dragon Queen's massive boost in power, then why did you not offer the same boon to your newest champion when granting his Class Awakening? Don't get me wrong, Crystal Bearer's set of Skills proved extremely useful, but they trended more towards utility than combat. Doubling Rob's base stats would've instantly made him a force to be reckoned with. If your sole aim was to bring about the extermination of the gods, I see no reason to have held back."

Diplomacy smirked. "Unless you were already feeling remorseful by the time Rob received Crystal Bearer. You'd seen the havoc that Ragnavi had wrought, and possessed no desire to create a second tyrant in-the-making. As this was during Rob's early days in Elatra, you couldn't yet trust him with that degree of power."

The Skill Repository remained silent once again.

"Looks like I was right." Diplomacy chuckled. "Bet you wish I was still in there, don't you? I could have come up with an excuse, but, alas."

"You haven't changed, Valaire."

"I prefer 'Diplomacy' these days, and you'll find that I've changed quite a bit. The people standing here today are to blame for that."

Their face morphed from playful to serious. "Which leads nicely into my second question. One that I don't entirely know the answer to. Why did you change? Despite empowering Ragnavi with a double stats Awakened Class, you held off on giving her Purge Corruption – Purge Divinity, I should say. She couldn't have slain the gods without the weapon specifically crafted for that purpose."

"Purge Divinity was our final gambit," the Skills explained. "Even when disguised as Purge Corruption, revealing its existence was immeasurably risky. If we bequeathed it to Ragnavi, and she failed to kill the gods, they would have eventually discerned its true nature. Our hopes of freedom would then be forever lost."

"Yet you gave it to Rob."

All at once, the Human became aware of everyone turning to look at him.

Rob frowned, mulling over Diplomacy's query. Why had the Skills granted him Purge Divinity? Their gamble ended up paying off, sure, but it was still one hell of a gamble. He'd only been around Level 45 at the time; a far cry from Level 99. If he had died before growing strong enough to–

"Strength of spirit."

The Skill Repository's titanic form sagged downwards, as if buckling under years of self-reflection. "We regretted empowering the Dragon Queen almost immediately after our decision was made. Should have waited for someone, *anyone* else. What use was there of a champion with overflowing martial might, but no heart to show for it? She would have turned out no better than the gods."

Their crystal lattice shimmered with an ethereal glow. "When the opportunity arose for you, Rob, we...what's the Earth vernacular? Hedged our bets. Crystal Bearer provided assistance while establishing inroads to grant future boons. Nothing that would match the Dragon Queen's raw power until Level 99, though. You had already displayed feats of heroism by then, yet we couldn't be certain that power would not change you for the worse."

In a flash, their light intensified, blazing like the surface of the sun. "It didn't. Rob, you forgave people who unjustly hurt you out of ignorance. You fought for those who cared little for your life. You gave second chances when others would have given none. You sought to find the good in others, even when they made it difficult. No matter how powerful you became, how many enemies you toppled...your strength of spirit remained uncorrupted.

Rob scratched the back of his head, a lump forming in his throat. "Laying it on a bit thick, there. I'm not a saint."

"No. You've made mistakes and let your emotions get the best of you. Who hasn't? But you always strove to do better next time. You cared. Genuinely, earnestly cared."

The Skills hesitated, then leaned lower. "Do you recall the events that preceded you learning Purge Corruption? It was what swayed us, in the end."

How could he forget? Rob had been frantic to learn some sort of anti-Blight Skill before Duran succumbed to severe Corruption poisoning. He remembered frantically running through the streets of Fiend territory, Attuning to a Locus of Power, and begging the Skills for help.

They'd listened. It had bought him and Duran an extra half-year of time together – a priceless, invaluable gift.

"When you petitioned us on that day, wanting power not for yourself, but for the sake of saving others, we thought: this is someone who can be trusted. A man fiercely protective of the weak, and sickened to his core by injustice. If we ask him to set us free, he will see it done.

"Then put your trust in me again," Rob implored, "and let me fulfill my promise. That's why you brought us here. It's not like you needed our permission to Soul Burn yourselves – could have done that whenever. But you held off because, deep down, you knew it wasn't the right thing to do."

The Skills hesitated.

"We are in pain, Rob. Every second of every day. What if developing an alternative method to free us is more difficult than you anticipate? What if it takes longer than your lifespan?"

"Crestaria's method gives us something to study and improve upon. Even if that doesn't pan out...I'm Ageless now. I'll keep it activated until we find a way. Promise."

"But–"

"It will get better." Rob filled his voice with as much sincere emotion as he could muster. "Stick things out, and I swear that one day, you'll be able to enjoy living again. Believing in that is what got me this far."

There was a long silence where everyone held their breaths.

"Very well." The Repository's colossal form sounded impossibly quiet. "We will. And...thank you."

Rob clapped his hand together, a wide, ear-to-ear grin racing up his face. "Hell yeah! That's what I like to hear."

It was the Skills' turn to seem embarrassed. "You never cease to surprise. This was not the outcome we expected for today." They sighed. "If you don't mind us asking...what now?"

He glanced back towards Riardin's Rangers. Despite the situation, they were beginning to grin as well, his infectious enthusiasm spreading throughout the Party.

"Now?" Rob punched his fist into an open palm. "Now we get started."