Chapter I

Mine your own business

“An enterprise funded by Lady Bellcore”

“I have to enrich our family as well; my brother can’t be the only one to be sang about for years to come.”

Rationale of Lady Bellcore, as she convinced investors.

[https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/919449166034403339/984560866072604712/Endless_Odyssey_Chapter_I_Moonlight_Caverns_IV.jpg]

The letters were floating before his viridian eyes, shining with a light almost as ethereal as the moonlight filtering through the cavern’s ceiling, and even though Gillian understood what they meant in and of themselves, he didn’t get what their real meaning —one that he instinctively perceived as inherently existing— was in the situation he had ended up, for something as simple as pain was not a problem for one such as himself; this he knew, but he couldn’t totally dismiss the notion of such a state being more perpetual, even if his body, weakened and cold, was finally recovering its heat and with it the littlest shards of the power that should reside within.

A spark launched from his open palm, the currents of azure travelling through the air for but a fraction of a second before evaporating with a pitiful flash. Then, he understood, even if just the tiniest bit more: his body, his entire existence, had been weakened; his essence itself was not only lessened, but also different, something that he had thought impossible to achieve, even after so many years living through countless conflicts and discoveries on the ever changing Cabala territory.

This is too drastic, this change has modified my very own soul… if it can even be said that I’m still myself, the one known as Gillian Gillespie, he sombrely reflected, a vast darkness seeping into his mind as he further questioned his own existence as it had awakened wherever he was, and as that question arose, the human mage shook his head sideways, concentration returning to his addled mind.

“Right, first things first: where in Furiae’s fires am I?” He asked the night sky, more so to acquire a sense of purpose to crush the hopelessness he felt with than to actually earn an answer from the world, the weight of the loss of very much the majority of his own self threatening to invalidate any attempts he may advance to in search of—

Gillian Gillespie, you [have no future] have been integrated into the system.

The man pinched his nose’s bridge, closing his eyes with barely restrained fury as the white and mostly bold letters appeared before him no matter where he looked, not even swayed by the darkness once his eyelids closed shut in a vain attempt to banish them from his presence; not that such a thing would work in the first place, considering he could sort of hear them, loosely speaking, since it also felt as if the words were put inside him, almost as if to signify there were no escaping them, or whatever they wanted to communicate.

Worse than a fucking cold fish leading an important operation, I swear, cursed the man mentally, and the words finally decided to disappear… momentarily.

Your past has earned you the right to the classes Old Mage, Fighter and Crossbowman. Please check your status at present and distribute the points awarded.

Gillian Gillespie sighed, coming to terms with the obvious game-like aspects of the reality where he had ended up rather quickly, still harbouring the little hope of it all being nothing more than a secret project by Egosoft they decided to throw him in after whatever had transpired during the meeting he didn’t remember a speck of, yet the lacking feeling within was fervently shattered when he did as was told and, somehow, opened his status, making him see a three dimensional rendition of himself accompanied by numbers and letters; nevertheless, the man was still able to perceive everything around him as he was, convincing him that accessing whatever the system was had something more to do with the more metaphysical side of things than the rest.

Name: Gillian Gillespie Age: [E9r0r]

Life: 2400

Main Class: Old Mage (Level 1)

Subclass: Fighter (Level 1) Crossbowman (Level 1)

[Your life has] Fi[ished Classes: None

Total Level: [Level 3]

Stat Points to Integrate: 10

Physical Power: 12

Resilience: 12

Supernatural Power: 10

Ethereal Bastion: 10

???????: [Cl3ar1nc3 Err0r]

???? = [l?aran¡e 3rr¿r]

Equipment: Lost Sabre, Lost Elemental Crossbow, Lost Cap, Lost Spacefarer Suit, Lost Boots, Lost Gloves.

Gillian arched an eyebrow, a mix of many different emotions dancing in the surface of his bloodstained emerald eyes as the words slowly started making sense within his unsteady comprehension, and after a few seconds of silent contemplation, the old human laughed on a most unnerving manner: the sound that came from within him was strange, a curious and unfiltered blend of frustration, enjoyment, fury, indignation, happiness, anxiety and hope, forming an ugly mess he himself would stay away from, were he to meet someone crackling as he was.

Once the sentiments finally subsided to a less maddening state, the old human seemed to, at last, come to terms with the situation, a terrifying smile of pure white blossoming on his face that, were to be seen by someone, they would surely become frightful and wary of the man’s intentions, for his eyes complemented it by shining with an unnatural, phantasmagorical light tinted green and tainted red.

“Guess I’ll try my hand at whatever this ordeal I have ended up in is,” he merrily decided, slowly pulling himself up with the help of the edged weapon held on his right hand, its rusted one-sided blade piercing the rocky ground with haunting ease, an augur of what was to come, perhaps. “So, I have ten points to assign, right? Anything I should know besides the most obvious things regarding stats?” he asked. “You know, like those two that I don’t think I can access or upgrade at all?”

Gillian Gillespie, you shall be granted an adjutant, so your integration from the [you have no past] Old World is managed correctly. Initialising Procedure 56. [Your memories will condemn you.]

“Huh? What do y—”

Gillespie couldn’t continue, his mind feeling as if the fire of a dying sun was scorching it from the inside out for what felt like an eternity, forcing the man to howl in pain and desperately clutch his head, both weapons falling to the floor noisily with a sound so despondent it almost made the suffering mage feel guilty for doing such a thing to them, circumstances notwithstanding.

After a few seconds of real time, as it came, the terrible headache that seemed to be way more than such a thing unceremoniously left, leaving Gillian almost delirious in its wake, feeling like one who just had defeated a terrible fever, his limbs trembling sporadically and his eyes without focus. Gritting his teeth, a grunt escaping his throat without him even noticing so, the man opened his eyes once more as he recovered the weapons he unwillingly stopped holding, admiring their duress for a brief moment of lucidity that rewarded him with a certain, nebulous discovery: the blade he hold at present wasn’t his old weapon, rust or no rust; of course it wasn’t, he already saw it in the status screen, but allowed his curiosity to be restrained in favour of more urgent and interesting matters.

I wielded an actual sword before, but this weapon is a sabre. Only one side is bladed, he reflected, closing his right eye and arching his left eyebrow with uncertainty and confusion. What a weird detail, considering both my clothes and the crossbow are the same, no doubts about it, he considered, then wondered if it had to do with one of his subclasses. Probably Fighter’s fault, if anything, he reckoned, the idea that said class was more focused on defence than its name might have suggested somehow appearing in his thoughts, yet making him ultimately deciding to let it go for the moment, expecting the sombre letters to make a return.

And return they did.

Procedure completed. Your adjutant has been [given life once more] brought back.

Gillian expected some kind of cute marketable pet to suddenly appear showered in multi-coloured lights and a fanfare of some kind, yet all that greeted him was an eerie silence only broken by what he assumed were droplets of water falling somewhere in the darkened entrails of the cavern, hitting the blueish rock with guiltless despondency.

Awkwaaaaard.

Adjutant error 41. [Your life was meaningless.]

“I really want to kick your sorry bodiless ass for actually giving me some expectations for once, you know that?” the man complained, cutting the air with his blade, the act a mix of indignation and the giddiness of trying a new weapon; after all, Gillian had been insulted in countless ways throughout all his life, and a disembodied voice being extremely passive-aggressive was pretty tame in comparison to the load of bullshit he had heard in his line of work. Hell, it was actually pretty subdued, even if the weird system didn’t seem to like him very much on what he assumed would be a world completely governed by its machinations and mechanics, thus probably meaning that he was potentially fucked in whatever his ‘Endless Odyssey’ was.

He slashed forward three times more, weighing the weapon with a dexterity few actually possessed, system governing capabilities or not, and a little smile spread across his face as he whistled, content with how the weapon seemed to perform, even if it had yet to be tested against actual enemies, whatever they might be. Honestly, the thought of going out to level and end up killing bandits or some bullshit like that is depressing me already, he thought with a scowl on his face as the blade cut through the air once again, producing a very high-pitched and satisfying sound that made him giggle like a teenager girl in love.

Feeling a lot more refreshed, Gillian looked around the place he woke up in and found that there was only one path to be followed; luckily for him, the only way forward was illuminated by both moonlight and moss: the thing grew ostensibly on the rocky walls, weaving a lime glow that added an interesting, almost mysterious atmosphere to the cavern, but most importantly, saving the man from walking in darkness until he were able to find the exit, wherever it be, and since the voice didn’t add more letters to the growing headache that were its communications, Gillespie decided to just go and discover how things really worked naturally.

“So… do you have a name or are you simply some kind of automated system for the people here?” he decided to ask after proceeding a few steps forward, his reinforced yet light boots hitting the rock with little sound as he did so. “Also, I’m not getting whatever an adjutant is, am I?”

Gillian Gillespie, you are not important enough to have answers to such queries, but we shall give you an adjutant, requisites not met in your previous life notwithstanding.

“You will? What kind of…?” the man stopped himself in time, knowingly aware of the limitations placed on his circumstances. “Right, you won’t answer the important things, will ya? Way to be frustrating to your charges, Letters,” he complained, waving a hand dismissively in a random direction, eliciting a rusty groan from the crossbow it held, somehow.

Letters? Are you referring to us by that ridiculous moniker?

Huh, interestingly emotional response, the man thought, curious. I mean, it’s still on the negative aspect of emotions, but this proves whatever Letters is, they ain’t automated; probably an AI like—

Tch. We can see the gears on your head turning, mage of the Old World; trying to unravel our mysteries won’t help you. Not this soon, if ever.

“Did you just click your tongue at me?” replied an equal parts surprised and annoyed Gillian. “The hell, Letters? Don’t tell me you’re controlling this system of yours from somewhere while having a body yourself or something?” He asked, miffed, yet furiously thinking. “If, on the contrary, you’re assigned to me by this system or whatever, the least you could do is be less of a bitch, yeah? I’ll sue you, dammit.”

Enough prodding, Gillian Gillespie: distribute your points and prepare yourself; your adjutant will also join you shortly, since it will take me a moment to find a source from which to remake him.

Him? Me? the man repeated Letters’ strangely chosen words, puzzled. “Wait, what do you mean you’re going to make him again?” he enquired a second later, but the damned disembodied voice chose not to humour him anymore, keeping silent instead, potentially working on what it said to be doing or maybe doing so just to irk him; after all, Letters seemed to enjoy being an asshole to the old mage that didn’t look old in the slightest. It was probably a vocation of theirs, if not their job outright.

With an exasperated sigh, Gillian chose to focus back on the place he woke up and its exploration, since he didn’t know enough about how things worked to distribute any points he got, and noting that Letters had ominously told him to prepare himself, which coming from them probably meant that something terrible was bound to happen shortly, possibly involving him suffering a terrible death… or so it felt to him as the tunnel suddenly elicited to sharply curve to the left. Cautious, the crossbowman lifted his ranged armament and, after putting his back to the wall for cover, gazed from the opening in search of the slightest hint of a threat.

He saw how the tunnel rapidly became larger until it opened itself into a giant, mossy gallery of which sides he was not able to see from his present position; assured there was no enemy at least until he walked into the very boss-like room up ahead, Gillian relaxed his posture and returned to slowly walking forward, reflecting on what to do regarding his stats and concluding that the wisest choice would be to just wait for Letters to give him the adjutant they so determinedly promised, such a notion mayhaps borne of a sense of pride as whatever they were or were doing and their skills at it. Or they’re fucking with me, he theorised, stifling a slightly anxious laugh.

Knowing perfectly well that he should wait before proceeding into what was more probably than not a hard fight for someone that had just woken up, Gillian instead smiled wolfishly and, with a fearless gaze, took account of the gallery’s situation, after nonchalantly leaving the tunnel behind him: the room was indeed spacious, the tall ceiling around twelve meters in height, while its width, whilst not uniform thanks to the place’s not perfectly circular make, seemed to be close to twenty meters wide and it was but clear that the caverns were not natural, evidenced by their notably artificial structure and the amounts of ruined and seemingly forgotten materials and mining equipment scattered throughout, of which nature the mage was not privy to, as he had very limited experience regarding such kind of mining operations, yet was able to parse that the efforts were both clumsy and well equipped, with parts of the remains everywhere hinting at a mixture of good organisation but individual inefficacy, as if someone had the means, but not the knowhow to lead such enterprise.

“Hey, I know you’re there,” he hollered towards the other end of the room, where an old, big wooden door not entirely fitting the head of the tunnel it led into creaked ominously. “C’mon, I’m waiting,” the man singed snarkily, crossing his arms over his chest as much as the two weapons he held let him, eyeing the end of the room with rapt attention. “Oi,” he grumbled after almost a minute of stillness, annoyed, then smiled as the sound of a heavy step broke the silence before the tool made of rotting old wood literally exploded brutally as a metallic, greenish foot made way through its weakened structure.

Gillian stepped lightly aside, almost as if he didn’t move at all, therefore letting the untold number of splinters pass him by laconically, a smirk on his face but a terrifying glint of want in his eyes: the unknown assailant brought his limb down with a powerful, hollowed noise, cracking the rocky floor slightly, and then proceeded slowly forward through the entrance, the sensor that served as an eye on the part of his frame made in pale imitation of a head flashing red intermittently until it stopped moving erratically and focused on the old mage with a sharpness that almost made him wince.

“Well, shit, I expected many things, but an armure from those Arma motherfuckers was not one of them,” the man assured with a totally appropriate amount of amusement for the situation at hand, cautiously observing the machine nonetheless as it continued advancing for a few seconds before stopping momentarily a few meters across him: it was humanoid in physical structure, at least three meters tall and notably bulky and squared, even rectangular in parts of its anatomy, its arms curiously sporting five-fingered hands yet possessing a cyclopean eye that nested within a barely translucent, blackish dome-shaped vault of glass which seemed to break the scant yet wilful illusion of the thing being human-like, probably from design, as such were the old tenants in that regard; it was evidently clear to Gillian now: the robot was a very old, antiquated model… yet it had a modicum of strength nonetheless; more than he had at the moment, as much as he didn’t like the deeper implications of such an asseveration.

“Magic circuit and magic flow detected in unauthorised individual,” it blared with a voice that was once probably that of a middle-aged though-as-nails Bruno conspicuously in his direction. “Unit ABG-39584 will initiate energy extraction after the vessel is neutralised, then will start elimination procedures,” it communicated two seconds after with an emotionless, terribly artificial tone, the noise surging from its rusted and old body in glitched notions, as if it took an inordinate amount of its strength to do such a simple thing.

“Man, whomever’s played with your machine brain has given you some weird ideas, haven’t they?” Gillian complained, calmly spinning his sword clockwise thrice before moving it rapidly until it nested atop his left shoulder and part of his neck, as many cocky fighters did to show off, yet cautious that the bladed side stood upwards so as to not injure him as he revelled on the situation. “So, did they get you from some smugglers and decided an old armure would serve really well to stay any would-be trespasser put of their favourite mines?” He asked, half interested and half gauging the prospected enemy’s movements and reactions.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

“Trespasser number three hundred twenty five is not authorised to ask any questions,” the machine answered after a few seconds of unsteady idling, its old, mossy and rusty body almost imperceptibly shaking as did the most inefficient wonders of technology known to the universe as it was presently, or, at least, until Gillian was potentially forced into another one… if that was what had happened, even.

“Oh, not even gonna try to obtain any info from your first visitor in…,” he paused, shrugging after a few seconds. “I dunno, a few years? Who the hell would want to come here in the first place? Everything looks the same and the service is terrible,” he ended up complaining, watching the robot with much more amusement than someone in his circumstances should ever feel toward something that had already manifested their intention to annihilate him, with a previous session of delectable torture via magical extraction included in the package, no less. Probably a deluxe edition for being a mage, he concluded, mostly because the machine basically told him as such, confirming that it could perceive magic and the circuitry present in those who were able to wield and produce it, which was not entirely strange, yet seemed so in the current situation, for some reason. Were the armure always able to identify magical circuitry in the first place? Flow I don’t doubt, it ain’t that hard even for nulls if we’re talking basics, but circuitry? I don’t think they—

“Trespasser status: fool. Threat assessment: low. Commencing neutralisation routine,” informed the artificial intelligence with what seemed to Gillian like growing arrogance, mechanical as it was.

Did I already take out its patience? Damn I’m good, must be a new record with how calm AIs generally are.

“Trespasser’s only authorisation within location Mines of Belcore is—,” started the robot, as if savouring its own, artificial and tasteless words with a surprising delight, seen from its future victim’s perspective, “to forsake its life!”

With a burst of power that created many cracks where it stood, the bulky and antiquated hunk of metal slid upon the rocky floor at an incredible pace, charging as if friction was an entirely optional concept and not obligatory in how the physics governing the manifold universes worked, its rusty frame leaving behind waves of air and oxidised particles mixed with disgustingly green viscous moss and a few, so ephemeral droplets of water.

Gillian, all pretences abandoned upon facing a very real threat against his potentially new and young life, met his enemy with boldness others would consider bordering on madness: from his supposed cocky posture he rapidly did an anticlockwise spin with both weapons while stepping opposite his enemy and shot forward, a violent current of electricity abandoning him and scorching the earth before fading as it came, as he threw himself against the machine with a resolution as solid as the iron that made the body of his aggressor.

Knowing from the little he saw that the armure was no doubt physically stronger than he was at the moment, and also had the advantage of weight on its momentum, the old mage closed his eyes before they crashed into each other as would a composed warrior in a very theatrical movie, calling upon the few scraps of power he was still able to manifest even in his more-than-weakened state, and he was answered by the ever changing nebulae that surged from his form in a minuscule fraction of a second, enveloping most of the room instantly and leaving it in his figurative hands to do with as he pleased, or, more concretely, what little he could do as he was.

The robot didn’t have enough of a reaction time nor the statistical, systemic capabilities to take into account whatever the old mage had done, and so it saw with crescent surprise that his own body, heavier than any ordinate lump of iron, was slightly lifted into the air, effectively ruining the lethal efficacy of its beautifully-planned and studied, lethally-proved charge, as if the force of gravity was being locally manipulated; using the inertia from his previous spin, Gillian executed three more revolutions at a dizzying, unnatural velocity that made his image blurry as he advanced, which came to an end precisely as the blade of his old sabre made contact with the unbelievably tough, metallic torso of its enemy, tearing through the tarnished material with difficulty, but still managing to rip part of its mechanical innards to shreds, an effort that was further enhanced by the old crossbow: the weapon sparked as arcs of blue plasma danced on its surface, ultimately giving form to both strings and a bolt of pure azure that lightened the room with their master’s spirit as the armament fired into the thing he designated his enemy with unbridled fury, piercing through the countless mechanisms, chips, boards, cables and gears before ultimately shattering the back of its artificial torso in a shower of sparks and oil, destruction and fabricated pain.

Spinning once again by using the inertia of his own attack, the old mage passed below the rain of damage on the machine’s body, wresting his blade free from its insides and transitioning from an unbelievable charge to a tranquil walk, the nebulae surrounding them returning to his body as the robot howled in pain at the wake of his destruction, still managing to stay mostly upright after breaking its acceleration, somehow.

Knowing full well that he was able to deal so much damage because he took the AI by surprise, and a little bit frustrated that such a terrible assault left unanswered didn’t a scrapped robot make, Gillian turned back with the intention to glower in his little victory while he recovered enough energy to perform a followup that would spell the thing’s end without question.

“Left you reeling, didn’t I?”, he provoked, putting his sabre back at his earlier position innocently while his eyes focused in the hulking figure at the other side of the room. Since they had switched places, it was now possible for Gillian to orchestrate a fast escape through the now opened tunnels, but the old mage wouldn’t even consider the idea: he had come to blows against the mechanical murderer with the intention to make it but a source of experience and possibly loot to fuel his new beginnings, and, as many had discovered before being met with a definite end, Gillian Gillespie was a man that didn’t like to leave things half-done, and a battle, of all of them, was that which he would never let stand unfinished, the sparks that surged inadvertently from his skin serving as a pretty clear indication to anyone with the slightest knowledge about mages.

Unit ABG-39584 slowly turned back, its red eye, composed of a myriad lenses, every one of them by itself being more visually developed and perceptive than any human eye would ever be, blinking irreparably. Distressed, the machine spoke once again, a mixture of badly hurt pride, astonishment and barely repressed anger marring its artificial, fabricated voice. “Threat status reevaluated: extremely dangerous; must destroy at once,” it communicated aloud, the lens eminently glaring at the old mage, whose smile grew ever larger, satisfied, and a thought invaded the machine: this human is not normal, but a menace, a predator. I have hunted many, but it is now that I feel as if such a notion has been completely overturned and I am now the one that shall be preyed upon.

Shaking what some designer thought was close enough to a head in a very human-like manner, the mechanical guardian drowned its fear in pride and ire, and started to prepare to execute its directive without taking its cyclopean tool off the human’s figure; for his part, the old mage whistled snidely, slowly strutting sideways and paying back the machine’s glaring with his most wolfish smile.

“I’m starting to think you’ve only managed to kill very weak people, or just idiots, not really sure,” he said to the robot. “I mean no offence, assuming the number you said before is your actual body count, if it does not include stupid shit like stray animals or random monsters” he continued. “Three hundred… whatever is a nice figure,” he complimented, before stopping in his tracks completely, the red eye focusing on him with renovated fury. “…for a bunch of metal plates and bolts with a lazy eye, that is.”

“Intruder is enamoured with his own voice, a weakness Unit ABG-39584 will exploit shortly to lethal effect,” it simply replied, in a more than clear attempt to appear more calm than it really was; somehow, its voice showed the truth behind its strategy the most, as it was crackling with random noise and its tone was very uneven, a happenstance potentially caused by the large amount of damage it had already sustained; frankly, the old mage was surprised at how much abuse the thing had taken without shutting down, and the obvious reason for it being the case came to him as he recalled the numbers on his status.

Right, the system has strengthen this thing’s natural characteristics to an incredible ceiling. I wonder if that’s the reason it can detect so much of mages and their workings, the crossbowman reflected. A question was summoned upon the theory, and seeing as both he and his enemy were bidding for time to deal a deciding blow, he decided to keep the conversation going.

“So, for how long have you been employed in this mine of yours, killing weaklings and punk-asses, huh?”

The machine whirled slightly in place, perhaps surprised by the question. “I have being fulfilling my role of guardian for a sustained time of forty two years, five months, three days, eleven hours, fourteen seconds. Fifteen,” it answered diligently with a somewhat jocular pause at the end, and the old mage could feel the pride that sustained its words. A killing machine with a work ethic; weirdest shit I’ve ever seen. Well, no, but at least on the top twenty.

“Not bad, not bad,” the man commented. “So what you’re telling me is that you’ve been the janitor for almost fifty years, taking out the trash, which may or may not include the poor saps that decided to take a look at the abandoned mines you reside in, right?”

The whirling increased, and Gillian chuckled with amusement. If this guy were human, he would’ve been marked to death by every swindler in town, then made a scapegoat for some mafia VIP or popped for free DNA to use in cloning or untraceable biologics.

“Sucks to be you, mate; you probably don’t even have health insurance, judging by your magical needs, eh?,” he continued, mocking the poor, unlucky bastard without stop. “Man, even I had that on my jobs as a button man,” he pitied, a scowl in his face as he grew impatient. “Honestly, you’re just making me sad at this point,” Gillian admonished, as if the machine had any blame for making him remember his more than illegal and bloodied past; even if he had started partly to get the jump on the thing, the visions of bloody murder that assaulted his senses were not enjoyable, not enjoyable at all.

“Unit ABG-39584 has had en—”

Gillian scoffed, suddenly pointing his crossbow in the robot’s direction and looking to one side briefly, wherein what seemed like broken down yet sturdy machinery lied, awaiting, perhaps, one last digging, a fact that his enemy didn’t gloss over in the slightest, predicting his moves with an assurance it lacked a while before, even taking into account the strange element the man had wielded to its surprise.

The AI’s body shuddered as the back of its sturdy frame opened with a hiss of vapour and a pair of thrusters sailed forth, immediately coming to life with an explosion of heat, their temperature rising rapidly as their master, delighted by the look of surprise on his next victim’s face, draw back its right hand and swapped it for a gigantic, rusty saw blade which it hid in its arm’s bulky structure.

“Elimination routine 98, initialising,” the robot declared in a perhaps premature cry of victory, and then proceeded to pull himself forward as the man changed its ranged weapon’s objective to the pile of junk on the floor, doubtlessly to try and use it in some crafty way to damage the living machine; ignoring the edged weapon suddenly pointing upwards, the robot was incapable of seeing the sphere of electricity that launched at the ceiling with very nearly the speed of sound, and how it became almost a drill, a specially effective form to accomplish the goal its master had set for it, as the energy he needed to pull off his deadly plan had been finally attained.

I don’t have time to waste talking to a stupid full metal janitor, exciting battle to the death notwithstanding, he thought half sincerely, for one didn’t last as many years as he without finding an appreciation for the finer points of a battle, for the melody of destruction, as a certain artist put it, be it of life or of property, and the rush of facing the end head on with a smile in his face and a storm in his heart.

The thrusters finally cried in fury, exploding in a cone of fire and rage as the machine flew forward at an incredible velocity, a sonic boom shaking the whole of the gallery as if an earthquake caused by a mad cyclops, or precisely as such, for the one-eyed killing machine howled, the chainsaw turned to life on its right arm, prepared to rip and t—

“Down.”

Unit ABG-39584 barely had enough time to process the word as the room flew it by, the assault it expected from one side never coming, and its enemy electing to stay put in stark contrast to what any other of its opponents would have ever done in the same situation, the expression of surprise it saw on his face previously now transformed in a feral grin as the human cut the air with a downward slash of his old-looking sabre.

The machine didn’t have time to react, nor was able to understand the circumstances that led to what transpired as a veritable beacon of cascading rainbow descended upon its path, transforming the room, temporarily, in a light show as the colours reflected upon the metallic surface of its bulky body and the shining moss throughout it; for that brief moment, both fighters felt an exuberant serenity, the beauty of their efforts on killing each other rewarded physically, not to ever be forgotten. For the first time, the robot felt as if its life until that point had, somehow, a deeper mean—

Metal screeched as the numberless tonnes of blue rock that, strangely covered in that same multi-coloured light, were part of the robot’s servile guard for slightly more than forty two years, five months, three days, eleven hours and fifteen seconds fell down mercilessly upon the machine’s body, stopping its inertia violently and crushing its frame instantly with the ire of importuned earth.

A cave-in. The madman had caused a cave-in to bury the AI with, perhaps in a show of utmost poetic irony; what made it even worst was that he had managed to control it to such an extent that the fringes of the room, and consequently where he had lied in wait for the machine to fall into his trap, were not affected in the slightest.

“Let’s go, baby!” The man celebrated, rising his sabre, the weapon that executed the battle’s winning move, at least partially, pointing it straight at the presently exposed rock at the heights of the gallery. “Been a while since strengthening gravity locally has garnered me an epic victory,” he laughed heartily, dancing for a few seconds until he noticed that the robot’s head was left protruding from the wreckage, barely visible amongst the countless rocks and mossy remnants thanks to the still alight cyclopean eye.

Gillian closed the distance to the buried killing machine and smiled to it, conscious of how the AI was able to perceive the beauty of their fight to the death at the moment before its demise. As if trying to take that satisfaction from him, the machine coughed with its barely audible and intelligible speaker, but he didn’t let it deflect the last feelings it had felt before the end.

“It was a nice battle, sonny,” he told it with appreciation. “Pretty sure you only needed to slug me once and I would have become the universe’s best milkshake magical battery,” he added truthfully. “Honest. Man, that would have been a very anticlimactic end to whatever I have been roped into, but well earned in your part, considerin’.”

The machine harrumphed haughtily, but it was clear to the old mage that it was just trying to keep up appearances, for some reason, and that reminded him of many of his enemies from Odyssey of Adventure and how they would relish all and every fight against him or his company, and his green eyes watered considerably. Awkwardly, Gillian closed them and crouched down until he was barely any distance away from the defeated robot.

“I guess you did a good job guarding this place, even if it means that you have killed many people doing so,” he congratulated, not exactly sure how to phrase both his displeasure and a compliment on the thing’s tenacity.

“Three hundred twenty four,” amended the killing machine with clear pride.

“Right, that many,” sighed away the crossbowman, after which he rose said weapon toward the barely alight single eye that looked at him with great attention. “Anything else you want to say before I end it all?”

ABG-39584 took a few seconds to process such a query, and after its barely functioning mind whirled, it decided on an answer that it found entirely fitting of their exchange, and an honour to their great battle.

“It was an enjoyable fight to the death, intruder three hundred twenty five,” it answered with something akin to appreciation in its tone. “I’ll see you i—”

The two sounds occurred simultaneously: one came from the pile of rocks as a rusted chainsaw ripped through the mineral and launched in a descending arch towards the lone human, while the other’s origin was the bolt of pure electricity shot from the old crossbow directly into the red eye of the machine, piercing through the pitiful remnants that were its body before it was utterly destroyed in fireworks of metal and electric arcs which illuminated the mines with an echo of the killing machine’s last show of professionalism.

“Got you,” laughed the AI as the spinning blade landed on Gillian’s left shoulder, its eye’s light fading rapidly until it finally shot down with a last barely intelligible chuckle from its busted speaker, unaware of the myriad of sparks born from its shuddering weapon as it tried to tear through the sabre that the old mage interposed between its bite and his flesh.

“Sorry,” the mage murmured apologetically. “I would have let you get that last one, but it would probably be too much damage even if I defend from it halfheartedly,” he explained to the inoperative machine in a somewhat guilty tone, the moving blade finally losing its revolutionary behaviour upon the ironclad defence of Gillian’s trusty sabre as his words vanished along the cavern’s soundscape. “You were pretty strong, after all,” he concluded, lowering his trembling right arm to the blue earth, strength completely depleted, the chainsaw blade falling beside it noisily, hitting the floor with the full brunt of its weight.

Barely able to hold onto his bladed weapon, which now sported a myriad of scratches and a few cracks on its surface, Gillian sat down exhausted, the toll of the battle consuming the little energy he had left after summoning his supernatural elements to tip off the scales, at least in the power department, for strategy and experience were what ultimately lead him to victory.

“It was damn fucking close for a first fight, that’s for sure,” he complained in case a certain soundless voice decided to reappear; after a few seconds, his green eyes turned to both weapons in his hands with appreciation and warmth. “You did well, both of you. I promise to give you one hell of a maintenance when I find a cool place reaching our standards, yeah?”

Even though he knew the armaments were inert and lacked life, the old mage felt as if both had understood his words and were happy at the prospect promised by their master. Chuckling slightly and preferring not to wonder what the feeling was all about, Gillian breathed with contentment, unworried by the possibility of another collapse happening from the damage he inflicted to the mine’s structure with the drilling charge he had set at the fight’s deciding move, perhaps foolishly, yet the man wasn’t able to amass enough strength to even move from his position yet.

While he idled, eyes closed in recovery and mind wandering, the sound came back with its unexpected sombreness, the bell it seemingly came from surely the possessor of a twisted and malevolent nature hidden behind the veil it tolled from, yet equally perceivable by the man for whom it did so, who shuddered unconsciously at its ethereal nature.

Congratulations on your first [kill] victory.

With a groan of distaste, Gillian looked upon the letters and their silent accusation, his green eyes almost shining, the red staining his emeraldine pupils unravelling without end, forming and destroying random patterns countless times for every second passed.

You have eliminated an enemy much stronger than you by using both might, magic and subterfuge with the aid of no one at the beginning of your new life; your reward shall be reciprocally immense and bestowed thus—

Your baseline power grows exponentially as the machine you’ve destroyed lies in a pool of its lifeblood: slightly magical degraded oil and antiquated processors. Main Class Old Mage and Subclasses Fighter and Crossbowman have been maxed: +18 Physical Power +18 Resilience +90 free points; the surplus experience will be deposited inside the user’s EXP Bank. Your Total Level is now 30.

As a result of maxing these classes, you obtain the [Skills] Power String, Fast Rearm, Withstand Physical and the [Perks] Light Crossbow Mastery and Light Physical Defence.

From the combination of your performance and the knowledge you have proved to yet possess, you obtain the [Skills] Lock-On, Block, Deepsight, the [Perks] Battle Instinct, Magical Intuition and the [Titles] Lone Hunter, Reckless Survivor and Deceiver.

Your Main Class has been automatically chosen after its requirements for unlocking were met: you are now a Mage of the Lost World [Level 1]. +11 free points. Your Total Level is now 31. You have Subclasses to select.

You have obtained loot: Armure Beta Guardian Head x1, Rusty Chainsaw Blade x1 and Mossy Antiquated Metal Plate x3, all of which will be deposited on your magical vault.

You have unlocked the [Trait] Old Magical Vault.

Overwhelmed by the ridiculous amount of information, Gillian growled in annoyance, but grew more comfortable as the energy he had lost not only replenished, but overflowed from him, the strengthening brought about by the automatically distributed stats born from his subclasses washing away all exhaustion in a manner he scarcely believed possible.

“So, this is an autonomous procedure done by the system, right?” He half asked, half convinced himself. “Pretty sure Letters ain’t back yet with my adjutant or whatever the fuck they’re doing,” he mused, all the while giving a thought to his next move in regards to how he was going to build himself, as it were: in Odyssey of Adventure, Gillian’s main character was a Rune Knight; that is, he was both an overall tank, not specialised against any type of damage but decent facing all of its kind while also being able to unleash a myriad of spells, which added burst, area of effect and damage over time to his offensive options, to the dismay of many who thought him a full tank, yet in reality… “If anything, I’m kind of a rogue or one of those hated spellblades I see around, right? I focus way more on being agile than taking hits, and remaining fast is pretty important for my branch of the magia pugnare, so…”, the old mage added, losing himself in his thoughts and ideas for a while.

This is an automatic message recorded in order to mock Gillian Gillespie were he to complain about me enough or become engrossed in theory crafting without my or his adjutant’s input: just shut up, don’t put all your points in your status before we explain things and reflect on your life’s choices; there won’t be a problem if that in doing so, you end up throwing yourself down a cliff either, so feel free to make my life easier. Now shoo, I’m busy.

Gillian, slightly bothered, got up and left the gallery behind through the tunnel ABG had come from, not without giving the robot’s remnants a glance that not only made him eager to discover more of the world, but also confirmed that the loot he had obtained and the actual body parts on the room were in fact not the same; he walked through the dimly lit tunnel for a while, observing the remnants of the operation everywhere he looked: sometimes he only found tools as he had before, but more often than not the mage of the lost world was able to see what were without a doubt the remains of many a robotic workforce, their energy long lost, some even sharing a similar fate that the old mage made poetically befall ABG-39584.

A smile bloomed into the efficient man’s features as he remembered how fun and thrilling his first fight in this world had turned out once again, and the giddiness spread through his body as he could not even begin to imagine what kind of enemies and situations he would yet face in his Endless Odyssey; it had a little bit of Odyssey of Adventure’s name on it, and OoA was his favourite game of all time, after all.

Lost in the clouds as he was, Gillian didn’t see the light of the morning sun until he was practically at the mine’s entrance, and so he squinted his eyes so they shook off the sombreness of the caverns away before finally exiting the bluish mess into what seemed like some kind of greenish, healthy and mossy forest of some kind, a hopefully sanitary little river in front of him, and the fresh air to accompany it.

…except there were embers in the air, and it smelled of something he was eerily familiar with.

Gillian heard the running long before he saw who was performing it, and chose to remain on his guard, a little smile riddled with a somewhat dark yearning on his features, his eyes almost shining with their tainted green lights: the man finally appeared from beyond the mossy trees a few meters from his position, face scrunched in the blend of desperation and egoism those who had committed terrible felonies truly excelled at, a bloody tunic glued with sweat and fear over his almost malnourished form and a strangely ornamented dagger strongly held in one of his hands.

The old mage locked eyes with the stranger for but a second before both of them decided to kill the other, and the crossbow rose up in a blur of movement, its blue strings shedding azure sparks as the bolt formed upon them, but as the man lifted his dagger in a practised motion, something unexpected that made Gillian arch his eyebrows with interest happened: a blade suddenly surged from the stranger’s throat causing a little spurt of blood to dirt the earth, or more aptly described, a dagger had pierced through the man’s neck out of his mouth with terrifying ease, killing him instantly.

As the body crumbled to the ground, a pained grimace on the suspicious man’s face, the offending armament simply dislodged from the corpse and levitated upwards as if possessing of a will of its own, yet it was made clear that was not the case a few seconds later, as its master abandoned the trees, along with another individual.

Gillian’s mood took a hit as he observed a very important detail regarding the pair of arrivals, the floating weapon positioning itself on the side of one of them’s shoulders as if to perch on it: they had pointy ears. Very pointy ears. The kind one could probably put to a whetstone so they could be used offensively, such was their sharpness… and that meant only one, terrifying and horrible thing.

Elves, the mage of the old world thought with annoyance and anxiety. Fuck me, I have found elves.