image [https://imgur.com/XJufcWi.png]

The Elf, Mud, rode in the carriage silently. He was known as “The Apostate”, but it did not feel fitting in his own mind. He rejected the “gods” of this world, that was true, but they had never been his to begin with. The tracker was riding on the carriage. She had told him her name, and he had not made the effort to remember. He had been alive for a long time, and very few people were worth the effort of remembering. Flashes of gold and silver rippled across his closed eyes. It was all he had seen for years. They burned in his vision, a dull throb of pain as if he was looking at a great fire, or a dying sun. Chronic pain could be ignored, pushed down, but the drain on his mind and body never let up.

He has immensely powerful skills, but he was usually so much stronger than anyone he met that he barely bothered to use them. He had found that after level 90 his stats were auto-applied to whatever his highest stat points were. At least that must be what was happening, because he continued to get stronger and faster. New skills must have also been occurring, although he could not see the notifications about them. He would simply have the ability to do things he could not have done before.

He fingered the stones around his neck. So he could not use [Eternal Life’s Growth] or [Condemnation of Ages]. It did not matter. He could feel everything vibrating around him, and knew where the carriage was, and everything in it. A passive skill magnified his incredibly keen hearing and touch, and was then multiplied many times over by high stats. He *knew* where things would begin, and end, all around him. There was a bottle slothing around near him, and he grabbed it and drank it all, steadily. A red wine, meant to be appreciated. He purposefuly did not. He held the hard fine glass in his hands, and then slowly crushed it.

He slowly ground a piece of the glass between his fingers. It cracked and broke apart. Increasing the physical stat did very little to increase your resistance to damage, but it did increase it somewhat. And by now he found few things that could hurt him. Even the feeling of the glass between his fingers felt very distant, as if he was wearing thick gloves.

He would kill this child, and then perhaps the lord would reset him. Or he wouldn’t. He could kill himself, but that was something he had forbidden himself from doing long ago. He forgot why, but he knew he could not do that.

He had tried to die in battle many times, but he also could not seem to pull it off.

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He remembered his home. Elves in this world had tried to recreate it, but there was never enough of them. More and more he escaped into memories. His home had been a vast forest shaped over thousands of years. No living thing had existed in that forest that had not been put their by his ancestors, carefully bred and cultivated. If a bug crawled on a leaf, it had been because there was a need for that bug to interact with that leaf. The elves had long ago killed or driven out any other life that could threaten them. The only changing thing had been the seasons, and even that had been controlled through powerful magics and elven technology. He had been so young back then, so bored. No adventure existed, no adventure had needed to exist, and so when the chance to escape and come to this world had presented itself, he had not hesitated.

Everything in this world was done with such abruptness. The Chosen Heroes either died or Ascended, usually in under twenty years. The villagers of the world were fine, but so simple. They had no access to education in the traditional sense, and were kept busy with the tasks of the land. Each of the five Lords had access to wizard schools, training grounds, vast libraries, but ever since he had rejected Ascension he had been banished from any of their holdings.

“How’re you doing down there? Comfy? Need anything?” It was the girl, the tracker. He could sense her leaning down, peering into the window. He shook his head. “Oh well, if you wanna chat or anything let me know!” She paused again, and he nodded. She retreated. Dimly he felt the smallest pangs of dismay at his own social bluntness, but he knew she would be gone soon. Either to some other part of this world, or dead. He would spare himself the pain of seeing her as a real person.

Mud felt the rattle of the carriage, dimly feeling the world going by outside. In a moving vehicle like this his senses only extended so far. He tried to doze but his ability to sleep was hard to find these days. He often went weeks without truly achieving unconsciousness.

The carriage slowed down, and then came to a stop. As it did so, he began to feel more of the outside world. It had cooled down, and they were not near any settlement that he knew of. It was likely night time, and the tracker needed to rest.

He felt the body hit the ground outside. Ah. She had fallen to the ground, and was not moving. So she had died. He exited the carriage, and stood, waiting to see what the next movement would bring. Something broke against his face. Thin, high velocity. An arrow, with a cutting enchantment on it. They were in neutral territory now, so this kind of thing was not surprising.

He moved towards the dim distant figures. They were saying something, but he didn’t bother to listen. He was surprised that he was angry that the tracker had been killed. It was a mild anger, and he knew by tomorrow it would have faded, but for this moment he let himself hold it.

He moved his hand forward and drove it through the chest of the person in front of him, as he felt a bladed weapon shatter against his arm.

Finding that child would be harder now, but he would still accomplish it. He could reach out to the Lord, but that idea exhausted him.

He would make sure to get directions to the next town from one of the assailants.