[Claude POV]
"ROAAAAAAR!"
The sound tore from my throat, vibrating through the air with unnatural power. I channeled the sound-based magic of the Dedoldia tribe, but with an intensity they themselves couldn't match. The sound waves rippled visibly through the humid air, striking the beast warriors like physical blows.
They collapsed, clutching their sensitive ears, their enhanced hearing working against them. Bodies fell to the muddy ground as my roar stunned them, leaving them groaning and disoriented. The rain, ever-present, washed over their prone forms as they struggled to regain their footing.
I spat to the side, disgusted. "Pathetic."
Rudeus might be able to replicate this magic through careful study, but he lacked the physical constitution to make it truly effective. This technique required the perfect fusion of raw power and precise magical control—the combination of brawn and brain that made me uniquely dangerous. Where Rudeus had only his intellect to rely upon, I could bring overwhelming force to bear as well.
I surveyed the fallen warriors with contempt. These were the so-called protectors of the Dedoldia village? A mere North Saint-class fighter could overpower them without breaking a sweat. The gap between us was laughable—even Gyes, their supposed champion, couldn't withstand my assault.
A memory fragment flickered through my mind—another version of me, teaching a different group of warriors who had actually listened, who had survived what was coming. The contrast with this reality made my frustration spike.
"What nerve you have, calling yourselves warriors," I said, my voice dripping with mockery as they continued groaning on the rain-soaked ground. Their ears still twitched involuntarily, aftershocks from my sound-based attack rippling through their sensitive hearing.
Not one of them could meet my eyes. Not one could stand.
With a dismissive wave, I turned and walked away, seeking another location to continue my own training. The weight of my spear felt reassuring in my hand, the one constant across all my fragmented memories. Different versions of me wielding different weapons, but always with the same purpose—to become strong enough to prevent the inevitable.
The rain continued to drum against my skin as I found a small clearing between the massive trees. I began a series of practiced movements, the spear cutting through the air with precision. Each thrust was aimed at invisible enemies—monsters I remembered from a dozen different failed timelines.
I hadn't been training long when I sensed a presence. Without breaking my rhythm, I acknowledged the village elder as he approached.
"Were they that weak, young Claude?" Gustav asked, his weathered face grave beneath his rain-slicked fur.
I didn't pause my training, continuing to thrust the spear in precise patterns. "Yep, they're weak," I responded flatly, completing a complex sequence of attacks.
"I see..." Gustav's disappointment was evident in his voice. After a moment of watching me, he asked, "What do you think their problem is?"
Sweat mingled with rainwater on my brow as I shifted from thrusts to more intricate maneuvers. "They lack the mentality of a weakling," I answered, my breath controlled despite the exertion.
Gustav's confusion was written across his features. He clearly didn't understand.
I elaborated while maintaining my rhythm. "They're too full of themselves. A weakling will always do their best to train and become better than their target." I thought of the countless versions of myself who had failed and died, each one driving me to become stronger. "The lack of vision and the complacency of believing they're the best in the forest isn't enough to develop true strength." I recalled Gyes' smug confidence during our first encounter. "I can see that even Gyes is lacking in that aspect."
Gustav pondered my words, his aged eyes studying me with newfound interest. After a long moment, he nodded silently and left without another word.
I didn't care either way. I simply continued my training, pushing my body to its limits, trying to quiet the cacophony of memories that constantly threatened to overwhelm me.
Later that day, Gustav returned, but not to talk. This time, he came to spar with me. He also requested that Ruijerd train him alongside Eris and Rudeus. Interesting—perhaps my words had found their mark after all.
Two months had passed since our arrival in the Dedoldia village.
Besides "instructing" the weak-ass beast race warriors (a euphemism for systematically demolishing their pride), I focused intensely on my own training regimen. Every moment I wasn't crafting weapons was spent honing my combat skills or expanding my knowledge.
Learning the additional languages from Rudeus had been a priority. It took me three weeks to master all three—though with varying degrees of difficulty. The Beast God's language came naturally, requiring only three days of study. Perhaps it resonated with something primal in me, or perhaps the fragments of my other selves included those who had spoken it before. The Demon Language was next, with Ruijerd providing an ideal conversation partner during our sparring sessions.
The most challenging had been the Fighting God's language, which demanded two full weeks of concentrated study with Rudeus as my instructor. Without a native speaker to practice with, I couldn't be certain of my accuracy, but I'd mastered enough to hold a basic conversation should the need arise.
Languages aside, my smithing work had yielded significant results. Today marked a breakthrough.
"This is something else," Ruijerd commented, genuine surprise in his normally stoic voice as he examined the weapon I'd crafted—a blade that had actually managed to nick his spear before breaking. For a weapon to damage a Superd's weapon, even slightly, was no small achievement.
Pride swelled in my chest—not the arrogant self-satisfaction of the beast warriors, but the genuine accomplishment of creating something that worked. "Haha! A successful invention!" I declared, raising the broken weapon triumphantly.
My smithy apprentices—I refused to call them slaves, despite their insistence on the term—cheered enthusiastically.
"Whoaa!" "Our teacher is awesome!" "Great!" "Wooho!"
Their excitement was genuine, their eyes bright with admiration. Unlike the warriors who resented my harsh methods, these smiths understood the value of what I was teaching them. They had embraced their role as creators rather than destroyers, and I found myself appreciating their dedication.
You are way better than those stupid warriors, I thought, allowing myself a small smile.
I'd abandoned my "training" of the warrior class after Gyes finally developed enough backbone to counterattack during one of our sessions. It wasn't fear that made me step back—I could still defeat him without much difficulty—but rather a recognition that my efforts were better spent elsewhere. Between individual training with Ruijerd and my smithing work, my time was better allocated.
There was also Ruijerd's admonishment to control my bloodthirst, which continued to plague me despite my best efforts. How does one control something so intangible? It wasn't like mana, which could be channeled and directed through visualization and practice. My bloodthirst stemmed from deeper wounds—from the memories of that accursed dungeon where one version of me had suffered unspeakable horrors.
Every night, nightmares stalked my sleep. I'd wake clutching whatever weapon was nearest, heart pounding, convinced I was back in that lightless hell. I thought I'd overcome those particular traumas, but they continued to haunt me, mixing with a dozen other versions of myself who had met grisly ends.
"Sigh... I need to meditate..." I muttered, setting aside my tools and wiping the sweat from my brow.
Finding a quiet spot outside, I seated myself cross-legged in the perpetual rain. The cold droplets struck my skin in a steady rhythm, but I barely noticed them as I closed my eyes and turned my focus inward. The chaos of memories and timelines swirled within me—memories that weren't mine yet somehow were, failures that I carried though I hadn't personally experienced them.
I needed to find order in this chaos. To make peace with what I was.
As my breathing slowed, the world around me gradually faded. The sound of rain became distant, then disappeared entirely. My consciousness turned inward, diving deeper than I'd ever allowed it to go before. And there, amidst the fragments of countless other selves, I began the slow, painful process of integration.
[NARRATOR POV]
It was a queer sight for all to behold.
A young man sat perfectly still in the middle of the village clearing, the relentless rain cascading over his motionless form. He hadn't moved a muscle in days—hadn't eaten, hadn't drunk, hadn't so much as twitched despite the water pooling around him. His eyes remained closed, his breathing so shallow it was barely perceptible.
"This is something else, huh," Rudeus remarked, watching his childhood friend with a mixture of concern and fascination. He stood beneath a wooden awning, sheltered from the downpour as he observed Claude's bizarre meditation.
Beside him, Ruijerd's eyes reflected a depth of understanding that belied his normally stoic demeanor. There was respect there, perhaps even awe.
"Huh, why the admiring gaze, Ruijerd?" Eris asked, her brow furrowed in confusion as she followed the Superd's line of sight.
"This is what they call a person with a world," Ruijerd explained, his voice uncharacteristically reverent. "An event that happens when a person can converge with the world. In other words, he's being enlightened."
"Huh?..." Eris's confusion only deepened, her red eyebrows knitting together.
Rudeus tilted his head thoughtfully. "Basically, he's increasing his understanding of something and focusing on it, right?"
"Indeed," Ruijerd nodded solemnly. "It's a state that everyone wishes to attain but few can reach. Something like this was a rare sight even 400 years ago."
"It's something that's a level above Mana Burst," Gustav added, appearing beside them with silent footsteps. The elder's eyes never left Claude's meditation form, a look of wonder on his weathered features.
"I've only witnessed this once before," Gustav continued. "There was a warrior who once fought against the Demon King Laplace. He managed to defeat Laplace enough to force a retreat, but the encounter left him deeply traumatized. From that day forward, he lived in constant fear of the Demon King's return."
"Then what happened?" Rudeus asked, his scholarly curiosity piqued.
"Perugius sought him out," Gustav explained. "He asked this warrior to join him in battling Laplace. Of course, the man—still terrified of the Demon King—refused. Perugius left him alone after that. But as word spread that Laplace was approaching his homeland, the warrior realized he could run no longer. So he meditated, just as Claude is doing now, and received enlightenment."
"Who is this person you're talking about?" Eris asked, suddenly interested in the historical tale.
Gustav's expression grew distant. "He is someone not written in the history books. His legend was not preserved, for he fell in battle shortly after."
"Wait," Rudeus interjected. "How could a person who left such a mark on history not be recorded?"
"I don't know about that," Gustav admitted with a shrug. "You humans are weird creatures... Political thinking is something I've never understood. After all, I met that person several times during the wars. His strength was unfathomable. If he hadn't been poisoned before the final battle, he might have been the one to defeat Laplace that day, not Perugius."
"Huh..."
Confusion filled both Eris's and Rudeus's expressions. After a moment, Rudeus's eyes widened in understanding—having experienced Earth's history, he recognized how powerful figures could be erased from records by rulers who felt threatened by their legacy.
"But what exactly is this Enlightenment thing?" Eris pressed, always more concerned with practical matters than historical ones.
"Think of it as the next stage of Mana Burst, but without the defects," Gustav answered.
The Enlightenment remained a mysterious state, one that defied easy explanation. Those who achieved it emerged changed, though the nature and degree of that change varied greatly. Some awakened with dramatically enhanced abilities; others gained only subtle improvements. What made the practice impractical was the necessity of complete immobility for extended periods—leaving the practitioner vulnerable and dependent on others' protection.
For four days, Claude remained perfectly still. His skin grew pale, his body thinner, but his expression remained serene—a stark contrast to his usual intensity. The village children, initially frightened by his harsh demeanor, now crept close to the strange human statue, wondering if he had been turned to stone by some curse.
On the morning of the fifth day, Claude's eyes finally opened. For one brilliant moment, they seemed to contain a universe of understanding—and then he promptly collapsed, his body burning with fever.
The village healer tended to him as he thrashed in delirium, fragments of words escaping his lips—names no one recognized, places that didn't exist, battles no one had fought. It took another full week before the fever broke, though Claude stubbornly returned to his smithy work long before he was fully recovered.
Though he had halted his combat training during his convalescence, those who watched him work noticed an increased dexterity in his movements. His fingers moved with newfound precision, crafting items of surprising intricacy despite his weakened state.
Among those who achieved enlightenment, some experienced dramatic growth in power or ability. Claude fell into the latter category—those who gained more subtle benefits. What changed most profoundly was not his external power but his internal landscape. The paralyzing fear of the dungeon that had haunted his memories—both his own and those of his alternate selves—had been excised, leaving a peculiar calm in its wake.
Without that overwhelming terror driving his actions, Claude's demeanor softened. The razor edge of his personality dulled, though the steel beneath remained as strong as ever. He became more approachable, his instructions in the smithy delivered with patience rather than biting criticism.
Watching this transformation, Rudeus came to a realization. "So he became a mad dog because of his fear?" he asked Ruijerd as they observed Claude demonstrating a tempering technique to his apprentices.
"Probably," Ruijerd confirmed, his expression thoughtful. "The bloodthirst surrounding him has diminished considerably."
"What..." Eris's face fell in disappointment. "I thought he'd be stronger, like that time at the manor..."
The relief on Rudeus's face was evident. He'd been increasingly concerned about the growing gap between himself and his childhood friend. Claude's inexplicable abilities had cast a shadow over his own accomplishments—a shadow that now seemed a little less daunting.
Later that afternoon, Claude approached the sparring grounds where several of the beast warriors were training. At the center, Gyes lay on his back, groaning, his eyes swollen from a recent match.
Claude waved casually to Ruijerd, who stood observing the training session. "Ruijerd, can we have a spar? That Warrior isn't a warrior anymore..."
"Well, he might not be stronger physically," Ruijerd replied as he moved to join Claude, "but mentally, you need to be prepared. His real occupation isn't as a fighter."
"He isn't a fighter with that prowess?" Eris asked incredulously, watching Gyes struggle to his feet.
Rudeus's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "I've got to train harder..."
"I'll come with you, Rudeus! Let's train!" Eris declared, following Rudeus as they hurried to the training ground, inspired by Claude's transformation.
[NARRATOR POV]
Meanwhile, thousands of miles away in the Fittoa region, in the City of Roa, the Arbalest Trading Company headquarters bustled with its usual activity—with one unusual addition to its daily operations.
"Sauros, stop acting like a child!" Mike's exasperated voice carried through the ornate office. "You're a damn nobleman. Can you just stop asking for beast race maids?"
"Shut it, Mike!" the elderly Greyrat patriarch countered, slamming his fist on the polished desk. "This is a man's need! A boy like you wouldn't understand!"
Mike pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering for the hundredth time how he'd been saddled with babysitting one of the most powerful nobles in the Asura Kingdom. "Why did Claude ask me to shelter you... I swear, you must be one of the reasons the beast race has become such a desired slave commodity. Can't you just act like a noble should?"
"What kind of act would a noble do?" Sauros puffed up indignantly, his mustache quivering. "I am a noble, and this is something a Greyrat noble does!"
"Now I see why Paul turned out the way he did," Mike muttered under his breath. "I just pray Rudeus doesn't start acting like the rest of the Greyrat family." He paused, reconsidering. "Wait... he already does, doesn't he?"
Mike stared out the window at the bustling streets of Roa, wondering what sin he'd committed to be left with a whacko like Sauros Greyrat. The elderly noble had been a handful from day one—demanding the finest accommodations, the richest foods, and a constant stream of female attendants, preferably beast race.
"I weep for the Asura Kingdom's future if this is their idea of nobility," Mike sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Should I just leave the kingdom and start fresh elsewhere?"
A sharp knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.
"Come in," he called, grateful for the distraction.
A well-dressed young man entered, bowing deeply before approaching with a stack of papers. "Master Mike, here's the latest report on our search efforts."
Mike accepted the documents and settled onto the plush sofa to review them. His eyes scanned the pages quickly, years of merchant training allowing him to extract the key information efficiently.
"I see... We've located 90% of the Buena villagers. Almost all of the Central Continent has been explored." He flipped to the next page. "Around 40% of the Millis Continent is covered, with other regions still under 30% completion." He frowned. "This is taking too long."
"What?" Sauros interrupted incredulously. "You've already finished exploring the Central Continent in under a year and you call that slow? You dare complain about that pace?"
"Ugh, shut up, Sauros," Mike groaned, before turning to his subordinate. "Please bring some female beast race attendants to keep Lord Sauros... occupied."
As the assistant hurried away, Mike returned to the reports, his mind drifting to thoughts of Claude and Rudeus. Where were they now? Were they safe? The teleportation incident had scattered thousands across the continent, and while the Arbalest Company's network was extensive, finding specific individuals amidst such chaos remained challenging.
Claude had entrusted him with protecting Sauros and rebuilding what they could of Buena village. Mike would fulfill that responsibility—even if it meant enduring the old noble's incessant demands. But he couldn't help wondering what greater purpose Claude had in mind. His childhood friend had always been calculating, always thinking several steps ahead.
What game was Claude playing now, and where did all these pieces fit?
Mike shook his head and returned to his reports. Only time would tell.
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