Prolog: The Ancients Wake

Hill of Allen, Ireland

There were few things stranger than seeing a grown man in full plate armor sucking his thumb to uncover the secrets of the universe.

In fact, any grown man sucking his thumb was a strange sight.

However, in this particular situation, there was a reason behind it.

The strange blue box that had woken him from his centuries-long sleep and was currently hovering in front of his face.

Warning, the System has descended!

Over the course of the next year, the world will have to face seven challenges, the last of which will be the opening of this world to the enlightened universe.

The First Challenge, [The Beasts of Legend], has already begun, and will ramp up over the next several days.

The Second Challenge, [The Breaking of Graves], will begin in five days.

Time remaining: 4:23:59:17

Fionn Mac Cumail was no stranger to magic, but this kind of thing was a first for him.

This “System” was strange, beyond even his ability to truly understand.

In his youth, he’d eaten the Salmon of Wisdom, a mystical being that supposedly contained all the knowledge in the world, and would transfer it to whoever ate it.

In fact, it just contained most of the magic and knowledge in the world. Also, he’d first “eaten” the salmon by sucking some hot fat off his thumb when he’d burned himself during the cooking process, which meant that he had to suck his thumb to access the ability. That always looked real mature when people saw it happen without the proper context.

But that wasn’t the point, now was it?

No, the point was that his “knowledge of the world” told him a lot about the current state of things, how it had fundamentally changed since his day, and what kinds of chaos the System was unleashing.

But he couldn’t see the System directly, not in any measure. He might be able to see its effects upon the population and the havoc it was already wreaking a scant five minutes after it had appeared, yet the thing itself was frustratingly elusive.

He shifted his thumb around so it was barely hanging out of the right side of his mouth, giving the impression he was merely chewing his nail. It still didn’t exactly look very mature, but at least it wasn’t him sucking his thumb while walking into battle. It also made it a lot easier to free his thumb in a pinch and use both hands to fight.

“What’s going on out there? Are you telling me we might actually have something to fear?” Goll mac Morna complained. Loudly . He was loyal, but between his hotheadedness and general demeanor, you’d never realize it just by watching him.

“It’s complicated,” Fionn shrugged. “If you want, you’re free to head out and start fighting monsters, but a good plan will take a while.”

And off the man went.

“I’m going after him,” Caoilte mac Rónáin sighed. “Call me when you know what you want to do.”

Caoilte was Fionn’s strong right hand and played peacekeeper when needed. Or nanny. Which was required a lot more often than really it should be, considering that they were all seasoned warriors who’d been legends even during their “lifetime.”

And then, there were three.

Fionn, his son Oisin, and Conán mac Morna.

“Do you know what you want to bring?” Conán asked. He’d already been gathering supplies but now, he’d apparently hit the limit of the obvious picks, like food, camping supplies, and clothing.

“Bring some of the flashier treasures,” Fionn ordered. “We’ll need them.”

He’d been aware of the true size of the world ever since his fateful meal, but today was the first time he’d paid attention to more than just Europe and Greenland.

People really had colonized the entire world, including deserts and, to a small degree, even the vast icy planes at the poles that he’d have sworn were impossible to inhabit for more than a few days without freezing to death.

Machines that created heat on a scale unimaginable in his day, machines to create cold, machines to create lightning itself.

Self-powered carriages, machines to conquer the skies, weapons that rivaled the powers of some of the deadliest monsters he’d ever faced but were built by the hands of men.

Not to mention that the average person had access to almost as much information as he did, being able to access it from a small handheld device that most Europeans were never without.

In fact, the biggest barrier to finding a given piece of knowledge wasn’t the search, but the fact that there was so much information available that one practically needed to know that particular piece of knowledge existed in the first place.

And yet, they were losing, being pushed back on virtually every front.

As mighty as humanity had grown, it wasn’t prepared for the appearance of beasts in any place where animals had once existed, behind walls, inside fortifications, and everywhere else.

But he wasn’t the only one who’d risen to combat this cataclysm. There were others whose lives had not ended but rather been suspended until the time was right. He’d just never known before now because he’d been the first.

He rose to his feet and turned, the motion sending his cloak swinging around behind him.

“This world is in danger, and without help, either monsters will destroy it, or humanity will do it out of sheer spite. One more fight, legendary beyond anything we’ve fought up until now. And then … we’ll have more options than ever before!”

It was an extraordinarily grand speech to be held in front of just two people, but he wasn’t one to seek a large audience for his own ego.

The plan really was quite simple. As much as the world had changed, humans were still the same. The exact same. Stories and legends, larger-than-life existences to look up to, imagine oneself being, or aspire to become, that was what people loved.

And that was what he’d leverage. They’d go out there as themselves, fight monsters, and be noticed. From there, he’d choose the most influential individual from amongst those who’d contact them, and with that, well, just keep going.

Contact the others.

Fight the waves that came next.

And beat this “System” once and for all.

Yet he could still hear the voice of the arcane interloper ringing in his ears.

[Trait registered: Thumb of Wisdom]

[Class gained: Warlord of Magic and Legend]

[Warlord of Magic and Legend Lv. 1]

[Warlord of Magic and Legend Lv. 1 -> Warlord of Magic and Legend Lv. 57]

[Skill gained: Warband Awareness]

[Skill gained: Final Strike]

[Spell Awarded: Shock]

[Spell Awarded: Lightning Bolt]

[Spell Awarded: Lightning Storm]

[Spell Awarded: Lightning Cataclysm]

[Skill gained: Eternal Armament]

[Skill gained: …

It didn’t just give him countless small improvements to his body and mind that he’d have taken a while to even notice without his thumb, oh no.

He knew where every one of his people was, and their status, and if they needed help, and he could even cast countless spells without drawing on his gift.

In fact, it even gave him knowledge of the four most commonly spoken modern languages, as well as granting him the ability to speak his native tongue as it was used nowadays, removing the issues that over a millennium of linguistic drift would have doubtlessly caused.

[Skill gained: Language Modernization]

[Skill gained: Modern Language Packet]

He could have bypassed this using the Thumb of Wisdom, of course, but speaking with his thumb in his mouth wasn’t particularly conducive to making himself understood.

So now that he had a decent overview of the current situation, it was time to act.

Fionn Mac Cumail, national hero of Ireland, strode out into the twenty-first century amidst a storm of fire and blades to fight the monsters that were destroying the modern world.

He, and six others who’d risen from the past just like him, would duel the end of days, the very Apocalypse itself. And they’d win.

***

Glastonbury Tor, England

Dirt exploded away from the blond man as he climbed the stairs that dug themselves through the earth, flickering ethereal flames lighting his way forward.

He’d woken up completely healthy, despite his last memories before that having him mortally injured.

Not to mention that his sword had been back at his side, even though it had wound up in the lake, according to his latest recollection. Damn, convincing Bedivere to throw it in while on his deathbed had been a nightmare.

But now, it was back. Back alongside an entirely new type of magic, which seemed all but designed to become a massive problem in the shortest possible amount of time.

In other words, he could scarcely imagine a situation that needed intervention more.

Nimue had said she’d only release him in England’s greatest hour of need, so even if the voice hadn’t been whispering in his ear, he’d have known things were bad.

[Class gained: King of Unity]

[King of Unity Lv. 1]

That had to be a joke, right? Unity ?

He’d fought against the warlords splitting up the England of his youth and created a grand kingdom, true, but then, he’d lost it all. Lancelot and Guinevere, his throne, his men, the Knights of the Round Table and eventually, even his life.

[King of Unity Lv. 1 -> King of Unity Lv. 43]

[Skill gained: Swordbound]

[Trait Registered: Soulbound Blade: Excalibur]

[Trait Registered: Soulbound Dagger: Carnwennan]

[Skill gained: Royal Proclamation]

[Skill gained: Royal Constitution]

[Skill gained: Grand Slash]

[Skill gained: Army of One]

[Skill gained: …

And on the voice went, describing his abilities as he received them. He’d have doubted his sanity normally or assumed some manner of magical creature was playing a prank on him, but he could feel the power he gained with every new line uttered.

It was all phrased strangely, but the meaning was quite clear.

A “Class” was something between a description and an outright title.

A “Trait” was something about him already present and now received further explanation, and these “Skills” were spells of sorts that were cast upon him. Or could be cast by him.

In some distant corner of his mind, part of him worried that using the power of this “System” to fight that very entity was a terrible idea, yet it had already affected him.

His body was far stronger than it had ever been, and even should he refrain from casting any of these “Skills” himself, he’d been changed.

Arthur Pendragon took one final step before the wall in front of him outright disintegrated, leaving him blinking against the bright light of the sun.

He’d emerged onto a low hill, looking out across a sea of grass, though it had several roads cut across it and there were quite a few people wearing strangely colorful clothing milling around. Truly strange clothes. No furs, no linens, no materials he could recognize, all dyed colors that would cost a literal king’s ransom to purchase, yet not a single individual here seemed particularly “royal” in his eyes.

And there were monsters. Lots and lots of monsters. And no one seemed to be able to do anything about them.

Dog-sized hares that seemed to be under the impression that they were mules based on how they spun around on their front legs and kicked out with their powerful hindlegs, the blows impacting with enough force to shatter bone.

Birds of prey large enough to take down and carry off an entire goat were clawing at people’s faces and necks. The former was bad, but the latter … the latter was lethal.

The biggest issue seemed to be some kind of demon sheep, he didn’t really have a better word for it. A body that was probably the size of a bear, but he couldn’t really see anything besides the creature’s head amidst a dense sea of wool that trapped anyone unlucky enough to be nearby.

What was worse, however, was the fact that the wool was like steel, tightening and carving apart anyone it caught.

Arthur was already moving before he was truly aware of it, Excalibur leaping from its sheath. His first slash would free the sole person who still looked to be alive despite being entangled in the monster’s wool, and the second would take the beast’s head!

Steelwool Strangler (evolved sheep), Level 11 Field Boss

… And then some kind of floating, glowing page above the sheep, startling him so much that he royally messed up the first strike, barely managing to shear off a few hairs.

That cost him.

The Strangler turned on him, a sea of steely fur surging upwards and coming at him in a towering wave, forcing Arthur to dive backwards, sword slashing back and forth, cutting short countless attacks. He shouldn’t have even been aware of the attacks coming from behind him, his blind spot, and no mortal man should have been able to keep up with this barrage.

But he did. Somehow .

In fact, it seemed to be growing easier, almost.

As if he were a … a single man with the force of an army.

Nothing about the situation made sense, from the monster to his powers, and yet, somehow, he knew what he could do, what these “Skills” did.

And some were closer to spells than anything else, oddly enough.

The world was a nonsensical combination of magic and demonic influence, of horseless carriages and humans in oddly colorful clothing.

But he didn’t need to understand the world, he didn’t need to understand his opponent, he didn’t need to understand the people.

He knew what the current situation was.

The creature in front of him was a monster, it needed to go, and he’d be the one to bring it down.

Arthur retreated up the hill slightly, with the Strangler creeping after him slowly, demonic wool spreading out and strangling all life from the ground.

“Come on, come on, come on you bastard,” Arthur muttered, and the beast continued to comply, slowly following, its body low to the ground, making sure to keep controlling the battlefield.

Finally, the monster was close enough.

Arthur took two quick steps backward, jumped onto a rock beside him, and then, used it as a springboard to leap straight at the Strangler’s head, well above the carpet of death.

But the mess surged skywards, sharpening into needles that looked like they’d be able to go clean through him.

Would this already be the end of his second life?

[Grand Slash].

[Grand Slash] was what he needed.

He just knew.

Excalibur thrummed with energy as he swung it downwards with inexorable power, and halfway through the slash, the energy erupted into a projected blade almost a dozen meters long, carving clean through the woolen shield and the monster itself before continuing into the ground, invisible force cratering the entire area around the blade, flattening both halves of the body, the spiky carpet, and the dirt itself.

All around him, countless demon birds took flight, fleeing his attack.

That … that’d do.

A massive crow, the last bird still present, hopped off a corpse it had been tearing at, but Arthur waved Excalibur in its direction with a flick of his wrist.

[Grand Slash]!

And … it did nothing. To be honest, now that he was truly trying to use that particular ability, he realized he could only use it every few minutes.

But did it matter? He’d fought without these powers before, and he’d do so again.

The crow leaped at his face and he sidestepped, bringing Excalibur down on the neck of the bird as it flashed past.

“Who … who are you?” a man on the ground stammered, staring up at him with wide eyes.

Arthur could tell the man was speaking English, but it was a very different English than he’d spoken in his day, however long ago that had been. Yet he could understand it clearly, as though he’d been speaking it for his entire life. More magic, obviously.

“My name is Arthur Pendragon, and I was the King of Albion. Now … now I’m its savior.”

Technically, he perhaps still was the king, considering that he’d never really died but … he just didn’t feel it anymore. His throne had been usurped, he’d killed his son who’d, in turn, mortally wounded him, and the men of Camelot had died on the battlefield to a one. Even if the world decided the crown was his by right, he didn’t give himself the right.

“You’re King Arthur,” a woman suddenly burst out, looking up at him with a mixture of hope and utter disbelief

“I’m not the king anymore, but yes,” Arthur nodded, feeling his heart clench at the adoring look in the woman’s eyes.

A wave of whispers began rippling through the crowd, whispering he could hear unnaturally clearly.

Whispering of stories, of myths and legends about him. Of how he’d returned in England’s greatest hour of need.

People deciding that things would be alright now that he was there, people worrying that his presence meant that things must be truly dire.

Arthur just kept his back straight and watched the landscape below as he began to make his plans. He would not return to the throne unless forced, but he would save Albion even without being its king.

***

Untersberg, Germany

The ruins of the ancient library weren’t how he’d remembered his surroundings.

Granted, he hadn’t been particularly attentive during the last few centuries, having slept most of them away, only occasionally waking up to check up on the world’s current situation.

Then again, those checkups had been entirely limited to glancing up at the sky, checking and seeing if the ravens were still flying around the mountain’s top.

He never truly knew what had possessed him in the last few months of his old life, just that it had allowed him to build this place, and survive for … a long time. Long enough for his beard to grow around this table three times, long enough that he’d barely even been able to get up without carefully disentangling it.

How strange was being tied to the presence of ravens when compared to everything else?

Certainly, it seemed like the process worked.

After all, the first time he hadn’t seen a single raven after waking was the day that some kind of magic had descended, announcing that Judgement Day had come, scaring off the Mandln that had been watching over him while he slept in the process. Before he did anything, he’d have to find them and get this whole complex back into a useable shape.

Oh, and there was this voice informing him of his achievements. No, that wasn’t what was going on, it was informing him of things … powers … that might have been useful?

[Class gained: Emperor of Order]

[Emperor of Order Lv. 1]

[Emperor of Order Lv. 1 -> Emperor of Order Lv. 49]

[Skill gained: Manifold Mind]

[Skill gained: Empire Sense]

[Skill gained: Instant Training: Missus Dominicus]

[Skill gained: Pristine Documentation]

[Skill gained: Loyalty Check]

[Skill gained: Christian Legions]

[Skill gained: Bestowment: Legacy of the Twelve Paladins]

[Skill gained: Might of the Feather]

[Skill gained: Instant Improvement]

[Trait registered: Mandl Staff]

[Skill gained: …

So. Magic powers. Lots of them. That was new. New, but not unwelcome, even if things weren’t necessarily good for him.

[Empire Sense] was supposed to give him the status of his empire, but all he could sense was the room he was currently in.

Well, that stunk.

But he’d forged an empire from nothing before, and he could do so again. Not to mention that if the world was as disrupted as it seemed, there were bound to be opportunities. Opportunities for him, and for people who distinguished themselves on the field of battle whom he could take as his subordinates.

Karl der Große had returned, and whatever chaos had been wrought during his sleep would be ground into dust along with anyone who dared stand in his way.

***

Swabia, Germany

Honestly, he should have learned his lesson by now. Actually, the fact that he hadn’t done so several adventures ago was almost appalling. That incident with the dragon especially should have taught him to avoid this mistake.

He could already hear Hildebrand’s comments. The man who’d once been his master had become a good friend and comrade in time, and while he might have passed on since, his lessons remained.

It would have probably gone something like this:

“Oh, so Dietrich von Bern does not hunt boars with a magical sword, now does he? Well, so now, Dietrich von Bern is stuck in the middle of an unfamiliar forest, sitting on a horse he does not own. Because he decided to hop on the obviously magical horse. Because he was too impatient and wanted to chase the obviously magical stag. And now, Dietrich von Bern, legendary king, dragonslayer, conqueror of the dwarven halls, has no bloody idea where he is, now does he?”

Honestly, Dietrich knew he deserved all the criticism anyone decided to lob at him. He really should have brought the mystical blade Eckesachs, but now wasn’t the time for any of that.

He was somewhere entirely different than where he’d started from, the forest was far lighter than any he knew of, many of the plants were unfamiliar, and he didn’t even have the faintest idea of how long he’d been riding on this horse.

It felt like it had been minutes when it had been happening, but now … it felt like it could just as easily have been hours.

Or days.

Or weeks.

The flow of time had been … weird.

But either way, Dietrich von Bern had made decisions as though he were still a young man in his twenties, and now, he was in an unfamiliar place without any allies, his magical sword, or any idea where he was.

And to top it all off, he was hearing voices. One voice, to be specific, whispering strange things in his ear, accompanied by strength surging through his limbs that he’d almost never felt before.

He was familiar with arcane empowerments, of course, though they’d usually been used against him.

[Class gained: King of Adventure]

[King of Adventure Lv. 1]

[King of Adventure Lv. 1 -> King of Adventure Lv. 51]

[Trait Registered: Supernatural Horse Companion]

[Skill gained: Dangersense]

[Skill gained: Nose for Treasure]

[Skill gained: Slayer of Myths]

[Skill gained: Conqueror of Legends]

[Skill gained: Equalizer]

[Skill gained: A Blade Borrowed]

[Skill gained: A Brush with Death]

[Skill gained: Sword Art: Giantsplitter]

[Skill gained: Titan Strike]

[Skill gained: …

On and on it went, lumping on more and more magic. Some seemed clearly based on his life and work while others had no obvious source, but all were going to come in handy sometime.

This world had utterly lost its mind, but he’d tamed chaos before.

Chaos was where he’d always managed to shine, while peace was where he pulled idiotic stunts like … going hunting without Eckesachs and winding up in this current situation. Or almost getting eaten by a dragon, also after going hunting with merely mundane gear.

Was it all part of one big magical artifact that had wreaked havoc, a threat, an invasion , or something else entirely?

A gift with a sting in the tail, an attack that gave out boons as a matter of “fairness,” what?

Either way, it was obvious what this “System” was. A challenge. One he’d accept, beat back whatever was responsible for the mess, and then, look for the next adventure.

And perhaps, he’d see if this new world had people of the caliber of his old companions.

The horse under Dietrich wasn’t wearing any gear he’d ever owned, having appeared out of nowhere fully prepared for him, just in time for him to use it to chase after a clearly magical stag.

It was clearly a magical steed, letting itself be steered with extreme ease, with him never even having to pick up the reins. All he had to do was slightly guide it with his legs and it did the rest.

Oh, and it was ludicrously fast.

It shot off like an arrow loosed from the string, once more carrying him across the landscape until it stopped seemingly on its own, well before he’d had a chance to pull it to a halt himself.

Two young people were facing off against some kind of massive wolf pack with a pair of surprisingly blunt swords and it wasn’t going well for them, but judging by the corpses lying at their feet, they weren’t doing too badly.

Now was as good as any a time to get started on his return, and get the lay of the land.

And he really did find their spunk impressive, even if they might be a bit lacking in skill, currently.

***

Prague, Czech Republic

All around Joseph, dust gathered. Not like the dust he’d been reduced to, dry earth and small stones, but the floating specks of dead skin cells, cloth fibers, and pollen that shimmered in the light that fell in through a small window.

How long had it been? How long had he been in this dusty basement? Had he been forgotten, or simply never needed?

He’d felt desperate calls for help around eighty years ago, yet he hadn’t been able to bring himself to wake fully back then.

Whatever happened now … it was far worse than what had happened back then, even if, thus far, fewer souls were crying out in desperate fear.

With an incredible force of will, he reached out towards the piece of parchment that had been resting before him for centuries, attached to the roof of the urn that had preserved him.

An aleph.

The sacred word of creation, penned upon paper in masterful script, ready to empower him if only he could touch it.

Every time he’d woken, he’d tried to reach for it, but he’d never had the energy.

Today, however, he did.

Dust formed a craggy arm and moved through the air at a pace that made a snail look like a striking falcon, but move it did. And move. Until finally, his finger touched upon the piece of paper and it was sucked in in an instant.

That little scrap of parchment was what had taken him from being mud-shaped into a humanoid figure to, well, him . A living creature, one formed of mud and magic rather than flesh and blood, but living nonetheless. One that could do anything a regular person could do. Almost . Merely the gift of speech eluded him.

The very first time he’d woken, he’d not quite been ready, he’d gone too far, reacted to too many things, retaliated too much, and Rabbi Loew had stopped him. He’d done his job, but it wouldn’t be the last time that someone like him was needed.

In this room, he’d waited for centuries, waiting for that surge of power that heralded another catastrophe he needed to stop.

Around him the urn shattered into fragments that were instantly caught by tendrils of dust as they expanded outwards. Then they were sucked into his dispersed form, leaving him a hollow shell, but it was a humanoid shell.

For the first time in centuries, Joseph rose from his kneeling position and began to march forward, the outer layers of his body morphing to take the shape of clothing while his face became a true face, a reflection of humanity’s ability to show their inner feelings to the world.

All the while, motes of dirt and powdered stone flowed through the cracks in the stone floor, filling out his form, giving him back much of his old power and durability.

From the last time he’d been truly alive, he’d grown considerably, his power to think and feel no different from that of a natural-born human.

The door before him was locked, and there was no key, but that only stopped him for the brief amount of time needed to decide that the door was, in fact, immaterial in the face of potential Armageddon.

And if that strange ephemeral paper was anything to go by, it was Armageddon.

So he broke it with a gentle push, feeling the doorframe splinter as the lock’s bolt tore through it.

He emerged into a dark room, filled with terrified-looking people. His sudden appearance certainly didn’t help.

Joseph raised a single finger to his lips, grabbed the nearest piece of paper, some manner of form, as far as he could tell, and some kind of astoundingly uniform pencil.

“I AM HERE TO SAVE YOU”, he rapidly scribbled down and handed over the paper.

While the paper was passed around with hushed whispers, Joseph began to move in the direction of the strange sounds he’d been distantly hearing since he’d woken.

Heavy footsteps, scratching, deep barking.

The next door was also locked, but this time, one of the people who’d been hiding hurried over with the key. The woman also handed over another piece of paper and a strange implement that looked like it was meant to be used to write.

“Please, be careful,” she whispered.

“Lock the door behind me,” he wrote back.

“Good luck,” she whispered.

The door clicked open, and he slipped out … only to have a truly massive dog leap at him, large enough to almost be mistaken for a horse in poor lighting, slamming into him with enough force to send him to the ground.

… He was partially made of rock and far heavier than any living being his size had any right to be, and this thing could toss him around so easily?

Now more than ever, it was obvious why today was the day he’d truly woken.

Joseph rolled to his feet and met the beast’s next charge, ducking under its slavering jaws to land a solid punch on its chest.

The massive dog might be unnaturally heavy and hard to throw back, but that just meant that more energy was expended on cracking the beast’s bones.

It sailed past, whirled around, and charged again, this time, keeping closer to the ground so he couldn’t duck under it.

Joseph’s fist slammed into the beast’s nose with a loud crunch but it ignored the damage as it latched onto his shoulder and bore him to the ground, gnawing on him like a bone. Even when Joseph’s left hand clamped onto the back of its neck and held it there, it continued to chew on him.

Ultimately, while that dog might be heavy and tough, Joseph was functionally indestructible, having only a single point of vulnerability on his entire body.

So a monster trying to hurt him and failing miserably was actually the best position … for him . Even if it had gone for his head or throat, it wouldn’t have done anything more than superficial damage that would heal in seconds once it stopped attacking.

And then, for the first time, Joseph’s right fist smashed into the dog’s throat. And again. And again.

The dog had ignored the first blow, but after the second one, it had started struggling, desperately trying to get away, to open up the range, but he’d been holding it down since well before any attempts had been made.

Joseph didn’t have the power to take this thing down easily, but he could not be brought low through damage and had endless stamina. If the first blow didn’t net him victory, the tenth would. And if the tenth didn’t, the hundredth would. And if the hundredth failed, he’d hold this beast down until it died of starvation, punching it all the way.

But as it turned out, that wasn’t necessary, and eventually, around punch twenty-seven or so, something in the dog’s throat cracked under his knuckles.

And he continued to punch, punch, punch until the monster finally stopped moving.

A voice rang out at that, whispering into his mind while power flooded his body.

[Trait Registered: Sapience]

[Class gained: Living Golem]

[Trait Registered: Body of Gaia]

[Trait Registered: Adamant Mind]

[Trait Registered: Eternal Mana Engine]

[Living Golem Lv. 1]

[Living Golem Lv. 1 -> Living Golem Lv. 37]

[Skill gained: Earthen Armor]

[Skill gained: Instant Fortification]

[Skill gained: Mountain’s Fist]

[Skill gained: Defender’s Mind]

[Skill gained: Nose for Trouble]

[Skill gained: Innate Defense]

[Skill gained: Roots of the Mountain]

[Skill gained: …

The list went on and on, more and more new abilities flowing into him even though he was unable to understand the things he’d already been told about.

[Class Evolution: Living Golem Lv. 37 -> Champion of the People, Artificial Paragon Lv. 42]

[Skill Evolution: Earthen Armor -> Armory of Gaia]

[Skill Evolution: Instant Fortification -> Fortress of the Six-Pointed Star]

[Skill Evolution: Mountain’s Fist -> Titan’s Fist]

[Skill gained: Armageddon Ward]

[Skill gained: Soul of the Sentinel]

… And then, the voice slapped him with another flood of notifications.

A normal human would be hyperventilating on the ground right now, and while Joseph wasn’t human, he still rested there, mentally worn out.

There wasn’t a single monster around, not yet, and if one showed up, well, he was more than able to rise back to his feet.

A few minutes later, that was exactly what happened, barking and growling echoing across the room as four more monsters entered.

Thankfully, the humans were still in the room behind him, so all he needed to do was make sure to win . And with all this power flowing through him, he could.

He knew where the monsters were, and would continue to know even after they left his field of view. He could also tell what they were after, and it took a mere thought for heavy plates of rock-and-metal armor that went by the title of [Armory of Gaia] to manifest around him.

The first of the dogs leaped straight for him, seemingly having decided Joseph’s show of power wasn’t a threat to it, and was promptly met with a [Titan’s Fist] right to the face. Even with an instinctual grasp of what the ability could do, Joseph was still shocked to see the beast’s head explode under the impact, which he promptly followed up by snatching the body out of the air and hurling it at the closest still-living enemy.

That just left two more dogs. One went for his leg, chomping down and attempting to yank it out from under him, yet his new, so-called “Skill,” [Roots of the Mountain], solidly glued him to the ground, immovable against almost any external force.

And the last monster once again went straight for his throat.

[Titan’s Fist] didn’t seem to be useable, not for the next few minutes, but even so, he was still incredibly powerful.

[Armageddon Ward] was something to defend an area, and he designated the area as a narrow pane of energy in front of his face … which the dog promptly slammed into, falling onto the monster gnawing at his leg.

Several swift, well-aimed punches finished off those two. The last creature made a valiant attempt to go after the room full of the humans, but it was knocked off course when Joseph hurled one of the benches at it.

It survived that impact, but not his follow-up attack as he lunged at it and crushed its head into paste under his boot.

“Holy …”

Joseph turned his head to look towards the young man staring at him from the door.

He clomped over towards him, picking up the paper and writing implement he’d left there, and wrote down “It’s safe now. Have you been hearing voices too?”

“Yeah, some kind of video game shit, isn’t it?” the young man shrugged.

“Explain?” Joseph asked.

The explanation that followed was complicated beyond belief, and spanned countless decades of history, but in time, Joseph began to understand the situation. Somewhat.

But ultimately, this meant that as he fought, he’d grow stronger, more able to protect the Jewish people, and anyone else who happened to be nearby and wasn’t an antisemitic bastard.

***

Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia

I’m getting too old for all this. Far too old.

Temujin sighed, cast away the stick he’d been swinging for the last twenty minutes, and picked up a metal rod that held some kind of sign on its end.

He wasn’t an idiot, he’d grabbed both a sword and a bow the moment he’d woken up, but the sword was buried beneath some kind of elephant beast several miles behind him, and even if he’d had any arrows left, his bow had been snapped by that very same monster.

In his hands, the metal rod began to morph and shift, his new magic by the name of [I Claim This Weapon] transforming it into a long glaive, but possessing a crossguard more typically found in boar spears.

And this was magic, real magic, not a science he did not yet understand.

When he’d first seen black powder, it had startled him far more than he’d ever admit. But then he’d understood it, begun to use it, and it had taken him far .

This, on the other hand, was a magical voice that had listed his titles and told him of magical powers called “Skills,” which he’d apparently gained.

Normally, he’d have assumed he’d gone insane, but considering that he could feel new strength flowing through his aging body, there was clearly something going on.

And what that floating page had said about monsters, well, if the creatures he’d been fighting for hours weren’t monsters, he didn’t know what was.

At first, he’d thought that maybe, now, the prophecies about him had come to pass. He obviously didn’t remember his birth, so he couldn’t tell anyone whether or not he’d come out of the womb clutching a clot of blood. But he was fully aware of all the stories that had sprouted.

So when he’d woken up with a magical voice telling him what magic he was in the process of receiving, well, his first thought had been that maybe, just maybe, the omen had struck true, it just hadn’t come into effect during his first lifetime.

But the real world had soon disabused him of that notion, as it had done to so many other dreams, belonging to so many people.

Other people had magic too. Nothing as strong as what he had, but those he witnessed fighting were far younger than he was, practically infants in his eyes, and none of them were anything like the hardened warriors he normally surrounded himself with.

How long had it been since the people of Mongolia had last needed to go to war? And for that matter, how long had it been since his “death”? The world looked utterly different, with immense buildings made of materials he could barely identify, gunpowder weapons that were stronger than anything short of a cannon yet could be held and used in a single hand, capable of being fired over a dozen times before needing to be reloaded.

At least he thought those were gunpowder weapons, the noise level certainly spoke to that idea, but they lacked any of the characteristic smoke he normally associated with that kind of armament.

Oh, and they had carriages powered by some kind of device hidden below a layer of surprisingly fragile metal armor, which made an odd growling sound.

And yet, for all the fancy machinery these people were able to use, they were losing .

Wherever Temujin appeared, that changed, but he was more than aware of the fact that a single powerful fighter could only do so much, so he used any and all appropriate magic whenever possible.

[Instantaneous Training: Mangudai] and [Strength of the Horde] would have to do.

The former imparted the full training regimen of one of his most powerful units in a matter of seconds, for all the good it would do, since he hadn’t seen either horses or bows. That being said, though, a little military discipline wouldn’t go amiss here.

And the latter increased combat power based on the number of allies nearby. Temujin didn’t know how that power worked, or even if it did, but honestly, if it didn’t work, he hadn’t lost anything.

But even those efforts would fall short in the face of such a monstrous horde. Thankfully, things seemed to be calming down somewhat, so he could have a conversation without needing to stop and chop up monsters every other word.

There was a young woman nearby doing an admirable job turning an overgrown lizard into a smear on the pavement using a frying pan. That was … she had guts. He’d ask her.

So he slowly approached her while dropping his sign-turned-weapon to grab her attention once the creature was done.

She jumped a foot in the air at the clatter with a startled oath, only for her to look him up and down and grow confused.

“My name is Temujin,” he introduced himself, deciding to leave out his title. “Do you know where I can find a scholar, perhaps one with a focus on history?”

Until he knew the lay of the land, he wouldn’t know whether or not it might prove … inflammatory .

“A scholar?” she asked, sounding confused.

“A house of learning, a library with an adequate selection of tomes, something like that,” he clarified.

“There’s an elementary school two blocks that way,” she said gesturing, still eyeing him curiously.

“What is an ‘elementary school’?” Temujin asked. He was perfectly capable of telling that she was speaking a variation of the Mongolian he’d known back during his reign, and he could also understand her as though she were, in fact, speaking that version of his mother tongue, but the concept failed to translate. At all. There simply was no word for it to be translated into.

“A school for very young children,” she said.

So not what he was looking for.

“Where could I find information about history?” he wondered out loud, only to whirl around when he heard something behind him, slip his boot under his glaive, flip it into his hand, and bisect the gigantic praying mantis with a brutal horizontal slash. A simple flick of the wrist removed most of the blood from the blade before he rested it on his shoulder.

He just hoped he hadn’t scared his conversation partner. Terrifying others had a time and a place, but it made people truly awful conversationalists.

It was almost as awful as torture in that way. You’d hear what you wanted, not what you needed. The proper way of employing torture was simple. You tortured someone else , and then, used them as an example to the person you actually wanted information from.

“What do you want to know specifically?” she asked, pulling out a rectangular device made of glass and a strange material that appeared like … it might be leather, but he really couldn’t tell. It was weird.

“How long has it been since the reign of Genghis Khan, and what is the current size of the Mongolian Empire?” he asked.

She tapped away on the device for a few moments while she said, “The Mongolian Empire doesn’t exist anymore, I can show you a map in a second.”

Then, she added, “Genghis Khan died almost 800 years ago.”

And finally, she showed him a map that he took a very long time to recognize as a map of … everything . The whole world, drawn in excruciating detail. With just this map, what he could have done …

“What other information is on there?” Temujin asked, curious.

“Everything, I can pull up anything I want,” the woman said.

“All the knowledge in the world?” he asked.

“Basically?”

That was … Temujin had a lot of questions about how that could possibly work, but the biggest one was how they could actually locate any given piece of information. There had been immense libraries in his time, and it had taken trained and experienced librarians to find anything.

He was about to ask that question when the woman’s eyes sparked with sudden realization and she dropped the frying pan, staring at him with her mouth hanging open.

“Yes?” he asked.

“You … I’m sorry I didn’t realize … I …”

Temujin had seen that particular song and dance before. The mixture of respect and fear fueling the embarrassment of not knowing the proper protocol for talking to him and turning it into utter terror.

“ Enough !” he said, forcefully. “My name is Temujin, and once upon a time, I held the title of Genghis Khan. I have returned to fight this monster horde. And I need you to answer my questions. What do I need to know about this world, who else is fighting the monsters, and am I the only one who returned? Talk!”

And talk she did while leading him to the local university.

What he learned was … illuminating .

Apparently, the world was far larger than he ever could have imagined, both in terms of size and when it came to technology.

Flight ! Humans could fly !

Weaponry that could sweep cities clear in under a second, automated scouting that could show him an image of a building on the opposite side of the world if he so wished ... machines that could talk, answering his questions, news that shot around the planet mere minutes after it happened.

And yet, they were losing. All of humanity was losing. And with every person who died, every nation that was snuffed out, there was less to stand between Mongolia and the horde.