[NARRATOR POV]
The journey to Milshion stretched across days that blended together beneath the alien skies of the Demon Continent. Claude filled these hours with meticulous work, hunched over sheets of parchment covered in intricate magic circles.
His fingers would often tremble slightly when drawing particularly complex patterns—not from lack of skill, but from the weight of memories that weren't entirely his own.
In one of the fragments that constituted his identity—memories from a version of himself who had lived through an industrialized world—Claude possessed knowledge of manufacturing techniques that could reshape this world's future. He wasn't merely creating an enchantment; he was attempting to translate concepts from another reality into the magical framework of this one.
The air around their campsite carried the earthy scent of the Great Forest, rich with unfamiliar spices and the occasional waft of dampness from nearby water sources. Claude barely noticed these sensations, his mind traversing different planes of existence as he worked.
He deliberately hadn't sought Rudeus' assistance, knowing the boy prodigy had limited exposure to magic circle enchantment despite his immense talent with spell casting. Claude allowed him the freedom to spend his days with Geese and Eris, their laughter occasionally piercing through his concentration like distant bells.
Every stroke of his quill represented another step in the grand design he had plotted since the beginning of this journey. Unlike his other selves whose catastrophic failures haunted his dreams, this Claude had survived beyond what should have been his death in the Nightmare Dungeon. That accomplishment had crystallized his determination to forge a safe path forward—a life where he could reunite with his subordinates and companions without the looming threat of premature death.
Yet whenever Geese approached their campfire in the evenings, Claude would tense imperceptibly, his shoulders tightening beneath his robes. The fear of the Human God ran deeper than conscious thought. He would shift his position, create subtle distance, and avoid prolonged conversation.
At the same time, he harbored aspirations for a cooperative relationship with the Dragon God, building mental bridges to a potential alliance while burning those that might lead to the Human God's attention.
This behavior, he realized with a bitter taste in his mouth, was a mistake.
I should be getting closer to Geese, he thought, his quill pausing above the parchment as he stared into the dancing flames of their evening fire. I should be examining his relationship with the Human God, preparing for all possibilities.
The constellations above the Demon Continent were unfamiliar to him, patterns that none of his memory fragments recognized.
This strangeness served as a constant reminder of how far they were from home—and from the plans he had so carefully laid.
There were contingencies that even Mike would struggle to understand. The future had diverged from the paths he had glimpsed in his fragmented memories. His organization's very existence might serve as a turning point, but some butterfly effect would inevitably manifest soon. He could feel it approaching like a storm on the horizon—invisible but certain.
Claude understood why the Human God targeted Rudeus. The boy represented a variable outside the deity's calculations, a piece that refused to move according to divine orchestration. Yet there was no guarantee that Claude's own existence would prove detrimental to the Human God's plans. This uncertainty gnawed at him, a persistent ache behind his temples.
Why do I fear the Human God so deeply? The question circled his thoughts like a predator. Why does hatred rise unbidden whenever I consider its machinations?
The answer remained as elusive as smoke, dissipating whenever he tried to grasp it directly. The fragments of his memories offered conflicting emotions but no clear explanation for this visceral reaction.
"Hey, Claude, what are you doing?"
Eris's voice cut through his contemplation. She had approached without a sound, her footsteps having grown more graceful through their travels. The red-haired girl now stood beside him, her curious gaze fixed on the parchment in his hands. Her presence carried the scent of sweat and leather—evidence of another day spent training her swordsmanship.
Claude didn't flinch at her sudden appearance. His eyes remained on his work, fingers steady despite the interruption of his thoughts.
"I'm constructing a magic circle," he replied, his voice betraying none of the existential dread that had gripped him moments before.
"What's it for?" Eris leaned closer, her breath warming the side of his face.
"Enchantment." He deliberately kept his explanation brief, knowing her interest would wane quickly.
"Huh, oh..." As expected, the girl's expression shifted to one of disinterest. Magic theory held little appeal compared to the immediate satisfaction of physical combat. She departed as suddenly as she had arrived, returning to her training regimen with a dedication that Claude silently admired.
The sounds of her practice sword cutting through the air punctuated the ambient noises of the forest. Claude returned to his work, only to sense another presence behind him soon after.
"What is it, Rudy?" he asked without turning around, recognizing the cadence of the boy's breathing.
"Nothing, just watching you scribbling on the parchment..." Rudeus' voice held a mixture of curiosity and something else—perhaps a touch of envy at skills he had yet to master.
"If you want to say something, just do it. I won't hide things from you." The statement wasn't entirely true, but Claude felt a twinge of guilt at the necessary deception.
Rudeus remained silent at first, moving to Claude's side to observe the intricate designs—circles within circles, lines that connected in patterns that seemed to defy conventional geometry. The boy's eyes widened slightly, recognition flickering across his features as he compared the patterns to concepts from his previous life.
After watching Claude add several more layers of complexity to the design, Rudeus finally spoke again. "Are you using some kind of formula to create this?"
"Of course," Claude replied, allowing a hint of pride to color his words. "You think an enchantment is something that only uses intuition?"
"Can you give an explanation of how they work then?" Rudeus' eyes gleamed with intellectual hunger—the same expression he wore when confronted with any new magical knowledge.
Claude paused, considering how much to reveal. This was safe ground, at least. "Let's see, this part here is a magic circle to..."
The explanation flowed from him with practiced ease, despite the complexity of the subject. Claude detailed how each component of the magic circle functioned, how they interacted with one another, and the principles governing their arrangement.
His hands moved animatedly as he spoke, tracing invisible patterns in the air to illustrate concepts that words alone couldn't capture.
Rudeus listened intently, his brow furrowing in concentration. The boy mentally compared the explanation to programming languages he had encountered in his previous life—complex systems of logic that could create extraordinary results when properly structured.
Despite his prodigious intelligence, Rudeus found himself struggling to keep pace with Claude's explanation. The intricacy of the system grew exponentially with each new layer of detail, until the weight of it threatened to overwhelm his understanding.
"Wow, to think you can conceptualize something like this?" Rudeus finally said, genuine admiration in his voice. "Are you really sure you're not some old demon like Ruijerd?"
"That's rude." Claude's lips quirked in a half-smile. "I'm your childhood friend and we grew up together, you know." The irony of this statement wasn't lost on either of them, though for different reasons.
"But your development is just too horrendous for me. I can only see you as a genius by now."
"And what makes you think otherwise?" Claude countered, his voice deliberately light. "For a saint-class magician genius like you, wouldn't seeing someone equally gifted, or even better, be something normal?"
"Urh... ahaha, now that you mention it..." Rudeus' laughter contained a note of discomfort. Trying to conceal his nature as a reincarnated adult, he took a step back from the conversation. "I should go check on Eris's training." The excuse wasn't particularly convincing, but it served its purpose.
Claude watched him retreat, a mixture of understanding and frustration tightening his chest. He already knew what Rudeus was hiding—the truth of his reincarnation and the memories of his previous life.
But Claude couldn't acknowledge this knowledge, not when Rudeus was being observed by the Human God. Revealing his awareness might force Rudeus into unwanted confessions or, worse, draw the deity's attention to Claude himself.
With Rudeus gone, Claude returned to his work with renewed intensity. The tip of his quill pressed against the parchment with slightly more force than necessary, his frustration manifesting in the strength of his strokes.
The fear of the future haunted him with an intensity that even his companions couldn't comprehend. He had orchestrated events with meticulous care, yet the knowledge of diverging timelines and the shadows of failure loomed over each decision. Though he had prevented the worst outcomes of the teleportation catastrophe—the Metastasis Event—he couldn't banish the images of those he had failed to save. Somar's parents still died, their faces joining the gallery of ghosts that visited his dreams.
The death toll shouldn't be nearly as high as in the original timeline, he reassured himself. My intervention has already saved countless lives.
Yet this knowledge provided little comfort. Each step forward felt like walking on a tightrope stretched over an abyss of catastrophic possibilities. One misstep—one butterfly's wings beating at the wrong moment—could unravel everything he had fought to preserve.
Even so, Claude didn't operate entirely in shadow. His vanity occasionally overrode his caution, leading him to display his extraordinary abilities when prudence would dictate restraint. This tendency to flaunt his capabilities had already sown seeds that would grow into future complications. But the full understanding of this mistake remained beyond his current perspective, a realization that would come only after consequences had already begun to unfold.
Neither Claude nor those around him would welcome the moment when this shortcoming finally revealed its true cost. But like so many aspects of his fragmented existence, this knowledge remained tantalizingly out of reach—another piece of a puzzle whose complete picture he could only glimpse in dreams that weren't entirely his own.
The night deepened around him as his quill continued its dance across the parchment, each stroke a small act of defiance against an uncertain future.
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