[Narrator POV]
The information seared through Rudeus's mind like wildfire, consuming every thought in its path. His jaw hung slack, words dying in his throat as the magnitude of reality crashed down upon him.
Beside him, Eris's legs gave way as the realization struck her—even if she made it back to Roa, there might be no family waiting for her return. She collapsed to the ground, her eyes vacant, staring at nothing.
Ruijerd observed the children's shock with quiet concern. He moved closer, his weathered hand gently patting their heads and backs—a silent gesture of comfort from a warrior who had witnessed too much suffering.
"...is there more information on this?" Ruijerd asked, his voice low and measured.
"You can ask that monkey-faced person for more details," the informant replied with a casual shrug that belied the gravity of the situation. "He's been traveling everywhere searching for missing people. I'd wager he knows more about this case than I do."
Rudeus suddenly jolted to life, as if shocked by lightning. He gathered his scattered wits and rose to his feet, moving with single-minded purpose.
His footsteps echoed against the stone floor as he made his way back to the cell where Geese was being kept. Without ceremony, he unlocked the door and swung it open.
"Oh, Senior, you're awake already? What's up—" Geese's teasing words died on his lips when he caught sight of Rudeus's expression—a mask of desperation etched with urgency.
"Please..." Rudeus's voice cracked. "Tell me more about the mass teleportation incident."
Understanding dawned in Geese's eyes. This prodigious child, despite all his capabilities, was still just that—a child who hadn't comprehended the scope of the disaster until this moment.
With a solemn nod, he began recounting everything he knew, from the first chaotic days to the latest reports from the adventurer guilds.
[Claude POV]
Disappointment sits heavy in my chest, a familiar weight I've carried across countless memory fragments.
I had hoped—foolishly, perhaps—that since the past had already deviated from what I knew, I might witness a more mature version of Rudeus.
I'm well aware of his true nature, an adult consciousness approaching his forties housed in a child's body.
Yet his thinking remains so stubbornly linear. How many times have I drilled into him the importance of considering every angle, every consequence?
Think, think, and think more—my constant refrain. I'm far from perfect myself, but he should have been prepared for unexpected developments.
I watched him during his confrontation with Garus. Yes, Garus possesses considerable strength, but he was not insurmountable for someone of Rudeus's caliber.
The boy is already an upper-saint-ranked water magician with peak advanced capabilities in all attribute spells—or at least, he should be by now, according to my calculations.
But unlike me, who trains as though every sunrise might be my last, he's grown complacent. Intoxicated by the novelty of reincarnation and second chances.
I recognize the unfairness in my assessment. The blame I'm placing on his shoulders is disproportionate. And yet... if only he had understood that wasted time extracts its price not just from him, but from everyone around him.
After last night's battle, I left the smugglers and slavers for the Beast and Elven folk to handle. My priority shifted to using my monitor to track any potential survivors from Buena Village who might have been transported to this region.
Three hours of meticulous searching within a ten-kilometer radius yielded only two blips on the tracker.
I prayed to gods I don't believe in that they were merely Mike's subordinates, or perhaps dropped trackers.
My prayers went unanswered.
In a forest clearing, I discovered a couple torn apart by monsters, their bodies still in the early stages of decomposition.
They had died within the past week, perhaps even more recently.
The realization shook me to my core. These weren't strangers—they were people I knew, people I had promised myself I would save in this timeline.
Without thought, I dug their grave. Twenty meters deep—excessive, perhaps, but I needed the physical exertion, the burn of muscles and the sting of blisters to distract from the hollow ache in my chest. I marked the site with an enchanted tracker so I could return later.
I hope their son Somar will survive this catastrophe somehow. His parents are gone now.
The protection ring I crafted for them lies broken, its magic depleted. Another failure to add to my collection.
Sigh... There's no use crying over spilled milk—a saying that tastes increasingly bitter each time I repeat it to myself.
After washing away the dirt and blood, I returned to Dedoldia village. The sight of Rudeus lounging in the village chief's house pricked at my patience.
His casual posture, his obliviousness—it reminded me too much of Paul.
But what right do I have to judge him? Can I honestly blame him for not knowing what I've deliberately kept hidden?
Still, his tunnel vision frustrates me beyond reason. Why fixate solely on Eris? How could he be so obtuse as to believe they were the only ones teleported by the calamity?
Without Mike's assistance, the death toll would have been catastrophically higher. Yet even if I had shared my foreknowledge with others, who would have believed me?
The other versions of myself—fragments whose memories now reside in my fractured mind—tried warning people, including Rudeus. Each attempt was met with disbelief, with accusations of insanity.
Even after the manifestation of the teleportation orb, they were dismissed as lunatics.
So I abandoned the futile effort to convince others and shouldered the burden alone. Perhaps I should have trusted more, reached out more...
Sigh... I need to learn from these mistakes, though the opportunity cost of knowledge weighs heavily.
There's also the complication that certain divine entities take notice when too many become aware of future events.
Spreading information too widely risks drawing unwanted attention, risks someone meddling directly with my mind.
I can apologize to Rudeus later for my harshness. But his stagnation infuriates me. Six months have passed, and his strength remains unchanged from our last encounter.
The potential wasted, the hours squandered—it's maddening.
"Let's go back and check on those brats," I mutter to myself, turning away from the forest where I've spent hours searching for more victims of a catastrophe that most haven't even begun to comprehend.
[Narrator POV]
The villagers watched with solemn curiosity as Claude dug a cavernous hole at the village outskirts.
None dared question his purpose—not after glimpsing the raw grief etched into his young features, so incongruous on a child's face.
The task consumed half a day. By the time Rudeus awakened, Claude had completed the excavation and retrieved a pair of bodies from what he called his "weapon box"—a dimensional storage artifact that now served as a makeshift coffin.
With uncharacteristic gentleness, he laid the remains in their final resting place before filling the grave.
Guards observed from a distance, curiosity warring with caution. They had witnessed this child's frightening power firsthand—how he had single-handedly massacred the smugglers that had troubled their warriors for months.
Even the elves, hardened by centuries of survival, regarded him with wary respect bordering on fear.
Shortly after his brief encounter with Rudeus, Claude returned to the great forest, emerging only when night had fallen, shadows under his eyes deeper than before.
"Hey, Claude... Ummm—" Rudeus approached hesitantly at the village gate, words faltering under Claude's piercing gaze.
With deliberate slowness, Claude pointed toward the fresh grave he had dug that morning. "I have a question for you," he said, voice cutting like steel. "Do you know whose grave that is?"
Confusion flashed across Rudeus's face. "That wasn't... already here before?"
"Ask the guards what I did this morning before you woke up," Claude replied coldly, brushing past Rudeus without waiting for a response.
As he walked through the village, Claude felt the weight of cautious stares. The villagers maintained their distance, their wariness palpable.
His solitary path was interrupted when a tall, bald figure from Rudeus's party approached.
"Mind talking to me?" Ruijerd asked, his voice carrying the gravity of centuries.
"...Sure." Claude's acceptance came after a moment's consideration.
They walked side by side through the village, an unusual pair—a child whose eyes carried ancient burdens and a Supard warrior bearing the weight of his people's tragedy. For several minutes, neither spoke.
"The teleportation incident," Claude finally said, breaking the silence. "Have you gotten the information from that monkey-faced man?"
"Yes," Ruijerd confirmed. "Eris and Rudeus were deeply shocked by what they learned."
Claude's eyes narrowed as he gazed at the distant mountains. "Say, Ruijerd, do you realize how fortunate they are to have your protection?"
Ruijerd remained silent, his expression unreadable.
"Many die in the wilderness mere kilometers from their villages," Claude continued, his voice softening with an edge of bitterness. "Yet Eris and Rudeus survive, two continents away from home, because they found you."
"We help each other," Ruijerd stated simply.
"I know Rudeus would likely survive on his own anyway," Claude admitted, kicking a small stone from their path. "But sometimes I question his judgment. When I found him with those elves hunting slavers, I saw his hesitation..."
"How do you know him?" Ruijerd asked, his gaze penetrating.
A shadow of a smile crossed Claude's face. "I've known him longer than you have. He has a habit of running from difficult situations. A coward through and through."
Ruijerd said nothing, his silence neither confirming nor denying Claude's assessment.
"He possesses great strength," Claude continued, frustration evident in his voice. "Stronger than he realizes. That Sword Saint? He wouldn't need imprisonment if he simply stepped forward to confront trouble directly. Have you seen his original magic, Barrier? I wonder why he's forgotten that particular skill..."
Claude's pace slowed as memories surfaced—fragments from timeline variants bleeding into his consciousness. "When I was teleported, I appeared in a dungeon crawling with C-grade beasts. The closer you got to the exit, the stronger the monsters became. Guarding the final passage was an A-class Troll with regenerative abilities far beyond the ordinary, even in that lightless pit..."
Ruijerd's eyes widened slightly as he processed the danger Claude had faced. "Those wounds..."
"Yes, they required passive regeneration magic for a month, supplemented with troll blood." Claude reached into a pouch at his side. "I still have some troll meat and blood preserved in my weapon box. Would you like some?"
"I would," Ruijerd replied, his respect for the child visibly growing.
"My life hung by a thread for weeks," Claude continued, bitterness creeping into his voice. "Any day could have been my last. Meanwhile, Rudeus was busy courting the Boreas girl. Even I—trapped in that dungeon—sought information from the moment I escaped. So why didn't someone traveling with a noble's daughter learn about a catastrophe that shook the entire world?"
Claude's fist clenched at his side. "Isn't that simply... stupid?"
"I cannot deny your point," Ruijerd admitted after a thoughtful pause. "But I suspect his mind was too focused on immediate concerns, blocking out thoughts that might distract him from his perceived responsibilities."
"What could possibly be more important than learning about the fate of your homeland and family?" Claude asked, his voice cracking slightly, betraying the emotion he fought to suppress.
Ruijerd placed a heavy hand on Claude's shoulder—a gesture that would have intimidated most, but Claude didn't flinch. Their eyes met in silent understanding, two souls burdened by knowledge and responsibility beyond their years.
"Sometimes," Ruijerd said quietly, "fear makes people blind to what they most need to see."
Claude's posture softened almost imperceptibly. For a moment, the façade of the calculating, ruthless child slipped, revealing a glimpse of the tremendous weight he carried—memories of countless failures across fractured timelines, each one a scar upon his soul.
"I know about fear," Claude whispered, so softly that even Ruijerd's keen hearing barely caught the words. Then, louder: "But fear is a luxury we cannot afford. Not anymore."
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