CHAPTER TEN

  ***BE WARNED***

  Any Path You Take Will Be Permanent. You Cannot Take It Back.

  Now, Choose the Path You Seek to Walk & Remember to Choose Wisely.

  A screen appeared before Richards eyes, upon which scrolled a list of path options. Skimming through the options, he was immediately taken aback by just how many there were.

  The true nature of paths, as well as the benefits they offered, were largely unknown, even in his initial timeline. The simple fact that there were “exclusive perks” for earning an achievement while still at level zero, was the extent of most people’s knowledge on the subject. In fact, it was only due to years worth of investigation on his part, that he’d even discovered the existence of “paths” in the first place, as well as a few loose ideas on how they generally operated.

  Needless to say, each path represented the chance at privilege and power most people could only dream of. Rare opportunities, cultivation treasures, and otherwise impossible to get crafting materials. Supposedly, all of these things and more were obtainable through the use of a path. And best of all? The path you choose is exclusive to you, and you alone. There can be no others. No copycats or counterfeits.

  There could only, and would only exist one person per path.

  As soon as someone achieved a grand feat, and subsequently picked their path, that option was stricken from the list from that point on. Not even their death would result in the path reappearing. A truly limited resource. Something unique that could not be cheated or circumvented. A finite number of choices that were first come, first served. Which made it all the more important that he was the first in line. Since it meant, in effect, he currently had free pick of the litter.

  Granted, he had to remind himself, he could only choose one. So like the message had said, he’d have to choose wisely. He started from the very top.

  ?-|—Path of the Wanderer—|-?

  ?-|—Path of the Skulker—|-?

  ?-|—Path of the Academic—|-?

  ?-|—Path of the Craftsman—|-?

  ?-|—Path of the Socialite—|-?

  ?-|—Path of the Watcher—|-?

  ?-|—Path of the Pugilist—|-?

  ?-|—Path of the Handyman—|-?

  There were no descriptions to speak of. Only the name of the path, as well as this odd feeling that seemed to permeate each. Feeling just as varied as the broad list of choices, while also somehow specific to the individual paths in question. And while it had somewhat shocked him at first, this intangible impression—almost like a fragrance which only reached him via a sixth sense he hadn’t even known he possessed—the more he thought about it, the more it made sense.

  The idea of “paths” in general practically reeked of holistic practice.

  He now assumed it was related to an area of progression he actually hadn’t spent all that much time researching. Not for any particular reason, mind you. He’d merely found he had neither the time, nor the talent, to delve all that deeply into the practice.

  Specifically, he was referring to the more spiritual sciences of universal enlightenment and aura manipulation.

  Which would make what he was feeling from these entries… the individual auras representative of each path? But then that would mean…?

  Ahh, I see. Fascinating. So instead of literal descriptions, it uses aura to convey the essence of a path. And I’d be willing to bet that, were I any better at aura detection, these aura descriptors would be just as good as written text, if not better.

  As it was, though, for the sake of time, as well as compatibility, he would scroll through until he picked up on something that felt… for lack of a better word…? Something that felt right.

  In truth, he’d never much cared for all that hippy dippy nonsense pre-ascension, but it’d been a decade since then, and in that time he’d seen things that would have sent pre-ascension Richard into a never ending existential crisis. He knew that there were powers out there which were unfathomable to his rule oriented mind, but that didn’t make them any less real or terrifying.

  If these were the rules set before him, setting aside his logical brain and thinking with his feelings instead, then that’s exactly how he’d play things. After all, what was his pride in the face of humanity’s continued survival? Nothing, that was what. He’d been a silent spectator and recorder of tragedy for far too long to now balk at this minor concession.

  And so, letting the cocktail of sensations wash over him, he continued to scroll.

  Minutes passed like this, although, by the end of it, he couldn’t have said exactly how many. One-thousand one-hundred and forty four. That was how many available paths existed on the grand feat systems registry—assuming none of them disappeared while he’d been counting, that was. An idle thought which reminded him that he did not have all day. Just because he’d been the first, did not mean number two wasn’t hot on his heels. And while the odds whoever came next chose whichever option he ultimately wanted were very slim, it wasn’t impossible.

  In the end, it came down to five paths which he felt an innate affinity to.

  ?-|—Path of Rebirth—|-?

  Likely tied to his awakening in the body of an infant, he felt the least “spiritual pull” for lack of a better term, towards this path in particular. He chocked that up to the simple fact that he hadn’t asked to be reborn in any way, shape, or form, and had generally found it more of a hindrance than a help. Yeah, even if he had felt an incredible resonance with this path, he would not be picking it. With his luck, he’d wake up as a fetus floating in the womb next.

  Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

  ?-|—Path of the Time-Strider—|-?

  Again, there was something there, but the pull felt fairly weak overall. Likely it had more to do with his use of Opon’s Coin, rather than anything he’d personally done or accomplished. It wasn’t the worst resonance he felt out of the bunch, but it was a very close second. A shame, because, out of all top rankers he’d ever had the misfortune of facing off against, the time centric practitioner’s were always the most difficult to pin down. Almost as hard to pin down as he was.

  ?-|—Path of the Watcher—|-?

  This one…? Now this one was a strong contender.

  From the moment he laid eyes upon it, felt it’s almost nostalgic sort of melancholy, he’d known that he and this path belonged together. For, in the days following his discovery of Opon’s Coin, he truly had become nothing more than a third party spectator. Only ever focused on his own progression, in so far as it allowed him to witness the end of all things. The heights humanity managed to reach, before the inevitable fall.

  A sentinel standing watch over the end of the world. The perfect picture of impartiality. Terrified of intervening, lest he somehow alter the course of events prematurely, even as he witnessed tragedy after tragedy unfold—ravaging mankind from outside and within. Continuing to silently observe in hopes of one day saving humanity, even as he became inured to the things that made him root for humanity in the first place. The Path of the Watcher encapsulated everything he’d been in his past timeline, and that was exactly why he could not pick it.

  Because no matter how perfect it might have been, he knew in his heart that it was a step in the wrong direction. It was a fond memory from days long past. A fleeting flashback, and nothing more. A reminder of what he’d been through, what he’d been, but not something he wished to carry with him forever. He’d already done the watching. Now, it was time to look towards the future.

  ?-|—Path of the Craftsman—|-?

  While not as resonant as the last one, this path was still rather tempting. He’d always loved to work with his hands. His entire class and legendary ability had basically revolved around careful research, and masterful practice. And while the working of talismans may not seem like a crafts skill, it required all the same patient attention to detail, skillful execution, and artistic expression. In fact, were it not for the fifth and final path on the list, there was a good chance he’d have picked up this one without hesitation. As it was however…

  ?-|—Path of the Architect—|-?

  He didn’t even need to think about it. It just felt… right. And unlike the Path of the Watcher, it did not reek of his dark and monochrome past, but instead spoke of a brighter, more vibrant future. Without even a second of hesitation, Richard selected the Path of the Architect.

  ?CONGRATULATIONS ON SELECTING A PATH!?

  May Your Path Serve You Well for the Rest of Your Days.

  Because you are the first person on your world to have been granted access to the grand paths system, your path has been upgraded.

  Path of the Architect —-> Path of the Shaper

  Be prepared to receive your initiation trial.

  This trial will take place within a temporal pocket. Know that, while taking the trial, you may experience days or weeks. However, outside the trial, mere minutes will have passed. Food and other necessities will be provided for.

  Do you wish to begin your initiation trial?

  YES/NO

  Richard didn’t hesitate for a second before selecting yes. He might have done more to prepare—wait, at least, until he could reliably move under his own power—but, ultimately, that would’ve defeated the entire point. This was a gamble meant to save him time, and if he didn’t take the chance, then he may as well not even bother.

  Your initiation trial will begin shortly. Please hold while we transport you.

  A flash of white light blanketed his surroundings.

  It seemed to expand out from him in a rush or a wave, as if a paint bucket spilled across the canvas of his reality. Oddly enough, it wasn’t blinding. Merely unnerving as the people, the clearing, and then the sky itself was consumed by an onrushing tide of liquid whiteness. Until all he saw in any direction was a blank white void. A void which quickly began to move, or at least that’s the way it felt. His stomach dropping out from under him, even as purple and blue streaks whizzed through the air. Blurring past him as if propelled at great speeds. Smears of color which flashed by impossibly fast.

  And it only seemed to be growing faster by the second.

  The unmistakable feeling he was moving at a breakneck clip, made all the more disorienting for the distinct lack of any air resistance or even the slightest pull of g-force. He continued like this for he didn’t know how long, until, so abruptly it took his breath away, he stopped. And suddenly, he found himself somewhere else entirely.

  He found himself in an enormous, well lit, almost cathedral like space, with high vaulted ceilings, arched marble columns, and stained glass windows depicting anything from calm nativity scenes flocked by trumpet toting cherubs, to rapturous coronation ceremonies practically drenched in opulence, and finally to brutal depictions of what looked to be religious crusades—though none were remotely reminiscent of any religion he was personally familiar with. Case in point, in one such depiction of death and bloodshed, one of the enemies of the faith, cut down in suitably shameful fashion, was a reptile man.

  And that wasn’t where the oddities stopped, either.

  All around him, atop grand pedestals, within burbling fountains, and lining the building’s many, many arcades, embossed into the stone recesses between supporting columns, were statues—very… ahem, that is to say, rather concerning statues. In almost all of them were depicted two very distinct looking figures. A bored looking preteen, maybe twelve or eleven years old, with a militaristic sort of uniform—clearly slept in and unbuttoned in several places—sporting an unruly mess of hair. So wild and tangled that a nesting pair of birds would have found themselves right at home.

  Meanwhile the other was a rather sophisticated looking man with a long curtain of flowing, silken hair. So elegant and fair featured that he might easily have been mistaken for a woman. The man wore a uniform very reminiscent of the boy’s, only where the kid’s was rumpled and stained, the man’s was crisp and orderly, every little thing in their proper place. He looked, for all the world, like a very fastidious and mature individual.

  Which was what made the things he was doing in the statues all the more bizarre.

  There was the man, feeding grapes into the open mouth of the boy. The man, cooling the boy’s brow with a comically large fan while the kid reclined on an upholstered bench. The man, going down on hands and knees, so that the boy might use him as a stepping stool to avoid a small puddle. And those were some of the tamer examples. It went on like this, the man debasing himself before this kid, and in every single one of them, the boy never even glanced the man’s way.

  Merely looked off into space, as uninterested as ever. It was as if he hadn’t asked the man to perform these actions, yet he’d insisted upon it anyway. It was all just so… weird.

  With a sudden pop of displaced air, a tall, stately figure appeared before him. A figure that he recognized.

  Speak of the devil…

  Standing before him was that same elegant man from the statues—chin raised so high he could see well into the man’s nostrils—yet when he spoke, it was with a thunderous authority that set the very foundations to trembling.

  “Hear my words and tremble mortal, for you are in the latent presence of greatness! My lord and master, in all his grace, in all his poise, in all his divine magnanimity, has deigned to favor you, a pitiful worm, with the barest fraction of his awesome might! His grand majesty! His limitless power! Bow down and weep before the boundless depths of his charity, his noble generosity, his… his divine magnanimity, his-”

  The man looked down, no doubt trying to think of a synonym for “great,” that he hadn’t already used, whereupon he finally locked eyes with Richard for the first time.

  “Eep!” having entirely lost his thunderous voice of grandeur, the man leapt fifteen feet into the air, hands shooting to his chest in surprise.

  Instead of falling, however, the man floated weightlessly to the marble tiles. The look he gave Richard in that moment likely the same he’d have on his face upon finding a raccoon in the bathtub while doom scrolling on the toilet.

  “By the master’s merciful graces! W-what’s this kid doing here?!”