Chapter 584 - Roadtrip (Patreon)

Myrra stays with me throughout the entire twelve hours I spend creating items. She’s curious, but also unusually understanding when I need to focus. A few hours in, I even start talking a bit more, and she responds with a barrage of questions.

She even burns her hands a few times while poking at some of the items I’m working with. To her surprise, even using mana to defend herself doesn’t stop the burns.

Thankful for her presence I pay her back by creating an item according to her requirements. It is a simple bracelet made out of a mix of endurium and voidsteel, and I even put effort into making it look as good as possible. I'm not that great yet with the details or working on tiny parts, such as the eyes of the chains I have to connect together, but I do my best and Myrra seems to be happy with the result. The item is only low epic grade, but I don't think its performance is what she cares about.

She leaves when I'm almost done with my work and I find myself alone in the workshop, which now looks so big and empty.

I put the pieces of the arcane item for Channeler back into the box, which I lock up and secure with defenses.

Then I open the skill level up notifications.

[Mana Manipulation - lvl 64 > Mana Manipulation - lvl 65]

[Perception - lvl 60 > Perception - lvl 61]

[Mana Domain - lvl 59 > Mana Domain - lvl 60]

[Mana Crown - lvl 53 > Mana Crown - lvl 54]

[Ley Line - lvl 50 > Ley Line - lvl 51]

[Ley Line - lvl 51 > Ley Line - lvl 52]

[Eclipse - lvl 30 > Eclipse - lvl 31]

[Eclipse - lvl 31 > Eclipse - lvl 32]

[Eclipse - lvl 32 > Eclipse - lvl 33]

[Empyrean Lance - lvl 18 > Empyrean Lance - lvl 19]

[Knitting - lvl 30 > Knitting - lvl 31]

[Knitting - lvl 31 > Knitting - lvl 32]

Nearly all of my skills have leveled up in that short fight. It barely took a minute, and yet I had to use nearly everything I had—all against someone 50 levels lower and possibly not even fully powered. Just as Whitey's lurker was weaker than his "true" self, I think the avatars are weaker as well.

With all that, I can’t even say I defeated her properly. I just killed her a split second before I would have died, but I guess that is an Absolute candidate for you. With Lissandra being the one behind that declaration, it is safe to say that among Absolute candidates, Ruby was at the top. It is further proven by her now being the Ruler of Greed.

What a mess. Especially since Lissandra won’t tell me whether she considers her requirements fulfilled. It just adds to my already shitty mood.

I add more items to the system shop and then take out all the shards I have made and check my current balance.

Shards: 499,663

Then I check the passive I want to buy, and confirming that not much remains, I close the window.

I watch the timer and, as expected, the notification about the 4th event appears, 12 hours before the event starts.

The 4th event - Avatar's Gauntlet will start in 12 hours.

Everyone participating will be moved to the Great Labyrinth of Xyphos.

All participants are randomly placed within the Labyrinth, where countless traps are placed, each carrying its own threat. Every trap has multiple ways to be defused, giving each attendee a chance to bypass, destroy, or completely avoid it.

At the same time, the Great Labyrinth of Xyphos creates an Avatar for every person who enters. These Avatars are also placed randomly within the Labyrinth and are set to hunt the people invading it.

There are 3 ways to gain points:

- Escaping the Labyrinth - The first person to escape will gain 10,000 points, the second 9,000 points, the third 8,000 points, the fourth 7,000 points, the fifth 6,000 points, and the sixth 5,000 points. After that, the points will decrease by 100 for every subsequent escape.

- By finding treasures randomly placed within the Labyrinth - Each treasure is an item that can be used during the duration of the event and will also reward you points upon acquiring it. There are:

5 low arcane items - each worth 2,000 points

50 upper epic items - each worth 300 points

100 mid epic items - each worth 100 points

200 low epic items - each worth 50 points

Note: Points for acquiring an item are awarded only once and are not given again if the item is taken by someone else later.

- By defeating the Avatars:

Beyond difficulty Avatar - 1,000 points

Hell difficulty Avatar - 500 points

Hard difficulty Avatar - 100 points

Normal difficulty Avatar - 50 points

Easy difficulty Avatar - 10 points

Note: You gain no points for defeating attendees.

Note: The duration of the event is set at 24 hours.

As always, I reread these kinds of notifications a few times before moving to the corner of my workshop and sitting down.

Then I close my eyes, concentrate, and find myself in my mind space. Whitey waits for me there, but he looks confused now.

It is because this time our surroundings and clothes were chosen by me.

We’re standing in the middle of a desert area. Nearby, there’s an old asphalt road, a rundown gas station, and a rusty Toyota Camry that looks like it’s from around the year 2000. Cicadas scream in the background, a sound I remember Whitey somewhat enjoyed.

Both of us are wearing casual clothes: shirts and shorts with crocs. It is uncomfortably hot outside in the setting I created, reducing our stats to that of normal humans. Both of us are already sweating, and the air is difficult to breathe.

Of course, this asshole still looks cool. With his long white hair tied up and a random red pattern on his shirt matching his eyes, he cuts an impressive figure.

I gesture for him to follow and enter the gas station.

I take the wallet from my pocket along with a few thick golden coins, mana crystals, and some billion-dollar bills. I toss them onto the table near the cash register, even though no one is there.

I reach the corner of the shop and open the fridge to take out some chilled sodas, tossing them all into a plastic bag that I also take. Then I add some snacks that I know and enjoy, along with some other stuff. Whitey watches me and does the same, picking up anything that looks interesting.

Once we’re done here, I head outside, open the car door, and get behind the wheel. I glance up, shrug, and open the sunroof. I pull down the sun visor, and sure enough, the keys drop out. I slide them into the ignition, and the engine roars to life.

I lower the window to look out and call to Whitey, "Get in, loser."

He stares at me intently, likely trying to read some of my memories to guess what I am planning, but he cannot. I have blocked them all.

With a groan, he throws his bag into the car, and it smacks me in the head. It’s surprisingly painful, sending a burning pulse through my eye.

After getting in, he slams the door closed and looks ahead, avoiding eye contact with me.

I shift into gear and drive us away from the gas station, pulling onto a long stretch of empty road that disappears into the horizon. I reach to turn on the AC, but of course, it is not working, so I just lower both windows and turn on the radio, where some old-school road trip songs start playing. When I try to focus and listen to the words, it always turns into random babble, probably because my mind doesn’t remember the exact lyrics. But when I don’t focus, the music just plays in the background. It’s an extremely strange feeling.

It is even now hotter outside, and the passing air only helps a little, forcing me to drive faster. It is just one of these disgustingly hot days.

Whitey, by my side, takes out one of the chilled bottles and presses it against his forehead for a while before trying to cut it open with kinetic energy.

But he is unable to do so; currently, neither of us can use our primordial energies or mana.

"Motherfucker," he curses and throws the bottle out of the window.

Then, just a minute later, he curses again, takes out another bottle, opens it normally, and takes a long sip. I do the same as we ride toward a structure a few miles in the distance.

A space shuttle launch pad.

It squats there like an old beast forced out of retirement, all faded white with black scorch marks. It is not one of the sleek, polished sci-fi ships; no chrome, no curves. This thing looks like it was built by stubborn engineers who cared only about functionality. The shuttle is a fat white hulk, with an orange fuel tank leaning against its side like it is part of the rusting ground now, its paint sun-faded and dull. The black nose points upward, the windows dusty and cracked. Burn marks streak down its body like someone tried to erase it from orbit.

The name "Fuck the tutorial" is etched in peeling paint across the side, barely visible beneath a layer of grime and heat distortion. A set of rusted stairs leads up to the side hatch, swaying slightly in the wind.

Whitey squints at it. "Knowing you, you fucker, you want to fly that thing."

"Yup," I say, then press the gas.

Dust kicks up behind us. The radio is playing something that sounds like "Country Road, Take Me Home," so I increase the volume, which gets me another look from Whitey.

Knowing I hate it, he starts eating snacks and chewing loudly, scattering crumbs everywhere. He even wipes his oily fingers on the car deck, leaving visible marks.

"You're eating chips? In my car?" I call out to him with disgust.

He lifts and licks the salt off his fingers and then, while looking at me, opens a soda and pours a little of it on the floor.

I slam the brake, and, not having a seatbelt on, he moves with the inertia and smacks his head against the dashboard.

While I awkwardly change the gear and run the car again, he slowly gets back to the seat, red eyes shining from beneath the white hair covering his face. There is also a small wound on his forehead, from which a droplet of blood slowly flows.

"You fucking son of a bitch," he says calmly.

"No, you."

"Motherfucker," he exclaims as he attacks me, punching my neck and the side of my chest right against my ribs.

Neither of us has any mana or kinetic energy available, so the fight is awkward as I defend myself while he attacks, all while the wheel swings and the car moves from the paved road to a side path made of dirt and dry grass.

"We will fucking die!" I shout.

"It’s flat fucking ground, motherfucker! There’s nothing to hit!" Whitey punches me a few more times and then leans back, his hair falling over his face.

With frustrated movements, he brushes the hair off his face, ties it up, and sits straight, looking ahead at the road.

I almost let it go, but then he snorts, "Bitch."

So I press the brake again, and he smacks his head against the dashboard once more.

The tires screech against the scorching asphalt as the Toyota Camry jerks to a halt, the entire car rocking from the sudden stop.

Right away, I let go of the wheel and, in defense, lift my arms. "I stopped because we are already here!"

Barely containing his anger, he looks out at the space shuttle that is still about half a mile away. I use that short opportunity to get outside, and a water bottle thrown at me hits the back of my head, sending me staggering forward, but I take it like a champ and continue walking.

Then the second bottle hits my head, making me let out a painful groan as I rub the spot it struck.

Whitey doesn't say anything. He just joins and walks up next to me, his crocs crunching over the dry grass and cracked dirt. The two of us move forward, side by side, following the faint trail that winds between patches of brittle weeds and sun-bleached rocks. Heat radiates off the ground in shimmering waves, and every breath feels like dragging in air from an open oven.

Even though I’d complained earlier about how the car did nothing to cool us down, only blasting hot wind into our faces as we drove, I now realize how much worse it is on foot. No shade. No breeze. Just the relentless sun beating down on our backs and the distant hum of cicadas buzzing in the silence. But I was the one who picked this “setting,” so I act like nothing’s wrong. This was exactly what I wanted. Not that it will trick Whitey, but it allows me to keep some of my dignity at least.

Whitey wipes sweat from his brow and mutters something under his breath, but keeps walking. Neither of us has the energy to argue anymore.

When we reach the space shuttle, we see a woman standing in front of it, dressed like a pizza delivery worker. A scooter with a thermal box is parked beside her. She’s wearing a red shirt with a company logo, a matching cap, and black shorts.

She’s something I created from my memories, twisted to the extreme. I used my experience with Logic Core and my imagination to shape her exactly as I wanted. Within my mind space, and with Whitey here, that much is possible, though it took a lot of effort and preparation.

But it was worth it.

The woman has silver hair tied into a ponytail, a red cap on her head, and brown eyes. Her expression, however, doesn’t quite match. She looks shy and nervous.

Real Lissandra would never make a face like that.

"Y-your pizza, sir," she says while handing us two boxes of pizza and looking down at her feet.

I come closer, take both boxes, open one of them, and sniff it.

"You call this pizza! I clearly said garlic crust! How dumb do you have to be to mess this up!? Even some random lady's pet would be able to remember that!" I shout at her.

"I-I'm sorry! I don't know how it happened!"

Taking a piece, I start eating it and offer the box to Whitey, who also takes one and bites into it.

I turn to the silver-haired delivery woman again, "You call that mana manipulation? I have seen kids with better control of their mana."

"What, sir? Excuse me, I do not understand," she says, sounding almost as if she is about to cry.

"Of course you do not. Something, something, you will never become an Absolute; something something, your limit is Champion."

"I don't understand," she sobs, her voice cracking as tears stream down her cheeks. Her hands tremble at her sides, fingers curled slightly like she’s trying to hold herself together.

"Blah blah."

She lets out a sob, followed by a shaky sniff.

I take a step closer, remove her cap, and put it on backward on my head. "I ain't paying shit; that pizza is cold." I burn my finger as I take another piece of pizza and blow on it to cool it down before taking another bite.

Next to me, Whitey chews with his mouth open. He takes a step toward the scooter, opens the thermal box, and steals all the boxes of pizza, holding them in one hand while using the other to feed himself more pizza.

After watching her for a moment, Whitey carefully places the pizza boxes on the ground. Then he grabs the open thermal container from the scooter, a bulky thing big enough to hold a full stack of pizzas, and sets it over her head. From inside, we can still hear her muffled sobbing.

"There. Now you are thinking inside the box. That is more your level," Whitey says.

We leave NPCandra behind and head toward the shuttle.

***

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