This World Is Far Too Strange

This world is far too strange.

“Besides, this was a losing deal for me, wasn't it?”

Wagering a single Mythic-grade item against three of them as an "equivalent" reward. The moment I proposed the terms, the system threw a fit about mismatched values — yet somehow, the trade went through anyway.

That kind of lopsided exchange is something a Celestial could never get away with. But then, I'm not a Celestial. I'm human.

Being human made it possible.

“'Harvested'?”

Come to think of it, something about a "mark" on my left shoulder had indeed siphoned off a sliver of my strength.

Not that anyone could tell — the drain was that negligible.

I pulled up the Yellow Marauder's ability.

“Designate a mark to plunder a portion of the target's stats. Attacks have a chance to plunder stats permanently...”

Hm.

“Nothing special.”

Stat absorption. It sounds like power you can take for free, but claiming strength that another has spent a lifetime building demands a steep price in return.

Power that doesn't originate from your own body never fits quite right — it throws the balance of your mana out of whack, almost inevitably.

The textbook example is the vampire: a hybrid race born from the demons' experiments.

Vampires absorb their prey's strength and mana through blood, making it their own. Because they wield the authority over blood itself, they can drain even a perfect stranger without ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠much trouble — but absorb too much at once, or target someone far stronger than themselves, and the gift curdles into poison.

And there were bloodlines whose rejection response was so violent that absorption was flatly impossible from the start. One of them was the Celestials — a race born with divinity steeped through every drop of their blood.

To a vampire, Celestial blood might as well have been holy water.

'That's why that child was captured and sealed away, too.'

...Though "child" might have been underselling it a little.

Well — for Celestials and vampires alike, age barely means anything, so I'll let it slide for now.

There are only two ways to safely accept another's power in full. Either your synchronization rate with the source is high enough, or you possess a "protective capability" generous enough to absorb the mismatch.

Here, that protection comes from the system — which is why the Grim Reaper could go around guzzling other people's stats without a care in the world. For me, though, it's next to useless. I don't operate on the system's protection to begin with.

“It's somebody else's stats in the end, isn't it? If it isn't truly mine, it doesn't mean much.”

More importantly, anything you scrape together gets swept clean by divinity all the same. It's not for nothing that everything — weapons, armor, clothing — bleaches pure white the moment divinity is unleashed.

Mana, spirits, every other form of power besides.

Before divinity, nothing remains.

“Uuu!”

WHAM WHAM WHAM!

I glanced over to find Sgaredo furiously pounding the patch of bare earth where the Grim Reaper had vanished.

She put genuine ferocity into it, but her body hadn't finished growing yet, so it wasn't particularly threatening.

'I do feel a little bad.'

Saving Sgaredo was one thing, but to draw out the Grim Reaper with his Masterpiece, I had deliberately paraded her through the streets of his territory, exposing her to danger. Naturally, I'd woven dozens of layers of barriers and engraved protections over her so that not a mote of dust could touch her ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠— but it must have been terrifying all the same.

For now, the hatchling held the slight advantage between them.

“That's enough. He's already gone.”

“Uu-bub...”

I scooped Sgaredo back up into my arms. Something must have finally overwhelmed her, because tears pricked at her eyes as she burrowed deep against my chest. When I patted her back, she seemed to settle, little by little.

“Dragons are genderless,” I said, shooting up and away in a hurry.

Dragons have no fixed sex, but much like a deliberate act of selection, they can change their body's gender at will. That said, once a dragon has chosen, most keep that choice for life — it tends to follow their values and temperament.

Occasionally a dragon will change sex to further the revival of their kind, or in submission to a powerful kinsman. Sgaredo, however, had always been strong, and had kept the same sex from beginning to end.

Sgaredo had been a woman.

The Empress of Glaciers — the title Fulgur the Thunder God Dragon had coveted, and never won.

'Come to think of it, Fulgur did turn herself into a female too, didn't she...?'

In my time, Fulgur had been a hyper-masculine male, but poking through Sgaredo's memories, apparently some whim had seized her and she'd suddenly changed her sex, living as a woman from then on.

She'd even hatched, what, five hatchlings or so...

“......The world is far too strange.”

Fulgur, who had always chased strength above all and worn her machismo like a badge of honor — now a married mother of five.

This world is far too strange.

Four Masterpieces obtained so far. Three remain — and setting aside Vlack's Black Destroyer, there are no more left in Talikal to be had.

'No more... probably.'

The plan of plundering — no, winning — the Grim Reaper's Yellow Marauder through a formal duel was a good one, but it only worked because the opponent was the Grim Reaper. The remaining two aren't bandits, just PKers to be hunted; they're named rankers each occupying a lofty seat, users playing Deoen without a hitch in the world.

They would never accept — never dream of accepting — a Conditional PVP like that one. And to be honest, I have no intention of taking anything from them by force, either.

First, let's put the Sgaredo problem to rest. The Masterpieces can wait.

Fwooooo—

Here I was, on the Snowy Mountain.

Sgaredo's soul transfer was proceeding steadily, but what I'm attempting is something on a far higher order altogether: coexistence of souls.

The hatchling and Sgaredo — I'm working to seat both within the same body and let them live side by side in harmony. The residents had doubled, but the sheer computational load of the formulas and spells involved had ballooned dozens of times over, so without periodic recalibration, who knew when something might rupture and burst out.

Magic is unforgiving that way — a single misplaced line in a formula, a single wrong character, and it becomes an entirely different spell.

The good news was that, so far, Sgaredo atop the Snowy Mountain remained perfectly safe—

“Pahaha!”

KRA-KOOM!!

Flap, flap.

“Uu!”

Sgaredo exhaled a blast of pristine white breath, practically preening ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with pride. Her power and range had both expanded enormously compared to her first attempt.

At this rate, she probably outclassed a level 70–80 field boss.

There was just one thing that nagged at me.

“Uuu?”

I took Sgaredo's left hand and lifted it up.

Violet claws radiating a bone-deep chill. Just looking at that claw was enough to make the wound that had once grazed my cheek twinge all over again.

'The Demon King's authority is nearly at seal level, then.'

I'd expected it, but the Demon King's fragment was structured in a form more staggeringly complex than I'd imagined. Where the Celestials excel in physical prowess and weapon arts, the demon race is a species specialized in magic and mystery — and the Demon Kings at their apex are each, individually, a god of magic.

At my current level, so much as touching it was impossible...

'...But if it were the me of the very end of that war.'

Though Sgaredo's replaced claw was wrought from the Demon King's authority, the will to attack — and the Demon King itself — were both gone now. The me of the past couldn't have unraveled it, no; but layering a new formula atop the existing one to bend the direction of that power, if only slightly? That, I could do.

It was possible only thanks to a Celestial's overwhelming body and the boundless regeneration divinity provides — and even then, at a steep price. But a dragon is not a Celestial.

A dragon's body cannot use demon sorcery.

It can only wield it.

“Still, it works just fine as a weapon.”

“Uuu?”

Tap.

I pressed a fingertip against one of the claws. Sure enough, flecks of blue-glowing blood immediately trickled down.

Honestly, that much alone made it thoroughly useful. Confined strictly to that one claw, Sgaredo was the only living creature in this world capable of cutting through anything.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

“...?”

A commotion drifted over. Somewhere on the far side of the mountain.

“There! That's the summit!”

“It's freezing to death up here. Hey, healer! Get those heals out, faster!”

“I'm literally gonna freeze solid...”

“Hurry up and come! We need that thing!”

“Seriously, what is wrong with them? Why are they taking it out on us—”

“This is why stuffy noble NPCs are the worst... like they're our masters or something!”

“Well, they kind of are our masters...”

Five men and women were laboring up the slope, shivering violently in the cold, clearly preparing something. Judging by their condition, they weren't a proper raid party — more like players climbing to stake a 'claim'...

'Shall I watch for a bit?'

Sgaredo needed to stay on the mountain anyway, and my stream was off for the moment. I let a brief flash of light bloom — and Sgaredo and I vanished from the Snowy Mountain.