...
The door to Lloyd's room clicked shut behind me, the faint sound echoing in the silent palace corridor. I was back in my own chambers, the familiar plainness of the room a stark contrast to the vibrant, mana-rich environment of Zeldania. The lingering scent of dust and stale air filled my nostrils.
I sank into the worn armchair by the window, gazing out at the moonlit kingdom. The city lights twinkled in the distance, a tapestry of human lives, of ambitions and petty squabbles, playing out beneath me.
…Anyway, what should I do now? The question echoed in the vast, empty space of my mind, a profound sense of aimlessness settling over me.
I had come to this world because it was the last manga I read before my first death, before my transmigration into this new existence. It was a world I knew, a narrative I was familiar with. It was cool, intriguing, filled with potential.
Now, I was here. I was powerful enough, more powerful than anyone in this dimension. I could be as cool as Lloyd, or maybe even more. But there was no future destination for me now, no clear objective, no grand quest to pursue.
It was like I had lost my compass, the guiding star that had led me through countless challenges and dimensions. The thrill of power, the satisfaction of overcoming obstacles, felt hollow without a definitive purpose.
Sure, strength, I definitely needed it. There was no point complaining about having overwhelming power; it was a fundamental requirement for survival and prosperity in the multiverse. But then again, I didn't have much use for it beyond my own protection and for those who cared for me, and whom I cared for.
I wasn't saying strength was wrong, or that it was a burden. But not knowing what to do with it, except protecting what I already had, was something truly irritating. It was like having an infinitely sharp sword but no enemy to face, no grand cause to champion.
I was not greedy for more. I didn't want to rule this kingdom; its politics were tedious, its power struggles insignificant. I already had loyal subordinates, vast resources, and I could acquire anything I wanted with a mere thought. I already had girls, beautiful and devoted, if that was what I desired. Material possessions, power, influence – I had it all.
Somehow, I could now clearly see why my predecessor, the original entity who had created this multiversal system and once wielded similar power, chose to just hand over the reins before disappearing. The ultimate freedom, the ultimate power, could lead to the ultimate ennui.
I had to do something before this became a big issue, before I succumbed to the same existential weariness. I didn't want to become like him, a being who would willingly disappear into the void after a few eternities, having seen and done it all.
I had some work to do, grand plans for Zeldania, for its expansion and prosperity. And there was no way I would think of doing the same, of fading into nothingness, for a very, very long time. But the problem is that there was no definite guarantee that I won't do the same in the distant future. The thought was a chilling one.
I had to find a way for it, a purpose so profound, so enduring, that I absolutely wouldn't do it while I was on my right mind. A goal that transcended mere power or conquest, something that would keep me engaged for eons.
Currently, I was the highest-grade apocalypse-level entity for this world. My power was beyond comprehension for its inhabitants. I had learned every spell, mastered every form of magic.
So, now I could truly take it easy from now on in this world. There were no immediate threats, no challenges that truly tested my limits.
I might be an outcast in this kingdom, seen as a weakling due to my curse, but I had no wish to rule this kingdom, nor show them my power to prove them wrong. Their opinions were utterly irrelevant.
That didn't mean I would never use my power here. If a genuine threat arose, or if my interests were directly challenged, I would unleash my full might without hesitation. But currently, I didn't have any plans to interfere in their petty squabbles.
I mean, would you be offended if ants badmouthed you? Or treated you like an outcast? It's not like you couldn't crush them with a single step, but you simply think, why waste time on them, no?
It was the same with me. I didn't have any wish to have anything to do with them, these insignificant beings who lived out their short, predictable lives. My focus was elsewhere, on grander schemes.
By the way, I decided to conduct a small, controlled experiment. I unleashed one weak monster from my vast collection of monster companion pets, a creature that, by my standards, was utterly insignificant. A low-tier Golem, perhaps, made of rough stone, barely capable of independent thought.
I set it loose, giving it a simple directive: "Test the capital's defenses. Cause chaos, but ensure no fatalities." It was a test, a reconnaissance mission under the guise of a minor calamity.
I made sure no one died. My control over the Golem was absolute, its movements precisely calibrated to cause maximum disruption without lethal force. But honestly, almost everyone was defeated before Marcus, the kingdom's renowned hero, finally managed to defeat it.
The Golem, though 'weak' by my standards, caused widespread panic. Soldiers, even the elite guard, struggled against its simple, relentless attacks. Buildings were damaged, streets were torn up, and the capital descended into a frenzy of fear and disarray.
Sure, no key players, no high-ranking mages or powerful knights, were there at the immediate scene of the Golem's rampage, but it looked like the average strength of the soldiers was not that great, even if it was better than other kingdoms in this world. Their defenses were laughably inadequate.
Honestly, destroying this world would be very easy for me. Child's play.
Just send one or two apocalypse-grade companion pets, beings of immense, world-shattering power, which is more than enough to obliterate this entire world. The thought was a casual one, a mere observation of my capabilities.
Well, Lloyd was also capable of it, given his burgeoning power, but that's not the point. The point was the sheer disparity in strength, the ease with which I could reshape this reality if I chose to.
The existential ennui, however, remained. Power without purpose was a heavy burden. I needed a new goal, a new direction. And that meant more world travel.
"System," I commanded, my voice firm, a new resolve hardening my tone. "I want another world traveling. Can you do it?"
[Of course, Master.]
The System's synthesized voice was immediate, its usual calm demeanor present.
[But due to previous matters that happened, the system hasn't completely recovered its world-traveling function.]
A faint ripple of disappointment went through me. The "previous matters" referred to the destruction of my original dimension and the subsequent, chaotic leap to the Tsukimichi world, and the system itself having a function of 1 point requirement upgrades. Such massive function change took a toll on the System's core functionality.
"What do I need to do to help it recover faster?" I asked, my brow furrowing. Waiting was not something I was fond of, especially when a new purpose beckoned.
[Nothing, Master. It will recover automatically,] the System replied. [And currently, as you are not using the system much at all, the whole system's 73.86% power is directed at it to recover. It will be soon available for use again.]
Well, that's good news, at least. The System was efficiently allocating its resources. A few weeks, perhaps a month at most, and I would be able to traverse the multiverse once more.
A good day for no one to disturb me. Being treated as an outcast gave you a lot of free time, a quiet solitude that was conducive to strategic planning and personal reflection. It was a blessing in disguise.
As for Sylpha, I had already sent her on a few missions, tasks designed to further her training and gather intelligence in various parts of this world. So, she wouldn't be back anytime soon to interrupt my peace, or to demand more sword art lessons.
The thought of waiting, however, still chafed. Weeks, perhaps a month. That was too long. My mind, now stimulated by the prospect of new worlds, new challenges, was impatient.
Then, an idea sparked, a radical thought that bypassed the System's automatic recovery protocols. It was a gamble, but one with potentially immense rewards.
"Say, System," I mused aloud, a speculative tone in my voice. "If I give up on my status screen, can you restore my world traveling function immediately?"
The status screen. It was a comprehensive display of all my abilities, my mana reserves, my skills, my racial traits, my companion pets, every single numerical and descriptive detail of my power. It was a legacy from Yggdrasil, a constant, tangible representation of my strength.
[Yes, Master,] the System responded, its voice gaining a subtle shift, a hint of surprise. [Giving it up will significantly speed up the process. You can start world travel in just a few weeks, or even days, depending on the destination's stability.]
"Then do it," I commanded, my voice firm, decisive. There was no hesitation. "I don't need to see my status to be powerful anyway."
The status screen was a crutch, a mere display. My power was inherent, a part of my very being. I knew my strength without needing numbers to quantify it. The true measure of power was its application, not its display.
The System remained silent for a moment, an uncharacteristic pause. Then, a faint, almost imperceptible tremor ran through my body. It wasn't pain, but a sensation of something being irrevocably detached, a vast, intricate network of data being severed from my immediate perception.
My mind, however, remained clear. My power, my knowledge, my abilities – all were still there, undiminished. The only thing gone was the visual interface, the numerical representation. It was a small price to pay for boundless exploration.
A sense of lightness, of unburdening, washed over me. The path forward, though still undefined in its ultimate destination, was now clear. The multiverse awaited. I would find a new purpose, a new grand game to play, one that would keep me engaged for countless eternities. The compass was broken, but I would forge a new one, guided by boundless curiosity and limitless power.
The sensation of detachment lingered, a subtle hum beneath my skin. It wasn't a loss, but a shift in perception. My power felt more raw, more intrinsic, no longer filtered through a numerical display. It was a liberation, in a strange way.
I closed my eyes, allowing my consciousness to expand, to reach beyond the confines of this dimension. Without the status screen, the System's processing power was indeed freed, now entirely focused on the task of inter-dimensional travel. I could feel the subtle currents of the multiverse, the faint echoes of countless realities, swirling around me.
Hours turned into days. The kingdom outside continued its predictable rhythm. The sun rose and set, casting long shadows across the palace grounds. Nobles schemed, commoners toiled, and the royal family continued their endless, petty squabbles. From my isolated perch, I observed it all with detached amusement.
My daily routine consisted of a few core activities. Firstly, ensuring Zeldania's continued prosperity in the Tsukimichi world. I would mentally check in with Tomoe, Shalltear, and the newly acquired Makoto, receiving reports on the integration of the Orcs and Dwarves.
Lily Font Gritonia's information extraction was done by now. Now resting in one of the chamber until I decide what to do next with her. Shalltear, with her 'growing-type' intelligence, was proving exceptionally adept at sifting through Lily's memories, extracting not just factual data but also subtle nuances of this world's political and magical landscape. Lily, surprisingly, was becoming quite cooperative, finding a strange solace in finally unburdening herself of the secrets she had held for so long. The display of Zevion's power and the promise of a safe haven for her people (should she choose to align with Zeldania in the future) were powerful motivators.
I also dedicated time to refining my own abilities, experimenting with new magical combinations and pushing the boundaries of what was possible with my integrated powers. Without the status screen, this was a more intuitive, almost artistic process. I felt the mana flow, the subtle shifts in energy, guiding my manipulations.
One afternoon, a particularly pompous noble, Lord Valerius, decided to pay me a visit. He was one of my elder brothers' cronies, a man whose arrogance far outstripped his intelligence. He entered my room without knocking, his nose held high.
"Eighth Prince," he sneered, his voice dripping with condescension, "still cloistered away in your dusty chambers, I see. My brother, Prince Albert, is hosting a grand hunting party. Perhaps you should consider joining, if only to remind yourself what the outside world looks like."
I merely glanced at him, my expression unreadable. His words, his very presence, were like the buzzing of a particularly annoying fly. "My lord," I replied, my voice calm, "my studies require my full attention. I have no time for such frivolous pursuits."
Valerius scoffed, a loud, theatrical sound. "Studies? What studies could a sickly, talentless prince possibly be engaged in? Perhaps you are simply afraid to show your face, lest you embarrass the royal family further." He chuckled, a few of his sycophantic guards joining in.
I simply turned back to my window, dismissing him entirely. "If that is all, Lord Valerius, I bid you good day." My indifference was a more potent weapon than any spell. He fumed, his face reddening, but without a direct insult to latch onto, he could do nothing but stomp out, muttering threats under his breath.
Such interactions were common. They reinforced my decision to remain an outcast, to focus on my true purpose. Their petty squabbles were beneath my notice.
I also kept a subtle eye on Lloyd. His magical growth was exponential, fueled by Grimo's ancient knowledge and his own insatiable curiosity. I could feel the ripples of his increasingly powerful spells, the subtle distortions of mana as he practiced his dual incantations. He was a force of nature, rapidly approaching a level of power that would dwarf anyone else in this kingdom.
One evening, I observed a training session of the Royal Knights through a remote viewing spell. They were practicing their formations, their sword techniques, their magical defenses. They moved with a certain practiced elegance, their armor gleaming under the setting sun.
But to my eyes, it was like watching children play with wooden swords. Their movements were inefficient, their mana control sloppy, their understanding of true combat rudimentary. Marcus, the kingdom's hero, was indeed powerful by their standards, but he was a lone peak in a vast, shallow valley.
My earlier Golem experiment had confirmed their inadequacy. The chaos it had caused, the sheer struggle they faced against a 'weak' companion pet, was a stark reminder of their fragility. They were utterly unprepared for any true threat, let alone an apocalypse-grade monster.
The thought of their collective weakness, their blissful ignorance of the true powers that existed, was almost comical. They lived in a bubble, protected by a Gods who was, in my opinion, just as deluded and arrogant as they were.
The System's recovery was progressing steadily. I could feel the faint, internal hum growing stronger, the subtle currents of multiversal energy becoming more defined. The anticipation of new worlds, new challenges, was a potent antidote to the ennui.
I spent hours contemplating my next move, my 'grand project.' It couldn't be just about power. It had to be something that would keep me engaged, something that would provide a continuous, evolving purpose. Perhaps a collection of unique beings, a library of lost knowledge, or even the cultivation of a new form of energy. The possibilities were truly endless.
The idea of giving up the status screen had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, born of impatience. But now, reflecting on it, it felt right. It was a shedding of a crutch, a final step in embracing my true, inherent power. The numbers, the statistics, they were a distraction, a way to quantify something that was ultimately immeasurable.
My power wasn't about a level or a stat. It was about my will, my knowledge, my ability to manipulate reality itself. The status screen was a relic of a past life, a game. This was reality, and in reality, such displays were unnecessary.
The act of severing that connection was a symbolic one. It was a declaration to myself, and to the System, that I was ready for the next stage of my existence. I was no longer a player observing a game; I was the architect of my own destiny, unbound by arbitrary limitations.
I imagined the System, now fully dedicating its resources to my travel. The thought of the vast, unexplored multiverse, teeming with unique phenomena and untold power, filled me with a thrill I hadn't felt in a long time. This wasn't just about escaping boredom; it was about seeking out the truly extraordinary.
I would find a world that resonated with my desire for a grand, intricate game. A world where my strategic mind would be truly tested, where the challenges were not just about overwhelming force, but about subtle manipulation, intricate planning, and perhaps even the creation of something entirely new.
The compass was broken, but I would forge a new one, guided by boundless curiosity and limitless power. This world, the 7th Prince's world, had served its purpose as a temporary stop. The next canvas awaited, a blank slate upon which I would paint my new purpose, my new grand game. The anticipation was exhilarating.