Serendipity (Veldora x TBATE)

Arthur Leywin closed the door behind him with a sorrowful expression.

This is for the best, he thought trying to reaffirm the purpose of what he'd done. He had just told his parents what he is, and where he truly came from. He's not their kid, he's an old man—a king, actually—from another world who happened to be reborn in the body of the young and newborn Arthur Leywin.

Is it truly for the best? He repeated his thoughts as a question. He felt bad for his parents, because of you look at it pragmatically from a neutral standpoint, it can be interpreted like his old self—Grey—replaced the Arthur Leywin born out of Reynolds and Alice.

And the news of Adam just had to arrive at perfect timing. Adam passing away was both humbling and saddening. Humbling because it denied Arthur's confidence of being capable of protecting his loved ones, saddening because his friend—someone he looked up to like an uncle—passed away, violently.

Arthur could remember the Twin Horns mentioning an outside party they had met along their adventures in the Beast Glades, but he didn't have it in him to listen to anything more. His mind at the time just focused on one part of the news—Adam.

From behind him, he heard his mother weeping, questioning his father but nevertheless not responding. Arthur's hands clenched into fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms until the pain grounded him back to the present. A metallic taste filled his mouth as he realized he had bitten his lip hard enough to draw blood.

"Are you ready?" A voice, cool and masculine, pulled him back from his self-wallowing.

"Yes, Windsom," he replied with a resolute tone and determined eyes.

Arthur walked past the sofa of Rinia Darcassan's hideout, brushing his dear younger sister's sleeping face and leaving a kiss on her forehead. "I'll be back," he muttered despite being unsure of the possibility of such return occurring in the first place.

Another presence made itself known in the hideout. "Windsom," it was a feminine voice this time, and impossibly seductive. Arthur wondered if it was magic like the one the elven lance Aya used. His bond, Sylvie, squirmed atop his head.

"Relax," Windsom said, noticing Arthur's unease. "She's a companion of mine," he added as he faced the door and opened it.

There, standing on the entry, was the finest specimen of a female Arthur has ever seen. She was tall and had flowing dark hair. The dress accentuated her curves perfectly. Her breast was sharply defined by her dress and is modest at most—not too big, not too small—and she had a very well-built figure that blended sexiness and athletic finesse.

"Where had you been, Lady Victoria?" Windsom questioned with an impassive face and tone.

The strange woman—Victoria—smiled. She was almost as tall as Windsom, so it made her all the more… bewitching. "Strolling around," she replied as if reminiscing a moment she enjoyed, even licking her lips. "I met someone interesting. I might drop by soon if I miss him too much."

Windsom narrowed his eyes at this, but didn't say anything. The asura turned to Arthur and nodded. Then, as they got out of the hideout, they were gone. Gone from a rift in the world and into the magical land of Epheotus—the continent where deities roam.

...…

...

…

One year later…

"Congratulations, sir," the voice of the receptionist said so with a joyful and genuinely congratulatory tone as she handed Veldora his ID. But her tone made it sound like Veldora just gave birth to a healthy child. "You have reached S-Class!"

The receptionist's loud voice echoed loudly within the guild, and everyone took a look at Veldora before showering him with their own congratulations. Although everyone's first impressions of Veldora were terrible—particularly scary—everyone had come to like him due to how goofy and laidback he is.

Besides that, he is already widely well-known due to being announced as Dicathen's warlord, but he still does adventure work as a hobby. That's what made people fond of him.

"Congrats, Veldora!" someone shouted from across the room, followed by a chorus of voices adding their own congratulations.

"That was fast!" an older adventurer chuckled, raising his tankard in salute. "You've come a long way, you big oaf!"

Veldora reached out his hand to grab the ID and eyed it carefully, particularly the golden emblem of the S-Class marked above his ID picture. His lips curved into a wide and toothy grin. "Kuahahahaha!" Veldora threw back his head, his laughter growing even louder.

Before he knew it, a party was thrown to congratulate him as drinks were passed around. The horrors of the war were momentarily forgotten as everyone delved into the joyful night.

I've done it! Veldora celebrated in his mind. Super mysterious, super-powerful, and super-rich adventurer in this world!

He brought his vision of himself into reality, and Veldora couldn't help but wonder if this is how mortals felt when they arrived at the end of the paths they had taken, and opened the door to the dreams they spent their lives chasing along the way.

"This is truly our Serendipity. It is the friends we made along the way!" Spouting off absolute nonsense, Veldora chugged off another glass for the umpteenth time while everyone around him was already wasted from the booze.

The night is still young.

~🐉~

Another year had passed.

Floating above the battlefield near the western coasts of the continent just next to the beast glades, was me watching the carnage.

Time sure flies by, huh. Well, it might've been an awful time of loss, anger, and fear for the Dicatheans, but for me, it just felt like a couple of blinks. This marks the second year since the war started between Alacrya and Dicathen, but if I have to say, it's really anti-climactic.

Everything about this war had been underwhelming so far.

The Alacryans are meticulous, sure, but that precision only makes it all the more boring. They attack with carefully constructed plots, send hordes of controlled mana beasts to do their dirty work. There's no raw, unfiltered chaos. No thrill of uncertainty. Just a steady, predictable grind.

I sighed as I stroked my own hair and caressed my own jaw, somewhat expecting an unknown variable to suddenly appear. It wouldn't matter what it was, just something big enough to change the tide of the battle. A strong enough opponent to challenge me? A surprise attack that could force me to intervene? Anything would do.

When I heard Virion's offer—the old elf and the only one in this world deserving of my respect—I thought of a time where I'd sweep through tides of Alacryan armies and ravage their formations. Yet here I was, hovering above a bloodshed that's already lost its luster.

It would be easy to just land below and bring an end to it, but I'd be killing our side, too. I've had my own development during the past few years so I'm not so much as an asshole as to decimate both sides' forces, not when I'm supposed to be on Dicathen's side.

"You're a secret weapon," Aldir's words echoed on my mind. "Please behave as such."

That's what he told me. No shit, like hell I am.

Of course, I had every right to rebuke him, to deny his claim and do as I wish. That's apart of the offer that Virion gave me, but at the time, I was enchanted to being called a secret weapon, so my dumb ass unknowingly agreed.

And I'm not one to take back my words.

I'm not entirely cut off from major battles, no. It's actually the opposite. I'm a strong force and a trump card for Dicathen, but there's no control for me. I'm like a ticking bomb ready to explode at any time. Why? Because I'm under no one's rule.

By Virion's and Aldir's suggestion, I only directly go into battle when there are no Dicathean forces, so I could minimize collateral damage. Otherwise, when there's an enemy general—retainers and scythes, as they call them—I'm allowed to do as I please to prioritize their destruction, even at the death of our own allies.

It was cold logic, but I'm perfectly fine with that. Even now, as I witness countless corpses of our own men, I feel nothing. I heaved another sigh as I crossed my arms, and there was another explosion behind me that sent entire companies of soldiers flying with their ruptured bodies.

And yet, as I floated there—bored—something... odd caught my attention. It was subtle at first, just a faint speck at the edge of my universal perception. But as I focused, it grew stronger. A presence, one that came from the depths of the Beast Glades. Not threatening, at least not to me, but strange. Out of place.

I narrowed my eyes, turning my gaze towards the dense, untamed forests that made up the Glades. What was it? A powerful mana beast? No, this was different. The aura was unfamiliar, neither fully beast nor man. I smiled.

Maybe this was the unknown variable I'd been hoping for. Something to break the monotony. My mind raced through the possibilities. Should I check it out? After all, it wasn't like I was doing anything important up here.

Another explosion below, another company wiped out. I shook my head. This battlefield was nothing more than a tedious chore at this point. But that presence... it's probably dangerous to the others, right? So, I need to check it out! Yes, that's right. This, too, is duty call.

I took one last look at the battlefield, noting the positions of our forces. The Dicathean troops were holding, barely. The Alacryans, relentless as always, but predictable. There was no real threat here, not to me, not even to our side if they kept their formations tight.

"Hey, officer!" I called out, my voice booming across the battlefield. The Dicathean commanding officer, a veteran with scars that told of countless battles, looked up at me, somewhat startled. I didn't usually bother with them, but today was an exception.

"Y-Yes, Warlord?" he stammered, clearly surprised to hear me speak.

"I'm leaving this to you," I said, my tone making it clear that this was not a request. "Don't disappoint me."

The commander's eyes widened, but he quickly nodded, saluting with a fist over his heart. "Yes, sir! We won't fail!"

I waved my hand dismissively, more out of habit than anything, before turning my attention back to the Beast Glades. Whatever was waiting for me there, it was more interesting than this battlefield.

Without another word, I shot off towards the dense forests, leaving the war behind. The wind whipped past me as I flew. I didn't feel it was a threat, not to me, but it was something different, something new. Or maybe it would be nothing. Either way, I was done waiting around.

...…

...

…

I arrived at a clearing just next to a dungeon entrance. It was familiar—the entrance, that is. This is Widow's Crypt, a well-known dungeon at Xyrus for being used by the academy to give students first-hand dungeon-diving experience.

I focused my gaze down below the ground, trying to cope a feel with a single thread of mana signature among countless atmospheric ones. I pinpointed it, and kind of like… pinned it? I don't know the term but I highlighted it in my vision so I can track it easily.

I continued to venture into the ominous entrance, its gnawing darkness beckoning me closer and closer with each step. But it's not really that dramatic, I'm just overexaggerating. But more than that, another thing caught my attention.

A familiar presence.

A lance.

I'm confused. Was this an ambush? A betrayal? The one I came for—the mysterious and unfamiliar presence—was definitely here. I continued my way in silence, just focusing on arriving to the place.

"Damn, where does this lead to?" I asked myself. I spent a few minutes trying to map out the dungeon floors, but nothing led me to the small room down below. I went back near the entrance until the presence was directly below me. "Let's go old school," I muttered.

I bent down and thrust my palm into the ground below as I said, "Division."

The ground split into countless shards at my severance skill. I've managed to optimize the skill. It used to only apply to my claws, but I've managed to learn about the versatility of arts outside of the storm magics I used. The ground collapsed into a chasm down below, disintegrated and reduced into dusts. I smiled arrogantly as I leapt off the edge.

"Here I go!"

There was a loud thump as my feet made contact with the ground, kicking up a small cloud of dust. I waved my hand to try and dissipate the dusts that blocked my vision, and that's where I saw them.

A large number of Dicathean forces were lying on the ground, lifeless and ruptured as their bodies were impaled by ominous black spikes protruding from the earth itself.

There were only two figures that weren't dead. One was a humanoid-looking figure, but his uncanny valley ass looked anything but human.

He stood over two meters tall, his posture hunched and his long, thin arms hanging like they'd been dislocated. He wore thick, dark bandages beneath a shabby black mantle that draped over his shoulders, and a tattered hood partially obscured his face, with messy bangs poking out. Two obsidian horns jutted out from under the hood.

I switched my gaze to the figure—a woman—held firmly by this thing's grip.

It was Alea—one of the two elven lances along with Aya. I forgot her last name but that doesn't matter. She's half dead, but still conscious. It seems whatever this thing is was in the process of ripping off Alea's arm, but my arrival seemed to have saved her form being crippled.

I stared directly at the thing's massive red eyes, smiling confidently to appear unbothered. "And what are you supposed to be?" I questioned, tilting my head as if to dismiss him entirely.

The thing—man?—just looked at me, somewhat surprised. Then, he grinned as he dropped Alea off to the ground. "Well? Aren't you here to save this girl? Get on with it—" Before he could finish, I was beside him, my palm pressed against his face. In an instant, I slammed his sorry, desecrated ass into the wall behind him with enough force to crack the stone.

"You were saying?"

The creature's body crashed into the wall with a resounding thud, cracks spiderwebbing out from the impact. I held him there, my hand still on his face, feeling his pathetic attempts to resist.

Alea, breathing between ragged gasps, spoke.

"He said his name was Uto… he's a retainer," she said as she struggled to breath and keep her heart beating. This is a retainer? He might've been a terror to the Dicatheans, but to me, he was just another piece of trash. I honestly expected more.

He struggled, managing to turn his head slightly to meet my gaze. "You…!" he growled, his voice distorted, like gravel grinding together. "By Vritra's name, I—"

"Yeah, yeah," I interrupted, rolling my eyes. "I'm sure you've got a lovely title and a tragic backstory, but frankly, I couldn't care less." I leaned in closer, my grin widening. "I'm more interested in why you're still talking when you should be begging for mercy."

His eyes narrowed and with a snarl, he tried to swipe at me with one of those freakishly long arms of his. Pathetic. Before he could even land, I grabbed his wrist with my free hand and squeezed. There was a sickening crack as bones shattered, and he let out a pained howl.

"Oops," I said, feigning surprise and sounding sarcastic. "Did that hurt? Kuahahahaah! My bad. I tend to forget my own strength when dealing with small fry like you."

"The Scythes will… make you regret this!" he hissed.

"Doubt it," I replied, completely unimpressed. "Now, why don't you make this easier on yourself and just die quietly?"

He opened his mouth to retort, but I was done listening. I tightened my grip slightly, and his head exploded into a fountain of violet liquid and gore. Two obsidian black horns dropped to the ground as I hurled his headless body across the room like a ragdoll. He slammed into the far wall, crumpling to the ground in a heap.

I dusted off my hands. "Honestly, they just don't make villains like they used to. What a waste of time."

I turned my attention to Alea, who was struggling to stay conscious on the ground. She looked up at me. "V-Veldora…" she rasped.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm your knight in shining armor," I said, waving off her thanks before she could muster the energy to say it. I knelt down and extended a hand towards her. "Come on, let's get you out of here before you lose that arm of yours."

She hesitated for a moment, then grasped my hand. I lifted her up with ease, supporting her weight as she staggered to her feet.

"Try not to faint on me," I said with a smirk. "I'm not really in the mood to carry you, and I'm sure you'd prefer to walk out of here with some dignity left."

She gave a weak chuckle, despite her condition. "Always… so considerate, Veldora."

I grinned. "What can I say? I'm a real gentleman."

"Yeah, yeah, you sure are."

I thrust out my open palm and activated an intrinsic skill of the true dragons: Dragon's Touch. It kind of worked similarly to the administrative powers of the Seraphims, but I'll just say ours is better. I imagined a mental image of the floating castle in my mind and linked it to my skill.

Then, both I and Alea were swallowed by a hole in space as we vanished from the scene. I can send some people to take care of the other corpses, but right now, the only ones I can bring with me are Alea and the obsidian horns that wretched thing—Uto—had.

Something tells me this thing's valuable.