CHAPTER 45: SIGNIFICANCE.

[Rejuvenation boost time left: 00:20]

Aric stumbled into a dark, narrow alleyway, his hand pressing on the stone wall for support. It instantly blackened and crumbled into ash. The prince staggered to the opposite wall, leaning back against it as he heaved heavily.

He was far from the castle now. With his ki flowing at near full capacity, plus the boost from the energy formed by mixing ki and mana, he had managed to cover massive distances in a short time.

The prince had shown a necessary display of power. His plan was never to oppose the Byzeth people with force, but if he allowed them to view him as weak, he would soon face those who disagreed with his methods and would grow too ambitious for their own good.

[Rejuvenation boost expired]

"Ughh..."

The prince groaned in pain as he slid down the wall to the ground. Even with the rejuvenation boost, the chaos of mixing both forces was taking a brutal toll on his body. Now, back in his weakened state, the pain had grown many times worse.

Aric turned his hand, gazing at his palm as his breaths came heavy.

"Guide," Aric called.

She appeared, floating gently before him.

"If the system can give me something that cures my illness for four minutes, then surely it can cure my illness entirely."

Aric spoke his thoughts aloud. At first, he hadn’t questioned much. He had taken what he was given and been grateful, but now, with his knowledge of the Weavers, he sensed something deeper at play—and he was curious.

The guide stayed silent. For the first time, it didn’t answer.

"Answer me... I need to know."

The guide looked away from him.

"I don’t have your answers, User. But I will say this: balance is important, and perhaps fate even more so. Some necessities exist so that things fated occur as they must. It is not for anyone to alter that."

Aric clenched his fist against the ground.

"This system... this second chance—they gave it to me, didn’t they? The Weavers," Aric searched her face, but she stayed silent. "Why? Why would beings like that care for me? Or am I just entertainment... or a means to an end. My life and actions, all carefully mapped to reach a finale crafted by forces beyond me. Am I doing the bidding of gods, too much of a mortal fool to see it?"

He sighed, tilting his head back as he looked upward.

"Does it matter?" the guide whispered as she floated closer.

"What?" Aric turned to her.

"So far, you’ve only done what you wanted. And though it may feel like there’s more at play, would you rather all this have happened differently? If, in the end, your desires are fulfilled, what does its significance matter?"

Aric let out a short, dry laugh.

"You sound more... real each day."

"I know," she nodded.

"Well, do you have a name... other than System Guide?"

She shook her head.

"Well, maybe I’ll think one up later."

Aric pushed himself up, leaning on the wall as his strength slowly returned.

"I have to meet Serina at Miredis." He exhaled exhaustedly, beginning to move.

---

The prince boarded a carriage and made his way back to the Midgard Province, where the stretch of Miredis began and most goods leaving Byzeth were loaded before departing.

When Aric arrived at the loading station, it was packed with people and crates. The noise was overwhelming—wagon loaders shouting orders, horses neighing, camels grunting.

Some sections seemed unguarded—likely goods from poorer merchants—while others were heavily protected. It was easy to spot the wagons bound for the Northrenders. Their security was excessive, their carriages far too fine, their crates abundant. This was a massive transport.

Aric weaved through the throng, brushing past men, his head constantly swiveling for Serina.

Then, he felt a tug at his shoulder. Turning quickly, slightly startled, he found Serina. She gave him a discreet nod before walking ahead, and Aric followed close behind.

The farther they went, the thinner the crowd became. What remained were broken caravans abandoned by the roadside and wagons trundling off on their journeys.

Serina and Aric boarded a wagon that carried them deeper into the stretch. With each mile, Miredis unfolded into a barren desert. The ground was dusty dirt, littered with scattered rocks.

In the distance, low mountains rose under a golden, clouded sky, the setting sun casting contrast against the flat, lifeless terrain. A dirt road cut straight through it, vanishing at the horizon.

They traveled toward one of the mountains. Their wagon halted at the entrance of abandoned mining tunnels. From inside, a lone man wielding a machete strolled out.

"Best you move along from here," the bandit threatened, swinging his blade in a feeble attempt at intimidation.

The prince sighed, stepping off the wagon, boots crunching the dirt.

"Borag, Twicher... come out."

At his words, two figures emerged from the mine’s shadows, walking past the lone bandit.

"Oh, sire, it’s you," Borag greeted.

"Come out, boys," Twicher called. At once, multiple bandits began streaming out of the tunnels.