Free Tier - Accidental Champion (Book 7) - Chapter 48 - Wanderer

From the confines of his starship, countless light-years away from his point of observation, the Old Man saw what he suspected were the last moments of the life of Xavier Collins.

Now, he told himself, his fists clenched so tightly his bones fragmented and healed in a continuous cycle. If I am to act, it is now.

The Old Man opened his hands and activated a spell—one that would bend space and allow him to cut a line from where he stood to where Xavier hovered. There was not enough time for even the Old Man to make his way there, but this spell would allow a fraction of his power through.

Enough to influence the boy’s fate.

Enough to save him, and with him, perhaps everything else…

~

Anhelina felt weaker than she had in several millennia. She’d pushed the bounds of the Summon Otherworldly Spirit spell she’d been brought to the Mortal Realm with to its limits in that encounter with Xavier Collins.

That was not what had weakened her.

When the spell had ended, she had not returned to the Otherworld. Instead, she had leveraged her tremendous power and remained in Xavier’s universe. Technically, she was not on the same plane—not even a visitor to the Mortal Realm any longer, more a direct observer anchored in place for as long as she could manage—but being here allowed her access to senses she lacked from the Otherworld. Here, she could utilise her spiritual sense to its fullest. As a spirit herself, she could do this in a way that no mortal she’d ever encountered could.

This was not an ability she’d possessed when inside that frozen pocket of time. In there, her powers had been severely limited to that of Xavier’s, and so her spiritual sense had been limited along with them.

Now, however, she was able to feel all he did.

The Spirit of Time watched the spectacle in awe and knew she wasn’t alone in her observation—another presence lingered. A presence both familiar and unknown, as she had met another version of the man long, long ago.

The Old Man watches.

If she had a heart, it would have skipped a beat as Xavier’s shattered cores reformed at the same time as he lost control over the power trying to destroy him.

~

The Old Man and the Spirit of Time were not the only two entities observing the fate of this particular version of Xavier Collins.

There are beings who inhabit the vast multiverse known simply as Wanderers. Some call these beings Universe Hoppers—but a Universe Hopper is anyone or anything able to move from one universe to another. Even a Denizen from this corner of the multiverse who only had the ability to travel between two universes unaided by the System would be labelled a Universe Hopper.

All Wanderers were Universe Hoppers, but not all Universe Hoppers were Wanderers, for Wanderers were so much more.

For one, Wanderers worked outside the System—outside any System. They were aware of the boundaries that kept one section of the multiverse separate from another, and they were—in most cases—able to push through those boundaries. Thus, they worked outside the System by necessity, for not only did they travel places Systems either didn’t or couldn’t go, if the various different versions of the System were able to identify their presence when travelled inside their domains…

Well, such a thing could, and indeed had, a host of unforeseen consequences.

Haroln Abdicas Vandeerink—or simply Roln to those who knew him—was one such Wanderer.

Presently, he hovered outside the fabric of reality of the target universe this version of Xavier Collins inhabited. Roln had heard whispers that the man was making waves. In the vast multiverse the Wanderers travelled, whispers like that weren’t spread without reason.

Roln easily sensed the Old Man and the Otherworld spirit observing the boy. To him, their presence had the power of a thousand stars. He wrinkled his nose, wondering if they were even bothering to attempt concealment.

There were other, more subtle presences around. Some of those presences even Roln had trouble sensing, making him sure there were more that he couldn’t sense. In fact, it seemed to Roln that the young dragonkin had more observers than any other being he’d encountered in his travels. Most of those presences would never make themselves known, of course. Indeed, a vast majority of them couldn’t interact with this corner of the multiverse even if they wished.

Their skills of observation outstripped their methods of communication.

When Roln had heard whispered of this man, he had decided a journey was in order. At a small expense to his great powers, he’d travelled all the way here and in doing so had learnt the particular intricacies of the System that governed this corner of the multiverse, all to lay eyes on this so-called wave maker.

He had not been disappointed.

Every Wanderer had heard of Xavier Collins. Indeed, some Wanderers were Xavier Collins. The multiverse was littered with people who kept showing up all over the place.

Xavier Collins was by no means the only one who kept showing up. Many of Roln’s personal acquaintances, close friends, and indeed past intimate partners were what were known as “multiples” or “repeats.” Beings who became powerful in different multiverses over and over again—beings that were most likely to transcend their own universe and eventually take on the status of Wanderer.

But many versions of the particular type of System that governed the corner of the multiverse Roln had travelled to ended up anticipating Xavier’s ability to “save the universe”—a feat most Wanderers had come to realise may never even be possible and indeed was no longer their concern—so he appeared more than anyone else Roln had ever encountered.

Roln himself had been one of the Watched in his origin universe. The System that had governed his universe was vastly different to this particular one. That System had been… rudimentary.

Roln had been a disappointment to that System. Then again, every being ever thought to save the universe had been a disappointment. Xavier Collins, thus far, was always a disappointment.

It wasn’t something Roln let bother him these days.

Back then, however, he hadn’t even been aware of other universes—there was no Tower of Champions where he came from, or other such types of System-assisted inter-universe travel. Luck, power, and an insistence on surviving was what enabled him break the chains that long ago bound him to his origin reality.

Once he’d discovered the multiverse, Roln had thought he would find other versions of himself out there—but even to this day, after being around for the birth and death of more universes than anyone would bother counting, he hadn’t encountered another Haroln Abdicas Vandeerink.

He’d long come to the conclusion that the System of his old universe had created him inside a laboratory and such an occurrence was never repeated in all realities, even though he as much as anyone with a knowledge of the multiverse knew a totally unique being was an absurd notion. That simply wasn’t how things worked.

But another thing he knew was that one believed and what was rational didn’t always align.

Roln pushed his observation abilities past every layer of existence available to his senses and examined the passing of each one trillionth of a second in great detail. To even the most focused beings in the multiverse such an undertaking would have been either impossible or in the least excruciatingly boring.

Yet for reasons known to Roln and Roln alone such a detailed dissection of the passing of a moment brought him incredible comfort.

As he observed, he felt some of the more powerful beings try to interfere—both to the benefit and detriment of Xavier Collins. Though the System could not sense Roln, it could sense many of the other, non-Wanderers, and was able to easily thwart their attempted interferences.

This version of the System didn’t actively prevent unknowns—interlopers outside its domain—from entering its corner of the multiverse. If the beings trying to interfere had travelled here in person, the System would have allowed them to make an impact so long as they were inside the System’s domain.

But if they wished to push from the outside? The System reacted defensively.

There were, however, more powerful beings that this System had neither the ability to observe nor the ability to defend against that tried to take action.

It was the Wanderers who prevented this from happening.

At least, the Wanderers Roln was factioned with.

To the faction Roln was a member, this moment was sacrosanct, for none of them had ever seen its like before. The last thing they were going to allow was outside interference—no matter whether that interference was in favour of saving the man or pushing him toward his death.

Roln linked his power with these other Wanderers. Together, they pushed back—as they always pushed back in such moments. It wasn’t the first time they’d had to do it for this man. If the young dragonkin survived, Roln was sure it wouldn’t be the last.

They all, however, sensed when the observer from the target universe moved to interfere.

The Old Man, as he was so often called, even if to most of the Wanderers in attendance he was a mere infant.

Roln sighed inwardly.

Here was a moment he hoped wouldn’t come to pass. The Old Man’s abilities of observation were indeed powerful, but they didn’t hold a candle to what the Wanderers in attendance were able to see.

The young dragonkin was in danger of dying. Even a fool was aware of this fact. But unlike the fool moving to act, it was clear to Roln and the other Wanderers that Xavier Collins had not yet passed the point of no return.

Roln instantly retreated into a part of his mind that allowed him to think on his next course of action. To his mind apparition, time was all but frozen.

The room his mind apparition stood within wasn’t so much a room as it was an entire inner world that followed the rules and whims of his will. Roln stood atop the flat peak of an impossibly large mountain which was pathed with marble. A section of that marble held the type of furniture and items that would normally be found in a richly appointed sitting room.

Roln collapsed onto one of the couches and placed his head in his hands.

Roln was not the oldest Wanderer. There were beings out there that had been walking the multiverse since before any System had even been a thought. One such being, an elven woman whose powers would put even Roln’s to shame, was the leader of his faction.

If that woman were here, he wouldn’t be questioning his next action. He would have continued to do exactly what he’d been doing.

But she was far, far away.

Roln shut his eyes and breathed deeply of the clear, mountain air. It was not often he was plagued with indecision, but when he was it was usually by something so important it threatened to tear him in half.

This was no exception.

Roln had long ago made peace with his failure of saving his own universe. But he, unlike the vast majority of Wanderers, still cared about the goal. As far as he knew, the Wanderers were comprised of the most powerful beings in the multiverse. In all his travels, he’d never encountered a more powerful organisation. Though organisation wasn’t the right word, by any means. The Wanderers were generally friendly with one another, but amongst the various different factions there had been a violent feud now and then.

Feuds that had caused the destruction of…

Roln released a long exhalation, paying careful attention to his breath as he’d learnt to as a child. His mind wanted to go to a thousand different places. The past. The future. But his master had told him something that stuck with him—as long as one’s awareness was on their breath, they would remain in the present, for one could only breathe now.

It wasn’t a terribly helpful thing when one was in the vacuum of space, and the breaths he was taking right now weren’t even real. Nonetheless, the practice helped.

The Wanderers were the most powerful beings in the known multiverse. Some were powerful enough to destroy entire universes, if they wished—and on occasion such drastic measures became necessary.

Others had the power to manipulate Systems, allowing them to create universes in their own image—there was a whole faction devoted to such “artistry.”

Roln had never gotten along with anyone from that faction.

But as powerful as the Wanderers were individually, even if they were to band together and combine their powers into one force, they still would not be enough to prevent the ultimate, inevitable death of a universe—they were not strong enough to fight the threat.

An entire generation of Wanderers had tried, long before Roln’s universe had been born. Out of over ten thousand Wanderers—old monsters even back then, each powerful enough to destroy a universe on their own if they wished—only seven survived the attempt.

Seven out of over ten thousand.

So, it was little wonder “saving the universe” was no longer something many of them thought would ever come to pass.

Roln, however, still considered himself young enough to be naïve.

He chuckled, sighed. Young.

Roln opened his mind apparition’s eyes and stood. This version of Xavier Collins was currently weaker than his pinkie finger, but he was doing things that should have been impossible—that up until that moment had been impossible.

Yes, Wanderers had combined arts from different Systems before, but never so young. Never so intuitively.

Never like this.

There was a potential there. A potential that could only be cultivated in the perfect environment. When a being became a Wanderer, they had the potential to gain great power. The shackles of their universe and System if they had one were shrugged off and possibility awaited—but never did they gain more power than when they were forged in the crucible of their own universe.

There was never more at stake than when one’s universe still survived, for to become a Wanderer meant walking away from every connection that ever held them “home.”

Only so much power could be gained simply for the sake of it. No battle ever became important enough. When you were a Wanderer, you could simply retreat.

Why risk death like those old fools in that past generation? What was ever worth it?

Roln focused on his breath.

If the Old Man saved Xavier Collins, Xavier would sense it. He was more than strong enough to feel the Old Man’s observation, especially now, after all the Soul Energy he’d consumed and used to permanently empower himself. The Old Man would become Xavier’s safety net. No matter how hard Xavier fought it, he would feel it on a subconscious level.

It would impact his actions. Change him fundamentally.

Make him weak.

He won’t rise to the challenge. In the end he’ll only languish. Maybe he’ll become a Wanderer, like so many Xavier Collins before him. Maybe he’ll die long before that becomes a choice.

Either way, it’s guaranteed that he’ll become a disappointment—just like me.

Roln could change that.

The strongest thought in Roln’s mind was that it wasn’t worth doing. That this battle wasn’t worth fighting. Roln could stop the Old Man’s interference with a brush of his mind. He was nowhere near the most powerful Wanderer, but he was the most powerful Wanderer here.

The others wouldn’t fight him. They would retreat, and report back to the faction leader.

She would crush Roln in an instant.

If she finds me… He shook his head. Which she will.

He sighed. Doing this would mean an end to his wandering, if not his life. But wasn’t this why he wandered in the first place? Hadn’t he wanted to live long enough to see a universe finally survive?

You better not be another disappointment, Xavier Collins.

Roln emerged from his mind, bringing the full weight of his consciousness back to his body hovering in the void. There was still roughly one-millionth of a second until he needed to act—a fragment of time that could be stretched to feel like an eternity if he so wished.

Now that he had made up his mind, Roln did not hesitate. Indeed, if anyone out there were observing him, they wouldn’t have seen him dip into his mind. They wouldn’t have seen the hesitation that tore at his insides. They wouldn’t have seen him pause it all.

Roln reached through the void and into the target universe without so much as brushing the fabric of reality that was so strained any errant touch would rip a hole straight through it.

His will brushed against the strand of power the Old Man had sent through space from light-years away. A featherlight touch that disintegrated the energies in an instant. It would briefly break whatever spell the Old Man used. A power like him would recover quickly.

Not quick enough.

Roln felt the weight of observation turn to him. His fellow Wanderers, and the others out there powerful enough to sense him.

And a heavier weight.

One of the hidden powers watching this moment made their presence known.

His eyes widened.

From far, far away—too far away to do anything immediately—she saw everything.

Roln had almost forgotten what fear felt like.

You better have been worth it, kid.