I know who I am
Enjoy
Chapter 3: Purpose
Antares walked through the vibrant greenery of this unfamiliar world, his pace unhurried as he absorbed every detail of his surroundings. The trees that dotted his path, their leaves whispering softly in the wind, the distant mountains standing as silent monuments, and the occasional wildlife he glimpsed moving through the underbrush—all of it was new to him, yet somehow familiar. There was a serenity here that tugged at something deep within him, deep within his psyche somehow.
No matter the beauty around him, Antares never ceased his march. The days and nights blurred together as he walked, tireless and resolute. His form, a testament to his Creator's craftsmanship, required no rest as lesser beings did. He could traverse this world for years without feeling the strain, yet the notion of how much time he had left subtly nagged at the edges of his consciousness. Mortality was a foreign concept to him, a distant notion he acknowledged but did not fully grasp. For now, he chose to remain in the present, absorbing the details of this world—so similar, yet so different from the realm of his birth.
Suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted by a thin plume of smoke rising in the distance. His interest piqued, Antares altered his course and moved toward it. The landscape around him gradually shifted as he approached, the green giving way to charred remnants of what had once been a village. Burnt-out structures stood as silent witnesses to the devastation that had occurred here, their skeletal remains jutting out against the ashen ground.
But it wasn't just the ruins that caught his attention. Amid the desolation, he saw movement—figures shambling through the wreckage. Squinting, Antares recognized them immediately. Skeletons and zombies, the mindless servants of death.
The skeletons were grotesque caricatures of the human form. Their bones were yellowed and cracked, held together by some foul magic. Their empty eye sockets glowed with a malevolent light, and they moved with a disjointed, jerky gait, as if every step was an unnatural effort. The zombies were even more repulsive, their decaying flesh hanging in ragged strips from their bones. The stench of rot clung to them, and their eyes, clouded with death, stared blankly ahead as they trudged through the ruins. All of them were animated by the repulsive [Negative Energy], a disgrace he never truly condoned.
Antares' thoughts turned dark as he observed them. Undead were an abomination, hostile to all life—a complete antithesis to everything he had once protected. He viewed them with disdain, these twisted parodies of existence. They did not belong in this world or any other.
Summoning [Fragments] with a thought, Antares materialized a longsword in his hand. The weapon shimmered with an otherworldly light, its edge sharp enough to cleave through flesh as easily as it would paper. In a fluid motion, he ran his fingers along the blade, chanting one spell from his Cleric class.
"[Boost Magic - Holy Weapon]."
The sword glowed with a fierce, fiery light as his fingers passed over it, becoming a weapon of righteous retribution. It was now imbued with his divine energy of a cleric, drawn from his unwavering faith in Yggdrasil, the World Tree. A 3rd Tier spell seemed adequate for this situation.
"These undead shall find peace from their unlife," Antares murmured, his voice carrying a note of solemn resolve.
With that, he descended upon the undead with swift, decisive movements. His blade, now a fiery beacon in the ashen landscape, cut through the skeletons and zombies with ease. Each strike was precise, each movement graceful, as if he were performing a dance rather than engaging in battle. As the scuffle continued, more undead appeared from the wreckage, determined to snuff out the life of another, but they also crumbled into dust as his sword met their flesh and bone, the divine energy within it obliterating the [Negative Energy] that sustained them.
When the last of the undead had been vanquished, Antares stood in the center of the ruined village, his sword still glowing faintly in the aftermath of the battle. He looked around at the devastation, his heart heavy with the weight of the lives that had been lost here. Closing his eyes, he offered a silent prayer, a small gesture of respect for the dead. Life was sacred, and their fates were not ones that should befall any being.
As he finished his prayer, a faint sound reached his ears—whimpering, coming from somewhere nearby. His eyes snapped open, and he followed the sound, moving carefully through the wreckage until he came upon a heartbreaking sight.
In the middle of the street lay the body of a young girl, her small form still and lifeless in a pool of blood. Beside her, a white puppy sat, its tiny body trembling with grief as it cried out for its fallen companion. The sight struck Antares like a physical blow, the sheer innocence of the scene contrasting starkly with the horrors that had occurred here.
The puppy noticed his approach and immediately bristled, letting out a soft growl as it bared its tiny teeth. Despite its fear, it was resolute, ready to defend its owner even in death. Antares paused, respecting the creature's determination. It was rare to see such loyalty, even among the living.
He knelt beside the girl, his towering form casting a long shadow over the two. The puppy backed away slightly, still too afraid to confront this stranger but unwilling to abandon its vigil. Antares gently reached out, his fingers brushing against the girl's cold skin. Her death was recent, the blood still fresh. He could see the fear that had been etched onto her face in her final moments, and it filled him with sorrow and rage.
"What a waste," he murmured softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "So much life, ended so brutally."
He stayed there for a moment longer, bowing his head in silent respect for the girl and her loyal companion. He had seen death in countless forms over his long existence, but it never grew easier to bear. After a moment, he rose to his feet and prepared to leave. But as he turned to go, he noticed the puppy was following him, its small paws padding softly against the ground as it trailed behind him.
Antares stopped and turned to face the pup. It stopped as well, sitting down and watching him with wide, sad eyes. He resumed walking, and again the puppy followed. This happened several times until finally, Antares sighed at the persistence of the little creature.
Taking a knee, he extended his hand toward the pup, beckoning it to approach. The puppy hesitated for a moment before slowly creeping forward, its nose twitching as it sniffed at his outstretched hand. Antares felt a pang of pity for the small creature. Its owners were gone, and now it was alone in a world that had just shown it the worst it had to offer.
Gently, he reached out and petted the puppy's head, feeling the softness of its fur beneath his fingers. The pup leaned into the touch, its body relaxing slightly as it began to trust him. Antares knew that he could not leave the puppy behind. It was now his responsibility, just as he had once been responsible for protecting the realms...
After a few moments, he rose to his feet and resumed his journey, the puppy trotting close behind him. It seemed he had gained a companion, one that would at least provide some measure of comfort in this strange new world.
As he walked, Antares found himself pondering his circumstances. He could easily cover more ground if he chose to sprint—his body was more than capable of it, even in this diminished state. But to what end? His role as the Protector had long since ended, leaving him with little reason to rush. Why hasten toward the inevitable?
With his Creator gone, his own death felt like a certainty, so why not take his time and experience what this world had to offer, even if just for a little while? He closed his eyes and exhaled, the sound a heavy sigh tinged with melancholy. The weight of his contemplation pressed down on him, a suffocating sense of despair creeping in.
But then, the soft woof of the puppy at his side cut through the gloom, drawing his attention. He looked down at the small creature, its large, hopeful eyes gazing up at him.
Antares didn't smile—such an expression felt distant and unnatural to him now—but a faint warmth stirred in his chest as he met the puppy's gaze. With that, he resumed walking, the loyal pup trotting faithfully by his side.
…
His senses flared as a distant sound reached his ears—a clash of metal, the unmistakable signs of battle. It was coming from somewhere near his location, not too far off. Curiosity and a sense of duty compelled him to investigate. With a sudden burst of speed, Antares sprinted toward the source of the commotion, the puppy doing its best to keep up with his long strides.
He arrived at a vantage point overlooking a dirt road where a small caravan was under attack. The sight of undead once again filled him with revulsion—this time, a larger group of them, surrounding the wagons and the terrified merchants. The skeletal and decaying figures moved with the same malevolent intent as before, their hollow eyes fixated on the living beings they sought to destroy.
Antares observed the scene with a growing sense of unease. Were the undead so common in this world that they would appear twice in such quick succession? Or was there something more sinister at work here? He didn't know, and it didn't matter. What mattered was that these foul creatures were an affront to life, and he would crush them without hesitation.
Reaching behind him, Antares grasped the sword strapped to his back, feeling the familiar weight of it in his hand. He then descended upon the battlefield with the grace and precision of a seasoned warrior. His glowing sword cut through the undead in a series of fluid, powerful strikes, each swing expertly aimed to maximize damage. Their natural resistance to cutting damage was meaningless against the overwhelming force he brought to bear.
The merchants cowered behind their wagons, too terrified to do anything but watch as this lone figure dispatched the undead with terrifying efficiency. When the last of the undead fell to the ground, reduced to nothing more than lifeless husks, the merchants slowly emerged from their hiding places, their expressions a mix of awe and disbelief.
One of them, a man dressed in higher-quality clothing that marked him as the caravan master, stepped forward and bowed deeply in gratitude. "Thank you, sir! You saved our lives—we owe you everything."
Antares regarded the man with a calm expression, noting his trembling hands and the sweat beading on his forehead. It seems it was a really close call. The man introduced himself as Godoron, the caravan master. His eyes roved over Antares, taking in his simple clothing, his well-crafted sword, and his strange, golden eyes.
"I must say, I've never seen anyone fight like that," Godoron continued, his voice still shaking slightly from the ordeal. "Are you… are you an adventurer, or perhaps a paladin? Your skills are remarkable, and your sword of very high quality, though… your appearance doesn't quite match what I'd expect from someone of your abilities."
Antares shook his head, dispelling the man's assumptions. "I am neither a paladin nor an adventurer. In truth, I am unfamiliar with what an adventurer even is."
Godoron looked surprised, his brows furrowing as he tried to reconcile the man's words with what he had just witnessed. "Ah, I see… Well, adventurers are those who take on quests, explore the world, and hunt monsters. They're often hired by towns and villages to deal with threats, such as the undead we encountered today. The Re-Estize Kingdom, where we currently are, is renowned for the many adventurers it hosts."
The mention of adventurers piqued Antares' interest. It sounded like a way to continue doing what he was already doing, while also learning more about this new world. Moreover, it would provide him with this world's currency, something he lacked entirely.
He could, if he so wished, create Yggdrasil coins using his [Fragments], but he quickly dismissed the idea. It felt wrong, a form of cheating in a world where he had no true ties. If he was going to continue on, he would do so honestly, earning his way rather than hastening his inevitable end through shortcuts.
"How does one become an adventurer?" Antares asked, his interest evident in his tone.
Godoron, pleased to be of assistance to his savior, explained that the best way would be to travel north to the Capital of Re-Estize, where the Adventurers' Guild was located. He also mentioned that there was a subscription fee to register, handing Antares a small purse filled with coins to cover the cost. It was the least they could do.
Antares accepted the purse with a nod of thanks, prepared to set out toward the capital. As he turned to leave, Godoron called out to him once more. "May I ask for your name, sir? It's only right that we know the name of the man who saved us."
An awkward silence followed the question. The merchants exchanged confused glances as Antares stood still, the weight of the question hanging in the air. "Baldur," finally, after a long pause, he spoke. "My name is Baldur."
The name felt strange on his tongue, a remnant of another life, but it would suffice for now. The merchants seemed satisfied with his answer, offering their gratitude once more as he turned and continued on his way, the puppy following closely at his side.
Unbeknownst to both parties, hidden in the shadows nearby, a group of necromancers watched with growing irritation. Twice now, their undead minions had been defeated with ease, and twice their resources were destroyed. The thought of disappointing their master, an Elder Lich for that matter (CH2), filled them with dread. Determined to exact revenge, they decided to follow this man who had so effortlessly disrupted their plans. They would bide their time and strike when the moment was right, ensuring that he would pay for crossing the Death Cult of Zurannon.
…
Antares walked through the gates of Re-Estize, the capital of this kingdom, with calm deliberation. The guards stationed there gave him a cursory glance, their gazes briefly taking in his unremarkable clothing and the small dog that trotted alongside him. Deciding he posed no threat, they resumed their duties without another word.
As Antares made his way through the city, he observed the stark contrasts in living conditions. Some areas were marked by extreme poverty—ragged people huddled in alleys, their eyes empty from hunger and hopelessness. Some streets were lined with crumbling buildings and makeshift shelters, filled with those struggling to survive. Yet, in other parts of the city, he saw well-kept homes and even a few grand mansions, where the wealthy lived in comfort, seemingly untouched by the hardships of their poorer neighbors.
This disparity did not surprise Antares, but it did not sit well with him either. He had seen countless civilizations rise and fall, many collapsing under the weight of such inequality. The suffering of the many to benefit the few was a pattern he had witnessed time and time again. Though the sight was familiar, it still left a bitter taste in his mouth.
His thoughts lingered on these observations as he eventually arrived at the Adventurer's Guild. The stone building exuded a sense of purpose, its walls solid and worn by time but still standing strong. Inside, the hall buzzed with activity—adventurers filled the space, some poring over quest boards, others engaging in animated discussions with their comrades.
Antares approached the reception desk, where a young woman greeted him with a warm smile. "Welcome to the Adventurer's Guild! How can I assist you today?~"
"I wish to register as an adventurer," Antares replied in a calm, even tone.
The receptionist nodded and handed him a form. "Certainly! There's a small fee to register, which you can pay upfront. Just fill out this form, and we'll get you started.~"
Taking out the purse given to him by the merchants he had saved earlier, Antares paid the fee without hesitation. He then took the form to a nearby table and began reading it. As his eyes scanned the parchment, he realized that the language was unfamiliar to him. For a brief moment, he hesitated, but then one of his passive abilities as an [Apostle, the highest grade possible of clerics, activated—a gift from his service to the World Tree. It allowed him to read and understand every language made by mortal hands.
With ease, Antares filled out the form, answering each question with precision. When he reached the space for his name, he paused. His thoughts drifted back to a time long ago…
…
Balðr Odinson, the god of justice and wisdom, stood tall in a sunlit meadow, his golden hair gleaming under the light. He was a figure of unmatched fairness, beloved across the realms for his kindness and sense of justice. The son of Odin and Frigga, Balðr embodied the ideals of peace and righteousness.
Antares, the Protector, had always maintained a neutral stance toward the gods of Yggdrasil. The pantheon of the nordic gods was no different. He was indifferent to them as long as they posed no threat to the divine tree. Yet, Balðr had always gone out of his way to engage with Antares, trying to bridge the distance between them with his warm, friendly nature.
"Antares," Balðr called, his voice gentle yet resonant as it carried across the field. "You stand apart from the others, as always. Join me for a while, won't you?"
Antares had been vigilant, his focus on his eternal duty. But Balðr's voice had a way of reaching him, drawing him away from his watchful solitude. With a sigh of somewhat annoyance, Antares turned his head to Balðr, his expression hidden by his helmet.
"What do you want, Balðr?" Antares asked, his tone respectful yet distant.
Balðr smiled warmly, understanding in his gaze. "You're always so serious, my friend. I know your duty is important, but there's more to existence than just fulfilling one's role. You should take a moment to relax, to enjoy the beauty around you."
Antares frowned slightly. "My duty is all that matters. The protection of Yggdrasil is my sole purpose."
Balðr chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Perhaps. But there will come a day when you'll appreciate these moments of peace, these simple conversations. Life is more than just duty, my friend."
Antares remained silent, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. Balðr's words, though well-meaning, seemed like distractions from his sacred task. Yet, a small part of him, buried deep within, wondered if there was truth to what the god said.
…
Back in the present, Antares finished writing the name "Baldur" on the form. He stared at the letters for a moment, the memory of his old friend heavy on his mind.
'Old friend...' Antares thought quietly. 'I hope I can honor your name.'
With the form completed, he returned to the reception desk and handed it to the young woman. She glanced over it, her eyes lingering on his golden irises for a moment, a flicker of awe crossing her features.
"Thank you, Sir Baldur,~" she said, using the name he had given. "Everything looks to be in order. Here is your plaque representing your rank.~" She gave him a bronze piece with the symbol of the guild etched on it. "Would you like a room at the guild's inn to rest~? It's complimentary for new adventurers."
Antares shook his head. "Thank you, but I do not require rest."
The receptionist nodded, slightly surprised but not pressing further. "Very well... If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask!~"
As Antares turned to leave, a group of adventurers who looked more like ruffians than heroes stepped into his path. They eyed him with sneers, their expressions full of contempt and arrogance. The small dog at Antares' feet sensed the shift in mood and whimpered, its tail tucking between its legs.
One of the ruffians, a burly man with a scar running down his cheek, spoke first, his tone mocking. "What do we have here? Some kind of beggar with a mangy mutt?"
Antares regarded them with calm indifference. He had encountered such situations countless times over the eons—bullies seeking to provoke a reaction. The best way to handle such situations was often to walk away or, if necessary, humble them with minimal effort. Deciding on the former, he made to continue on his way, ignoring their taunts.
But the ruffians weren't about to let him go so easily. Another man, taller and more brutish, stepped in front of him, blocking his path. "Where do you think you're going, pretty boy? We're not done with you yet. Now that I think about it… Why don't you hand over that mutt over there, hobo? It should fetch a good price with one of them nobles…"
Antares paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. He had no intention of indulging in violence, but there were lines that should not be crossed. He promised himself he wouldn't break their bones… too much.
…
Elsewhere in the city, Gazef Stronoff, the Warrior Captain of the Re-Estize Kingdom, walked through the streets alongside his young protégé, Climb. The two were deep in conversation, discussing Climb's training and the ways he could become stronger.
"Remember, strength isn't just about physical power," Gazef advised. "It's also about the strength of your heart and mind. Keep those sharp, and you'll be able to face anything."
Climb nodded earnestly, absorbing his mentor's words. "Thank you, Sir Gazef. I'll keep that in mind. But where are we headed, if I may ask?"
Gazef smiled slightly. "I have some business at the Adventurer's Guild. We're almost there."
As they rounded the corner, both men noticed a commotion coming from inside the guild. Just as they approached, the doors flew open, and a bald man with an eyepatch came crashing through, landing face-first on the cobblestone street. He groaned in pain, blood trickling from a cut on his forehead.
Gazef's eyes narrowed, and he quickened his pace, Climb following closely behind. Emerging from the guild was a man of dark raven hair and beard dressed in simple clothing, his expression neutral as he approached the downed ruffian.
The man knelt beside the bleeding adventurer and spoke in a low, even tone, "You should be more careful when making empty threats." He raised his fist, preparing to deliver another punch.
Before the situation could escalate, Gazef stepped forward, his commanding voice cutting through the tension. "That's enough!"
The man paused, turning his gaze to Gazef. For a moment, the two locked eyes, each assessing the other. Gazef noted the man's calm demeanor, his measured movements, and most striking of all, his unnatural golden eyes, which seemed to radiate an unrestrained power.
The younger knight, Climb, felt a shiver run down his spine as he took in the stranger's appearance. There was something deeply unsettling about him, something that made Climb instinctively wary.
Gazef stepped closer, his voice firm but respectful. "Let him be. He's had enough."
After a brief moment of consideration, Antares relented, lowering his fist and stepping back. He whistled softly, and a small dog that had been hiding inside the guild came running to his side.
As Antares prepared to leave, Gazef called out once more. "Hold on a moment."
Antares paused, turning to face the Warrior Captain.
Gazef offered a small nod of acknowledgment, a glint of respect in his eyes. "I can guess those men probably deserved their beating. Sometimes people need their asses kicked to learn a lesson. But may I ask your name, sir?"
"Baldur," Antares replied stoically. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Warrior Captain."
Gazef nodded, watching as the now named Baldur turned and walked away, the small dog following close behind. The Warrior Captain's eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he watched the man disappear into the crowd.
Climb, still eyeing the leaving man with suspicion, finally spoke. "Sir Gazef, who was that? He seemed… different."
Gazef closed his eyes for a moment, considering his response. "That man is strong, Climb. He's seen too much in his life. Be mindful of people like him—they're often more than they appear."
Climb continued to watch as Antares faded into the distance, unease gnawing at him. But at Gazef's beckoning, he turned away, following his mentor as they continued on their way.
…
Antares walked in silence as he exited the city gates, the weight of countless centuries pressing down on him. The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the treeline where his temporary camp lay. He had chosen not to stay within the city, preferring the solitude of nature over the chaos of human society. He sought peace, though he knew that true peace would never be his again.
As he reached the edge of the forest, the sounds of the city became a distant memory. The quiet rustling of leaves and the occasional call of a bird were the only things that broke the silence. He reached his camp, a simple clearing surrounded by trees, with a small fire pit in the center. The fire had long since gone out, but the remains of charred wood still lay in the pit.
The small puppy that had accompanied him from the city scampered around his feet, its innocent curiosity a stark contrast to the ancient being it had decided to follow. It was uncharacteristic of him to care for something so fragile, but the dog had refused to leave his side, and its presence, though small, brought a strange comfort.
He knelt beside the puppy, gently patting its head. "You're a persistent one, aren't you?" he murmured. The puppy responded with a happy bark, wagging its tail furiously as it nuzzled into his hand.
Baldur released a sigh, the sound weighted with the burden of countless lifetimes. Conflict churned within him. Taking on a quest with the puppy in tow posed too many dangers, yet leaving the creature alone in the forest was unthinkable.
The idea of entrusting its care to someone in the city felt equally troubling. Humans were unpredictable, and he couldn't be certain of the dog's safety in their hands. Seeking a solution, he decided to meditate, hoping that stillness might bring clarity.
Settling into a lotus position, he straightened his back, resting his hands on his knees. He closed his eyes, allowing his thoughts to gradually dissolve as his mind drifted into calm contemplation.
When he first awoke in this world, an overwhelming emptiness consumed him—a void where his connection to his Creator had once resided. Yet, amid that darkness, something else lingered—a faint presence, like a distant lighthouse in an endless sea. Flickering lights danced at the periphery of his awareness, barely perceptible, but unmistakably there. He had meditated on this sensation many times since his awakening, but only now did a possibility begin to form.
'My brothers and sisters… Could they still be out there?'
The thought sparked a tiny flame of hope within him, and he decided to test his theory. With a deep breath, he chanted the words to a spell that called upon the remnants of his power.
"[Phase - Dormant Star]."
As the incantation left his lips, his body began to glow with a soft, ethereal light. The light grew brighter, enveloping him in a cocoon of energy. Slowly, his armor reformed around him, piece by piece, until he stood fully armored as Antares Morningstar, the Protector of Yggdrasil. The transformation frightened the puppy for a moment, but when Antares reached out to pet it again, the dog quickly returned to its happy self, nuzzling against the cold, metal-clad hand.
Antares focused on the light within him, imagining himself as the small lighthouse amidst the darkness. He concentrated, allowing the light to grow brighter, extending his senses into the void. Gradually, he felt one of the distant lights respond to his call, drawing nearer and nearer until it was close enough to grasp. With a motion of his hands, he summoned it forth.
Before him, a figure materialized, clad in immaculate white armor that gleamed in the fading light of the day. The armor was intricately designed, with symbols of the World Tree etched into its surface. The being knelt before Antares, its head bowed in reverence.
"My Lord," the figure spoke, its voice resonating with the same divine energy that had once filled the Eternal Army—the ones responsible for Yggdrasil's safety. "You have summoned me. What is your command?"
Antares looked down at the soldier, a wave of nostalgia washing over him. This was one of his brothers from the Celestial Guard, the elite force that had guarded the Realm Between Realms where the true body of the World Tree resided. The sight of his brother filled him with both sorrow and joy—sorrow for the world they had lost, and joy that he was not truly alone.
"I have a task for you, brother," Antares said. "Take care of this puppy. Protect it as you would protect me."
The soldier looked at the small dog, which had now taken an interest in the newcomer, wagging its tail excitedly. The soldier's eyes were hidden behind his helmet.
"With honor, my lord! I shall protect this creature with my life!" the soldier declared, his voice filled with fervor. He stood up, pounding his chest in a salute, his armor clanging with the force of the gesture.
Antares couldn't help but mentally grumble at his brother's overzealousness. "There's no need to shout," he muttered, though he knew his brother was only doing what he thought was best.
With the puppy now in safe hands, Antares turned his attention back to the task at hand. He would need to return to the city to take on a quest. It would serve as a way to learn more about this world, and perhaps give him something to occupy his thoughts as he pondered his next steps.
He made his way back to the Adventurer's Guild, where the receptionist greeted him with a friendly smile. "Welcome back, Sir Baldur. How can I assist you today?~"
"I'm here to take on a quest," Antares replied.
The receptionist nodded and handed him a few sheets of parchment. "These are some of the available quests.~ Feel free to take a look and choose one that suits you."
Antares scanned the papers, his eyes quickly passing over the various tasks. One, in particular, caught his attention—a simple herb collection quest. It was far from exciting, but it would allow him to explore the surrounding area and gather more information about the world. Time was both on his side and against him, after all.
"I'll take this one," he said, handing the paper back to the receptionist.
She glanced at the quest he had chosen and nodded. "That should be an easy one, but do be careful. There are many dangers around the kingdom, including bandits, beastmen, and even a death cult called Zurranon. So… be safe!~" She blushed slightly at her embarassing display.
Antares wasn't particularly interested in the warnings. "Thank you," he said, offering a brief nod before turning to leave the guild.
The road to the herb collection site was peaceful, with the sun shining down through the canopy of trees. The air was fresh, and the sounds of nature filled the surroundings. But Antares's tranquility was short-lived.
His senses suddenly flared, alerting him to the presence of incoming beings. He stopped in his tracks, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the area. Emerging from the trees, a sizable army of undead began to surround him, their hollow eyes glowing with malice.
Antares's irritation grew to new heights. These mindless drones were becoming a nuisance, and their repeated appearances were beginning to test his patience. He reached for the sword strapped to his back, preparing for battle. But before he could engage, the undead army parted, making way for a group of robed figures. The necromancers, clad in dark robes adorned with arcane symbols, stepped forward, their eyes gleaming with arrogance.
One of the necromancers, a tall man with a gaunt face and sunken eyes, sneered at Antares. "So, you're the one we has been causing us a headache. I must say, you're quite the specimen. Maybe you would come back to our labs to serve in our experiments? We've been running low on stock lately..." His voice was raspy and a maddening smile adorned his face as he thought of the possible pain he could inflict.
Antares narrowed his eyes. He had no interest in their games, nor their twisted plans. It wouldn't take a genius to know these necromancers were members of the death cult Zurranon, the very cult the receptionist had mentioned. They were the ones responsible for the attack on the merchant caravan and the massacre of that village. His anger flared as he remembered the visage of the lifeless body of the little girl. How… dare they!?
"Enough." The word left Antares' lips in a low growl, reverberating with cold fury. In an instant, his form ignited with divine light as he donned his full armor. Golden energy surged around him, and his gleaming armor materialized, exuding an aura of unstoppable wrath. The necromancers faltered, their confidence unraveling as they witnessed the true form of their opponent—an avenging god.
Antares summoned countless blades from the air, each one glowing with radiant energy, a manifestation of his divine wrath. The swords whirled around him like a storm, blurs of golden light that cut through the undead ranks with effortless precision. Each swing was a masterpiece of destruction, cleaving through multiple enemies at once, the divine energy within obliterating their corrupted forms.
The necromancers, realizing the futility of their minions' efforts, began to chant incantations, summoning more undead to replace those that had fallen. But it was no use. Antares was a force of nature, unstoppable in his fury.
He moved with purpose, advancing on the undead and blowing them to smithereens with his bare fists like nothing. His swords flashed through the air, leaving arcs of light in its wake as he decimated the enemy ranks as well. His movements were brutish, but almost effortless, as if it was a choreography, each strike perfectly timed and executed.
"I-impossible! Something like t-that… shouldn't exist!"
The necromancers, now desperate and in denial, attempted to run, but it was already too late—their fates had been sealed. He shattered through the last undead with ease, using his blades to cut down each necromancer with a single strike, their forms impaled by the blades.
As the last necromancer fell, Antares was left standing amidst a sea of corpses. The ground was littered with the remains of the undead and the shattered bodies of the necromancers. The air was thick with the stench of death, but Antares was unfazed.
One of the necromancers, barely clinging to life, tried to crawl away. Antares made it so the sword stuck to him was removed and stepped forward, his towering form casting a shadow over the pathetic creature. He grabbed the necromancer by the throat, lifting him off the ground with ease.
"Where is the rest of your cult, necromancer?" Antares demanded, his unnatural voice cold and unyielding.
The necromancer, choking and gasping for breath and still unwilling to die, managed to stammer out a response. "F-five miles… north… t-there's a base…"
"Good," Antares replied, his voice devoid of emotion, but with clear intent. With a single motion, he crushed the necromancer's throat, ending his life.
He released the lifeless body, letting it fall to the ground with a thud. Without a second glance, Antares turned and began to walk north, his swords still glowing with divine energy.
"Zurranon…" He said with extreme prejudice. He would find this cult, and he would destroy it...
The battle had been short, but it had only served to intensify his resolve. These necromancers, these twisted beings who defied the natural order, were unworthy of life. And he, the Protector, would see to it that they were wiped from existence.
…
The sun was beginning its descent when Antares, disguised as Baldur, returned to the capital. The light filtered through the clouds, casting long shadows across the cobblestone streets as he made his way toward the Adventurer's Guild. His thoughts were preoccupied with the events that had transpired—especially the encounter with the Zurranon cultists. The lingering anger at their desecration of life gnawed at him. He carried with himself a large bag, which drew strange eyes from many.
He entered the guild, his calm and neutral expression hiding the storm brewing within him. The familiar sight of the guild's interior greeted him: adventurers milling about, taking on quests, and discussing their latest exploits. It was a place of life and energy, a stark contrast to the desolation he had just left behind.
Approaching the receptionist's desk, Baldur presented both his gathered herbs and the grisly trophies from his earlier battle: the heads of the cultists, including the decayed visage of an Elder Lich, a symbol of the dark magic that the cult wielded. The receptionist, initially prepared for a routine handoff, gasped in shock as Baldur laid the proof of his deeds before her.
"H-How…?" The receptionist's voice trembled as she stared at the macabre collection, her eyes wide with disbelief. "These… these are the heads of wanted criminals of Zurranon! And that one—an Elder Lich! You… you did this all by yourself?"
Baldur simply nodded, his expression remaining unchanged. "I encountered a base of Zurranon necromancers while completing the herb collection quest. This is what remains of them."
The receptionist blinked, struggling to process the information. "Please… wait here. I need to inform the Guild Master."
She hurried away, leaving Baldur alone at the desk. The other adventurers in the hall had begun to take notice, their whispers and glances betraying their curiosity and disbelief. Word spread quickly through the guild, and by the time the receptionist returned with the Guild Master, a small crowd had gathered, eager to see what was happening.
The Guild Master, a stern-looking man with a grizzled beard and eyes that had seen many battles, studied the evidence before him. His expression was hard to read, but there was no mistaking the seriousness of the situation.
"This is indeed proof of your deeds," the Guild Master said, his voice steady but carrying an undertone of respect. "Zurranon is a dangerous cult, and you've dealt them a significant blow by eliminating this base."
He turned to the receptionist and whispered something in her ear. She nodded and quickly left the room, returning a few moments later with a heavy bag of coins and a new adventurer's plate. She handed both to Baldur, who accepted them without a word.
The Guild Master's voice carried a tone of both respect and reluctance. "Given the gravity of your accomplishments, we've decided to promote you to Gold-Rank. Under different circumstances, your feats might have earned you a higher rank, but our guild has certain protocols to uphold... and, well, there's been some concern over rapid promotions as of late."
Baldur noted the guild master's unease but chose not to challenge it. He was all too familiar with the intricacies of human bureaucracy and had little interest in disputing their processes. "Thank you," he replied, his voice steady as he pocketed the coins and attached the new plate to his belt.
The Guild Master nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Your actions have caught the attention of many here. I would advise caution—you may find yourself the subject of interest to more than just the adventurers in this guild."
Baldur acknowledged the warning with a slight tilt of his head before turning and leaving the guild. As he exited, he could feel the weight of many eyes on his back, but he paid them no mind. There were more important matters to attend to.
…
The moon was high by the time Antares returned to his forest camp. Its pale light filtered through the canopy, casting silver streaks across the small clearing that served as his temporary home. As he approached, his eyes fell upon the Celestial Guard soldier, who sat in a lotus position, the tiny puppy curled up beside him, sleeping peacefully. The soldier's armor shimmered in the moonlight, a testament to his unwavering dedication.
Antares felt a pang of pride as he watched his brother's vigilance. Even after eons had passed and their Creator was no more, the soldier remained resolute in his mission, guarding the small creature as if it were his most sacred duty.
Antares approached quietly, not wanting to disturb the peaceful scene. He mentally praised the soldier for his diligence and took a seat beside him, assuming a meditative pose. The soldier remained still, his focus entirely on the sleeping puppy.
As Antares closed his eyes and began to meditate, his thoughts turned inward, reflecting on the journey that had brought him to this moment. He tried to piece together his memories, the fragments of a life once dedicated to the protection of Yggdrasil and the Nine Realms. But each time he reached for those memories, he was met with a dense fog, flashes of destruction, and a deep, searing pain.
His mission had been to zealously protect the Creator and the realms, but now, with both gone, he was left with nothing—no purpose, no direction. The void within him threatened to consume him, to pull him into the abyss of despair. But he once again forced those dark thoughts away, reminding himself of what his Creator truly stood for: order, life, and the preservation of the natural balance.
His mind might be urging him to surrender to the darkness, but the burning furnace of his spirit sustained by his Creator's will refused to give in.
Antares' thoughts shifted to Zurranon. In Yggdrasil, he had tolerated the undead, recognizing them as useful tools in the defense of the World Tree. But this cult of death was different. They treated life—the greatest gift of all—as something to be twisted and corrupted. He had seen their installations. Countless lives… snuffed out. It angered him deeply to see such disregard for the sanctity of life, and he vowed to dismantle their organization piece by piece, no matter the cost.
However, even as he made this vow, he knew that he was only one needed more than himself to complete his purpose. He needed to bring back his brothers and sisters of the Eternal Army from the strange limbo they were trapped in. Yet, his weakened state meant that he could only summon a minute fraction of his army before his life force would be depleted.
There was no immediate solution to this dilemma, and the frustration of it weighed heavily on him. With a sigh, Antares still in the flesh of a human opened his eyes, his meditation ending as the first light of dawn began to filter through the trees. The soldier beside him was still in his erect pose, the puppy now stirring from its slumber. The sight of the small dog, with its innocent eyes and wagging tail, brought a fleeting sense of peace to Antares' troubled mind. He couldn't explain why, but this little creature seemed to have the ability to momentarily dispel the darkness that clung to him.
Perhaps it was time to take better care of it…
…
Days passed as the adventurer known as Baldur took on quest after quest, each one more challenging than the last. He breezed through them with an efficiency that left the guild members in awe. His legend grew, and the tales of his exploits spread throughout the capital. The guild, impressed by his track record, had already promoted him to Platinum-Rank right after his promotion to Gold, one of the fastest promotions in history.
He had become a figure of fascination—a solo adventurer who seemed to never sleep, completing quests with a speed and precision that defied belief. Was he even human? That question lingered in the minds of many, especially since no one had ever witnessed him fight.
Rumors circulated among the adventurers. Some were impressed by his deeds, hailing him as a hero of sorts, others were jealous and angry at this "arrogant greenhorn" who didn't know his place. They called him a fraud, claiming that he must be cheating somehow. But most adventurers simply took note of his skills, wondering if Baldur might make a valuable party member if he could be convinced to join a group.
His fame even caught the attention of the Adamantine team, Blue Roses. In the inn where they were stationed, Gargaran, the team's muscle-bound warrior, and Evileye, the enigmatic magic caster, discussed the mysterious lone adventurer.
"So, this Baldur guy," Gagaran began, her rough voice filled with amusement, "he's been cutting through quests like a hot knife through butter. Hell, It's like he never sleeps! Left a lot of adventurers jobless as well. Think he's for real?"
Evileye, her face hidden behind a mask adorned with markings and a red gem, crossed her arms thoughtfully. "It's strange. He appeared out of nowhere, just like Team Darkness from E-Rantel. And now he's reaching Platinum-Rank in record time. It's… suspicious."
Gargaran laughed, slapping the table with her large hand. "Suspicious or not, the guy's got skills! I'd like to share a beer with him—maybe even a bed…" She winked suggestively, causing Evileye to sigh in exasperation.
"I doubt he'll amount to much," Evileye countered, her tone serious. "There's more to being an adventurer than just completing quests quickly."
"Oh yeah?" Gagaran grinned, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Wanna bet on it?"
Evileye raised an eyebrow beneath her mask. "A bet? What are the stakes?"
"If this Baldur fellow reaches Adamantine, you buy me drinks for a month. If he doesn't, I'll… let you off the hook the next time we get into trouble, yeah?," Gagaran said with a chuckle.
Evileye considered the offer for a moment before nodding. "Deal. But don't think I'll let you win easily, musclehead."
Gagaran laughed heartily, clearly pleased with the arrangement. "We'll see, Shorty. We'll see."
…
The capital of the Slane Theocracy stood as a testament to the power and influence of the nation. Its streets were pristine, meticulously maintained, with wide boulevards lined by towering white-stone buildings. The architecture was grandiose, with spires that reached toward the heavens, their tips gleaming in the sunlight. Statues of the Six Great Gods adorned the city, each one carved with an astonishing level of detail, portraying the divine beings in all their glory. Banners bearing the symbols in reference to their religion fluttered in the breeze, adding a sense of solemnity and reverence to the air.
The city was heavily defended, with patrols of elite soldiers clad in ornate armor alongside robed magic casters marching in disciplined formations through the streets. The walls surrounding the city were thick, reinforced with magic and lined with watchtowers where vigilant guards kept a constant lookout for any threats. The Slane Theocracy was a nation that prided itself on its faith and its military might, and the capital was the embodiment of these values.
At the heart of the capital stood the grand hall of the Six Cardinals, the spiritual and political leaders of the Theocracy. Ligun and Maya knelt on the polished marble floor, heads bowed in deference, as they delivered their report. The chamber was vast and imposing, its walls adorned with rich tapestries illustrating the divine exploits of the Six Great Gods. Overhead, a domed ceiling depicted the heavens in all their glory, a constant reminder of the celestial favor that guided the Theocracy's every action.
The Six Cardinals sat in high-backed chairs, their expressions unreadable as they listened to the report. Each Cardinal represented a different aspect of the Theocracy's rule, from military strategy to religious doctrine, and their combined wisdom guided the nation.
Ligun's heart pounded in his chest. He had been dreading this moment, fearing that his failure to contain the literal god would lead to severe consequences. The mission had been clear, and yet, they had been completely outmatched by the mysterious being. Despite their best efforts, Antares had escaped, leaving Ligun with a gnawing sense of inadequacy.
As the report concluded, the silence in the hall was palpable. Ligun dared not raise his head, afraid to meet the gaze of the Cardinals.
Finally, it was Raymond, the Cardinal of Earth, who spoke, his voice calm yet authoritative. "Despite the failure to contain the entity known as Antares, you have brought us valuable information, Captain Ligun. We now have a better understanding of his identity, his personality, and his capabilities."
Ligun exhaled quietly, relief washing over him. It seemed his failure would not result in immediate punishment, though the disappointment in himself lingered.
"You are free to go," Raymond continued, his gaze shifting between Ligun and Maya. "You both performed your duties to the best of your abilities under the circumstances."
Ligun and Maya bowed deeply before rising to their feet. As they turned to leave, the tension in Ligun's shoulders eased, though a sense of unease still clung to him. He had expected worse, and the reprieve felt almost too generous.
As they exited the grand hall, Maya's usual lighthearted demeanor returned. "Fortune always seems to favor you, Captain,~" she teased, a grin on her face. "I was half-expecting to see you demoted to cleaning latrines for the next month.~"
Ligun couldn't help but chuckle, though his laugh was tinged with lingering anxiety. "Perhaps. But I don't think I can count on fortune forever..."
'Now… back to the barracks… my bed awaits.'
The two continued their banter as they left the inner sanctum of the Theocracy, the heavy doors closing behind them. Inside, however, the Cardinals remained, their discussion far from over.
Zinedine, the Cardinal of Water, broke the silence, his voice tinged with regret, a rarity for all they knew. "Antares… I miscalculated our approach. We should have moved more swiftly."
Raymond shook his head slightly. "There is no point in dwelling on what we should have done. We must look forward. Vigilance over this Antares is now of utmost importance, especially considering what we know about him… and what we don't."
Maximilian, the Cardinal of Darkness, nodded in agreement, his eyes dark with contemplation. "Yggdrasil… The realm from which our gods came. This… being, Antares, may be one of the remnants of that world. The records we discovered in the vaults suggest he was a figure of great power and importance."
The room grew tense as the implications of Maximilian's words sank in. The records, ancient and barely comprehensible, hinted at a being whose mere presence was enough to bring about catastrophic change. Written by the first scribes of the Theocracy who witnessed the Six Great gods firsthand, these texts described Antares with a mixture of fear and reverence, a being whose power was both awe-inspiring and terrifying.
"He was not evil," Zinedine mused, recalling the fragmented accounts. "But his power was uncontrollable, bringing unintended destruction wherever he went. The decision to seal him must have been made out of necessity."
The Cardinals exchanged uneasy glances. They still did not fully understand the true extent of Antares' power or why he had been sealed away in the first place. The records were incomplete, filled with gaps and cryptic references that offered more questions than answers.
"What concerns me," Dominic, Cardinal of Wind, said, his tone measured, "is why such a figure would choose to become an adventurer. It seems… beneath him, given what we know."
"Perhaps it is because he is weakened," Berenice, Cardinal of Fire, suggested. "The records indicate that his power, though immense, was also volatile. If he truly has been weakened, as we suspect, then this could be our opportunity."
The other Cardinals nodded in agreement. If this Antares was indeed weakened, then the time to act was now. The longer they waited, the more likely it was that he would regain his strength—strength that could pose an existential threat to their world.
"We should send the entire Black Scripture," Raymond proposed, his voice decisive. "Including the Extra Seat. She has been growing restless, after all. If this Antares is as powerful as the records suggest, we will need all the strength we can muster. And if he refuses to come willingly, we will use [Downfall of Castle and Country] to compel him."
"But we must strike only when the time is right," Raymond added. "It is imperative that we do not act recklessly. We need to learn more about him, to understand his motivations and weaknesses."
The Cardinals voiced their agreement, and the tension in the room began to ease as the meeting drew to a close. However, before they could adjourn, Yvon, the Cardinal of Light, spoke up.
"And what of the other matter?" Dominic asked, his tone cautious. "Have we found a new receptor for the item for our plans? Our strategy depends on it to succeed"
Raymond nodded, a hint of satisfaction in his eyes. "We have a candidate. She shows promise and is already undergoing training in the ways of the artifact. It won't be long now before she is ready."
The other Cardinals exchanged approving looks. The pieces were falling into place, and soon, they would have the means to control even the most powerful of beings.
As the meeting ended, the Cardinals departed, each lost in their own thoughts. They were playing a dangerous game, but one that could secure the future of the Theocracy and humanity. And for that, they were willing to risk everything.
…
Deep within the bowels of the dungeon in the Abelion Hills, where ancient magic and foreboding darkness intertwined, the guardians of the Great Tomb of Nazarick had gathered. The dungeon itself was crawling with Slane Theocracy soldiers, unaware of the silent observers watching their every move.
Ainz Ooal Gown, the Supreme Overlord of Nazarick, stood alongside his most trusted subordinates: Albedo, the ever-loyal Guardian Overseer, and Demiurge, the devilishly cunning strategist. They were shrouded by the spell [Perfect Unknowable], the nearby humans oblivious to their presence.
Ainz, his skeletal visage impassive, observed the scene with a critical eye. "It seems they are researching the contents of this dungeon," he mused, his voice echoing softly in the chamber.
Demiurge, ever the strategist, offered his analysis. "It is possible, Ainz-sama, that they are after a powerful artifact or being."
Ainz continued his train of thought. "Indeed, the surge of energy we felt days ago was specially concerning. It is conceivable that someone used a World Item."
Both Guardians nodded thoughtfully, their minds racing as they tried to piece together the puzzle. Albedo continued. "A World Item… That would explain the scale of the energy we sensed. But who could have wielded such power?~" She had a guess, althoug she wanted more confirmation.
Demiurgue, adjusting his glasses, added his thoughts. "We cannot rule out the possibility that there are other powerful beings or forces in this world that we have yet to encounter."
"That is what I considered as well. Remember, we must remain vigilant. Underestimating our enemies could be disastrous. For now, We must watch and learn. There is no need for direct confrontation at this time. Let us observe from a distance and gather more information. We need to understand what exactly is happening here." Ainz concluded their train of thought.
Both smiled at their masters word gracefully. Ainz-Sama was right—as always—they could not afford to be complacent.
As they continued to watch, the Theocracy soldiers moved deeper into the dungeon, their torches casting flickering shadows on the ancient stone walls. Ainz turned to his subordinates, his decision made.
"Maintain surveillance," he ordered. "And report back with any significant findings. We cannot afford to overlook any detail."
Albedo and Demiurge bowed deeply. "As you command, Ainz-sama," they replied in unison, their loyalty unwavering.
Before they could part, Demiurge gestured to his master, then spoke up. "Ainz-sama, there is another matter that requires your attention. The situation in the Forest of Tob is progressing as expected. Everything is proceeding according to your plan."
Ainz, who had no recollection of any plan involving the Forest of Tob, was momentarily taken aback. "Ah, yes… the Forest of Tob," he replied, trying to keep his voice steady. "Report on the… progress."
Demiurge's eyes gleamed with admiration. "As expected of you, Ainz-sama! Your foresight is truly unparalleled. The pieces are already falling into place, and soon we will see the fruits of your strategy." Although Demiurgue's voice was loud, the surrounding humans didn't seem to hear it.
Ainz managed to maintain his composure, though internally, it was the exact opposite. 'What the hell is he talking about~? What plan!? I don't remember making any plans involving the Forest of Tob~!'
Realizing he couldn't ask outright, Ainz decided to play along. "Very well. Continue with the plan. I trust you know what to do."
Demiurge's expression was one of pure admiration. "Of course, Ainz-sama. I will not disappoint you."
Albedo then smiled reassuringly at him. "Ainz-sama's plans are always flawless. We are fortunate to serve such a brilliant leader. As expected of the greatest of the Supreme Beings.~"
Ainz nodded, grateful that his mask of confidence hadn't slipped. "Umu. Good... Keep me informed of any developments."
As they all departed, Ainz was left alone with his thoughts, trying to make sense of the situation. 'What is going on here…? I need to figure this out before something happens…'
Despite his internal turmoil, Ainz maintained his stoic facade. The Great Tomb of Nazarick was a place of power and mystery, and its ruler could show no weakness—even if he had no idea what was going on half the time.
…
Deep within the tangled wilderness of the Forest of Tob, two figures stood in uneasy alliance. The Giant of the East, Guu, a towering troll with muscles like iron and a mind as slow as molasses, faced off against the Serpent of the West, a massive snake-like creature with scales that gleamed like polished stone.
The clearing where they had gathered was tense with the undercurrent of hostility. Guu, with his brutish strength, and the Serpent, with its cunning mind, were natural enemies, each vying for control of the forest's territories. But today, they had come together for a reason that overrode their mutual hatred—survival.
The recent disappearance of the Beast of the South had sent ripples of fear through the forest's denizens. The sudden shift in the forest's atmosphere a few days ago had only heightened their anxiety, leaving them with a sense of impending doom.
"We can't stay here," Guu rumbled, his deep voice shaking the ground beneath him. "The Beast of the South is gone. Good for us, but there's something bad in the air. I don't like it."
The Serpent of the West hissed in agreement, its forked tongue flickering in and out. "Indeed. Something stirs in this forest—something we cannot fight alone. Our only option is to leave."
Despite his sluggish intellect, Guu grasped the seriousness of their situation. "Grrr. Where do we go?" he rumbled, uncertainty lacing his deep voice.
The Serpent coiled its massive length, eyes narrowing as they gleamed with cunning. "We head west, to the Argland Council State. A nation ruled by dragons. They're powerful, and they're more likely to accept our kind. If we ally with them, we will survive."
Guu scratched his head, his heavy brow furrowing in contemplation. "Dragons… Dragons are strong! But… how do we get there?" he asked, the uncertainty lingering.
"We gather our forces and move through the human lands. The kingdom between us and the Council State is weak—its people will not stand in our way."
Guu grunted in complete agreement. "Bahaha! If that is the worst of our problems, then we'll succeed."
The Serpent's eyes narrowed, its voice dripping with contempt. "Do not underestimate them, fool! It's true we have the strength and numbers, but we cannot waste it all. We will resupply along the way in their cities. And once we reach the Council State, we will be safe under the protection of the dragons."
Guu, enraged but still acceptive to the Serpent's words, nodded slowly. "Okay… we'll do it your way. We gather everyone, and we go."
The two monsters exchanged a wary glance, knowing that their alliance was born out of necessity, not trust. But in the face of the unknown threat that loomed over the forest, they had little choice.
And so, the Giant of the East and the Serpent of the West began their preparations, each aware that their survival depended on the strength of their united forces. The Forest of Tob was no longer safe, and the path ahead was fraught with danger—but they would face it together, even if it meant forging an alliance of hatred.
As the monsters and demi-humans of the forest prepared to move, the winds of fate continued to swirl around them, drawing them ever closer to an inevitable confrontation.
As you can see, I have taken more creative liberties. If you are confused on why our MC, who is basically an NPC, has so many memories when YGGDRASIL was just a game, consider this: We already know that each NPC has their own story and program, configured to them by Players or, in this case, the Developers themselves as mentioned in Chapter 1. It wouldn't be much of a strech to believe some NPCs have "false memories" who basically turned reality, wouldn't it?
Thoughts? Opinions? Ideas?