POV: First Person
The sensation of falling lasted a thousand years and a single heartbeat. It wasn't the feeling of physical descent, but of my consciousness being ripped from its temporal anchor and flung through a slurry of unstructured data. My Neural Visor screamed a silent, sustained error message, a sound only I could hear.
I opened my eyes to the sound of smashing glass, splintered wood, and the guttural roar of men who thought shouting solved problems.
I was lying in the street, propped up against a wall that was anything but pristine. The wall was rough-hewn stone, patched with cement that didn't match, smeared with grime, and scarred by what looked suspiciously like old scorch marks.
I pushed myself upright, relying on the grip of my cane-sword. The air was heavy, damp, and smelled strongly of spilled beer, cheap tobacco, and unwashed bodies—the authentic stink of actual humanity. It lacked the alarming, sterile neutrality of the city I had just left.
I looked around. I was still in the city. The architectural style—the timber frames, the stone blockhouses, and the general layout of the streets—was undeniably familiar. But the city of First and Lasting was gone.
The cobblestones were uneven, cracked, and muddy in the gutters. The beautiful facades were dingy, the paint peeling. Where I remembered manicured planters and decorative ironwork, I saw scaffolding, half-built extensions, and stacks of unprocessed lumber guarded by surly-looking laborers. This wasn't the finished product; this was a city in perpetual, anxious construction.
Conclusion: I am still logged in. The glitch did not boot me.
I looked up. I was leaning against the exterior wall of a two-story tavern. The sound of a brawl—complete with smashing furniture and cries of pain—was emanating from the ground floor.
The immediate sensory input confirmed my displacement. The atmosphere was one of immediate, low-grade chaos, not the tightly controlled, high-tension surveillance state I had experienced mere moments ago. I was in the same space, but the time was radically different.
I gripped my cane and, using the rough stone as handholds, quickly scaled the side of the tavern. I leveraged my mass against the wall, pulling myself silently up and onto the flat, tar-paper roof.
From this vantage point, the temporal shift was undeniable.
The city layout was a terrifyingly accurate but incomplete map of First and Lasting.
To the East, the Magic Area was recognizable, dominated not by two massive institutions, but by one sprawling, chaotic cluster of towers—the precursor to the FAL Academy, still under heavy construction. The air still pulsed with arcane energy, but it felt less refined, more volatile.
The Industrial Area was far less choked with smoke; the chimneys were fewer, the hammer sounds less frequent. It looked like a nascent industrial center, not a mature one.
The Main City Gate to the South was also present, though the walls looked thinner, less reinforced.
But the missing pieces were what confirmed the severity of the temporal anomaly.
The massive, pristine ramparts of the Counsel's Area to the Northwest were simply gone. In their place was a gaping expanse of dirt and partially laid foundations. The center of power that dominated my previous timeline had not even been built yet.
Furthermore, the overall atmosphere was different. The city felt smaller, tighter, less prosperous, and fiercely defended. It felt less like a Capitol and more like a besieged fortress.
Deduction: I am in the past. Yellina's uncontrolled temporal spell did not "slow" me; it performed an unauthorized quantum leap. The chaotic energy of the shattered crystal acted as a catalyst, exploiting my foreign, unstable neural signature as an anchor point to jump backward in time.
Temporal Calculation: Based on the state of the infrastructure and the missing Counsel's Area—a structure requiring centuries of refinement—I estimate the jump is no less than five centuries, potentially closer to a millennium.
I calculated the jump. I needed to get down, but the street was still crowded, and I had no desire to engage in another social skirmish. I moved to the edge of the roof, preparing a textbook Parkour descent—a low-impact vertical drop, using my cane to absorb the final shock.
It was precisely as I braced myself to jump that the window beneath me exploded.
A man, built like a barrel and clad in rough leather armor, came flying out of the tavern's window in a shower of shattered glass and wood splinters. He was a Dwarf, judging by his wide stance and thick beard, and he hit the street below with a heavy, sickening thud.
Target acquired. Collision imminent.
I adjusted my descent immediately. I couldn't stop the jump, but I could modify the trajectory to turn the impact into a controlled landing. In a split second, I rotated my body, tucking my legs beneath me, aiming to land on his torso—a thick, padded area—to use his mass as a shock absorber.
I landed squarely on the Dwarf's chest. The impact should have been crushing, for both of us. For me, with my meager base stats of Str 10 / Dex 10 / Con 10, a landing like that should have resulted in at least two bruised ribs, a sprained ankle, and severe internal trauma to the Dwarf.
Instead, I landed with the soft, controlled grace of a dancer. The impact against the Dwarf was significant enough to make him groan, but when I stepped off him, I felt nothing. No jarring vibration, no strain in my knees. My body absorbed the shock as if I had merely stepped off a curb.
I frowned, adjusting my balance, my brain immediately overriding my physical success with an analytical alarm.
Anomaly: Physical output exceeds current system capability (10/10/10). Recalculation required.
My hand instinctively went to my inner robe pocket and pulled out the obsidian Guild Card. The humming sensation was now frantic, a high-pitched vibration against my fingertips.
The card I saw was a chaotic mess of data, far worse than the simple designation error it had before. The temporal jump had destabilized the entire data structure tied to my identity.
The card read:
_________________________________________
Guild Card
Name: Lee Koyanagi
Age: 17
Profession: G̸̦͖͚͈̯͊̾̽̽̊̌́͗͐̊͑̽̒̇̚ë̸̙̙́ņ̶̧͕̞̦̲͕͕̙̺͉̽́̀̅͜͠͠t̵̛̗̠͎͖͙͓̯́̏͊̒̀̾͂͊̿̋͊͘͘͝l̸̢̤̹̘̖̦͌͛̍͒̇̓̇̃͋̿̉̃̇̀e̶̛͚̜̺͇͚͖͍̦̯̤̰̍̓̋̈́́̿̍̐̚͘̚͜͠m̶̧͎͍̞̟͇̪̖̉̊̾͜á̴̯̙͎͊̏̈́͒n̴̨̨̬̯̙͖̗̜̖̗̙͌̈̍̓́̅̚͜ ̶̧̨̦͑̿́͋̅̓͌̌͒F̵̛̝͕͍̀̑̌̌̔̔̓̄̀̋̅͑į̶̥̞̗̩̩͕͔̞͍̭͆͆̑̃̈́͌̂́͂̈́̊̿̔̕̕ͅͅg̷̹̣̩̘͐̀̏̽ͅh̸͔̤̠͙̙͓͓̫̥͑͗͌ͅͅt̴̤͖̞̹̐́͛̂͌̂̋͊é̴̖͗̓͋̄͛̆̀̃̇̋͠r̶̞̻̼͕͑̌̉̓͋̑̈͗͒̀̂̅
STR: 1̴̧̨̛̫̗̬̠̠̞͕̘̰͛͑̎͋͑̇͛͐̑̆̈͘͜͝͝6̷͚͕̞̭̣̈͛̆̾̾̈́͂
DEX: 1̴̧̨̛̫̗̬̠̠̞͕̘̰͛͑̎͋͑̇͛͐̑̆̈͘͜͝͝5̵̡̛̝͙͎̭̱͔̰̳͙̻̘̗͔̳͑̄̋͊̐̿̋͋͆͋̀
CON: 1̴̧̨̛̫̗̬̠̠̞͕̘̰͛͑̎͋͑̇͛͐̑̆̈͘͜͝͝2̸̢͙̣͍͇̱̩͉͚̰͉̣̣̩͐̉͊̔ͅ
WIS: 2̸̢͙̣͍͇̱̩͉͚̰͉̣̣̩͐̉͊̔ͅ0̷̢͕̣̿͒̇͒̏̅̊̈́̽͋͒͌̔̒̃͘͜͝
CHA: 1̴̧̨̛̫̗̬̠̠̞͕̘̰͛͑̎͋͑̇͛͐̑̆̈͘͜͝͝7̷̧̧͕̱̪̱̻͙̩̼̦͕̖̻̯͕͍̈́͑͐̔̓̈́̎̕
_________________________________________
The temporal jump didn't just move me in space-time; it overloaded the system's ability to display my foreign data profile. Yet, through the constant, chaotic flow of the garbled text, I could now see the numerical values flickering underneath—values that confirmed the impossible lightness of my landing.
The system overflow from the temporal jump had fused my baseline stats with the chaotic power of the temporal anomaly, resulting in a massive, instantaneous statistical amplification. The metrics were corrupted, but the numbers were real: Strength 16, Dexterity 15, Constitution 12, Charisma 17, and an elite-tier Wisdom 20.
Conclusion: I have been involuntarily upgraded. The Hard Mode challenge is officially over. The game is still fighting me, but I now have tangible metrics and enhanced physical capabilities that exceed a basic Fledgling.
I slipped the card back into my pocket, the frantic hum a comforting sensation of power and instability.
I looked up at the tavern window. The three figures responsible for launching the Dwarf were now framed in the ragged opening, silhouetted against the dim light inside.
The central figure was the tallest, a man whose sheer bulk was defined by muscle cultivated through brutal effort. His attire was simple, practically a uniform of the Ramdulus Clan: a sleeveless gi open to the navel, showcasing a chest crisscrossed with jagged white scars that looked less like battle wounds and more like carelessly stitched surgical sites. His stance was aggressive, hips square, arms loose but ready.
To his left stood a man holding a sheathed longsword, his posture rigid and formal. His clothes were of better quality, maintained with almost fastidious care, and he carried the controlled aura of professional training. He was a Caliber—the city guard, the upholders of public order (and often, public tyranny).
The third man, on the right, was a mystery. His attire was a mix—some armor, some simple travelers' gear. He also carried a sword, but his single shoulder guard, worn only on the left, gave him an asymmetrical, non-uniform look.
The Ramdulus disciple spoke, his voice booming and rough, easily cutting through the noise of the interior brawl.
"Well, looks like the fun is finally over. The cane-user finished it." He paused, noticing me standing there, using the fallen Dwarf as a makeshift carpet. "Who the hell are you, kid? And why did you land on Grizak?"
I stepped off the groaning Dwarf and dusted off my hands, adjusting the collar of my robe. I had new stats now; I could afford a little audacity.
"My apologies to Grizak," I said, my voice measured and calm. "I am Lee Koyanagi, a recently registered adventurer. May I have the names of the men who just introduced him to gravity with such force?"
The Ramdulus disciple let out a short, barking laugh, an insane flash igniting in his right eye, a look of pure, unadulterated enjoyment.
"I like you, kid. Most people wet themselves when they see this. I'm Tro. Ramdulus, naturally. Though I don't care about their damn forms."
The man on the left, the Caliber, stepped slightly forward, his movements precise and economical. His reddish-brown hair, immaculate despite the brawl, caught the light and flashed deep auburn.
"I am Pryme," he stated, his voice cool and utterly devoid of humor. "Caliber Clan. We were resolving a contractual dispute involving Grizak and the ownership of some beers."
He spared a single, critical glance at the ruined establishment behind him. "Justice has been served, if somewhat messily."
The third man stepped into the light, giving me a clear view of his face. He was tall, athletic, with a striking, deep scar running from above his right eyebrow, slicing across the bridge of his nose, and ending below his left cheek. His eyes were the deepest, most unsettling blue I had ever seen, and his dark blonde hair was clipped short.
"And I am Astendax," the third man said, his voice quiet, but stern, a stark contrast to Tro's roar. He wore a heavy-looking, almost ceremonial sword at his hip, the quillions and pommel fashioned as aggressive, single-edged blades pointing forward—designed to catch and tear in a bind. "I am un-affiliated, and primarily concerned with the safety of those involved. Which now includes you, Lee Koyanagi."
The introductions confirmed my rapid-fire analysis. A volatile trio: the brute force powerhouse who rejected discipline (Tro), the hyper-focused legalist (Pryme), and the scarred, un-aligned warrior (Astendax).
"A resolution involving a Ramdulus, a Caliber, and an un-affiliated sword," I noted, walking closer to the window. "A most unusual combination for a simple property dispute."
Tro grinned, his right eye glinting with manic energy. "Oh, the dispute was simple. It was Grizak being stubborn that wasn't. We work together sometimes, kid. It's complicated."
"Everything in this city seems complicated," I observed. "Including the city itself."
I gestured around at the unfinished streets. "I have just arrived in what I believe is called First and Lasting. But everything looks under-developed. Construction is rampant, sanitation is non-existent, and the governing Counsel's area hasn't even been laid yet. Did I take a wrong turn, or is this the way things are in the First and Lasting?"
I used the name First and Lasting deliberately, a small, strategic probe.
Pryme and Tro exchanged a startled, uneasy look. Astendax simply watched me, his deep blue eyes calculating.
"First and Lasting?" Pryme said, his composure momentarily cracked. "You call this city... First and Lasting? This place is humanity's last stand, so it was aptly named Last Hope."
"That is its name in the current Register," I replied, maintaining a steady, even tone. "However, given the evidence—the missing Counsel buildings, the general state of readiness, and the lack of advanced infrastructure—I hypothesize that I have arrived in an earlier time. The city's original name, before the great restructuring, must have been Last Hope."
I pressed the point further, wanting confirmation. "The sudden shift in my location, the momentary destabilization of my identity profile, and the lingering scent of temporal flux—I believe I was inadvertently caught in a highly volatile chronomancy spell. I vaguely remember a Tepes apprentice near a piece of giant crystal when I was displaced."
Pryme frowned, rubbing his chin. "Giant crystal, lycrama? That's the stuff they use to power up spells."
Astendax, however, stepped fully out of the window frame, landing lightly beside me. His hand instinctively rested on the pommel of his wicked-looking sword.
"I think this one might be touched in the head," Astendax said, his voice low. "The city's name is Last Hope. It was named shortly after... the war. There isn't anything called the Council."
Confirmed. Temporal displacement: Unknown time.
"Someone made this happen," I concluded, looking at the trio. "Either Yellina's desperation was exploited, or she was a distraction."
Pryme adjusted his gloves, his honor-bound nature immediately seeking order in the chaos. "A time displacement is a matter for the highest echelons of the Tepes Clan. This is far above the Guild's paygrade, Lee was it."
"Perhaps," I nodded. "But right now, I have an opportunity to see the world before its current established order. You three are clearly operating outside the strictures of the Clans, or at least at the messy edges of it. Given my sudden, and likely temporary, temporal dislocation, I need context. Tell me about Last Hope. Why are things so volatile? You mentioned 'the war'."
Tro threw a massive arm around my shoulder, his grip bone-crushing despite his attempt at friendliness. The suddenness of the gesture barely made my newly enhanced Dex 15 flinch.
"The kid's got cojones, asking about the worst time in human history like it's a history lesson! Come on, we were just about to celebrate the end of that damn nuisance Grizak. The 'war', Lee, was the Sundering."
We began walking down the rough, muddy street, the tavern slowly receding behind us. Pryme walked with rigid military precision, Astendax drifted, almost flowed, and Tro bounced with suppressed, violent energy. I walked with my careful Bartitsu rhythm, my cane tapping the uneven stones.
"The name 'Last Hope' isn't just a label," Pryme explained, his voice taking on the rigid rhythm of recorded history. "Five years ago, humanity was nearly extinct. The monster was Anlodais Apophis, Astendax's father."
I looked at Astendax, who simply stared straight ahead, his expression unreadable.
"Anlodais," Astendax confirmed, his voice flat, devoid of self-pity or defensiveness. "He ran a cult. They believed that by destroying humanity they can kill the 'Guardian'."
"They used that chaos magic stuff, right?" Tro chimed in, punching the air with a massive fist. "It was like fighting ghosts. They were faster than the Ramdulus, hit harder than the Chambers' machines, and they could bend reality with their shouting. They were destroying the settlements outside the city one by one."
"It was effective genocide," Pryme summarized coldly. "The Clans, perpetually at war over resources, were unprepared to fight an enemy that rejected all rules of combat and society. The cult breached the city's old defenses. The last remaining humans—the last hope, literally—retreated here."
"And that's when Astendax stepped in," Tro said, giving Astendax a heavy, loyal clap on the shoulder that would have crumpled my old 10 Constitution.
Astendax flinched, not from the force, but from the memory. "I was raised in the cult, trained from birth to wield my father's philosophy of chaos. I knew his methods, his weaknesses, and his primary power source—a massive network of ancient, unstable lycrama crystals beneath Death Island. When he began the final push to conquer Last Hope, I provided the necessary schematic and tactical data to the surviving Clan leaders."
"A beautiful betrayal," Tro stated with perverse admiration. "Astendax's timing threw Anlodais off balance, giving the Clans just enough of a window to prepare a final defense."
"It wasn't enough," Pryme corrected, his expression solemn. "We were still being routed. Anlodais had breached the inner city and was moments away from activating the central crystal network, which would have essentially vaporized the city, purging it entirely. We were down to the last street fight."
I stopped walking, the implications of their story focusing my high Wisdom (20) into a sharp analytical point.
"So, a final, massive temporal field. A purge of the past," I muttered. "A clean slate."
"Worse," Astendax corrected. "The complete annihilation of all remaining life, and a forced reboot of the civilization into his image. But that's when it happened."
Tro's voice dropped, losing its aggressive swagger, replaced by a low tone of reverence and fear. "That's when the Guardian showed up."
"The Guardian," Pryme repeated, looking up at the gray sky as if expecting the entity to appear. "Anlodais's final burst of energy summoned it—or perhaps its arrival was a natural counter-force to such a severe temporal threat. No one knows where it came from."
"Describe it," I demanded. My skepticism about magic and deity-like beings was always on high alert.
Tro's right eye went completely dull, a mark of genuine terror. "You don't describe it. It's just... power. It's untouchable. It was everywhere and nowhere. It didn't fight Anlodais, Lee. It didn't need to. It just looked at the cult."
"With a single glance, Anlodais and his followers were disintegrated," Pryme finished, his voice hushed. "Vaporized. Not a drop of blood, not a scrap of armor. Just dust. The Guardian then sealed the wound in time, created a temporal barrier, and vanished, leaving behind nothing but the knowledge that we were saved by a force beyond comprehension."
"And that's why they changed the name to Last Hope," Astendax explained, his deep blue eyes finally meeting mine. "It's a covenant. The Last City to survive, the Last City that will never fall. It was built on the ashes of that fight, five years ago."
I processed the data, my new Wisdom stat running the scenarios like a supercomputer.
Data Structure:Original Timeline (My Time*): City is First and Lasting. Stable. Secure. Rules-based. Rigid Clan control. Controlled by the Council.*
Current Timeline: City is Last Hope. Unstable. Post-war chaos. Clans are cooperative and rebuilding. Temporal threat Anlodais just ended by a 'Guardian'. Some kind of nihilation magic was used.
Hypothesis: The Guardian's spell was hastily cast, or was merely a bandage. Yellina's spell could not have brought me here alone. Therefore someone else must have activated the lycrama.
My enhanced Wisdom (20) told me one critical thing: The events I just witnessed, the Sundering, the Cult, the Guardian—this was the foundational lore of the entire God's Last Respite world. It was the moment the game's security protocols, its power structures, and its magic systems were written into the core code.
And I was here, in the past, with a broken card and stats that made me an instantaneous, mid-level threat, even among these seasoned fighters.
"So," I said, leaning on my cane and letting the silence stretch for a moment. "The world was saved by an all-powerful being, and the result was the construction of the most bureaucratic, hyper-controlled city I have ever seen. Seems like a poor trade for salvation."
Tro laughed, deep and loud. "I don't know what you're talking about, nothing like that is going to happen."
"What are you three doing now?" I asked. "Are you a unit? A mercenary group?"
"More like a necessary evil," Pryme stated, his hand still on his sword. "The city is safe, but the outlying settlements are struggling. Anlodais's cult is gone, but the creatures they summoned and the chaos they unleashed are still out there. We handle the jobs that are too politically sensitive or too physically demanding for the current, depleted Guard. We keep the city breathing."
"In other words," Astendax concluded, "we are doing the dirty work that the founders of Last Hope don't want to officially recognize."
"A perfect entry point," I murmured, more to myself than to them. I had zero political standing in the current timeline, but here, in the unstable past, I had an immediate connection to three influential, if unorthodox, players. And my stats were through the roof.
If I can level up in this timeline, will those enhanced stats carry back when the temporal jump reverses?
It was a risk, but the only way to beat Hard Mode was to cheat the timeline. I had to find a way back, but first, I needed to get stronger. I needed to gather data on the temporal anomaly that brought me here.
"Gentlemen," I said, offering a slight, genuine bow. "Lee Koyanagi is now officially un-affiliated and looking for a mission that involves high risk and unstable elements. Since the Guild is useless, perhaps the three of you have something worthy of my new status."
Tro slapped my back again, making the air in my lungs momentarily vanish despite my Constitution boost.
"A gentleman time traveler, a wild Ramdulus, a rule-bound Caliber, and the son of the damn Devil," Tro roared, his insane eye gleaming. "Sounds like the start of a legendary party, kid. Welcome to Last Hope."