Although the information on his skill Disaster was shorter than the rest, that didn't mean it was any weaker than his other abilities. It was simply more straightforward in its description, its power lying in its brutal simplicity rather than in layers of complex mechanics.
But compared to all of his other abilities, which operated passively or activated on their own in response to stimuli, this one required him to sit down and actively train in order to master its full potential.
He needed to develop the focus and precision to wield it effectively, to learn how to apply the curse at will and control the escalation of injuries with intent rather than instinct. But that wasn't a big deal to him—not in the slightest.
He was more than willing to train. He had spent countless lifetimes in that arena doing nothing but training, after all. Besides, he already had a conceptual armor he could study and learn from as a reference point. His own skin was pretty much a form of conceptual defense at all times; he could simply use himself as both the subject and the teacher, examining how his own defensive adaptation worked and applying those principles to his understanding of Disaster.
But that was something for later. For now, he had a more immediate concern to deal with. He needed to return to the human domain, because as it stood, he was currently deep within the dwarven domain—and the dwarves did not like humans.
From what his intuition told him, the dwarves harbored a deep and long-standing hatred for humanity, a grudge so ingrained that they wouldn't think twice about killing any human who set foot on their lands. It wasn't a matter of negotiation or diplomacy; it was simply how things were.
But Reinhard didn't want to trust his intuition too heavily, despite how powerful it was. After all, even his intuition could be wrong at times. It operated on instinct and probability, not omniscience. It didn't instantly make him all-knowing. There were limits to what gut feeling could tell him, no matter how supernaturally enhanced that feeling had become.
Setting the matter aside for the moment, Reinhard walked over to a nearby tree, where he reached up and easily broke off a branch that was roughly the size of a sword. The wood snapped cleanly in his grip, and as he held the stick with the mindset of it being a proper blade—treating it not as a piece of wood, but as a weapon—the world around him seemed to freeze.
Time didn't actually stop, but something shifted in his perception. It was as if he had swung the stick trillions of times in his mind within the span of a single heartbeat, each swing refining and perfecting the way of the stick, every possible angle and arc explored, every flaw in his form corrected, every inefficiency trimmed away until nothing remained but the purest, most perfect expression of what a stick could do in battle.
"If this were a cultivation world, I would have created the Stick Dao and become an immortal," Reinhard said softly, a faint trace of amusement in his voice at the absurdity of what he had just experienced.
He swung the stick in a single, clean motion—and instantly, the space in front of him was cut. The reality split apart with a sound no human could comprehend, the very fabric of reality parting before the path of his swing.
The stick itself split into two from the force of its own strike, the wood unable to withstand the power that had been channeled through it. Everything within Reinhard's field of sight was no longer aligned; the world itself shifted slightly as if the seam he had cut needed a moment to stitch itself back together.
Reinhard had just cut space. Yes—space, as in spacetime. This wasn't a joke, wasn't a metaphor, wasn't an exaggeration. Reinhard, just a few minutes after arriving in this new world, had picked up a stick from a tree and gone on to cut through the dimensional fabric of reality like it was nothing more than paper. He didn't even use mana to accomplish it. Pure physical technique, pure mastery, pure talent—and nothing else.
This should have been impossible. No being in this world, no matter how powerful or how many years they had dedicated to their craft, should have been able to achieve something like this with a stick and no mana behind it. No one should have been capable of it—with the sole exception of Reinhard Pendragon, of course.
[Gained a New Blessing. The Blessing of the Sword God: This blessing works by supernaturally increasing the target's swordsmanship to the absolute limit of his theoretical natural talent, making him a genius in swordsmanship without equal. Whether it's a Holy Sword, an Enchanted Sword, or a simple stick, no blade shall fail to lie bare in his hands.
This expertise extends to all forms of combat—be it swords, spears, axes, or any other instrument of war—so long as it is connected to battle, he understands their strengths and weaknesses completely and instinctively. It gives him the ability to draw any weapon without limit and master it the moment his fingers close around it. He also receives flawless battle instincts, honed beyond what any living being could achieve through training alone, and can see floating white rays of battle drawn out by the world itself. He needs only trace those rays with his sword to unquestionably kill his opponent.]
"Thanks again." Reinhard said awkwardly, his voice carrying that same uncomfortable gratitude from before. He didn't really need this blessing—his own talent had already gotten him to the point of cutting space with a stick before the blessing even arrived. But he couldn't deny that it helped. It accelerated the process of reaching his full potential, pushing him to the peak of what his natural talent could achieve in an instant rather than forcing him to climb there over time.
Beyond that, and its ability to allow him to wield any weapon with absolute mastery the moment he touched it, he wasn't sure how much more it truly added to what he already possessed. But he was grateful—by all means, he was. He didn't want to come across as ungrateful, especially not to a world that had done nothing but shower him with gifts since the moment he arrived.
'Nice, my adaptation is kicking in to bring out the full potential of this blessing.' Reinhard thought with a grin spreading across his face. This was a welcome development. It meant that from this point on, his swordsmanship—and his mastery of all weapons—would start improving on its own even without him actively doing anything. His adaptation was taking the blessing apart, studying it, and finding ways to push it further, squeezing out every last drop of potential and then building beyond it.
By the way, since the moment he had awakened in this body, he had been getting stronger at a noticeable rate. The former Reinhard had only reached Warrior Rank Three before his death, but the new Reinhard was already at Rank Five, and the speed of his growth was only accelerating with each passing minute. This newest blessing only added fuel to that fire, giving his adaptation more material to work with and more systems to optimize.
He was absorbing so much mana from the surrounding environment that his body was adapting in real time to put every last bit of it to maximum use. And what better application was there than having that mana funnel directly into increasing his rank, almost like a form of cultivation? His body had figured out the most efficient path on its own and was sprinting down it without hesitation.
But this rapid growth came with a side effect—the range at which his body absorbed mana was increasing alongside his power, the dead zone around him expanding further and further. Luckily, he was also learning to suppress the absorption to some degree, pulling the range inward and keeping it contained. Although there was a limit to how much he could suppress it by, and he suspected that limit would only become harder to maintain as he grew stronger.
Reinhard wasted no time dwelling on the matter and quickly began moving, his feet carrying him forward with purpose. He followed the traces left behind by the former Reinhard—broken branches, scattered droplets of dried blood, disturbed earth—using them as a trail to find the dwarves. Why? Because he needed to return to the human domain, and the fastest way to figure out which direction that was, or to find a means of getting there, was to locate the locals.
The former Reinhard had been fleeing while severely injured, his body broken and bleeding, and his desperate escape had led him deep into the forest, where he ultimately collapsed and died alone among the trees.
The dwarves hadn't bothered to follow him into the forest. Why would they? With the injuries the former Reinhard had suffered, he was going to die regardless—there was no need to waste the effort chasing a dead man walking. But what they didn't know, what they couldn't have possibly predicted, was that someone else had taken over that body.
"What's wrong?" A dwarf holding what appeared to be a metal rod asked, glancing over at his companion, who stood staring toward the tree line with a troubled expression.
"Mana is being sucked toward that forest," The dwarf looking into the forest said with a deep frown, his brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of what he was sensing. Something in the direction of the dense tree line was pulling mana toward it at an unnatural rate, like a drain had opened in the earth.
Dwarves were indeed short in stature, standing well below the height of an average human, but anyone who let their compact size fool them into underestimating them would be making a fatal mistake.
Dwarves were stronger than the average human by a significant margin. Their physical capability was off the charts—dense muscle packed onto sturdy frames, built for endurance and raw power. Although they were slower than humans in terms of pure speed, what they lacked in agility, they more than compensated for in brute force and resilience.
"Now that you mention it, I sense it as well… and the speed at which it's being drawn toward the forest is growing." Another dwarf said softly, his own frown deepening as the pull on the ambient mana became more and more pronounced with each passing second. It was like watching a whirlpool form in the air, invisible but undeniably present.
"Could this be that red-haired human?" A dwarf asked, rising to his feet from the human corpse he had been looting. Around them, scattered across the clearing, were the remains of a human party—adventurers who had come to the dwarven lands with the same intentions the former Reinhard had carried.
Many of them had blown-apart body parts, their forms mangled beyond recognition by the devastating firepower the dwarves had unleashed. A few had been captured alive and bound, as they would be kept as slaves.
"No, his absorption of mana was nothing compared to this. At this rate, he would have exploded long before reaching this level… we should leave. Whatever is coming out of that forest isn't normal." The leader of the group of dwarves said seriously, his voice carrying the firm weight of someone accustomed to giving orders that were followed without question.
They all nodded in agreement, recognizing the gravity of the situation immediately. But before any of them could move, they paused—frozen in place as the undergrowth at the edge of the forest parted and a red-haired young man burst out from the tree line, crossing the open ground in a blur before landing not too far from where they stood.
They all instantly went on guard, every muscle tensing as years of combat training took over. They aimed their rods, which turned out to be guns—ranged weapons that channeled elemental magic through compressed mana cores—directly at Reinhard. He raised an eyebrow at the sight, caught off guard not by the threat itself, but by the fact that guns existed in this world at all. He hadn't been expecting firearms in a place that also had swords, magic, and dragons.
With a bang—not as loud as he might have expected, more of a sharp, contained crack—fireballs shot from the barrels of their guns, streaking toward him in rapid succession. But every single fireball broke apart as it neared Reinhard, the magical energy composing them unraveling and scattering into nothing before being absorbed into his body. The flames didn't even get close enough to warm his skin.
"I come in peace," Reinhard said, holding up his hands in what he hoped was a non-threatening gesture. But clearly, the dwarves didn't trust humans—not even ones who claimed to come with peaceful intentions.
History between the two races had made sure of that. Seeing that magic-based attacks were completely useless against this stranger, they quickly adapted their approach. They pulled out what appeared to be containers of gunpowder, loaded physical bullets into their guns with practiced efficiency, and opened fire on Reinhard once more.
At speeds reaching Mach Ten, the bullets tore through the air toward Reinhard, each one carrying enough kinetic force to punch through steel plating. Reinhard frowned at the sheer speed of these arrows; they were too fast
Just as he was about to shield himself, his eyebrow raised as the bullets suddenly changed their trajectory and flew around him, completely avoiding him.
[Gained a New Blessing.
Blessing of Arrow Evasion: All ranged attacks, such as thrown weapons, arrows, and projectiles, will change their trajectory to miss him, effectively making it impossible to hit him from afar.]
[A/N: if he had shielded himself. Two things would have happened.
1. The bullets would have struck him and even pierced through him, but they wouldn't kill him. His adaptation would activate quickly, and with the knowledge he gained from both his instinct and how guns work, adding how he had blocked and been injured, he would still be affected by the second bullet, though it would cause almost no damage.
2. Since he had blocked the guns used to shoot him would be damaged and stop working. This only happens when he blocks. If he blocks against something, that which is used to attack him becomes damaged, though it doesn't mean it would suffer enough damage to stop working.
Blocking also greatly enhances his adaptation ability, which is why by the second bullet, he would have been resistant to bullets to the point of almost immunity.]