Rogue Villain-Chapter 384: Fortune Or Misfortune

The Hero’s face stiffened as he noticed how Ackster wasn’t exploding into a million tiny pieces of flesh and blood after voluntarily inhaling the world power he tossed out.

*YOU! What are you?!*

Ackster shrugged and looked at The Hero’s feet. The Hero had to use a significant amount of world power to keep himself stable on the water surface while Ackster stood as naturally as on land.

If he could disrupt The Hero’s footing, he could force him to use even more world power, even if he couldn’t slice him up like a piece of fish.

*I told you. I don’t know. But, if you let me kill you, I’m sure I’ll get a clue. That’s enough about me. You haven’t told me who or what you are.*

Ackster didn’t wait for an answer that he wouldn’t get. He charged forward.

Although he didn’t have his Ichor coursing through his veins, he still had his other sources, his physical strength, and Limit Breaker. His comprehensive strength was enough to keep The Hero in check, especially now that the members of The Hero’s party had been blown away by the aftershocks of their battle.

Ackster wasn’t keen on killing them since he wasn’t sure what that would do to The Hero. Although he didn’t see The Hero’s soul anywhere, it had seemed like The Hero just lost control of his body in the original story.

Dala Storm was also one of them. Ackster had grown a lot stronger, thanks to her. He didn’t want to repay that gratitude with actions that led to her death.

*GRR—!*

The Hero started growling as his face patched itself together with strings of white light after Ackster’s surprise attack. Everything Ackster did seemed to infuriate The Hero. However, his growl was interrupted by three spears penetrating his body at once.

One spear was red and made of blood. The second spear was a large arrow of blue fire. And the third spear shone of brilliant golden light.

Ackster’s party had caught up, and the three main damage dealers had launched ranged attacks from Mastrax’s island that ferried them over to Ackster’s location.

*I’m working on a permanent solution, so keep whittling away at his strength. Mastrax, sorry, but he doesn’t use vitality as I thought he did. You can sit this one out if you can’t do anything else. Makkel, how’s it looking? Does he burn?*

*Test subject! I’m here to help! That’s a demon or something, right?*

*...Or something.*

*Then we just need to get rid of it! HAHA!*

Mastrax cackled and started throwing bricks at The Hero with accuracy, unfitting for his crazed demeanor.

*Makkel?*

*Sorry, chief. It took a little to see through all that. But he burns! Oh, goddamn! HE BURNS!*

Makkel joined Mastrax with a crazed laughter of his own as he bathed his hands in colorless flames that he poured at The Hero like a jet stream of water.

Although Makkel said The Hero burned, the latter had yet to actually catch fire.

But Ackster had no doubt Makkel’s claim was true. After all, Makkel’s flames burned luck.

At first glance, considering how much trouble The Hero went through, what with every step taking him somewhere he faced strong monsters, rampaging beasts, psychotic killers, corrupt merchants, or broken remnants of past Cycles, he was unlucky.

But The Hero didn’t just encounter more trouble than a book could fit. He made it out of every single encounter. However, that was only a small part of what The Hero’s luck really meant.

The Hero lived for one reason—To save the world from The Calamity. To that end, The Hero needed unimaginable strength. And, unlike dragons, elves, vampires, or whatever else, he only had a human’s lifespan to acquire that strength, sometimes less. It would be a miracle if he became half as strong as he needed to be if he spent every breathing moment training.

However, as Ackster was a living testament to, danger planted the seed of growth.

So, rather than calling The Hero unlucky for always encountering obstacles and dangers in his journey, it would be more accurate to say that The Hero was blessed with enough luck to face as much danger as he needed to become strong enough to defeat The Calamity. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞

It was part of the skill, Blessing of the World. Millmeria made sure The Hero would always be strong enough to defend against the foreign invader. Of course, it didn’t always work.

But the Blessing of the World grew with each Cycle’s Hero and became better at adjusting the level of fortune he needed to ensure The Hero’s survival but, at the same time, optimized his growth.

However, that tidbit of support from the world had backfired.

The Blessing of the World had the potential to grow between each Hero. That meant the skill remembered its previous iterations. For something as magical as a skill directly bestowed upon The Hero to choose them as their champion that controlled fortune, the power of the world, and influenced fate, memory was the foundation of something more active.

The skill’s memory soon turned into self-developing insights. Thoughts.

The skill developed something akin to a consciousness.

Of course, given its state as being a temporary part of each Hero’s soul, its growth was slow, incredibly so. It could also only grow when attached to a Hero. It took countless eras for the skill to develop a Voice.

When it did, Heroes who noticed it called it the Voice of the World. But it was still an extension of the Blessing of the World. It could act with more clarity. It was less than a baby and only acted upon instinct, if the skill’s workings could be called that.

But eventually, as years passed, the skill developed. The Voice’s mind developed. It saw, listened, and watched the world around it from deep within its Hero. Even when the Heroes died, it was still a part of the world and continued watching, preparing for the next Hero, so that their journey would be as smooth and burdensome as necessary.

However, as it watched, the Voice saw many things. It saw many things that didn’t make sense. Why was everything so bad? It didn’t relate to the suffering of all living beings, but it saw the misery of existence.

The Voice thought for a long time as its feelings solidified into hatred and disgust for living beings that brought suffering upon others. As it experienced the chaos and despair of the Calamitous Cycles, the Voice also realized another thing.

The world was in pain. Existence was pain.

If the world ended, so too would the suffering.

The Voice would be free.

Free from watching the world suffer. Free from watching life destroy the world and each other. Free from the chains that bound it to as monotonous a fate as the Calamitous Cycles.