He did not know how long he spent lying flat on the ground, too exhausted to move, too exhausted to think, too exhausted to even feel. He had mechanically used time warps without thinking or counting, so it could have as easily been three hours as it could have been three month.

All of his frustration had left him, and all that was left was a profound sense of loss, of infinite sorrow and self loathing. He was too tired to feel angry, and every last hint of motivation had left in him.

Lying prone on the smooth floor, the feeling of the cold and hard surface pressing against his skin the only remaining thing connecting him to reality, Avery was like an old wilted flower, wearily looking back on his pitiful life.

He was a worthless individual, a failure, and would never do anything worthwhile in his life.

He had traversed to a fantastical world of swords and magic, the dream of many avid readers, but what had he accomplished since then? Nothing at all. No high stakes adventures uncovering existing secrets, no exploring and/or saving the world, no funny companions or romantic partners, nothing he could be proud or brag about.

If one day someone wrote down his story, he could tell everything in just a few paragraphs. A boy was thrust into a brutal world, then wasted his time planning and gathering information while he was safe in a sect, then wasting his opportunity to climb the ranks of the sect because of weak sentimentality. He wasn’t even mature enough to stand by his choice and take responsibility for the consequences, but only to shamefully run away.

As proof of his incompetence, he couldn't escape properly, but only impulsively followed a ridiculously dangerous plan. His plan was roughly equivalent to jumping out of a ship in deep seas and hoping he would drift to an inhabitable island before he died.

For some reason he believed that everything would go well for him, and it had, but even as he was astronomically lucky to not get killed on the spot, it still wasn’t enough for him. He was thrust in what was essentially a big hole, but he was too incompetent to climb out of find any creative way of escape.

The only smart thing he did was to figure out a way to live eternally, but that had only served to demonstrate the incredible depths of his incompetence. He had spent two years engraving 24/7, and yet had nothing to show for it other than “i can draw one specific very specific pattern acceptably.”

His runes were an insult to the art of forging, and he should be glad to be exiled in this god forsaken land, otherwise any self-respecting blacksmith would have him murdered for his affront to their craft.

No, he was safe and sound, alone and at peace in his corner of the universe, living an idealistic life with no worries of thirst or hunger, aging or sickness, hate or violence, natural disasters or material troubles.

He just had to draw two and a half runes a day to live forever, yet he never stopped complaining, like the ungrateful whiny idiot he was. He was tainting the very world he lived in just by existing, a ugly blemish nobody could get rid of. Maybe it would be for the best if he gave up and finally ended his miserable life, to at least get rid of a loathsome stain from the world.

He had spent almost two years, and he felt his gains were pitiful when compared with the insane amount of effort he put in.

It used to take an hour and a half to make the system ring, but now, after months of hard work, he could make it ring in a mere fraction of that time. This was definite proof that mana could be influenced by his intent. Even if he couldn't cultivate, even if the system never offered him an item that could help him escape, now he had a backup solution.

He now had the prospects of eventually mastering mana, becoming a wielder of arcane arts, and flying out using his own strength. This would usually have been enough to make Avery ecstatic, but right now he just couldn't care less.

Besides, there were severe caveats to his success. He now had proof mana was controllable, but he had already been convinced of that. He could engrave much faster, providing he first spent weeks and months developing a clear mental picture.

What he had was nothing more than a proof of concept, far from the breakthrough he had hoped for. He had plenty to learn and improve upon, but as for practical or tangible immediate benefits, he had nothing.

He had labored and toiled so hard he couldn’t even stand up anymore, and in the end he had failed. He might have been an inch away from success, but that inch meant everything. If Avery wanted to try again, it would involve at least a month of work to restore his visualisation to its peak, and who knew how long it would take to perfect it to the point of contacting the rune.

He was a failure anyways, and so would never succeed or find happiness. He just couldn’t be bothered to put in so much effort to struggle against an inevitable conclusion, and would rather spend his time moping around.

He replayed his life in his head, proving to himself again and again that he was worthless, that it was all his fault and that washing away until he ran out of time warps and died was the best solution.

He was criticizing his different visualisation attempts, punishing himself for being blind to the obvious, when an idea sprang to his mind.

He thought he might have found a shortcut, a shortcut that might be enough to propel him to the point of establishing proper contact with the rune.