《I am System》Priest Arth
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Seeing the familiar faces, he had seen every now and then at the small-town gates, Mason sighed in relief.
“Who are y- huh? Mason?!” cried out one of the two guards in confusion.
“Yes. It’s me in the flesh. Though I am missing a leg.” Shouted Mason in a rather regretful tone.
He knew that unless he got some high-ranking bishop of one of the 9 supreme gods, he would remain an amputee. But that would not stop him! He now had the Survivor’s system, and with that, he would be able to survive without a leg. Especially with his new skills!
Thinking this far, Mason’s face brightened slightly as he made his way to the temple of the Church of Ares, God of war. This was the only church willing to have a branch in a remote town located at the edge of the Kingdom of Bard, nearing the border with the Fodian tribes of winter barbarians.
Entering the temple, Mason finally noticed something.
Every single living being had something floating above their heads, including himself.
[Player Mason Gates] [Lv 0]
When he looked at the others with curiosity, he saw something even more bizarre.
[Human Permon Hall] [Lv 4]
[Human ???? ???] [Lv 5]
[Human-Priest Arth Rampart] [Lv ?]
Some of the people had names, while others had strange symbols. A moment later, a note came up on his notification.
[Note: Symbol ‘?’ means unknown. The names of people you do not know the name of will remain as ??, while you will not be able to see the levels of those who are 10 or more levels higher than you.]
[Note: Players of the System will have Player before their name, while all others will be graded as anywhere between green, meaning friendly, White, meaning neutral, and Red meaning hostiles. You are permitted to use skills on Green parties, but cannot kill them except under special circumstances, while you are allowed to attack white and red parties with deadly force. You can attack other players, but you cannot kill them.]
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[Note: The last decision is up to the system’s discretion.]
Reading this, Mason finally understood what it all meant. This was a way to identify the different people, their level, and their intentions.
Looking around again, although he could not see the names of many people, he could not see any red people, which meant that no one here was hostile to him. Further inspection proved that almost everyone present was completely white, except the two guards, who were quite a bit green, and some of the townsfolk whom he had helped before. Naturally, in the entire temple, only one person existed whose level who he could not see.
And that was Priest Arth.
‘So, his full name was Arth Rampart’ thought Mason in his mind as he limped toward the priest with the help of the two guards.
Although he was more or less as healed as any sacred arts could get him at the priest level, he still decided to pay a visit to the priest, in case he was poisoned or under some sort of curse.
Soon, a hulking figure stood before Mason, nearly double his height, and with biceps as thick as his own waist. This was Priest Arth, an incredibly large man with muscles bulging out of every possible location, just like the rest of the Church of Ares, ‘a bunch of warmongering brutes with more muscle than brain’.
This was the rumours Mason had heard from a passing merchant. Naturally, he did not consider this to be the truth since humans tend to exaggerate things to gather more attention.
Furthermore, he had met the priest a lot of times despite his young age, and not once did the priest seem to be leaning towards violence.
“Priest Arth.” Mason said in an extremely polite tone, bordering a speech used to honour brave warriors who return home victorious.
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“Mason…”
The priest looked at Mason with a calm gaze at first, which turned into a solemn one after he saw Mason’s leg, which them turned into pity. But then, When the priest saw the fur of the white wolf, a satisfied expression plastered his face.
“You have achieved victory I suppose.” He said with a slightly proud smile.
“Yes! Somehow.” Mason replied shortly as he explained what happened. Naturally, he kept the part of getting the system, and simply said that some unknown god had given him the blessing of healing, which allowed him to close his wounds. He could not expect the priest to assume the average joe called Mason was able to kill a white wolf and heal his leg completely within a day’s time with just his own power.
Hearing this, the priest frowned slightly before nodding.
“I see. I will check you up. I will also need you to remain here while I relay this message with my superiors. I’m sure you understand. This is the standard procedure for chosen ones of new or unknown gods. We just need to make sure this new god of yours is not evil nor a devil.”
Mason did not object. He had heard of such occurrences, and knew that even if his god was deemed completely evil, or even classified as a true devil, he himself would not be harmed unless the god who had chosen him was a god stronger that the God of War, Ares. Naturally, this was not possible, since all of the 9 supreme gods were of more or less equal standing, while there was no evil gods or devils stronger than the 9 supreme gods. There was only the Quaternity of creation, who created everything, which included the two angels who must not be named, and the two overlords who cannot be named.
This was the basic teachings all humans received to know the ranking of gods, and not be misled or coaxed into believing some devil or evil god.
While Mason was being checked up on by Priest Arth, and being detained for further investigation, Alice Bard was meeting up with her newly assigned squad.
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The First Corridor of Old Works
But what is it, really? Old Works. They say, some do anyway, or would, if they still had tongues - it's a dream. That it's a million year old mystery connecting three planets. Some, yet other, anonymous entities, charge that it's a structure, more accurately, an architecture - a quest, even, made from, and through - corridors. Pretty inarguably, for one thing, it's a maze. Even some pronounce, if you can understand those currently vomiting blood, that it's a corporation, and yet others - the brave ones – and dead - say it's... near death. Or that it is. Death. - Death itself. But that dark thing on the horizon, that thing emerging to replace the only system we... know. - Whatever it is it couldn't be the end, of everything, could it? Eminently possible, but - it couldn't be worse? 3 civilisations/3 planets... and Old Works. 4 heroes: The Cyclops seeing out his Eye the reality of that place - and by means of that vision - greasing the many-toothed gears of that great old churning nightmare. The Writer sweating to keep the story alive that supports the great old lying structure. The Fake King who abides among all those tunnels of dreams and lies and dreams and... slaves. And the Hero Dreamt, all those slaves - to maintain that structure's even functioning, have to - at all... they dream him. They literally dream him. But that thing, from whence, who knows, arriving? What kind of sick demonic mind could even - But it can only be psychosis - Or possession. Reducing all of reality to some kind of – what would you call it? A Game? A video... joke? And that half-Cyclops, that beauty – what does she have growing – beneath her supernatural genitals? A game for him? A game/a dream; a – world? Or just Old Works. And this Wound in reality – that our writer near-died putting inside her. What is it anyway? And what reality does it bring with it. This demon or God. Through the corridors; lattices of smoke and shadows and colours; dungeons; and supernatural organs; the labyrinths made from dreams... and flesh. - What happens when they face that Wound – staring the absolute. right. in. them? - Through - What happens to all us... slaves... then? But at the end of the hallway, you see it there, I say you do, that turning - It's only the First Corridor of Old Works. This finished 104,000 word kind of LITRPGy fantasy novel, the First Corridor of Old Works will be released in daily 2000 word chapters, or equivalent [unfailingly at 20:47 GMT] Immediately followed by the Second Corridor of Old Works [161,000 words, edited, ongoing, as of 24/09/21] At first lite on stats these LITRPGy elements will become increasingly - built meticulously upon what precedes - ubiquitous, as we proceed into a world painstakingly built to support these mechanisms. After - minimum - 6 months, this manic daily release schedule will be somewhat relaxed: 5 days a week. - But don't lie to yourself it's not there. That thing watching at the end of the hallway... and where it leads. It's - Of countless, it could only be - The First Corridor of Old Works.
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