Assimilate All Talents

Sol wiped the fresh blood dripping down from his face. He took a deep breath and looked at the remains of the Chosen Slayer before him.

‘Finally got it. Maybe it would have been easier if I used [Overpower], but it was better this way.’

He reflected that using it earlier might have left him less injured and could have ended the battle sooner, but he had hesitated. It was his final trump card, and it left him exhausted afterward. With Full Spectrum from [Polychromatism] still on cooldown, he’d be helpless if he encountered something stronger later on.

Besides, [Overpower] wouldn’t have increased the Tynamo Cannon’s power, only expedited the destruction of the cannons and other defenses.

Looking once more at the Chosen Slayer’s remains, he wondered, ‘I don’t think I got to see that unknown skill. Maybe it was its power source? And its name… Why would anyone create something specifically to kill Chosen?’

Chosen were those blessed by the gods, becoming much stronger than others. Sol hadn’t met any Chosen himself, but they were generally considered representatives of the gods. Creating something to kill Chosen would be seen as blasphemy.

‘Unless… it’s meant to kill Harbingers?’

From what Diana had told him, Harbingers were exactly like Chosen, except they were selected by Outer Gods. If the Chosen Slayer was designed to kill Harbingers, that would explain its purpose.

Sol wanted to rest, but he knew this place wasn’t safe. With the Chosen Slayer defeated, he feared the waves of puppets might resume, or something equally strong might arrive to finish him off.

He took out another health potion, drank it, and as the cool liquid revitalized his body and accelerated his regeneration, he began making his way back to the entrance to regroup with the away team.

Or at least, he tried to. He had only taken a few steps when he heard heavy footsteps echoing through the area. He turned toward the sound and saw a puppet twice the size of those he had encountered before. Unlike the others, this one looked significantly worn down. It had clearly replaced parts, those appeared newer, but its torso and head seemed untouched since the day they were made.

Sol watched cautiously, ready to run if necessary, but soon realized the puppet wasn’t even looking at him. It ran toward the remains of the Chosen Slayer in a panic, inspecting the wreckage in a strangely human like manner.

As it examined the debris, it muttered to itself, “No no no… Merdi! Suus confrig fractul!”

It then turned toward Sol and stomped over, yelling, “Qui est tum problic?! Parqu tum destuc et?!”

The puppet continued with a long rant, leaving Sol tilting his head in confusion, unable to understand a word. But even without comprehending the exact phrases, the puppet's gestures and tone made it clear: it was furious.

‘Clearly not like the other puppets, and it’s not hostile, yet. Maybe I can reason with it?’

Meeting the first possibly sentient being in the ancient dwarven city, Sol decided to let the puppet get everything off its chest. When it finally stopped, it tapped its metal foot, as if waiting for an explanation.

Scratching his head awkwardly, Sol said, “Yeah. I have no idea what you're saying.”

Upon hearing his response, the puppet trembled in place, trying to hold back its anger. But ultimately, it failed.

“FUCK! And you wait till now to say that?! Why didn’t you say anything ten minutes ago?!”

It launched into another rant, this time in a language Sol understood. He had been right about the profanities. Now, he could fully grasp how much the puppet cursed him, his ancestors, and even his future descendants. Not a single member of Sol’s past or future family tree was spared from the puppet’s wrath.

“And screw your great great great granddaughter too! I hope she suffers eternally with the feeling of wanting to sneeze but never being able to!”

At first, the puppet’s curses involved unimaginable pain or tragedy, but after a while, it began running out of ideas and started cursing random inconveniences. After a full ten minutes, it finally calmed down.

“You good?” Sol asked, unable to read its emotions from its metallic face.

The puppet stood silent for a moment, then nodded with a long sigh, despite not being able to breathe. “Yeah. It’s just… fuck, why did you completely destroy it?”

“Well… it tried to kill me.”

“That’s because YOU broke in here! It’s an automated defense system, for gods’ sake!”

“In our defense, we thought this place was abandoned. We—” Sol began explaining, but the puppet interrupted him, finding his words ridiculous.

“Abandoned?! HAH! Your gods may think they killed all the Azrem Dwarves, but I still live! And as long as I live, the Azrem Dwarves will never die!”

"Our gods? What are you talking about?"

"The God of Thunder, the God of Bliss, the Goddess of Lust, and so on. The Outer Gods. Don't try to deny it, you're even speaking in their language. So I guess they sent you here to finish the job… took you long enough."

Sol’s eyes widened in surprise. Many pieces of the puzzle started falling into place, but for now, he had to clear up the misunderstanding.

“I think I need to catch you up on a few things…”

Though Sol didn’t know everything, he had been slowly piecing together the past and the war against the Outer Gods. To someone who had been stuck in that time for countless years, there was a lot to explain.

“So, everyone eventually learned the universal common language so they could understand the system… You know, that language used to be reserved for the upper echelons of society. Now, to hear that it’s spoken even in the most remote villages… Time really does change things.”

The puppet sounded both amazed and a little melancholic, realizing that the world it once knew no longer existed. While relieved that the war had eventually been won, it seemed uncertain whether it still had a place in this new world.

“What year is it again?” the puppet asked.

“518. Two months away from 519.”

“Even the calendar was reset…”