—
Answering his maids and Cerys one by one, Gustave waited for the probability of hitting the albino baldy with White Frost to appear. Suddenly, he jumped out of his chair in joy, nearly bouncing his food off the table. Shouting at the sky, he flipped off O'Dimm once again.
"Hah! Take that, you spoon-fetish baldhead! Eat that, straight from my first ancestor's cold ass!"
"Gustave?! What is happening to you?! You're talking to yourself again!"
Expanding his spirituality with his Elder Blood [Knowledge] ability until it covered half of Cintra, he saw four bald individuals suddenly vanish into thin air. Instead of answering Cerys, Gustave only laughed maniacally.
There was no spectacular projection of gods or demons in the sky, but knowing how hard it would be for them to search—among infinite timelines and parallel universes—for the one responsible for the chaos in the Ethereal Plane, Gustave knew his method was working.
The moment he felt his Elder Blood grow stronger—signaling that his ancient grandmother, Lara Dorren, had finally managed to catch her breath—and the moment four bald individuals vanished from Cintra, or perhaps from the entire multiverse, he knew for certain that his karmic scale had finally come into balance.
After giving the Ethereal Plane a taste of what he and mortal families had endured—just as they had in his world, and perhaps in countless others—being manipulated into a chaotic state, Gustave suddenly found himself in a good mood.
He imagined the fireworks going off in O'Dimm's domain, knowing it wasn't just a single White Frost arriving, but an infinite number of them. After all, if even one instance of White Frost slipped in, then infinite parallel universes could easily do the same.
And since he knew that gods and demons in the Ethereal Plane operated under higher concepts—where "infinite" might be nothing more than a countable number—Gustave was still satisfied with what he had accomplished.
Because maybe an infinite number of Winter Queen variants descending upon O'Dimm was on the same level as the devil's own infinite tier, resulting in the bald bastard suffocating under a countless barrage of attacks he would be forced to endure—an image so absurd that it made Gustave laugh out loud.
And since Gustave knew the White Frost's nature was to spread, he also knew it would hit O'Dimm's neighbors and allies as well, creating a cacophony of chaos and confusion.
So, knowing that his method of transporting fragments of White Frost from countless universes into O'Dimm's bald head had succeeded, Gustave finally answered Cerys by raising a cup of Cintrian Plum Brandy—entirely unsuitable for their age—in a triumphant toast.
"It's because something monumental just happened, Cerys. Something monumental. Here's to our success—you four for your recovery, you, Cerys, for becoming my betrothed, and me for balancing the karma. Aen adhart! Aen daetre! Aen 'ere! To our fortune!"
"Um… okay. Aen adhart! Aen daetre! Aen 'ere! To our fortune!"
Just like that, after throwing the Ethereal Plane into chaos, Gustave went back to chatting with his maids and Cerys—mostly about what they wanted to do in the future. But when the four maids insisted on accompanying him everywhere, he firmly rejected the idea, saying that he could take care of himself now.
Instead, he instructed them to handle his side businesses, knowing he wanted to focus his mind on research. He shared all kinds of economic and quality-of-life modern knowledge with them—because, just as he had planned back then, he would not gatekeep such things. In the end, it was also for his own comfort, so there was no point in keeping it secret.
So with the four of them remaining in Cintra, he decided his next destination would be his mother—so he could help repair the state of his homeland.
A homeland that had been trapped in constant thunderstorms for the past year, ever since the spread of the Eternal Fire pantheon books written by his mother, inspired by him. And although he had helped with an irrigation system that Alvin reinforced with Rune Magic, he knew it still wasn't enough to shield the land from the wrath of the gods.
So he also wanted to contribute physically, so that his mother, the newly joined House of Raven, and the many scholars in Lyria and Rivia could finally take a breather.
And considering that the constant rainfall brought by Kreve had made Lyria and Rivia unsuitable for growing crops—and that it was only because of Calanthe's generosity that the common folk weren't starving—he decided to research and find a solution from that angle, so his homeland would no longer rely on others to feed themselves.
As for why he didn't do to Kreve what he did to O'Dimm, it was because—among the many gods and demons—Kreve was the only one who was very close to him across infinite timelines.
Although he knew that some parallel worlds might also have been hit by the same event, making it harder to find the real culprit behind the destruction of Kreve's intended destiny—like searching for a needle in a familiar haystack—he also knew that this was the only world that actually had him in it.
All other worlds did not, except in the 0-Points-Googleplex—no, the 0-Points-Googol—past and future, because it was only within this tiny timeframe that he existed.
So, aside from sending all kinds of ideas and solutions—nudging the timeline with various pieces of informational entropy to the ancestors of the Continent's monarchs who could still communicate with their descendants in real life—using his Elder Blood [Recall] ability, there was nothing else he could do.
So he simply hoped that, with the little help he had offered, he would be able to spare the innocent bystanders in this great game of destiny, and that Kreve would eventually leave the worlds that did not contain him alone.
Because he knew that, unlike O'Dimm—who was still searching for him across infinite parallel universes—Kreve was the only one on the verge of finding him.
And because he could not simply halt his progress out of fear of the gods, he chose to turtle up and defend himself until he either found a solution or Kreve stepped back from the entropy-laden chaos he had nudged into motion—chaotic entropy that put Kreve at an increasing disadvantage as time went on.
Maybe once the cat was out of the bag, he could strike with full force. But for now, since there was still time for him and his kingdom to grow, he simply waited patiently until the time came to bare his fangs.
And because he knew that continuing on this path could stir fanatics into a frenzy—branding Lyria and Rivia as cursed lands after finally seeing real, tangible evidence of the gods' power—it also alarmed monarchs across the world by proving that divinity could, in fact, touch the mortal realm.
So he wasn't worried about the fanatics. He knew that once nobles, merchants, and monarchs realized gods and demons could make mortals suffer, those in power would do anything to halt the spread of any faith.
Coupled with the informational entropy he sent to the ancestors of the Continent's monarchs—those who could still communicate with their descendants in real life—he knew the effect would be amplified, making people in power far more wary of divine intervention.
To the point that he knew there would be no more Witch Hunts in any timeline if Kreve continued his interference—or worse—making mortals who held power and influence in the real world turn to magic for everything.
And that shift alone would force all of Kreve's allies to pressure him into backing down and accepting the loss of chess pieces in the great board game of destiny.
Because once all mortals—not just those in his infinite timelines—became able to wield magic, their concern would no longer be limited to him alone; countless new geniuses would rise like mushrooms, capable of doing the same thing and forcing gods and demons into suffocation.
—
So, after saying goodbye to his four maids, Gustave decided to make a brief visit to Zoltan—Cerys at his side. Not only that, he also brought along a jar-bowl fish containing Veyopatis, leaving Morrigan in his maids' care.
As for why he left Morrigan there, it was because he realized he wouldn't gain much by questioning them about what had happened in the Ethereal Plane. Their memories seemed to have been erased, leaving only a handful of instinctive reactions he already knew from his earlier divination. So he didn't put too much focus on them.
Arriving at Zoltan's shop, he heard the dwarf swearing while hammering a horseshoe, and at that moment he knew these three years had shaped Zoltan—from an inexperienced, ignorant youth full of adventurous spirit—into the Zoltan he knew from the books and games.
Ting, ting, ting.
"Sheit deep it is—right fucking gobbly dick, are ye, Zoltan? Had good food, good house, good women, and ye threw all that sheit away."
Ting, ting, ting.
"Not a blade sold, nor armor sold—now ye've a shitestorm of nails and galloway cob shoes. Brains of a damp boot, that's what ye've got, ye crag-noggin' Chivay."
Ting, ting, ting.
"Like the elders ordained the silver mined that Da left you, ye bugger—left for kingdoms filled with sounder local hammermen. You withered arse, spillin' damned coddled, overly-fed—Ah! A customer! Come, come, cast yer eye o'er what I've hammered up."
Looking over what Zoltan had made—Witcher-standard Silver Swords, Steel Swords, and hunting knives with basic runes already imprinted using a crude, beginner-level Sigil framework—Gustave guessed this might be Geralt's usual order.
The sort of weapons a protagonist's father would request when hunting drowners, nekkers, harpies, or any monster that relied on swarming tactics, so the best Steel and Silver Swords wouldn't be damaged when facing heavier foes.
And knowing Geralt might be the dwarf's only real customer—because Ciri's destiny convergence had a strong pulling force on anyone she considered an ally across countless timelines—Gustave realized in that instant that even if Zoltan wasn't the best blacksmith in town, he was the best the world could offer for what he needed.
The one who could become his right hand in creating true steampunk creations, because the research of an era that would span centuries—or even epochs—research approaching Elder Blood complexity, couldn't be accomplished by him alone.
For the simple reason that, just as Einstein may have established the physics, the atomic bomb still required a collective of scientists—like those in the Manhattan Project—true implementation demands more than a single mind.
And because he now wanted to focus on the physics-formula side of things—especially since what he planned to build had no existing equations for amplifier parameters—Gustave looked into Zoltan's eyes, now filled with frustration and helplessness, clearly showing the dwarf had been struck hard by the realities of the world outside Mahakam.
But for now, because they were still just strangers, he decided to take it slow when introducing his vision—especially considering that he essentially wanted to build a Casimir Piston Engine.
A project that required deep scientific knowledge of quantum mechanics, or more specifically, quantum behavior within the zero-point vacuum field—so that when he eventually created steam armor, he wouldn't need a massive battery just to make the armor move and function.
Coincidentally, since the Mahakaman Ale Festival was just around the corner and he wanted to forge allies with the mountain kingdom, Gustave decided—for now—to simply give the dwarf a jackhammer design, easing their relationship and paving the way for the deep bond he hoped to build.
All while knowing full well that the research he intended to pursue was so sensitive that his potential enemies were gods and demons themselves—not just mere sorceresses, guilds, or nations anymore.
"Dwarf. I am Prince Gustave. Son of Enlightened Queen of Lyria and Rivia. Here I have a blueprint that will change the world in the field of mining forever. I won't beat around the bush, I don't need a blacksmith that is the best that this world has to offer, but my realms needed the one that is trustworthy and loyal."
Pausing, and looking seriously into Zoltan's eyes—because for this quantum science, he couldn't treat it lightly—Gustave continued, "So, dwarf… I will ask you this just one time. Are you willing to shape the future?"
Zoltan's eyes widened, his heart thumping wildly—maybe out of fear at seeing a prince, or maybe from the sheer excitement of realizing this tall boy wasn't bullshitting, especially after hearing rumors of Meve's son being extraordinarily intelligent. Zoltan couldn't form coherent thoughts, so he simply cursed and blurted out what he was thinking.
"By Rhundurin's beards… did me noggin get smacked by an anvil this mornin'? Did meself drown in grog ale—one pint too many of late?"
Rubbing his cheeks in disbelief, he continued to curse, "For the tits of Melitele, is this wee fuss afoot to me as goat arsewipe is to a clarinet?"
Feeling something amiss, he shook his head and continued, "No, this feels more like shite herring rotting in Pontar soapy water. Me prick's blood rushin', fit as a dog in heat. Luck's gone sideways, standin' knee-deep in shite—"
"Dwarf. Focus. I am asking a simple yes or no. Yes, and I will show you my blueprint. No, and I will be on my way. So, what's your answer?"
One second, two seconds, three seconds—Zoltan's brain short-circuited. The dwarf automatically dropped to one knee, just like whenever Calanthe came down to meet the common folk in the square.
"Aye, Your Majesty. Aye, I'll work for ye. With me payin' full taxes, every coin, on the dot, so—"
Then, realizing he had used an improper title reserved only for the monarch and had treated the prince as he would Queen Calanthe out of impulse, he quickly got up, coughing awkwardly, and nodded, repeating what he had said as if nothing had happened.
"My meanin', aye, Prince Gustave… I'll work for ye if what ye say is true. Me Mahakaman hands can mark a secret oath in the book o' pledge, if ye've somethin' to be hammerin' for."
Shaking his head, Zoltan's voice at first carried resignation but soon turned to conviction as he continued, "But… apologies, Your Highness… I shan't promise loyalty tae any soul. I want freedom—the freedom to do things me own way."
Seeing the adventurous, rebellious conviction still in Zoltan's eyes—the same fire he had before coming down from the mountain to prove to his parents he could live outside Mahakam—Gustave dropped the sovereign pretense and smiled, saying,
"That's enough for me. Anyway, Zoltan, right? Come, let me draw you something that we'll build together. This is something I'm currently working on, and it can revolutionize the folk way of mining."
After a couple of minutes of drawing the oldest jackhammer design—using steam-powered pneumatic technology but modified with Runestone for the pneumatic system, making it like a modern version that could be carried anywhere—he heard the dwarf shrieking, his brain short-circuiting just like before, but this time out of blood-rushing excitement:
"By Rhundurin's beards!!! This!!! This!!! This!!!"
Thud!
Before the dwarf collapsed unconscious, a giddy smile was still plastered across his face, for Gustave knew that one of the kind who could truly appreciate technology in all its glory, in every universe of sagas, were these four-foot-tall, stocky, muscular mountain folk dwarven races.
—
References may break immersion. Just go ahead to the next chapter.
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References
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I'll look for the exact reference later when I have some free time, because I'm on holiday.
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The Mahakaman Ale Festival is a festival that happens every dozen years or so and allows people to climb up into Mahakam and enter the realm, which is usually closed to ordinary folk.
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Rhundurin is a legendary dwarf blacksmith, the first one to create Sihil.
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