The Insane Regressor: Throne of Pride

Ravian continued between the tents, carrying the container before him in both hands as a white window opened in his awareness, familiar red veins branching along its edges.

[Sovereign Paradox.]

[First Function: Fate Selection.]

This was his first time using the mysterious ability, and he intended to rely heavily on it tonight rather than leave matters to chance, which was what Ravian hated most.

Now he had to use Absolute Focus to simulate possible futures, then force what could happen to become reality.

Part of his attention shifted into his mental world, where he reconstructed the camp as he had seen it: the positions of the tents and fires, and the distance between the large pot and the commander’s tent. The details he knew appeared clearly, while everything he had not seen remained beyond the image’s boundaries, and within it he began arranging the outcomes the mixture in his hands might bring about.

The first possibility was temptingly simple: the commander and its followers would eat at the feast, succumb to the sedative, and leave Ravian facing a camp whose soldiers could barely stand, let alone hold their weapons.

But his attention settled on the Eighth-Rank orc.

He recalled the movement that Absolute Focus had barely given him a chance to react to, then the sound of the bones in his arms shattering. The strength that had done that to him resided in the very body he now wanted to force into submission through the sedative, and selecting its collapse would not become easy simply because the image looked appealing in his mind.

The pressure on his soul increased as he tried to hold on to that outcome, so he loosened his grip before the sensation could turn into a real drain on his energy.

’Yes, I get it, you want me to pay for him separately, too. But that would really complicate things.’

The simplest possibility was proving difficult to realize, so Ravian had to find another.

He moved on, and the images rearranged themselves before him; the commander’s tent remained in place, but now Ravian imagined approaching it after the camp had quieted down, taking advantage of the guards’ drowsiness and Shiro’s appearance, which would not immediately invite questions.

This time, the black dagger was in his hand, and he also had Void Shadow to conceal his presence further, making him almost impossible to detect.

He only needed to reach the commander while it slept and find an opportunity for his blade to strike a vital spot before the commander woke.

Ravian studied the image with interest, then narrowed his eyes.

There were more troubling gaps in this imagined future than he liked, appearing as dark spots that left him with little confidence in its success. He did not know how alert the orc remained in its sleep, nor whether its aura would leave the opening he envisioned, and the ability gave him no answers to either question. The possibilities he was examining were built on what he knew, leaving him to deal with the unknowns when he reached them.

He disliked putting his neck at the mercy of another appealing assumption, and he had no desire to hunt down more Seeds of the Fourteen Taboos just to keep fulfilling the requirement of ten additional lives in reserve.

He set that path aside for the moment and considered others, though he did not dismiss it entirely.

He envisioned one possibility in which several soldiers failed to answer their commander’s call, and another in which the camp took longer to recognize what had happened because the orcs attributed their lethargy to exhaustion and full stomachs. In a different possibility, the elite fighters’ attention shifted to their soldiers, opening routes he had been unable to reach during his previous two attempts.

Each image had its conditions, and every outcome he added to the list of things he wanted guaranteed increased the spiritual energy Sovereign Paradox demanded to impose it. Strangely, some of the futures turned completely black, indicating that he could not bring them about with his current authority regardless of the price he paid, even if that price was death. Ravian suspected that a third party might intervene if he pursued one of those possibilities, so he quickly discarded them.

This ability was far more difficult to use than he had imagined, and the risks were enormous.

Ravian reconsidered what he wanted, beginning this time with the action already within his reach.

The mixture was ready, the feast was expected, and he wore the face of the cook they trusted.

He could work on the rest once things began.

That idea gathered into another path, and a window appeared above it with a title that immediately caught his eye.

[Future: A Historic First for the Orc Race.]

’A chance to leave my mark? On history, too?’ The brown eyes of his orcish guise flashed brilliant crimson for an instant before returning to normal as a smile spread across his face. ’Exactly my type.’

The corners of his mouth rose until he had to lower his face toward the container to hide his smile from two orcs passing nearby.

Then he continued reading the details associated with the path, considerably more interested than he had been before its name appeared.

It began with his mixture reaching the soldiers as part of the feast and being accepted as a natural component of the food Shiro had prepared. The opportunities he wanted could branch out from that beginning, without requiring him to expend his authority now to force the commander into sleep or decree its death before he even reached it.

His gaze settled on the image of himself standing before the pot.

This was a step whose causes he understood, one he knew how to bring about and could personally observe as it unfolded.

As for the title the System had chosen for the entire path, it gave him another reason to make sure he brought it to an ending worthy of the name.

’All right, this is what I want.’

[Selected possibility retained.]

The other images folded away, leaving his chosen path at the edge of his awareness, waiting for the moment he would impose its beginning. A faint weight settled deep within his soul, as though he were holding something he must not release, and he returned his full attention to the clearing opening up before him.

...

The fire was burning beneath the enormous pot, smoke rising among the orcs moving around it with bowls and cooking utensils. Ravian saw one trying to elbow another out of its spot, while a third leaned over the rim to sniff the contents before drawing back with a complaint about the heat.

As soon as he appeared among them, the orc who had come looking for him in the storeroom turned toward him.

”Shiro! Where have you been? They’re waiting.”

Ravian raised the container slightly and advanced until the orc had to step aside.

”I think they can wait until I’ve finished preparing their food.”

He glanced into the pot, where chunks of meat shifted in the hot liquid, then reached for the long stirring paddle held by one of his underlings.

The orc handed it over immediately, though its eyes remained on the container Ravian carried.

”What’s that?”

Ravian gave it a sidelong glance, then opened the lid.

”The reason I spent all that time in the storeroom.”

The scent of spices reached the nearby orc, and it leaned closer before apparently remembering that Shiro was still waiting for it to move aside. It took half a step back as Ravian lifted the container over the rim of the pot and began adding the mixture to the food.

He watched the spot where it disappeared, sensing the possibility he had retained drawing closer to the event he had shaped it for.

One hand poured while the other stirred, and the soldiers around him waited for the cook to finish his work.

Then he imposed his choice, fixing that opening outcome.

A sharp tug passed through the depths of his soul, making his smile falter for a moment as his fingers tightened around the handle until the sensation subsided. The System’s windows remained hidden from everyone around him, and the flames did not change color; the food continued turning beneath his hand as smoke rose before his face once more.

Ravian finished his work, set the empty container aside, and returned the stirring paddle to the orc he had taken it from.

”Stir the bottom too, and don’t let all the meat settle down there.”

The orc obeyed while Ravian turned to the rest of Shiro’s underlings gathered around the pot.

”Where are the dishes? Are you planning to make the whole camp stand here and eat from the same pot?”

Two of them went to fetch the bowls stacked near one of the tents, while a third bent to lift a broad wooden tray. Ravian watched them, then indicated where he wanted it placed and began arranging their positions so they would not get in one another’s way.

Food began moving from the pot into the dishes, and the soldiers’ voices rose when they saw the first tray leave the clearing.

Shiro’s underlings knew their work, and only a few instructions were needed before the serving settled into an orderly rhythm: one filled the dishes, another arranged them, and the others carried them to the orcs waiting between the tents.

Ravian stood beside the pot and watched, the satisfaction he had worn when leaving the storeroom returning to his face as the first portions of the feast moved away from the fire in his underlings’ hands.

And the future began to take a different course, one it was never meant to follow, setting in motion an event without precedent in this world’s history—one that would undoubtedly cause an enormous uproar in time...