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I used to be a bard, a vital mber of a Hero's party. While the heroes were busy soaking up all the aggro and blood at the front, I was in the back, ensuring the vibes were immaculate.
By that, I an I was the hype man. I recorded their "grand glory" (mostly embellishing their diocre scuffles) to secure sponsorships from bored nobles and wealthy rchants. My silver tongue was legendary. How else do you think I ended up in so many silk-sheeted beds of lonely duchesses telling "bedti stories"? It was public service, really—comforting the parched souls of the wealthy while keeping the party's potion stash full.
But the era of the Hero is ending. The demon race has started "cleaning up their act"—investing in real estate and trade instead of world domination. Heroes are finding themselves structurally unemployed. Recently, my party officially disbanded. Those bastards either inherited estates or married into royalty, leaving behind.
"I just wanted to be their stepdad! Is that so much to ask?" I cursed, holding an elf girl close in a tavern.
Sitting across from , Stanke—a scruffy but high-ranking Adventurer—looked at with a mix of pity and judgnt. Between us sat Zel, a blond elf with a permanent look of disdain.
We stepped out of the tavern, realizing it was a "plain" establishnt. Why make the sign so flashy if there's no "extra service"? It's deceptive marketing.
"I don't get you two," Zel sneered. "Drinking with old hags? It's revolting."
"How is she old? She's barely forty," I countered. Stanke high-fived in agreent.
"They are five hundred years old!" Zel's mouth twitched. As a long-lived species, his perspective was warped. To him, our "young" human ladies were ancient, while he preferred... well, at that mont, a thick female voice called out.
"Oh my, Zel!"
"Miss Guanghui!" Zel's face lit up with a look that could only be described as predatory. Miss Guanghui was a human woman with enough wrinkles to crush a fly. To us, she was a hag; to Zel, she was "just the right amount of tender."
"I think I'm going to be sick," I whispered to Stanke.
After Zel left for his "appointnt," I decided to wash my eyes by calling two fresh elf girls for myself. As I fell into a deep, exhausted sleep, my consciousness drifted...
"Where am I? Transmigrated again? No!!"
Playboy Kael panicked. He still had so many races to "explore"! But a hand patted his shoulder.
"You're certainly enjoying yourself," a youth in avant-garde Piltover gear said.
Two more newcors had arrived. Titan Kael was the last to sync. As soon as he completed the mory interaction with Playboy Kael, his expression froze. A surge of envy and fury erupted.
"BEAT HIM UP!!" Titan Kael roared.
"We're on the sa side! Sharing benefits!" Playboy Kael shouted, retreating.
In an ordinary prosthetic shop on the comrcial streets of Piltover, Store Manager Coron Levick worked his clockwork magic. He was introverted, but his daughter, Orianna, was the darling of the street—an exquisite, doll-like girl with golden hair.
Recently, Coron had adopted an orphan from ancient Ionia. His na was a tongue-twister, so the locals just called him Kael.
"Kael," Orianna whispered, tickling Kael's nose with her hair as he lay in bed. When he didn't budge, she slid her cold hands under the blanket to his warm belly.
"I've got you now, Little Anna," Kael laughed, catching her and pinching her chubby cheeks until she squealed for rcy.
"Breakfast is ready!" Coron called from below.
Kael pushed open the window. The fierce winter wind hit him, but he felt no chill. The Power of Ten Kael's now surged through his young fra. He was a boy who looked like an apprentice, but he possessed enough raw torque to hamr a troll into paste.
Coron had adopted Kael not just as a companion for Orianna, but because the boy was a verified genius. His learning ability made Coron's eyes light up. Little did Coron know that his apprentice was now backed by the collective knowledge of nine other versions of himself.
"These gears need polishing," Coron said, pointing out flaws in the clockwork.
Coron wasn't a great teacher—his terminology was obscure and archaic. Usually, Kael would have to ask Orianna for tutoring. But now? Before his brain even processed the words, his fingertips instinctively responded.
Kael held up a gear. Its precision was flawless, matching Coron's own master-level craftsmanship. The old chanic stood dazed, shaking his beard in disbelief.
"Well done... finish the rest," Coron muttered, walking away in shock.
Kael looked at the cold tal. To his eyes, the edges and shafts seed to vibrate with life, clashing with his multiversal knowledge to create endless sparks of inspiration.
Damn, I really am a genius.
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