Reincarnated as a Duck: A beast progression litrpg isekai-Chapter 286 - 277: No escape

Fruits and similar natural treasures possessed many valuable properties and diverse roots of origins. Thanks to their potential breeding and farming, their presence in the market and fables helped meet their needs, establishing a constant cycle.

For many people, they were nothing but treasures worthy of less specialization, as they could be everyday items to quench hunger, create dishes for the masses, or just food for animals. These were typical outer items, and many beings loved them.

Then, there were those who preferred not to, for reliance on anything outside wasn't always a clever thing to do. It was how nature assembled its normalcy, and there was nothing wrong with people who moved against nature by using its natural resources and harnessing them into unique powers, or abusing them all. 𝒻𝑟𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝑛𝘰𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝘤𝘰𝘮

For as long as life and Divides ruled supreme, everything was fair, even if it wasn't. Living beings were all ingredients at the end and the start of their existence, and whoever might be consumed or dead because of that wasn't always up to nature's calls.

The cultivation of advancement and power often despised such callings. They wanted to be better. Perfect! Masters of their own accord!

In the Battleworld, where many effects had various faces and tales, ingredients, natural treasures, and courses of magic broke and ruled varying principles. Even when a large amount of prejudice and chains marked every blasted life.

Alchemy was a fantastic profession for that reason, and had many subdivisions, creating opportunities for about every kind of craftsmanship, gathering, or natural science.

That raised many items to a completely different level and either reduced actions to nothing or propelled an individual beyond their norms. In nature, it was the same.

Nothing was stopping the hands of men and demons from this sort of power. For some, it was all they had. Then, when the worlds weren't against anything and instead gifted effort to Chaos, dreams were often fruitless.

Nobody should blame it. Nothing could stop it, except for the discourse of nature and mana, or the level of talent guiding these principles.

Within that privileged yet deeply rooted domain were many old and historical fronts. Herbalists worked with a wide range of materials, brewing herbs with unique properties or combining seeds and flowers to create Mana Essences, Soul Essences, and other by-products of magic.

Then, there were tea-makers in a big weirder vision of Alchemy. They were close to Herbalists, but their focus on brews from their experimentations and various materials could turn even a moron into a genius.

It was a Battleworld-driven matter because professions weren't ever taken lightly. They could push and create talents and turn improper lands upside down.

Farmers were the most ridiculous example of turning common sense from something common in mortal castles into something worthy of investments. Even the Gods couldn't disregard such things, as nature birthed what it could or took it back.

And if it couldn't do anything, then a person made it their own, or something different.

Playing games of creation was as old as some cursed lands and planets, and the point of resisting was futile. Those clever enough to know what could be would never refuse this continuous idea, which made these professions very important for every God, let alone in mortal lands or their nations.

Nobody would refuse the gold mines coming from talented masters who could handle these wonders. They were making implausible things possible.

Such were the arts of creation, which required talent. Money couldn't always do that, yet the need for money was a vicious cycle of business, worth, and transactions. Without that, talents wouldn't blossom. Without cycles of force and nature, it wouldn't be possible.

In fact, exploiting the heavens' nature or going against it felt like a splendid idea for those defying the heavens or living without caring for them. It wasn't about those seeking the greatest power and Authority imaginable, or looking for the Divides. But it was close.

Alchemy was full of little tricky professions that allowed many Paths to shine, and they could shift well beyond the right hands of the past. Like fuels and flames, there were many qualities and quantities, either stemming from the intellect, errors, learning, or effort.

Abilities could overlap, making them stronger when used properly and giving a person or even a beast massive potential. Thanks to the art of constructs and fusion possibilities, mana essences might fuse together, evolve into more substantial and denser clusters, and shine as the natural heavens intended.

Frankly, nature did provide that possibility, even if it were people who forced...well, they discovered it was possible, so perhaps it was natural and fair to play with such things.

It could be all fair and square if one looked for every answer at a right angle, for nature acted like it and did its bidding from the Beginning of Everything.

It was a weird matter of perspective. No luck. Not looking would be baseless. One had to look and see to it all, and all sorts of cultures found their own answers and perspectives in this convincing, or sometimes flawed, truth.

Many things became possible from a single event, yet that event had everything layered to great depth, so that one's mind couldn't imagine what living meant at its beginning or end.

It was coherent and reasonable to continue to defy or fix everything, but wasn't the course of nature an endless pursuit of perfection, hence the endurance? Wasn't mana exactly like that? It was perpetual, and in every clever point and everything alive, everything was trying to look at it the same way.

No normal human could do anything to such a status, so when one was considered inhuman, closer to Gods or even those with Laws, what did it mean to seek reasons and secrets?

Growth. Expansions. Power.

The universe was doing it all on its own, yet it was a massive, intricate machine and a wild jungle with countless beings who had to adapt to it, get lost, find their End, or overcome it at all costs.

Adapting and learning were about power, and that was one truth that Razmund had understood years ago. Without it, he would be nothing. And even with a bit of it, he felt like nothing, but he couldn't just stop and pretend to be that.

Razmund had accepted all kinds of tools ever since he could remember. Pistols, bayonets, and even military knife had their purposes. Tools required motions and experiences, and like cutting a ham, using them was their purpose.

Alone, what would they do? What was nature's purpose?

What about those so-called heavens that many beings in this shitty world anointed as tangible threads? It wasn't about Fate. Fuck that shit.

Heaven was just a word for Razmund. A term that had its validation in history, yet what of it if the Gods weren't even allowed to walk on the soil of this planet? Were they weak, or was the whole point of power just a different kind of chained existence?

He knew one of the strongest weapons known to men, and most of them didn't need complicated work. The threat alone was a weapon. Words, authority, and power had palpable and sometimes transcendental issues that worked on the minds and actions of all sorts of shitheads.

Rulers did all kinds of shit over those weaker than them, yet at the top, all kinds of shit were allowed because winners dictated the rules.

It was an irrefutable claim in the Battleworld. It almost shattered his beliefs, yet tell it to the Blessed with another life behind them. Was it bad, or worse, or close to a passable life? It was hard to tell; most of the Blessed hardly talked about their first life unless they had to or wanted to.

Instruments. That word had its services, almost like blood, or distant memories, or pictures in a book. Treasures had to be used, unlike life, or they wouldn't be worth calling them treasures. They would be just dust, forgotten and soon to be anything.

Adaptation, rather than encountering tools along his journey, had to be stoic, or at least recognized, unhinged, and superior. Razmund learned that the hard way in this case.

How? By killing things, of course. People too. It wasn't by hatred. Some were close to that, he knew. People kill people all the fucking time for all sorts of fucked up reasons.

Animals always do it without a shred of hesitation, as that was what was natural in their power.

Razmund believed intellect made it worse for a reason, giving people a sense of duty that might be foolish, so there was no sense in that.

Perhaps it no longer mattered what was right, since what was proper or natural was never meant to be fair.

This world was strange, and he lived on it for more than two decades. Two shitty and longer decades, for that matter, and more than he would ever expect.

Razmund wished to see reasons in that. A way in these struggles for morality, or mortality, but he wouldn't watch it all the freaking time. Not before he would be content with who he had become and what he could be. He promised.

The fruit in his stomach dissolved as he chewed, leaving nothing, not even seeds, behind. But if one was incredibly curious or keen with eyes and arts of such creative treasures, one could notice countless threads of glowing natural lines, looking like feathers, hands, or formations resembling knitted threads seeping out of him.

The fruit's flesh was intricate, though its outermost layer—its peel—was the gate to one weird flood.

It was harder to chew, but once someone bit through it, the juices and these lines felt like a waterfall, an explosion of Vitality. It wasn't seeking anything. It was already locked in! It wasn't a healing, though. It didn't seek damage.

Razmund's eyes, mouth, neck, stomach, ears, nose, and cheeks all began to glow in soft hues, and his bleeding no longer seemed important. Everything then turned into insensible sensation.

Dozens of Laws latched and seeded into this fruit, guiding something, telling a story, and figuring out that the meaning behind intricacy stemming from the earth, or nature itself, wasn't about looking.

It was about the Law of Life. One of the most naturally occurring Laws present in vigorous planets, though the universe would describe it otherwise. Not every planet was worthy of Life.

There was more dread around intelligence than livable conditions, but in that, perhaps Vitality and Life could bloom, and much more could follow afterward.

It was rough. This encompassing and ever-expanding universe was progressing towards a specific point. Was it an expansion or a quality? The space had Void and Chaos Space, which featured strange entities with thoughts about Life. Actual living spaces were kind of tricky and different from literal Nothing.

Lurius Fruit was a man-made fruit, and a product of Alchemy and farming. People assembled such fruits, or unspecified races tried over many years of trial and error to make them viable.

One would wonder what a generous amount of experimentation, money, fertile lands, or great resources could do.

A simple act of devotion to a God could go a long way, since experiments needed time, and the wonders of creation took an ungodly amount of it.

This one, in particular, was Battleworld-oriented treasure, making it solely available in this world and not by miraculous locks or an unattainable spirit. It was a literal art.

It originated from a specific location and developed on an unnamed island located far from the five continents. Named Gad Island, or so it was whispered in the Voice that Razmund followed. It was a hidden place, and perhaps even a relic of the Old World.

Either way, the one who fled the Sky Pantheon was behind it now. A dickhead that almost wiped them out by mistakenly making a party with demons, Ancients, Chaos Beasts, and Fiends from the Void.

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That sounded fun, but Razmund couldn't just think of it out loud. Certain things were unheard of and should not be mentioned under any circumstances.

Names and certain beings were off-limits, as Gods might always be listening. Razmund was never sure why. Were they so bored in their castles and palaces, or were mortals' matters more important to them than he could ever imagine?

This one behind this fruit was an idiot by all accounts, yet he was surprisingly generous and good with people. It felt wrong and right for someone so stupid. Lurius Unholy was his name, a God of Ravings, master of the Path of Desires.

That was a weird Path revolving around emotions, mysterious aspects of physical ideologies, and tricks of the souls.

It clashed with Razmund's ideology and body, as he reasoned with beings one shouldn't reason with. Well, that was in the past.

By now, Razmund had forgotten about the terrible or unreasonable reasons within it, since this Lurius became a more docile figure for the sake of all Pantheons. Everyone refused his ideas and advances.

That, combined with his approach to people and everything under heaven, created a sorry ideologist whose Path and powers were tricky and hard to deal with.

In a sense, it was a rightful, proud, and correct approach. Honest too. Lirius wasn't wrong to think far and wide and do it all because his Path and heart were one and the same.

It was the bewitching aspects of Divides that made countless visions and ideologies conceivable, and he looked at it from an unnatural perspective. So, who should dare to call it wrong or immoral? That came with simple answers. It was nothing.

Pacts of magic and Laws could be weird, obvious to Ravings, which were one of the harsher emotional aspects that souls endured. To rave was to desire. What, or how, did it work all the freaking time? Lurius wondered about it and knew a couple of answers, yet many mortals did not.

However, Lurius was still a God, regardless of no Pantheons being around him, accepting or bearing with him. He wasn't alone in that sense, so he found his spot in the Battleworld and lived how he wanted on its Surface.

It wasn't free or without rules. He wasn't the first or last God to do so, as Battleworld had many Gods that couldn't see face-to-face with how Pantheons looked and functioned. It was about politics or other Gods, and everyone wanted power for themselves.

But without Pantheons, growth and people were hard to tame. Gods needed subjects to grow and play with. That came through reputation and time, and even more with land.

A place to expand was sparking their power, and dislodging their divinity for themselves wasn't as easy as kidnapping nations or whole islands. In a place with many such fools, perhaps Battleworld was crazy to possess a land for it, yet it surprisingly worked.

Many Gods rose throughout history, and numerous Divine Kingdoms were powerful and expanding.

It required people—subjects in short.

It was kind of a greedy lot, yet fitting the universe into a neat little picture, right beside the heaven and Divides. Yet at one point, the Gods were not there, and now they couldn't let go of their subjects.

Before that point, Pantheons were excellent opportunities to convert followers of other Gods, or straight up steal, make amends, or make friends amongst themselves. Bearing the care of multiple ones was possible, yet it required the experience or power to do so, since stinginess was a mark of many Gods.

Mortals could believe in and serve them, though such weight and importance weren't as appealing as they sounded.

For some people, it wasn't important how things should go or mix, as results were what mattered, and dividing attention among multiple Gods might lead to weakness over time. It wouldn't do much to anyone, yet when someone powerful or soon-to-be grown-up became a large threat, that was a point where everything could change.

In that sense, Ravings were as honest as human emotions went to hearts or mixed with actions, and those who had already attained their strong aspects. They hold desires over countless beings, making many people either crazy or focused on one thing at a time, or many things.

Lurius wasn't a demonic God. He was a human. Those could be demonic as well, sometimes even worse than that, but that wasn't a point of judgment.

The fruit that Razmund ate was Lurius's labor of love for Ravings. It was to touch a power to uphold nothing specific, as it grasped what one needed the moment someone ate it, and that could be a lot of things.

The best way to get anything was through the Law of Life, which was capable of birthing such strong, persuasive Ravings.

Razmund had a lot of rich Ravings. He wanted so much to do and hold that he wasn't even sure what to rave about. Alas, he had to focus on one thing at a time, as another matter was right before him, making his choice unclear and clouded.

Everyone in the room watched as his glowing skin, fruit, and body changed. Ultium wanted to move, yet what was that light or the Law he was sensing?

He noticed who and what this human represented, as he looked the same as the one he had killed a while ago. It was gory and empty, which disappointed Ultium. But his goddess said to wait, so he did.

What he was sensing through this uncomfortable light was different from the one Ceila defined. It was the power of Creation, it seemed. Life was creating stuff, and Razmund just went along with it, not even looking for any specific Raving. He just assumed his perspective was broad and figured out what he wished for when it came to him. What did he desire? What could work for him the best right now?

Ravings weren't wishes, so it better be useful since Razmund wasn't sure he could get out of here alive without paying a very steep price.

In less than a dozen seconds, Razmund found his rightful Raving. It was quite a hefty one, with one purpose alone. Get back. It was vague about what it could be, yet Razmund found it appropriate, so he ate it up without hesitation and with plenty of imagination.

He had it simple

As if it were normal, the glow subsided, and the fruit's effects disappeared without leaving much behind. It was gone without a speck of intent left, though something else came over. It turned. The time was a gift, while the Raving was nothing. It still created stuff from nothing, or based it on something, or completed it from nothing.

Then, it anchored, finding Razmund, whose body began to restore itself, thriving and stirring so quickly that his closed wounds reopened, yet the blood was unable to escape quickly enough. Blood went back, finding its position in his machine of a Physique, and this Raving couldn't escape from it.

Law of Life made its course, and the rest went even better.

Ultium couldn't wait any longer. He felt nothing nasty anymore, so he let his fist act by punching straight at Razmund's face.

In a step, his claymore switched positions and cleaved, leaving a line in mid-air and scraping his suit. Ultium almost hit him right there, while Razmund did hit him even when Ultium stepped back.

"Too bad," Razmund said as he missed that neck. "Too close. Too quick."

Raving Fruit was his fearful possession. It was a token that he had gained less than a year ago by accepting it. Eating it meant he would be indebted, but many beings' promises and depths were normal.

Gods and people needed that. Many last resorts were either hopeless or the exact opposite. Razmund couldn't resort to the last great treasure on his list, even though it was less shocking than using Creation to form a Ravings.

How it worked wasn't normal. This wasn't supposed to be even possible to come out of simple fruit, yet here he was, back in health as if he turned back time.

It was the fuel. The law of Life came with Creation, enabling the procession of creation. A restoration, for example, was a nice example. This suggested only Gods were under such an outcome, making such fruit possible; if not so close, one would wonder if the farmer was Lurius himself.

No mere mortal could have done it, which made these fruits divine-grade, no matter if the varied desires and Ravings had to go through honesty or pain. Then, if it was a fine or possible, the aftermath was clean and done in a few moments rather than in a torment of reparations or rebirth.

That was, of course, unless the Raving was precisely that.

It could get ugly. After all, this fruit was a gamble and barely recognized as a divine treasure. Sure, it could create things, but many things could be created and accomplish shocking or inconceivable feats, depending on whether one was a mortal or a fool.

If one had just a bunch of wishful thinking, the aftermath would be nothing.

Razmund wondered how terrible that sounded; he heard stories of disfigurement, crippling, or weird mutations around this Raving thing, so this fruit, in particular, wasn't mind-boggling. It was cursed in some ways, but to him, he was as clean as the sky.

At last, the baleful treasure was gone, while his body turned back in time. How well and long, he wasn't sure, but he felt heated momentum and recollection of nasty digging and battling Bagus.

At least he felt that; he might be wrong in reality since he was here and not back before Ip'ur Mountain, so a couple of things couldn't change in time or because of this fruit.

Raving disappeared the moment he stepped forward, unleashing a small tremor. A gust of comforting warmth spread from his stomach. His Physique got back to work, while the backlash and his previous potions were no longer tied to his body.

They hadn't even happened, so that made sense. Now, he could eat them again if he wanted to, but that didn't sound fair since they wouldn't fix this crisis.

Strength rejuvenated Razmund's mind, and he knew that he was back where he wanted to be, even if that shit sounded wrong. Honesty was the key.

He shouldn't be indebted, since the maker of these things was a sick fuck who had various requirements and rules about this fruit.

If one ate it without any adverse effects or even small problems, they could forget about any Offering, deal, or debt. That was kind of fair. The fruit sought things, the Creation included, but it was also looking at the Ravings of a person and how well the Creation could go.

If it wasn't reasonable, things went south, and the farming itself was always bound to improvements and deals, or the mysterious eaters who weren't very common and daring.

Just why it was like that, Razmund wondered, and seemed to recall the reason. It made sense in Chaos to make no sense. It must be close to how Ravings existed and always were, for there was no sense left for them. This farmer was the same.

Razmund felt his left arm and blinked once. His eyes adjusted like his head. He was as clear-minded as if he woke up and was ready to jump and use his Flying Steps.

However, where or how? He was still surrounded, and nothing changed about this arena. His eyes widened, though they couldn't appear bigger when Ultium attacked again with a bunch of Bloodshots.

Razmund flickered his claymore, cutting or deflecting every one of them aside while lifting his claymore up.

"Leave me," he said, his eyes glancing for the Guides. Why? He thought he had forgotten about them, or they would already be gone. They were still around.

Aside from him, Ceila was frowning, thinking, and reconsidering her choices. With Murai away in that sick portal, a multitude of matters changed, and she caught just one other matter.

Alas, Murai was her main priority, while dealing with Razmund had a couple of rules and variables that weren't as critical as most would assume. At least from her position, that is.

From Vermillion's position, that was another story.

Under these circumstances, this reason was not hindering everything, but it could cause serious trouble, or be no more than a little threat, or simply an opening. To what? Ceila didn't know; she wasn't watching it like that. With struggle, strength spreads. Murai had to understand it.

Should she seize this opportunity to create new moves or motives? Or should she let Razmund go and do his things because the potent desire in him could put a newer perspective and interesting visions?

Ravine promised that, for some reason, while Vermillion appreciated that talking stone much more than anything in recent memory. It was even better than that talk in Murai's soul space, which stirred many thoughts into motion.

They did not end up here, however. They were minor and not yet persuading anyone since Ceila didn't know everything her Lady desired.

Ceila didn't know much about what she wanted to do, so she focused on her primary task. Even if they had various degrees of significance, the least likely messy entity was nearby.

Razmund wasn't aware that he was like a toy and tool under their eyes. He spun, unleashing a Step and cutting a heavy cleaving strike at Ultium's side because this devil kept bothering him.

Ultium barely flinched, caught that edge, hand wrapped with bloody waves, and moved. Nothing cut him. Nothing touched his suit this time around.

Two fools engaged in a fast-paced battle, and everything was getting intense. No winner was clear. Razmund hadn't used his mana or Sharpness, but his physical strength and body weren't weak. His Steps thundered, and his two-handed grip stopped just like a wave of a godly hand.

"Now, we haven't met before," Razmund said with a smile, giving a new kind of greeting. "Ultium, perhaps?"

Ultium clasped that edge with a single hand. That was all he needed. "I don't think you are Razmund. Stories of him advised of an absolute monster. Again, some tales seem to be eternally unconvincing or merely part of the truth. I suppose I expected more and ended up worse."

Razmund sneered and kicked his face, disengaged, and flicked off to run into a side with Ceila.

"What do you want, Sun? My Reason? My Encounter? You are playing a big game with this invasion, so what I know or don't must be bigger than anything. Is this about Vermillion, or did Levandis mess with this even further?"

"I want to see things done," Ceila said and pointed behind him. "To see if they are worthy first."

Ultium came right afterward, slapping Razmund with a large manifesting blood fist the size of his body. It was shaped well, looking like an extension of his body. Razmund tumbled away, fast enough to put his claymore up for defense.

He stepped back, took a deep breath, grazed his mana and Physique again, and manifested more strength. It started with Raging Bull, as usual, but his body, now devoid of all wounds, reached heated momentum in a heartbeat and was ready to roll.

What a shame that not all tools are meant for what they could be, Razmund thought. Not using them is not acceptable, is it? I wonder what they would know about it in my situation, but again, who am I to know anything? I just....don't. A tool is an instrument.

A vortex of power formed in his stomach. It began inside before moving everywhere.

For a moment, it almost appeared as if Razmund had become a statue. He stood there, unmoving, watching the ground as if it were a painting, yet his steps still managed to echo and rumble as if they couldn't remain feeble.

He moved to his left, and his right foot and claymore moved aside. He swung his claymore to the ground, then jumped and crashed at that large fist from above, unleashing a vertical slice.

Ground cracked, and Raging Bull widened and pushed Razmund down, adding weight and forcing his claymore down. Now, it resembled something of a human, with strands like fingers that handled his body as if a weird cloth wrapped his upper body.

His hands were shaking, yet his left one still clutched Dice regardless of this clash.

Ultium crouched down, his Blood Fist barely enough to hold this quick exchange like he desired, but he still connected less than well against that slash.

Just like Razmund, he became a bit more serious. The start was simple, like a continuous struggle.

With blood. Not his own, of course. His Suit stored plenty while his Blood Core carried controlling powers as his main equipment. However, when external blood combined with his Blood Awakened Mana, his actions became very different. His Blood was born different.

Devils had their contrasts. Outside, blood was diverse, either frail and short-lived or just enough to withstand their techniques. In truth, their own blood was the best.

It was a special fuel for great tasks, though Ultium's heart was weird. His bloodline was twisted and mangled with unnatural, devilish, and chaotic insides, yet it was also sometimes stunning and vivid.

Ultium opened his single fist, letting his manifested Blood Fist expand. Then, he clutched his fist, bent his back, and smacked the Blood Fist with his real fist, crashing Razmund to the furthest wall like a giant mosquito.

David watched it from behind the pillar, shocked at how well this proceeded. He thought Ultium would struggle more, or... perhaps he was trying too hard because Ceila was watching.

He barely got his time to shine because of everything Razmund had done. Ultium didn't even touch Ozeki, which was disappointing as well.

And now, his desirable clash was here, quick, and living, being proper! It was the thrill his blood lacked, so Ultium returned from his swing before he heard a loud Step and a loud whistle.

Razmund left a deep footprint in the wall and Stepped so deeply and fast that his legs screeched, and the explosiveness of this Wide Step rippled around the whole room. His claymore was behind him, carrying the swirling madness of Sharpness as he aimed at Ultium's head.