Anomaly of Fate
Chapter 80: The Fourth Echo

Chapter 80: The Fourth Echo

The road stretched endlessly ahead, winding through the rugged terrain of the mountain pass as the carriage rumbled along. The sky had darkened slightly, streaked with hints of orange as the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows over the landscape.

Nico, as usual, held the reins up front, guiding the carriage with the steady ease of someone who had traveled these paths countless times. Velren, on the other hand, had been given a strict order.

"Get your ass in the back and rest, kid."

And so, here he was. Inside the carriage. Crammed between crates filled with weapons, armor, and god-knows-what else.

Velren shifted uncomfortably, one of the wooden boxes digging into his lower back. He let out a quiet groan, adjusting his position only to have the pommel of a sword jab his ribs from another angle.

"Cozy," he muttered dryly, exhaling through his nose.

The space was cramped, cluttered with the very cargo they were supposed to deliver to Caelestoria. Swords wrapped in cloth, reinforced spear shafts, and bundles of arrows were strapped securely to the sides, making every possible sitting position a test of patience.

But Velren didn’t complain.

The exhaustion was finally catching up to him, sinking into his muscles like lead. His body ached from the battle, his wounds—though not severe—still pulsed with dull pain. He needed rest. Any rest.

Leaning back against a stack of crates, he exhaled slowly, and with a thought, a familiar flicker of data shimmered into existence before him.

His Codex.

A translucent, glitched-out interface manifested in the air, flickering as if struggling to exist properly in this world. But Velren had gotten used to its unstable nature. He knew by now that this thing—this System—wasn’t supposed to function around him.

Not properly, at least.

Lines of text distorted and rearranged before his eyes as he navigated through the Codex with a mere thought. He had only one intention in mind.

Nam3: Velren

Rac3: Human (An0maly)

Titl3(s): Fat3’s An0maly | Harb1nger 0f the Unwritt3n | [??]

Aff1l1at10n: N0ne

Sk1lls:

[0bs3rvat10n] [Inst1nctiv3 Res1stance] [Predat0ry Acumen] [Mast3ry 0f the Sw0rd]

An0maly Tra1ts:

[Fat3 D1vergenc3] [Syst3m Interf3rence Det3cted]

V1tal Cr3st: [A World Not Mine]

V1talEch0s:

[Gravemaw] [Eidolon Veil] [Phantas Rift] [Ruinweave]

His eyes lingered on the last echo before clicking into it.

[V1tal Ech0: Ruinweave]

"Man1festat10n born fr0m User inst1nctiv3 und3rstand1ng that r3ality 1s but fr4gments str3tch3d acr0ss unseen thr34ds. This ech0 engrav3s ephem3ral rifts 1nto spac3, slashes that det0nat3 in jagged bursts of forc3 wh3n trigg3r3d. Unst4bl3, cha0tic, irr3vers1ble—Ech0 d03s n0t cut mat3rial, it cuts pr3s3nc3. St1ll N33d Furth3r Updat3!!!"

[Skill Ability]

Man1fests as flick3ring r1fts left in th3 wake 0f User slashes, ling3ring until trigg3red. H0wever, they do n0t det0nate on comm4nd—0nly when User fl1cks the tsuba 0f h1s katana.

A new Vital Echo... Velren still didn’t believe it. Over the last few years, he had only managed to obtain three in total. And now, against all odds, he had gained another.

Then again, when he really thought about it, the circumstances weren’t all that surprising.

Take Eidolon Veil, for example. He had been cornered by multiple Vaelith Bears, their hulking forms surrounding him, claws poised to tear him apart. And in that moment, he hadn’t thought about fighting—only about how desperately he wished they simply wouldn’t notice him. That wish had taken form, shaping itself into an Echo that let him slip through perception like a ghost.

And back there, against the wyvern, he’d only had one thought running through his head.

’How the hell do I cut through its hide?’

The result? This very Echo.

’...they surface when somethin’ inside you resonates with the world—or clashes with it.’

That’s what Gramps had said back then.

"Resonance... or conflict, huh?"

Velren still didn’t fully understand what it meant yet. Resonance? Conflict? Maybe Gramps had a point, maybe he didn’t. It wasn’t like he had ever questioned how his Vital Echoes formed before. They simply... happened. When he needed them most, they surfaced, as if clawing their way out from some unseen depth within him.

Still, it was strange to think about.

If his Echoes manifested through moments of resonance or clashing with the world, did that mean they were simply responses? That they weren’t entirely his own, but reactions to his circumstances?

He frowned at the thought.

Either way, it didn’t change the reality before him. He was still alive. And in the end, wasn’t that what truly mattered?

With a sigh, Velren finally dismissed his Codex. The glowing text flickered and faded into nothingness, leaving him alone with the dim, cramped interior of the carriage.

Now, sleep. Or at least, rest.

Easier said than done.

Velren shifted, trying to find a comfortable spot among the crates and bundles of weapons stacked haphazardly around him. The space was tight, packed with all sorts of armaments—swords, spears, bows, shields—each one an inconvenience when all he wanted was to sit normally for a damn moment.

He scooted slightly to the left—only to have the butt of a spear jab painfully into his ribs.

’Fuck.’

He twisted to the right, only to have a sword’s pommel dig into his lower back.

’Fuck.’

With a frustrated grunt, he readjusted again, leaning forward this time. That lasted about five seconds before he realized he was now pressing uncomfortably against the reinforced crate in front of him, which had the distinct hardness of metal plating.

’Fuck!’

A deep sigh escaped him. He shot a glare at the nearest stack of weapons as if it was their fault he couldn’t get comfortable.

After a few more minutes of begrudgingly shifting around, he finally settled into a somewhat acceptable position—leaning against the least obstructive crate, arms crossed, head tilted back. It wasn’t ideal, but at this point, he’d take whatever he could get.

His muscles still ached from the fight. The sting of the wyvern’s fangs, the dull throb in his shoulder, the exhaustion settling into his bones—it was all catching up to him.

The old man would wake him up if something dangerous happened.

Hopefully not too soon...

His eyelids grew heavy.

Darkness began to creep in.

Then—

Knock. Knock.

A loud rapping against the wooden carriage frame jolted him back to reality, followed by Nico’s gruff voice from the front.

"We’re here, kid."

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