As the shrill tones of Aron Fields, the human thief under Lord Rockmore's leadership, faded, Ronan felt a headache coming on. They had explored in the complete opposite direction to his last life, so how the hell had this happened?

It wasn't even that he was shocked to run into Lord Rockmore's men. Discovering that the magic swordmaster who enjoyed playing at aristocracy had a bigger domain than expected was only a mild annoyance. No, what pissed Ronan off was that they'd run into the exact same group of four bumbling fools who accosted them with the same lame speech.

"I don't know about you, Keith, but I always hated paying taxes," Ronan said disdainfully.

"My dad used to say the same thing," Keith replied with a smirk.

Ronan didn't wait this time. He was a much higher level than the four lackeys and there was no need to bait them into a trap. Also, he already knew which of the four was the most nimble. Taking out the rogue first would mean no one could tell the tale of their meeting.

The moment the shrill idiot finished talking, Ronan pounced. He leapt three metres in his first step, flashing the rest of the distance between them in seconds.

"You–" was all Bellamy Reed managed to squeak out before Ronan's fist smashed into his throat. His voice gurgled out and his head snapped back.

He wasn't yet dead. Despite his class being rogue, he seemed to be rather tough. Even so, it wasn't enough to survive Ronan's second punch. His body dropped to the floor before his comrades could react.

Ronan managed to engage the fighter as they were beginning to yell and reach for their weapons. A sword flashed out, but a simple palm slap parried the weak attempt. He kneed the unfortunate sod in his crown jewels in retaliation before finishing him with a magic strike to the head.

He heard Keith's enthusiastic yell, followed by the clang of steel. A sharp pang of pain flared through his side. Ronan looked down to see the handle of a dagger sticking out from between two of his ribs.

With a wince and a grunt he tore it out, flinging it away. His blood trickled out, scarlet shining against the alabaster of his skin. Keith was locked in combat with one of the fighters. The final member of the four man squad was grinning at Ronan, swinging a shortsword in his hands as he circled around him.

"You're gonna regret that, bootlicker," Ronan snarled.

"I don't think so. You think just because you have a skill to hide your level and class that you can beat me? I'm not a snivelling idiot like Bellamy," the man sneered.

Ronan almost burst out laughing, but kept his reaction in check. If the fool wanted to believe that, then he would let him. Either way, Ronan preferred to talk with his fists.

He rushed at the man, fists raised. The lackey darted to the left, before thrusting his sword towards Ronan's guts. Unbeknownst to Ronan, it was an expert feint designed to lead him into a fatal trap.

Unfortunately for the poor fighter, Ronan didn't much care for his attempt at trickery. Double strike and magic strike worked in sync, empowering his fist to a level of strength beyond a mere blade.

The first strike brought his knuckles against the mottled steel of the blade. It trembled under the force of the blow. As the wave of mana burst out from Ronan's fist—wild and rampant—the quivering metal shattered.

His fist continued forward under the shocked gaze of his opponent. It continued until it was planted firmly in his face. Ronan felt the crunch of the man's nose breaking as the momentum of his blow petered out. The fighter stumbled and yelled in pain, but the strike wasn't finished.

An ephemeral fist followed the first. The fighter's neck snapped to one side, then his head exploded in a ripple of destructive mana.

Ronan grimaced at his handiwork. His control over his mana was less precise than it had been when he had used the mage class. Something to work on.

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He heard Keith roar, a guttural sound that made him snap to the source. He saw a deep gash across the man's face, but it was barely a scratch compared to the wound his opponent bore.

Keith had slashed him from shoulder to waist, but not all the way through his chest. A great, gaping wound had been opened, guts spilling out and ribs poking through.

It was horrific. Keith's roar ended and he stumbled backwards, eyes wide as he took in the gruesome destruction his blade had wrought. "Holy fuck!" he exclaimed, falling on to his ass.

"Holy fuck is right, mate. That's metal as shit," Ronan muttered.

There was a silver lining to the bloody mess, which was that they had managed to take down all four of Lord Rockmore's goons in this life. The pretend nobleman wouldn't have any information about Ronan and Keith, thus wouldn't be able to locate them at their base.

There was one small detail bugging him about the encounter. He'd realised it almost instantly, but the fight had pushed it to the back of his mind. Why had the same group of men encountered them on the opposite side of the city from the last time?

Thinking about it, the timing since exiting the tutorial was about the same. Which made no sense.

Are my actions causing differences in the world? The butterfly effect… But this seems too extreme, he thought to himself. Ultimately he shrugged and decided to forget about it.

Lord Rockmore was a problem, but with every iteration he would become a more manageable one. Ronan just had to learn as much as possible about the world each time.

He glanced over the notifications he'd received for killing the three goons. He hadn't leveled up, due to their levels being far lower than his. However, he had picked up a few useful items as he had done the last time he killed them.

In the end, he obtained two rings, a pendant, and a scarf. They gave him 2 agility, 1 wisdom, and 1 acuity in total. Not a massive increase, but every little helped.

"Well, I reckon we still have a few hours of daylight left. We should be able to reach the border in time," Ronan said to Keith, who managed to tear his eyes away from the dead body and nod slowly.

The opposite border of the sector was underwhelming compared to the sandy strip by the river. The latter gave them hope of a beautiful future, while this…

"It's just… air," Keith said blandly.

It was a fairly apt description. Ronan suspected they were in one of the former royal parks, given that the urban decay had given way to natural chaos about half an hour ago and seemed to continue in that manner into infinity.

It was an illusion of course. The sector's border seemed to be an invisible yet opaque barrier that prevented passage or sight beyond itself.

Ronan looked at the map function of the system. Another benefit to his heritage was that it retained everything he had discovered in his previous iterations. Which meant he had now mapped out a thin line down the middle of the sector from north to south.

It was about a fifth of the total area. There was much more to discover, but he would be able to move with greater precision and intent from now on.

"Well, let's head back. Don't want to be out after dark with the foxes," Ronan said, tapping on the barrier once before making his way back towards the city.

Ronan found himself on watch again. He thought about everything that had happened until now. Progressing through the system made him feel alive again. He enjoyed the seemingly simplistic yet excitingly complex paths it made available to him.

Yet, that couldn't be all there was to life in this new world.

He had begun to explore the surroundings, with the goal of learning more about this 'sector' they were in. The system said the goal of this first phase was to claim some sort of pillar.

What was the pillar? Where would he find it? Was it a race, with the first person to find it becoming the owner?

It all made little sense. As everything always was with the system. Even so, Ronan had an ultimate weapon against the torture—his Reverberating Chronosphere heritage. No matter what this system and this world threw at him, he would always have another chance to overcome it.

He suddenly snapped to attention. He had been drawn out of his thoughts by a flickering light in the shadows at the base of their tower. He rushed to the edge and looked over, seeing nothing but the empty darkness of the ruined streets.

Frowning, he looked over the view once more, but saw nothing. He shook his head and returned to his watching spot. He was about to resume his thoughts of the future when he heard a great crash from below.

Keith! Ronan wasted no time in rushing down the stairs. When he reached the floor which they slept on, his brow furrowed in fury and confusion.

Lord Rockmore was standing over Keith as Ronan's friend held up his arms to guard himself. The fake aristocrat sneered at the feeble resistance as he plunged his rapier downwards.

"No! Not this time," Ronan yelled, rushing forward to block the strike.

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