Dimensional Descent

Leonel felt that his annoyance had yet to fade, but he still ended up exhaling a breath. He would much prefer to be the one fighting, but unfortunately, that wasn't in the cards for him this time around.

He made his way to the lab setting and sat at his workbench, his hands mindlessly roaming through its pits and valleys. Although he had a plan, he was still a little reckless today. He hadn't exactly ruined that plan, but he didn't help it much either.

At this point, though, his patience was very limited for such things. Seeing a man who had wiped out the Morales family made him feel that such a person shouldn't have the right to continue living, so he killed him. It was really that simple.

In truth, he really had no intention of wasting time bending to their whims, sleeping outside the city in tents, and being unable to trade even for his own food... as "great" as that sounded.

His honeymoon just ended and he was already annoyed with the world, fantastic.

*Bloop

Little Tolly flashed around Leonel's arm, pulsing with a gentle light that seemed to make him feel better.

"Yeah, we should Craft..."

Since he was feeling annoyed, why not focus on something that could help? The fact his Crafting was falling so far behind everything he was running into these days was another source of annoyance. If he could catch up and get rid of those bits of annoyance, then maybe he would feel better at least by a small margin.

Understanding Crafting better would also allow him to conjure up a stronger spear. Right now, he was relying too much on the strength of Scarlet Star Force and not enough on his own comprehension. Well, at least no comprehension of Crafting itself, that is.

Force and Emulation Spatial Force were only as good as the projections from his mind. Given the strengths of his Ability Index, he could pretty much easily replicate his best Crafting

even by the standards of wider Existence... if his age was taken into

likes of King had been far better

his Dream Force was in the Life State, the road he had ahead of him was much clearer and wider than it had been

out the dictionary, rubbing his fingers over

videos that were left were the last messages he had from his father. Real messages. Not the cobbled-together words of an AI, but

on the desk. He hadn't worn them since his mother forced him to do so, but something

man now. Soon, maybe, he would have

had honestly given up on trying to make the world perfect before he could finally

"perfect" if they were constantly speed running toward its end? There was nothing that could change the fact

to what his father had done for him, recording every

crystal frames before he took out a silk cloth and

he turned back to the dictionary. Finally, his

[The Value of Complexity]

[The Value of Simplicity]