World coordinates could broadly be divided into two categories, according to the Angels' summary.
Much like a coordinate system in mathematics—though they only appeared similar on the surface; in truth, they were entirely different.
The Angels used a cross to crudely and simply classify countless different worlds.
Above it were normal worlds. There might be war, but never wars that dragged on year after year. "Their moral standards are relatively normal too," were the Angels' original words.
Below it were the mad worlds where everyone wanted to kill everyone else. It could be innate, or caused by later circumstances. There were also cases of worlds originally above moving below, or those below moving above.
To the left were worlds where magic was more widespread.
To the right were worlds that used technology.
They relied on this system to classify and summarize worlds, but that also meant there had to be a world at the center of that cross.
Although He Shenyan felt that such a broad classification was inappropriate, he knew nothing about this matter. He also believed that if one knew nothing about something, it was better to listen to those with experience.
Although their "advice" came in a rather unusual manner and had not been offered voluntarily, it had helped him nonetheless. For that alone, he would thank them.
Among the Angels' long list of methods for traveling between worlds, there was one best suited for a single person. Though it carried some risk, it was still far safer than his own method.
He acted at once. Following the instructions, he gathered Magic Power in his right hand. His body slowly rose, drifting through the starry sky. He continued until he reached the edge of the Milky Way, where the World Barrier had specifically left him a contingency plan for crossing worlds.
He slowly pressed his Magic Power against it and focused completely on sensing the World Barrier's vibrations. It took him a full three days before he found even the slightest clue.
It was a marvelous, indescribable rhythm. He did not dare lower his guard and immediately immersed his body and mind in it. At that moment, he slowly passed through the World Barrier.
He entered that strange sea of stars again. Universes wrapped in a glass-like substance flickered around him one after another. It was an entirely different experience, one that made him feel even more keenly how small he was.
He Shenyan had no time to observe those peculiar worlds. At present, he had no way to go directly to the world he wanted, so he could only do his best to maintain his own vibrations within the same range as the World Barrier, so the Outer Gods would not look upon him directly.
Just as before, the notion of moving forward appeared in He Shenyan's mind once more. An inexplicable force pushed him through the glass spheres. After some time, he felt he could no longer sustain it, so he plunged into the nearest one.
He named the world he had just visited Hogwarts. The Angels' method should not have caused any major problems. This world ought to be a normal one as well.
In any case, it could not be much worse.
Within that familiar pulling force, he once again watched the scenery before his eyes flash past.
He Shenyan recovered from the sensation of weightlessness and found himself standing in a lush forest, a pure smile appearing on his face.
He sensed an extremely dense aura of Magic Power. That was good—very good.
A white-haired old man leaned over his desk, holding a feather quill. After dipping it in ink, he wrote with intense concentration.
".The year 1233 has just passed, and I still have not met a reliable Witcher. Most of them appear expressionless, but I know they are not as cold and heartless as they seem."
"But finding someone worthy of trust is truly too difficult, and I cannot seek out a Mage. Heaven knows what those people would do to her. If gods truly exist, please bless me. I am too old now, so old that I may take this secret into the grave at any moment."
"But this secret absolutely does not deserve to sleep underground with me. She must be cared for. I am too old, too old."
After writing this, the old man wearily rubbed his eyes. Just as he had said, he really was too old. Old enough to be the longest-lived person in the village, old enough to have outlived his son, old enough that even he could not remember how long he had lived.
He picked up his pen and continued writing.
".I never imagined that a chance encounter fifty years ago would grant me such a long life. But the longer I live, the more I feel that longevity is not a blessing, but a curse."
"These years, I watched my Anna Tarsia leave. I watched my Little John grow into a fine young man, watched him enlist, and watched him die in battle. I am exhausted. I desperately wish to sleep forever. But I cannot yet."
"I must fulfill that promise—that promise, that secret. She must be entrusted to someone worthy of trust. I must see it through."
He set down his pen, and his wrinkled hand closed the thick notebook.
He tossed the feather quill aside. Old Samuel Vito, the respected elder of the village, sat wearily in his chair and gazed at the garden beyond his window. He thought once again of when Anna Tarsia had still been alive. Oh, his Anna.
He still remembered that Anna had left ten years ago.
It had been so sudden. She had merely gone to sleep peacefully. When he woke the next day, he discovered that Anna's life had already left her body. Samuel had not been too heartbroken at the time, but after he buried her, grief had followed him like a shadow.
In all the days that had passed without her, he had missed her every minute. The dead were gone, but the memories they left behind filled the places where they had once lived together. This had once been the secret to happiness, but now it had become deadly poison.
And Samuel willingly drank that poison.
He had not left, nor had he collapsed into despair as some feared.
The old man simply continued living alone. His status in the village remained extraordinary. As the eldest person there, he was invited when newborns entered the world, when young people married, and still when the elderly died.
This small village on the frontier seemed isolated from the flames of war. Over the years, only his son, whom he had sent into the city, had enlisted. Most of the others were farmers. They were foolish yet simple-minded, liable to grow suspicious when they could not see the moon one night, worrying about divine punishment and whether their fields would yield a poor harvest.
That was when Samuel's role became apparent. He had lived too long, so long that the villagers believed he was favored by the gods. Thus, all he needed to do was smile reassuringly and pat their shoulders, and those fools would calm down and return to their lives.
He was even a barefoot doctor. When one lived long enough, one learned many ways to treat illness. Whenever a child developed a severe fever, the family would seek him out. He also knew many ways to set traps and hunt. It could be said that this long life had brought him mostly benefits.
Yet he still longed for death.
Fifth update. Volume Two was the Witcher's story. That was, the Witcher.
Before you continue