Darkness did not feel like sleep.
It felt… suspended.
There was no body. No breath. No heartbeat.
Only awareness.
Then—
A presence.
It did not enter the void.
It was already there.
Watching.
"Fascinating."
The voice did not echo.
It did not vibrate.
It simply existed inside the space around him.
"You reacted before fear formed."
Silence pressed in.
"You did not hesitate. You did not curse fate. You did not beg."
A pause.
"You accepted."
The darkness shifted. Not visually, but conceptually. As if reality itself leaned closer.
"Most cling to life like frightened animals."
A faint hum of amusement.
"You stepped forward."
A form began to take shape in the void.
Not fully visible. Not fully comprehensible.
Too symmetrical. Too still.
"I have observed countless deaths."
Another pause.
"Yours was… efficient."
The presence moved closer, though there was no distance to cross.
"You are not chosen."
Calm.
"You are not blessed."
Matter-of-fact.
"You are not special."
A beat.
"And yet."
The space fractured.
Light cracked across the void like shattered glass.
A massive wheel formed, not mechanical, but conceptual. Symbols burned across its surface in languages that hurt to understand.
"Let us correct the statistical imbalance."
The presence's tone sharpened slightly.
"I will grant you five rotations."
The wheel began to turn on its own.
"Not because you are worthy."
A slow smile could almost be felt.
"But because I am curious."
The wheel accelerated.
"Grow slowly if you wish."
Its voice lowered.
"I would like to see how long that philosophy survives in a world that devours the weak."
The first symbol flared.
"Spin."
The wheel slowed.
Light bled across its surface, symbols colliding, splitting, reforming.
Noel felt something strange.
Not fear.
Not excitement.
Focus.
"If this is real," he said quietly, his voice sounding distant even to himself, "what exactly are these rotations deciding?"
The presence seemed pleased.
"Ah."
The wheel froze mid-turn.
"So you ask before you celebrate."
A low hum of approval.
"Good."
The vast construct shifted, sections separating like layers of reality peeling apart.
"There will be five rotations."
The symbols reorganized.
"Each allocated toward a fundamental variable."
The first ring of the wheel burned brighter.
"Race."
A thousand silhouettes flickered across its surface — scaled, winged, celestial, monstrous, humanoid, things that bent definition.
"Your biological foundation. Strength ceiling. Evolutionary path. Resistances. Instinct."
The second ring illuminated.
"Core Ability."
The space warped faintly.
"One defining mechanic. Not a collection of crutches."
The third ring followed.
"Trait."
"Not power."
The voice sharpened.
"Potential."
The fourth ring shifted into existence.
"Temporal Placement."
Images flashed — cities in ruin, golden kingdoms, quiet eras before catastrophe.
"When you arrive."
The final segment darkened before igniting slowly.
"And a variable."
A faint distortion pulsed through the void.
"Something unpredictable."
The presence leaned closer — though distance still meant nothing.
"You will not choose."
Flat.
"You will not negotiate."
Cold.
"You will accept."
Noel absorbed the information without flinching.
Five rotations.
Five foundations.
No blessings. No guarantees.
Just structure.
"Understood," he said.
A faint ripple passed through the void.
"Good."
The first ring ignited fully.
"Race."
The wheel began to spin again.
Faster.
Faster.
Faster
"Let us see what you are built upon."
The symbols blurred into pure light.
And then
It slowed.
The pointer lands on "Boaz"
"Highest raw physical ceiling among beast humans."
A pause.
"Primitive."
Flat.
"Effective."
The presence tilted slightly.
"You will possess strength."
Its voice cooled.
"But strength without refinement is livestock."
A beat.
"Let us see if you remain one."
The second ring ignited.
"Core Ability."
The wheel began to spin again.
Slower this time.
Heavier.
The symbols were darker.
Sharper.
Noel felt it.
Not excitement.
Weight.
The presence watched silently.
The wheel slowed.
Slowed—
And stopped.
A title burned across the void.
Divine Protection of the Death.
Silence followed.
Then
A low, almost amused exhale.
"How… ironic."
Noel did not react outwardly.
But something tightened in the darkness.
"What does it do?" he asked.
The presence did not answer immediately.
Instead, the void shifted.
A blade formed in Noel's hand.
Not metal.
Concept.
"Your strikes, when infused with intent."
The blade pulsed faintly.
"Will deny restoration."
The space fractured again.
An unseen figure appeared before him.
Noel moved instinctively.
He slashed.
A shallow cut formed across the figure's chest.
Golden light attempted to seal it.
The light fizzled.
The wound remained.
"Any wound you inflict through a weapon you wield…"
The presence's voice lowered.
"…cannot be healed while you stand within its reach."
The figure attempted regeneration.
The flesh knit halfway
Then stopped.
The closer Noel stepped
The wound darkened.
Deepened.
Bled again.
"If you retreat, the suppression weakens."
"If you fall, it vanishes."
Calm.
"You are not granted immunity."
"You are not granted resurrection."
"You are not granted escape."
The blade dissolved.
"You are granted inevitability."
The void grew colder.
"Your enemies may endure you."
"They may outmatch you."
"They may overpower you."
A pause.
"But if you wound them…"
The presence leaned closer.
"They cannot pretend it did not happen."
Noel absorbed it.
Weapon-infused strikes.
No healing mid-combat.
Closer proximity, stronger suppression.
No cheating death.
Just denying recovery.
Slow war.
Attrition.
Repetition.
"That fits," he said quietly.
The presence stilled.
"Indeed."
The second ring dimmed.
The third began to glow.
Instead of the third igniting—
The fourth flared first.
The presence tilted slightly.
"Order is irrelevant."
The symbols shifted.
"World."
The wheel altered.
The outer construct peeled apart, revealing countless overlapping realities.
Cities of steel.
Endless oceans of flame.
Floating continents.
Dead worlds orbiting dying stars.
"Your environment," the presence said calmly.
"Defines the scale of your struggle."
The wheel began to spin.
Faster.
Worlds blurred into streaks of light.
Magic-drenched realms.
Godless wastelands.
High-technology empires.
Primordial forests ruled by monsters.
Noel watched without speaking.
The wheel slowed.
Passed one world of mechanical.
Another of endless undead.
A silent ocean planet.
Then—
It stopped.
Symbols rearranged.
A single name burned into existence.
DanMachi.
The presence went still.
"…Ah."
Not excitement.
Recognition.
"A world where ███ descend and grant falna."
Images formed.
Orario.
The Tower of Babel.
The Dungeon spiraling endlessly below.
"Mortals grow through struggle."
"Excelia is carved from survival."
A faint pause.
"How fitting."
Levels.
The Dungeon.
Structured growth.
Measured strength.
"Is this deliberate?" he asked quietly.
The presence responded instantly.
"I do not manipulate."
A slight distortion pulsed.
"I observe."
The void shifted again.
"In this world, growth is quantified."
"Your deficiency will be visible."
"Your slowness measurable."
A pause.
"And your inevitability… undeniable."
The construct stabilized.
DanMachi remained.
Locked.
"Your foundation is set."
The presence leaned closer.
"Now."
The third ring began to glow at last.
"Trait."
The wheel turned.
Slower than the others.
Heavier.
The symbols were less violent this time.
Less radiant.
More… grounded.
Noel watched in silence.
No anticipation.
Just observation.
The pointer slowed.
Passed over flashes of brilliance.
Burst Growth.
Heroic Surge.
Rapid Ascension.
It moved past them all.
And stopped.
A dim symbol ignited.
Steady Ascension.
Silence followed.
The presence did not speak immediately.
"…Cruel," it said at last.
The word did not carry pity.
Only assessment.
Noel waited.
"You will gain excelia at half the rate of your peers."
Flat.
"Where others advance through desperation, you will crawl."
The void shifted faintly.
"No sudden awakening."
"No miraculous leap."
"No explosive breakthrough."
Each word landed like stone.
"But."
A thin fracture of light spread beneath the symbol.
"You will not require a great feat to ascend."
Images flickered.
Adventurers collapsing after impossible victories.
Heroes rising through singular acts of madness.
"You may level."
Calm.
"Whenever your foundation reaches adequacy."
The presence leaned closer.
"All primary parameters at D."
A pause.
"Five hundred."
Noel understood immediately.
Slow gain.
No spike.
No legend-making moment.
Just accumulation.
"How long?" he asked.
The presence answered without hesitation.
"Years."
"Four, to reach heights others grasp in one."
"Five, to touch what geniuses reach in desperation."
"Six, to approach perfection."
The symbol pulsed faintly.
"You will never surge."
"You will never erupt."
"You will never astonish the world in a single night."
Silence pressed in.
"But what you build…"
The void darkened slightly.
"…will not crumble."
Noel considered it.
Half excelia.
No feats.
No shortcuts.
Just time.
Just repetition.
"That's fine," he said.
The presence grew still.
"No complaint?"
"No resentment?"
Noel's answer was simple.
"I wasn't special before."
A pause.
"I don't need to be now."
The void felt… amused.
"Interesting."
The third ring dimmed.
The third ring dimmed.
Only one segment remained.
The final rotation.
The Variable.
The wheel did not spin violently this time.
It trembled.
Almost… uncertain.
The presence observed it with quiet interest.
"Temporal Placement."
The outermost ring ignited.
Images surged across the void.
The Tower of Babel incomplete.
Zeus and Hera banners flying proudly.
Adventurers whose names would one day be spoken as myth.
The wheel began to turn.
Slow.
Measured.
It passed an era of relative peace.
It passed the early descent of the.
It passed chaos.
War.
Dark Age.
And then—
It stopped.
A single phrase burned across the void.
One Hundred Years Before Canon.
Silence followed.
The presence did not laugh.
But something in the void shifted with approval.
"You will not hide behind legends."
Images formed.
Young Zeus Familia elites.
Hera's monsters.
The One-Eyed Black Dragon still undefeated.
"You will exist in an era where the standard is higher."
The pressure in the void increased.
"Where Level Seven is not myth."
"Where strength is not scarce."
Noel absorbed it.
Earlier era.
Stronger generation.
No shortcuts.
The presence leaned closer.
"You wished to grow steadily."
Cold.
"Very well."
"You will grow in an age where mediocrity is crushed."
A faint pause.
"And perhaps."
The slightest distortion.
"You may witness the fall of."
The wheel shattered into light.
The void fractured.
Boaz.
Death's Denial.
Steady Ascension.
DanMachi.
One Hundred Years Before Canon.
The presence receded.
"Survive."
Darkness collapsed.