A Soulsborne's Traveler System

I have been busy this last month.

With my current strength, there is no chance of me even bothering Manus unless I go apoleptic. Which is not a very preferable option in any way shape or form. So I went on a journey to get stronger so I can beat Manus.

Or at least that's what I say to myself.

I mostly just do not know what to do so I am running away and doing sidequests until I do. This world is annoying and tiring. So as a side quest, I decided to take a semi-vacation.

What better way to do that than by going to Anor Londo when it was still completely occupied? That's right by using my numerous abilities I found my way to lordran by making wings out of darkness and flying there. Seeing people going about their day really unnerved me though.

People filled the clean and well-kept streets just... living their life. Silver and ordinary knights patrolled, keeping public order. People sold food, toys, clothing, and other normal stuff. It rubbed me the wrong way it really did.

-_-_-_-

Envy.

That's what he felt. He felt unbelievable envy toward the people of Anor Londo. Thriving in the false age of light they had created. They didn't have to worry about it. They could just live their best lives, the consequences? The people of the future could deal with it.

Just how many people did the gods damn for this age? For their comfort and cowardice, they dammed thousands, tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands, even millions to fate worse than death as they lose their ego. Anger BOILED inside of him yet he didn't do anything high profile yet, gauging the strength of the gods from this time.

After a week or so though he snapped.

Not the "burn everything" snap but the "fuck this" kind of snap. So he implemented a genius idea to relieve his stress and indignation a little.

First, he started robbing high-profile shops that he was interested in, mainly spice, food, and clothing stores. Just kicking doors in, barging inside, throwing anyone in his way out of the store, and boldly looting anything of value inside including valuables like gems and gold coins alongside personal interests like food ingredients and drip.

Of course, knights started chasing him to stop his robbery rampage. Which was his goal in the first place. Any knight or guard that came after him, he would main, shatter limbs, giant gashes, a few missing limbs, and even some broken spines. He tried to avoid killing if necessary but some managed to slip through the cracks.

He beat them then resumed robbing, under the astonished gazes of bystanders. Soon even more knights came after the demise of their fellow knights. This time silver knights, around the same physical strength as himself without any enhancements or skills. Needless to say, they were disposed of like the rest, those with darker souls dying "accidentally".

A limb was lost and promptly reattached due to a moment of carelessness but regardless he continued his shopping spree. Every wave of knights being more dangerous, even some beings that were relatively special, even enough to be considered bosses appeared, like Leto who nearly killed him on several occasions, forcing him to run away.

The bastard was basically a compressed Smough with slightly more balanced stats. He could've handled him with soul release probably but that would defeat the meaning of challenging Himself. He managed to fight him on equal grounds with deadman style though.

If it wasn't obvious already, John was using the GTA strategy on them. Increasing his stars until it got challenging. That's right, to improve himself he decided to basically start a non-lethal guerilla warfare on them. Non-lethal because he didn't want the timeline fucked up too much.

It was a fun game of cat and mouse, fun because he could give the middle finger to the fuckers that dwell in Anor Londo. When it got too much and his energy supplies he had to retreat though. A task too easy thanks to Umbra, hidden body, and stealth.

He would repeat this pattern every few days, to the point where the populace started calling him the "Dark Menace" not really fearing him though, since he didn't really hurt anyone that tried to harm him. At some point, he started scooting his location closer and closer to the cathedral in the middle of Anor Londo which was more guarded the closer it was to the cathedral.

Shit only started getting truly real when HE showed up for the first time.

The big fucker himself, the yellow armored spear-wielding trauma generator.

Dragonslayer "Motherfucking" Ornstein.

He had to rely on both Soul Release and Deadman style as well as guerilla warfare to survive against Ornstein. Setting traps ahead of time and using stealth to ambush. He could even somewhat compete in skill thanks to his absurd intuition and instincts honed by over a thousand deaths.

Though he could defeat Ornstein now.

Yet all that was just useless. Yes, his skills were improving they would be nothing in front of Manus without going apoleptic.

Why was he fighting? He currently sat atop the peak of the cathedral, overlooking the entirety of lordran, a sight beyond measure. Yet from the sight, he only felt melancholy and hollowness.

For the first time in a while, he felt like he knew the answer to a question.

He was simply biding for time. While pretending to look for answers.

A while ago he noticed random pains, discomfort, headaches, and coughing blood. Random wounds opening. His body was splitting apart.

Strong as it may be it was simply the body of a human. It couldn't simply withstand so many lordsouls inside it. And his portion of the dark soul wasn't omnipotent.

The conflicting souls and energies inside him were tearing his vessel apart, slowly but surely. Maybe he would even die for real before reaching the end.

*Snort*

As if, he was pretty sure the entire world would cease to exist if he were to able to die. One could only hope. One more the hatred for his state of self re-emerged. If only he had kept his memories then maybe he could actually provide answers to himself.

-_-_-_-

Tiring, this was getting tiring.

This act was getting old. At this point, he just wanted to kill them and get it over with. John Moore was tiring. Chosen Undead was tiring. He just wanted to go back and light the flame. It might be over a few dozen to a hundred years of suffering but at least it would grant me a true death.

*Chuckle.*

'I am an asshole arent I?'

He gave them the souls not because he felt like it but so that they could take care of themselves. They may hold affection for him but they would probably get over it in less than a year.

He simply did not have the strength to keep up the facade of the chosen undead in front of them any longer. What they like is simply a facade, a replication of a broken man from broken memories made to please them. Before he could dwell on it any further he heard the door to the roofs open. But he didn't turn back. Just extending his shadow to cover the entire roof. Allowing him to sense the visitor and impale them if need be.

'Divine entity, not much in terms of stats, aura weak. Not combat-focused. I only need a Darklord Swordance to put them into the grave.' Strangely though the entity did not seem panicked from seeing the figure on the roof, as if they expected them.

"Hello there." A melodious voice that carried an almost maternal warmth rang out. A voice that would probably make the average man very flustered. And the undead was affected too, just for a different reason.

'Don't say it, don't say it, don't say it, don't say it, don't say it, don't say it, don't say it, don't say it, don't say it, don't say it, don't say it, don't say it,'

"General Kenobi."

"?!"

Sensing her flabbergasted state he simply shook his head. This damn world was just simply too uncultured.

"Never mind, why are you here? Gwynevere, Princess of Sunlight."

I felt her raise an amused eyebrow at my statement through my shadow. /Want me to wipe off that smirk?/

"You do realize this is my cathedral right?"

"You do realize that I haven't asked right?"

Ignoring the threatening undertone of my voice she walked up beside me and sat down.

Now I have seen plenty of beautiful people in my life, namely Pris and Que. And I have to say Gwynevere matches up to them. In fact, she may be as beautiful as Pris. Just in a different way.

She was slightly tanned with beautiful brown hair and eyes. She also stood at a staggering 7ft tall(As expected from a descendant of that fucker) the most prominent feature of her was giant bazookas, probably the biggest(body to size ratio) I have ever seen, made even more noticeable by her bandage like dress.

But rather than aroused I was getting irritated.

"Let me rephrase. /Are you retarded? Because I don't see how a sane person would see going up to the man that beat your entire army and canned your greatest knight as a remotely intelligent decision. Especially if that person can kill you with the snap of a finger./"

Saying this he turned to her, all features obscured by his helmed except his eyes which shone with a toxic purple that oozed malice. Conveying the seriousness of his statement. In response, she sweatdropped and held her hands up.

"W-well, you seem to quite like brooding on the rooftop of my cathedral since you visit often, and seeing as how you try keeping your casualties to a minimum and haven't killed Onrstein yet. I thought MAYBE I could try talking to you?"

He deadpanned to her, the malice dimming slightly.

'Huh, maybe she really is retarded.'

Talking with someone who has shown open hostility to the people of this place? Maybe she didn't value her life either. But well, he was abysmally bored. Bordering on malicious boredom, plus I hadn't really had any one-to-one conversation in the last month.

Authors note: Hey guys, my great-grandfather died recently so I'm not really at the peak of my mental strength or health so please excuse me if the chapter releases temporarily become slower and irregular. Thank you for understanding.

❕The volume 1 of this story is completed on my p*treon.

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