Chaotic Craftsman Worships The Cube

The first thing he did when he got back down was use his sacrilege to block the gods of the world from his thought, trading whatever they may have wanted to say for a host of notifications.

Deny all.

He wasn’t in the mood to hear from anyone, be they the gods he liked or not. Since coming back he’d worked so hard to help the world. From his mana bracelets he’d made to the buffing ones he was in the middle of testing, to the materializers he’d perfected and his current experiments to enhance a person's attributes but all of that still wasn’t enough. So many of the gods of the world still saw him as nothing but a pain who expected to be paid for his work instead of giving it freely just because he was mortal and it left them to see him as nothing more than a list of discoveries to be exploited and he was done dealing with it all.

He’d been working himself to the bone to try and grow to help the world and still, all they saw him as after all he’d accomplished was nothing more than a convenient bit of experience to be enjoyed, leaving him to question why he was even trying so hard in the first place. The world wasn’t his problem. Who cared how doomed it was, he’d been trying his best the entire time and it still wasn’t enough to get any real recognition that he didn’t have to fight tooth and nail for. Why continue putting his body and soul through so much when that was the only reward waiting for him in the end?

It was a series of thoughts that echoed through his many minds on his entire way home, making his way through Anailia and hoping the entire way he wouldn’t be stopped by anyone he knew; getting that small mercy as he arrived back at the shop.

With the question of what to do next. He hadn’t had a proper break in forever and he’d meant what he’d told the gods. Why try so hard for the planet if that was his reward? Someone else could make tools and weapons, all he needed to do was relax.

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…I feel like I haven’t drawn in a while. Why not do that for a bit?

It was as good a solution as any and he knew exactly how he wanted to do it so with a plan for however long he was stuck on that planet firm in his thoughts he went home, going around to the backyard as he began materializing.

Using his phenomenal level of skill and power, he bent the mana he held to create only a few simple things. A lawn chair, some sunglasses, a sketchbook, and some pencils before laying down to get to work, taking what felt like his first real day off in ages.

Still deny all.

Every now and then he’d receive notifications again as different gods tried to talk to him but he continued to ignore them in favour of continuing his drawing, adding another filled sketchbook to the pile after his few hours out there before materializing another to begin doodling in.

Whatever they wanted, he didn’t care. He didn’t want to keep putting in effort for a planet that just wanted to exploit him, why even bother? Better to focus on enjoying the bit of peace he could take for himself.

And despite the small, nagging voice in the back of his head telling him he was being unproductive and wasting his time, it felt good. He hadn’t been able to overfill his soul during his quest and now it was one of the longest times in weeks he’d put it off, not feeling any strain nor injury in that intangible part of himself that made him question why he’d even tried so hard to begin with. Why put himself through agony to finish the job faster and looking at the future, why even be willing to die for that world?

That was still the crux of it in the end. All he’d done since getting back had been for the sake of growing stronger and the decision to quit was like a weight lifting from his shoulders. That planet wasn’t his responsibility. By any reasonable judgment it was the gods’ and if that was the case then let them screw over their believers while the masses let them with smiles on their faces. Why did he have to get stronger to try and help?

Aside from the fact that the gods of this world are absolutely not going to be able to beat Oaun which means the invasion is going to end in our loss, and… No. No, I’m not thinking about it. This is officially not my problem. I’m the forgotten summoned, the nobody that nobody wanted. Even if they didn’t know I was trying to get stronger to try and help save the world, it's been one thing after another ever since I arrived here. No matter what I do or what I pull off, no god wants to pay me fairly for my work and I’m just tired of it all. However things turn out is officially their problem instead of mine.

He tried to silence his nagging thoughts as his attention was focused back on his drawings, the pencil in his hand working on something more abstract while he used his magic to keep it sharp, even as more thoughts came in.

I don’t want to die for this planet and I don’t want the people I care about to die either. Damn it. So what does that mean? I just give in, let the gods get what they want from me without a fight and then still probably die trying to protect this entire stupid world?

His feelings were a mess but as he asked himself that the arc of his pencil froze in his hand, the question bringing a different one to mind.

Why should I have to die to save the world anyway? Why not just save the bits I care about?

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