My attributes are increasing infinitely Chapter 493: Arriving at the battlefield

Max's explanation dissolved into indistinct murmurs as Ethan's clone remained utterly still, his focus solely on Erina. The confines of the corridor seemed to shrink, the remaining four members of Team Ragnarok fading into the periphery like distant shadows.

Erina tilted her head almost imperceptibly, the silver strands of her hair shimmering in the dim light. "Do I know you?" she inquired, a genuine thread of curiosity lacing her tone. "You're staring."

A slow exhale escaped Ethan's clone; he consciously willed his features to soften. "No," he answered, his voice remarkably composed despite the turmoil within. "You bear a striking resemblance to someone I hold incredibly dear."

Erina's gaze held on him for another beat, a subtle shift occurring behind her composed exterior—a flicker of recognition untethered to memory, an echo of familiarity she couldn't quite place. Then, her eyes drifted away.

"Let's proceed," Max interjected, gesturing towards the spacecraft visible through the corridor's expansive windows. "We are on a tight schedule."

The team pivoted, retracing their steps. Ethan rejoined their formation, his mind a whirlwind of calculations.

Every world will contain all of them.

The ancient voice's decree reverberated within his skull. His mother. His father. Rose. Erina. All held captive across the varied worlds, awaiting his discovery before he could fulfill each world's assigned task.

"If I fail to locate even one, they shall remain ensnared eternally."

The crushing implication of this stipulation bore down on his consciousness with tangible weight. He finally grasped the rationale behind the primordial deities' design for his trial. Mere acquisition of power was insufficient. Completing objectives alone was not enough. He was compelled to search. He was obligated to care. He had to endure the perpetual dread of leaving someone behind.

It’s enjoyable for them, or perhaps something more sinister.

A bitter realization dawned. "You have transformed my family into both my impetus and my shackles."

---

The interior of the Falcon 302 far surpassed anything Ethan had previously encountered within this world's academic institutions. The primary cabin housed six acceleration couches arranged in a semi-circle, each outfitted with independent life support monitors and armament charging stations. The ship's walls presented real-time telemetry data derived from external sensors, illustrating the academy grounds diminishing beneath them as they gained altitude.

Ethan took his assigned position as the designated errand boy—the most modest seat, situated adjacent to the cargo hold. The remaining five members occupied their places without remark, though one, a robust young man with fiery crimson hair, cast frequent, poorly disguised looks of contempt in Ethan's direction.

"You exhibit a remarkable composure for someone embarking for the battlefield," the crimson-haired individual remarked. "Most errand boys soil themselves prior to liftoff."

"Kael," Max cautioned.

"What? I'm merely making an observation." Kael leaned back, the energy conduits of his combat suit emitting a faint, rhythmic pulse. "It's peculiar. He's either exceptionally brave or too dense to comprehend the peril ahead."

Ethan met his gaze directly. "Does the distinction truly matter?"

Kael's eye flickered involuntarily. Before he could formulate a retort, another team member—a woman with dark skin adorned with intricate tattoos along her arms—intervened. "Leave him be, Kael. The boy has sufficient burdens without you adding to them."

"Thank you, Mira," Ethan said softly.

Mira's eyebrows arched in surprise. "I did not disclose my name to you."

"It was unnecessary. Your combat posture upon disembarking indicated a specialization in close-quarters engagements. The markings adorning your arms are consistent with the esteemed Ashford martial discipline, which places emphasis on joint manipulation and redirection techniques. Only an individual named Mira has secured a top-three placement in the regional youth tournament utilizing this specific style for the past four consecutive years."

A profound silence descended upon the cabin.

Max swiveled in his seat, his expression transitioning from detached indifference to pronounced interest. "Did you conduct research on us?"

"No," Ethan responded. "I observed you for approximately thirty seconds."

"That's preposterous," Kael stated flatly. "One cannot ascertain all that from--"

"Your weight distribution indicates a reliance on your left leg, suggesting a past injury to your right knee that never fully recuperated. While your compensation is adept, it presents a discernible vulnerability against an observant adversary. The calluses on your hands are indicative of wielding a bladed weapon, not a standard energy blade, but something more substantial with a curved hilt—perhaps a khopesh or a falcata. Your breathing pattern altered when Max addressed you, signifying respect for him but an underlying disagreement with his leadership approach. You were assessing my reaction under duress to gauge my fortitude, not out of genuine concern for my capabilities."

Kael's mouth parted, then snapped shut.

The fifth member of their team, a gangly young man with spectacles who had been engrossed in a holographic display, finally lifted his gaze. "Remarkable," he softly commented. "Processing speed, pattern recognition, and psychological assessment achieved within mere moments of observation. This isn't a result of genetic unlocking; it's innate talent."

"My designation is Dorian," the lanky individual continued, extending a hand. "I serve as the team's strategist. And I find you considerably more intriguing than any errand boy has a right to be."

Ethan briefly clasped his hand. "Ethan."

"We've already established that," Dorian replied with a faint smile. "However, I suspect 'Ethan' constitutes only a fraction of your identity."

Erina, who had remained silent throughout their interaction, finally interjected. "Enough. We are nearing the jump point. Everyone, secure yourselves."

Her voice commanded such authority that even Max offered a nod. Ethan observed her as she meticulously fastened her restraints, each movement economical and precise.

He cherished his sister and derived immense pleasure from pampering her.

"I shall find you in every realm and dote on you each time," he mused with a smile. "I will bring you home once all this concludes."

---

The transit through subspace spanned precisely seven seconds, yet it felt protracted. Ethan's clone perceived the transition as a profound compression of his entire being—every cell converging towards a single nexus before expanding outward once more. As his vision stabilized, the panorama outside the Falcon 302's viewport had transformed completely.

Unfamiliar constellations painted the void. Below them, a colossal structure drifted in the abyss—a space station of such immense proportions that it bordered on the incomprehensible. Spires jutted out in all directions, linked by ethereal bridges that shimmered with pulsating energy. Vessels of myriad sizes and designs navigated designated pathways, their navigation lights forming vibrant rivers of color against the inky blackness.

"The Intergalactic Battlefield," Max announced, his tone deepening with gravity. "More precisely, this is Gateway Station—the final sanctuary before the contested territories. Beyond this juncture, societal laws cease to apply. Only might prevails."

Ethan scrutinized the station's magnitude, mentally charting its defensive installations and structural vulnerabilities. These were ingrained habits from his original body's experiences.

"What is the number of active combatants?" he inquired.

Max directed a glance his way. "Approximately fifty thousand, distributed amongst three primary factions. These numbers shift daily."

"Faction distribution?"

"Forty percent human alliance, thirty-five percent xeno coalition, and twenty-five percent unaffiliated."

Ethan's demeanor remained unchanged upon hearing of the god clan, yet his pulse subtly accelerated. "And as for the errand boys, where do we fit in?"

"You do not engage in combat," Mira stated, her voice softer than before. "Your duties involve resupply, message relay, equipment maintenance, and remaining inconspicuous. Your purpose is to be situated away from the conflict."

"And if I wish to fight?"

Kael emitted a harsh laugh. "With your genetically restricted code? You would barely endure thirty seconds against the most feeble entity within the contested zones. Even less time if it detected you first. And alien races constantly lurk, aiming to assassinate us."

"Kael's delivery is harsh, but his assessment is accurate," Max interjected. "The battlefield is no arena for heroics, Ethan. It is a charnel house. Your directive is to survive and provide support. Nothing more."

Ethan nodded slowly, his thoughts already drifting beyond their cautionary words.

"Thirty seconds is all I require to prove them mistaken," he mused with a confident smile.