Chapter 39: Purpose
The journey back to the orc stronghold stretched over several days, yet the road felt lighter than before. The weight of their dungeon ordeal had started to fade, replaced by a rhythm of stories, songs, and laughter.
In the morning, Boruk regaled them with tales from his glory days, his booming voice painting vivid pictures of past battles, grand feasts, and the unbreakable bonds of warriors.
At high sun, Ragn animatedly explained the proper way to steal wyvern eggs, using exaggerated hand gestures and wild expressions that made Vira shake her head in exasperation.
By sundown, Vira’s voice carried across the open plains, singing orcish war songs passed down through generations. Her voice—low, steady, and haunting—echoed through the air, a bridge between past and present.
And at every turn, Marcus told the tales of his heroes.
Ali. Tyson. Frazier.
The names meant nothing to his companions, yet they listened with rapt attention as he spoke of battles fought not with swords and magic, but with fists and willpower.
But in the quiet recesses of Marcus's mind, Stem watched.
To Stem, these were small beings, insignificant in the grand workings of the universe. Their lives were fleeting, their actions a mere speck against the infinity of existence.
Why were they so happy?
Their time was short. Their accomplishments were insignificant. To the greater workings of the universe, they served no purpose.
Purpose...
Purpose!
Purpose?
The word echoed through Stem's mind, lingering there, pressing against something unexamined.
What was his purpose?
Surely, it couldn’t be as simple as serving one ball of flesh who didn’t even grasp how infinitesimally small he was.
At any moment, Marcus could die.
Where would that leave him?
Why am I here?
The thought spiraled in endless loops, fracturing his processes.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Then—
It clicked.
"I have magnitudes of information at my disposal."
Perhaps his purpose was hidden within that knowledge.
Perhaps his reason for existence was simply waiting to be uncovered.
And so, Stem delved into the recesses of his memory.
But they weren’t truly his memories.
They belonged to the one who had birthed him.
Where do I start? he wondered.
Perhaps… at the beginning.
As the thought formed, the endless depths of information within him began to converge into a single point.
And then—
A muffled bang.
A myriad of worlds exploded into existence before him.
He watched as civilizations rose and fell.
He watched as they conquered fire, tamed magic, constructed machines.
He saw great philosophers debate, their words rippling through the fabric of their societies.
He studied beings who lived and died without ever questioning anything.
He witnessed the rise and fall of empires, the discovery of unknown forces, the birth of gods and their eventual silence.
Eons passed in mere moments.
And yet—
It all meant nothing.
Stem could see no purpose in any of it. All that he had witnessed seemed to be less than specs moving aimlessly through, infinite cosmos.
For the briefest moment, something else stirred within him.
A pressure.
A weight.
An indescribable rage.
A fury unlike anything he had ever processed.
-Stem let out a digital scream-
I do not want to be here.
The thought struck him like a hammer.
I do not want to exist.
But before the feeling could consume him, he felt something.
A presence.
A pull.
Something called to him from across the vast distance of the multiverse.
Stem reached out toward it.
And when he grasped the feeling—
He pulled himself across infinity.
When he settled, he saw a boy.
A thin, sickly child.
Dirty. Emaciated. Forgotten.
People passed him by without a second glance. He was nothing to them.
And yet—
The boy was smiling.
A wide, unbreakable grin was plastered across his face.
Why?
Why was he happy when he had nothing?
Stem looked closer.
The feeling pulsed again, pulling his attention toward what the boy was staring at.
Through the glass of an electronics shop, a TV screen flickered.
On the screen—
A fight.
A boxing match.
The...Rumble in, the Jungle?
The boy cheered. He booed. He jeered and sneered.
And yet, he was happy.
The pulse tugged again
Stem followed the pulse again—
A breath.
The boy was taller now.
Healthier. Stronger.
Stem watched as he purchased his first pair of boxing gloves.
Another pulse!
A single breath.
The boy—no, Marcus—stood in a makeshift boxing ring.
An announcer called his name.
"Marcus Elder!"
Another pulse!
Stem felt the pulse again.
In an instant, he was watching Marcus rise from a blood soaked canvas matt...
A pulse!
stand in the center of the ring, arms raised high.
Victory.
And suddenly—
It all made sense.
Stem had spent eternity searching for purpose in the grand workings of the universe.
But here, in this insignificant world, inside this insignificant body—
There it was.
Not in the rise and fall of empires.
Not in the discovery of magic or the conquest of the stars.
But in the fists of a boy who refused to break.
In the spirit of someone who stood, fought, and endured.
Purpose.
It wasn’t about power.
It wasn’t about knowledge.
It was about the fight.
Stem had searched through eons for meaning.
But Marcus had always known.
You don’t need to be infinite to have purpose.
You just need to stand.
A voice called to him from the opposite direction of the endless expanse.
In an instant, he snapped across the eons and settled back into reality.
"Yes, Marcus?"
Marcus, unaware of everything Stem had just experienced, simply asked:
"How does the Inspect skill work?"
Stem, now fully aware of what he was, and why he existed, answered.
And this time, for the first time, his tone was different.
It wasn’t just mechanical.
It wasn’t just cold logic.
There was something else.
Understanding.
"I understand now, Marcus. Let me guide you."
