Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate

Capítulo 330: System’s return

A combat style not based on dominance of one element.

But on synthesis.

Each elemental thread answered the last. None dominated. None lagged behind. Fire set tempo. Water redirected. Air guided. Earth countered. Shadow twisted beneath it all—watching, coiling, shaping edge and silhouette.

And all of them—all of them—moved around the core.

His core.

The Blueprint.

The silent pulse in his chest that didn’t force or pull—but offered shape through emptiness.

Another step.

Another flick.

The mana swirled into a spiral, then unfurled behind him like a fan of pressure—deflecting an incoming shockwave from the beast’s latest roar.

He slid under it, hand pressing to the ground, and the earth responded—not by rising, but by yielding, shifting his weight forward in an elegant, controlled push.

His combat style wasn’t about overwhelming power.

It was adaptation.

No—integration.

He didn’t fight with elements.

He fought as if he were one.

And slowly, the battlefield noticed.

The shadowed figure paused—just slightly. Its masked gaze flicked to Damien, narrowed in that microsecond of recalibration.

As if realizing for the first time…

That thing’s not just moving.

It’s learning.

Damien straightened from his last pivot, firelight washing over one side of his face, wind tousling his hair, water coiling faintly around his ankles, earth firm beneath him.

He exhaled once.

Then moved again.

It was a demonstration.

Of what it looked like when someone took everything…

And turned it into something new.

Damien’s body slowed—movements cooling, breath steadying, as if the rhythm itself had shifted from acceleration to reflection.

The elements still moved around him—residual trails of heat, mist, dust, air. But now, they weren’t just responding.

They were watching.

And whispering.

Not in words. Not in language.

In presence.

The flicker of flame brushed his shoulder like a curious hand.

The swirl of air circled his ribs in a questioning spiral.

Water pooled at his heels and didn’t drain away.

Even the earth hummed underfoot, as if waiting for a command that hadn’t yet formed.

And in their subtle shifts—he heard it.

Whispers, clearer now than before. Not scattered or chaotic.

“There.”

“Found.”

“Aligned.”

“He shaped it.”

The mana… was speaking.

Not to him. Through him.

The Blueprint inside his core pulsed softly, like a held breath. And Damien realized—

This wasn’t just a connection.

It was recognition.

He had created a style—yes. A movement. A way to fight.

But in doing so, he had tapped into something deeper: the core of his energy. The way he was meant to function. Not as a mage using spells, not as a warrior mastering form—but as a medium between creation and control.

The elemental threads bowed around him.

And then—

DING.

A sharp, clinical chime rang out—cutting through the reverent quiet like glass dropped on stone.

Damien blinked. “Eh?”

He looked up, reflexively scanning the space above him.

And sure enough—it appeared.

Flickering, glitching—half-translucent—like a projection folded through a pane of broken dimensions.

———–

[SYSTEM LOG DETECTED]

—Initiating fallback diagnostics—

[ERROR 009-CROSS.LAYERING]

Detected unauthorized elemental convergence.

Dimensional resonance unstable.

[ERROR 341-HOST.AUTHORITY]

System authority protocols bypassed.

Primary thread override engaged.

[IDENTITY TRACE ACTIVE]

…Host signature found.

Host Identifier: [REDACTED]

—Attempting reintegration with host—

…Standby.

————–

Damien’s lips parted, his brow furrowed.

When Damien first entered the Cradle of Primordials, the system had gone silent.

No interface. No guidance. No status notifications. No trace of its omnipresent, machine-born voice.

He’d called for it—once, maybe twice—but nothing answered.

And he’d assumed, with some logic, that the reason was simple.

The system wasn’t of him. It was external. An artificial construct coded to anchor itself to souls. To identities. To rank.

And his soul, raw and unstable when he’d entered this place, had likely slipped out of sync—beyond its grasp.

Like a signal lost to a different frequency.

But now—

Now, the frequency matched.

Because the system wasn’t forcing its way in anymore.

It was being drawn.

By the core.

By the Blueprint.

———-

[SYSTEM STABILIZATION IN PROGRESS…]

Connection Status: RESTORED

Host Core Signature: [VERIFIED]

Elemental Sync Rate: 100%

Reintegration Protocols… COMPLETE.

—————

Damien exhaled through his nose, arms still loose at his sides, eyes flicking over the translucent feed as it hovered and pulsed.

“Welcome back,” he murmured dryly, an amused half-smile curling on his lips.

It was like watching an old dog finally find the trail it had been sniffing for years.

Behind him, the beast bellowed again, flinging a piece of shattered stone through the air as it barreled after its target. The humanoid figure twisted, half in a blur, rebounding off the impact and—

Gone.

Damien’s eyes sharpened. His core pulsed once.

He didn’t need to guess.

The moment the figure vanished from sight, he knew.

And he turned.

Just as the silhouette reappeared, inches from him.

No sound. No wind. No threat.

Just arrival.

A single instant of spatial collapse—and the masked figure stood there, motionless, less than a meter from Damien’s chest.

Time cracked.

Not metaphorically.

Damien felt it—the bend of seconds stretching, tearing. The moment between pulses extended into a chasm wide enough to drown a breath in.

The masked figure stood just inches away.

And Damien saw it—the curve of the arm beginning to raise, the shift in weight from one foot to the next, the glint of pressure where mana condensed into killing form.

This was death.

No dramatics. No fanfare.

Just clean, absolute intent.

A strike designed to end him.

And yet, as the moment stretched into glass…

————-

[SYSTEM NOTICE:]

Host has successfully awakened.

Core: Formed

Core Grade: [????????]

Talent Classification: Unbound

—————

The voice came not in his ears—but in his bones. Cool, clinical, detached.

So detached, in fact, that it was absurd.

Damien was seconds away from being punctured, and the system decided now was the time to offer diagnostics?

His mouth twitched.

And then—

He realized something.

He didn’t feel fear.

Not even surprise.

There was no spike of adrenaline. No tremor in his breath. If anything… he felt calm.

Lucky, even.

Because some part of him—some new part, born of the core, of the Blueprint—understood.

He didn’t have to dodge.

He didn’t need to deflect.

He needed to release.

Damien’s eyes narrowed.

And he reached inward—not toward fire, not toward wind, not toward anything with shape or color or name—but toward that empty center.

The print.

The void.

The Blueprint.

And he drew from it.

No spell. No chant. No calculation.

Just intention.

A ripple of formless mana burst from his core—pure, unaligned, uncolored. Like a thought made into energy. Like the idea of power before it ever took form.

His hand moved—a fraction too slow to intercept the strike physically.

But the mana moved faster.

Instantly.

It surged outward in a silent detonation, a pulse of reality-bending force that warped everything around him—air, light, gravity.

The masked figure’s blow halted mid-swing.

Its head tilted.

And Damien saw it.

Its eyes widened.

Too late.

The mana struck—not like a blade, not like a blast, but like an envelope.

It wrapped the silhouette in its formless grip, folding around it like a concept returning to source code.

And in the next moment—

The figure began to unravel.

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