The "Reversing Beam" magic could nullify the effects of other magic, which was in itself an interesting reversal:

Reality being influenced by magic was the established, already-occurred fact. To reverse a spell’s effects, one had to use magic to fabricate a "reality without magical interference" to cancel it.

In truth, a "reality without magical interference" had never existed in the first place.

Rorschach was in the practice room, attempting to apply the concept of "Order" to the extraction of Transmuting Dust.

Rorschach, of course, also wanted to reproduce the unbelievable magic that "could nullify a spell’s effects." However, it was clear that the author, a practitioner of Chaos Evil, had not left behind any details on how to cast it. Apparently, the annotator—presumably a Great Mage himself—had also failed to reproduce it and had left a discouraging note.

The panel had reproduced "***Reversing Beam (Gray)" after Rorschach reconstructed the ancient tome’s description with his own understanding. He felt the panel was getting more useless with every update. The displayed terms were "Magic Control," "Ray," and "Mapping," but some steps were missing. And now that it had updated to a "polar coordinate" system, Rorschach had no idea how many more steps he needed to unlock.

Setting aside this unreliable magic for the moment, Rorschach focused on further applications of "Energy Deprivation," similar to how he had constructed the [Decomposition Skill]. 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝒆𝔀𝒆𝙗𝓷𝒐𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝓶

Rorschach took out a "Blue Shield" Crystal Core and injected Ether to activate it. Deprivation... he obviously couldn’t directly drain the energy maintaining the Shield, but Rorschach had now shifted his thinking.

’Returning.’ This was the inspiration Rorschach had drawn from the ancient tome. ’Could I also fabricate a "reality" where the Ether was never converted into Deryats Divine Power, apply it to the Energy Shield, and make it dissipate back into Ether?’

If he could achieve that, using "Magic Control" to absorb the Magic Power wouldn’t be difficult. The only remaining issue would be distance, but if he converted it into a Magic Array for use in a device, he wouldn’t have to worry about casting range.

’A reality that was never converted... pure Ether...’ Rorschach realized he needed a deeper understanding of Ether itself. The creator of "Reversing Beam" had used "the universe’s progression toward entropy" as an anchor to fabricate a reality without magic. Because this principle also involved time, it was a law fundamental enough to work.

’Ether... Magic Power... Mana...’ Rorschach temporarily gave up trying to put it into words and simply recalled the experience of interacting with Ether using "Magic Control."

Rorschach suddenly grasped the difference between Ether and the Divine Power within Transmuting Dust. Before Ether undergoes Activation by a Caster—that is, before it is imbued with an "Original Form" from the Symbolic Realm—it does not interact with the Material Realm. It requires human will and a human-designed mechanical medium to interfere with reality.

But Transmuting Dust that hadn’t undergone Dulling would trigger mutations upon contact with any matter. Even with the blue crystals transformed by Deryats, their "glow" was a form of spontaneous influence on reality.

’It’s less about "returning" it to the form of Ether and more about stripping away the symbol of Divine Power attached to the energy. No, it’s "Exile." I’ll exile this "Order," which comes from unknown or known Divine Spirits, back to the Star Realm, and leave the pure Ether behind, trapped in the gap between the Material Realm and the Symbolic Realm.’

’Exile...’ That feeling... Serving as a substitute for Transmuting Dust, the "Blue Light Barrier" was still flowing continuously. In a daze, Rorschach had an experience that transcended all his previous Casting. He held his hand out before the barrier:

’Exile the Order that belongs to Deryats...’ The blue light under Rorschach’s palm began to fluctuate violently, as if struggling. It broke apart into glowing motes, then regressed further to the state it was in before being given its "blue light" form.

All that remained was pure Ether. The other "stuff" hadn’t lost its connection to Deryats through decay; it had been exiled from this space by Rorschach.

The young man himself didn’t realize by what method he had just "exiled" a Divine Spirit’s presence from this space. With a thought, Rorschach activated his [Arcane Vision]. The Ether materialized as a pure Magic Aura, transforming from the shape of a hemispherical Shield into a stream of light that coiled around his palm.

At that moment, it was as if the young man were the god of the small practice room, his divine status seemingly surpassing even that of the "Forest Maiden."

’If it’s effective against active Divine Power, then maybe it’ll work on the Divine Power from other shattered Divine Kingdoms, too...’ He checked his panel. [Rorschach’s Divine Exile Technique (White)] was now displayed prominently on the list.

’Isn’t this spell name a bit over the top?’ ’All I did was strip the "Order" from the Divine Power...’ This magic showed no associated terms, and its proficiency level was even stranger: (1/12800).

The proficiency requirement for leveling it up was also ridiculous; Rorschach couldn’t just practice this bizarre magic whenever he felt like it. Fortunately, even at White proficiency, it worked without fail, affecting the Divine Power every time he cast it.

’If I practice this up to Purple proficiency, maybe I could really exile a god, haha.’

’If I really did master it, I’d probably only be able to test it on an "old acquaintance." Then the god I went through so much trouble to resurrect would be personally driven out of the Material Realm by my own hand. Goddammit, I really must be insane...’ Rorschach reined in his wild thoughts.

’First, I’ll convert it into a Magic Array...’ Rorschach used the panel’s conversion function directly. The moment it activated, however, a splitting headache assaulted the young man.

The last time he’d passed out because of the panel was on the first night after he’d transmigrated... He fell heavily onto the practice room floor.

...

In the Valuva Suburbs, a new cluster of shacks had been built, housing the poor who came from all over the Holy Kingdom to sell their labor.

The smells of sweat, vomit, and cheap distilled liquor mingled in the air. Mike, a reporter, fought back his nausea and handed a Livre to his interviewee for the day.

"Two more, so I can buy two more bottles of liquor."

"You can have the money, but don’t spend it all on liquor," Mike said, pulling out two more pieces of Paper Currency.

"What else is there to do but trade it for liquor?" He lifted his empty pant leg. "I don’t have many days left. Might as well enjoy what I can. At least it’ll make me feel a little better."

Mike breathed a sigh of relief. The man was still lucid, and his ability to articulate was much better than the recent arrivals from the outer provinces. He wasn’t just repeating the same nonsensical phrase over and over or rambling incoherently.

The man before him had once held a respectable job. As a miner, the chance to go to a Sub-plane and work for the "Shaleanna Mining Company" was incredibly enviable!

"It’s a lie! A lie!" The man, who was now missing his right leg and left hand, propped his head up, his fingers pressing into his eye sockets. His cloudy eyes seemed to pierce through the plane to gaze upon a land of nothing but red earth.

"We used dynamite to blast deep underground, but there wasn’t any gold, no matter how deep we went. The earth was too loose, the foreman didn’t set the supports properly, and with one blast, the whole crew..."

Mike could guess what happened without the man having to say it. He took notes rapidly, when a suspicious point suddenly occurred to him. "How did you get out? As far as I know, only that company controls the passage in and out. Why would they let you come here?"

"Yes, but a kind Mage helped me..." The man began to tremble. "The others lied, said they would treat me, but they just wanted to get rid of me! The kind Mage stuffed me into a crate..." He gave a wretched smile. "With this body of mine now, getting stuffed inside is easy enough!"

"And then?" ’Not necessarily a Mage, more like an Apprentice overflowing with sympathy,’ Mike mused, jotting down his opinion as he took notes.

"The kind Mage slipped me some money, switched the label on the crate, and got me shipped out of that damn place. Later, I was almost thrown into a river..."

He was later discovered by the movers who took over the shipment. The poor man spent all his money to get the chance to live temporarily in this shack, waiting to die.

"The kids here, they’ll help me buy food and liquor. But you have to watch your money around here. If they didn’t take pity on me, their grimy little hands would probably have snatched my last Copper Coin... Sir, could you help me write a letter to send home?"

The man pulled out one of the pieces of Paper Currency he had just received and offered it back to Mike, but since he couldn’t clearly state a specific address or recipient, Mike was powerless to help and refused his request.

The reporter asked many more probing questions, filling up his small notebook and completely draining his subject’s energy. After Mike took his leave, a group of children who had been waiting for a long time immediately rushed forward, hoping to "scoop some fish." However, the reporter was exceptionally nimble. He weaved and dodged between the grasping little hands, ran off at top speed, and boarded a river boat, leaving Valuva’s largest slum behind.

"Fried! Henry!" the man’s hoarse voice called out from inside the shack. "I’ve got money! Help me buy liquor! I’ve got money!..." No child paid him any mind, and his shouts grew fainter and fainter.

Back at the newspaper building, Mike had already changed his clothes. When his editor-in-chief saw him enter, he said with displeasure, "Since you received the opportunity to visit the gold mine, you should be preparing your article. Stop running around!"

"But sir, this was all to prepare for a big story!" Mike zipped up the stairs. He was always fast on his feet; it was a basic skill for any good reporter.