With the ultimate goal of mastering the exalted miracle Calmness, Mithra began her study of miracles.
The process demanded that she awaken her inspiration, channel a vivid current of perception, and use it to link herself to the essence of the desired power.
Then came imagination—envisioning the miracle's form, even its intended function—before releasing it through the body's designated transmission point.
The transmission point was the place within the body from which the miracle emerged. Each person's primary point differed, causing slight variations in how the miracle manifested.
Mithra's happened to be the most common—her left hand. In this, she was far less unique than in the brilliance of her inspiration.
Safin once remarked that some poor souls had their primary point in their buttocks, an awkward reality that lingered until they finally trained themselves to extend their transmission point to other parts of the body. Only then did things become somewhat more manageable.
Just imagining it sounded exhausting.
Mithra pressed on for what felt like a long while. Time in the cave was impossible to measure, yet she knew she had spent no small effort.
Fortunately, driven by her deep craving for Calmness, she eventually managed to seize hold of the faint flicker of "Self" within her inspiration—and drew it out.
At once, her hand cooled, and a soft, white mist began to swirl in her palm.
Wait… why did that sound faintly absurd?
"Not bad. Now, place it where it's needed. For Calmness, that means your head," Safin instructed, his voice calm yet exacting as he guided her.
Before the mist could fade, Mithra pressed it to her glabella.
Ding~.
A clear, bell-like tone rang in her ear. In the next instant, every distracting thought melted away, her mind settling into an uncanny serenity—like an old monk deep in meditation.
Ah~.
The sensation passed quickly. Mithra opened her eyes, startled. "Why did it last only a moment?"
"It's your first attempt. The fact that it worked at all is impressive." Safin shook his head with a faint smile, then walked to a corner of the cave and began digging.
Soon, Mithra saw what he pulled free—half a wild rabbit, its surface sheathed in frost.
"You must be hungry by now. Let's eat," Safin said, his tone carrying an almost ancient patience.
He worked with simple ease: preparing the rabbit, skewering it on a piece of wood, then setting it over the fire. "The conditions here are poor. I hear the food in the Enchanted Realm far outshines what you'll find in the Dream Nexus, but for now you'll have to make do."
Mithra shook her head. "I know. Now isn't the time to be picky."
They quickly finished off the half-rabbit. The taste was nothing worth praising, but the two of them ate every bite clean.
"Originally, this rabbit would have lasted me quite a while alone. With another mouth to feed, the rations disappear that much faster," Safin remarked, tossing the stripped bones into the fire.
"I'll head out and find more food," Mithra offered.
Safin nodded. "Good. You should also familiarize yourself with the shallower tunnels. That way, you'll be better prepared when the time comes. My range is limited, so let me explain first."
He told Mithra that he had carved markings at various junctions in the tunnels. By following those signs, she wouldn't lose her way in the upper levels.
"Though the mines swarm with Cursed Beings, you'll also find normal creatures—that's our food source. The Cursed Beings hate people, but they have little interest in anything else," Safin explained.
"How do Cursed Beings come into being? Are they also a kind of miracle?" Mithra asked, curiosity flickering in her voice.
Safin paused, then answered. "Miracles are not entirely lifeless."
Mithra frowned, not understanding.
"Miracles aren't just tools. As long as belief exists, another kind of miracle may take shape. When unchecked desires build up, they can twist into terrifying results. Ordinary folk cannot bring this about—but when the thoughts of many converge, such things are bound to appear."
He added solemnly, "Miracles always demand a price."
Then he fixed Mithra with a steady look. "You may use them, but don't let yourself be seduced by their convenience. If you ever face such a situation again, remember—always remember your name."
...
Mithra moved deeper into the tunnels, torch in hand. She was oddly comforted by its flickering light; in such a short time, she had already grown attached to it.
As a miracle novice, even with a superb medium, her Illumination miracle would never last long. For now, fire was simpler, more reliable.
It was a pity the pickaxe hadn't been collected by Safin. That pickaxe had fought at her side for a time.
Still, it didn't matter—there had been plenty of them scattered among the heaps of corpses.
Safin had said that the mass riots of Cursed Beings were abnormal. Normally, they were cowardly things, too timid to step into the light, venting their hatred only in the shadows.
Mithra didn't know the truth of it, but she felt far stronger than before. Even if another horde of monsters appeared…
This time, she believed she could make it out whole.
Carefully retracing the familiar routes, she returned to the wooden plank walkway where she had once fought a brutal battle. The corpses of monsters still lay strewn about, dark stains of blood thick upon the wood, their exact origin impossible to tell.
"Pickaxe… pickaxe…" She searched for some time before glancing down and spotting it—a blood-stained pickaxe lying apart from the rest of the dead below.
It had fallen there.
She made her way back toward the heap of corpses. Along the path, she encountered a few stray monsters. Yet they were nothing like the frenzied swarms from before; though they would lash out if approached, their aggression was muted. It only took a few quick maneuvers for her to slip past them—just as Safin had said.
Reaching the pile, she bent down to claim the weapon—only to freeze at the sound of footsteps.
A group of people emerged, dressed much like the ones she had glimpsed earlier, now moving into this corpse-strewn place.
Torch in hand, Mithra stood openly, her figure glaringly obvious in the gloom—like a lighthouse rising over a sea of corpses.
The group spotted her at once. One of them immediately raised a finger, muttering in a low voice.
That familiar sensation… Wasn't he the torch-bearer from before? Should she return the torch?
Mithra's mind wandered for a moment.
"You're not a Cursed Being," a deep voice cut through her thoughts.
The leader had stepped forward—a bearded man whose attire set him apart from the rest. He wore a loose gray cloak, marked across the chest with a strange violet eye. Around his neck hung a string of pale mineral beads, and his wrist bore a bracelet of stones split into two colors.
Though Safin had never taught her the hierarchies of Believers or their sigils, Mithra felt it instinctively—an intuitive recognition.
"No," she replied, her tone calm and steady. "What I'm still wondering is… why you fear me so much."
The man lifted his gaze, studying Mithra carefully.
"Where did you come from?"
"I don't know."
"A soul from the Enchanted Realm?"
"I don't know."
"Why are you here?"
"I don't know."
A vein twitched at the corner of his eye, but Mithra's face remained perfectly still.
"You've got a stubborn tongue. Let's see if you can keep it." His stance shifted—legs parting, shoulders lowering into readiness.
Mithra caught a glimpse of his necklace: the mineral beads flashed with a warped, human-shaped sigil.
Then his legs swelled with some kind of force.
Vitality?
Safin had planned to teach her another basic miracle—Vitality. Its inspiration type was Self. The effect? Safin's words had been overly complex, but Mithra understood it simply as physical enhancement.
She had seen Safin demonstrate. His Vitality had enveloped his whole body. But this man's glow extended no farther than his upper thighs.
So… is it really reinforced there? she wondered absently.
Even as danger mounted, Mithra's mind drifted.
Thump!
The man stomped the ground, leaving a deep footprint, and burst forward—fast and sharp as a striking hare.
Mithra moved in one clean motion. Her foot slammed down on the fallen pickaxe, driving the head into the dirt so it stood upright. She seized the handle and swung down in a brutal arc.
Her prediction was flawless. The charging man ran straight into the blow.
The pickaxe's tip punched into his abdomen with solid force. His scream tore through the air as his charge broke off, though the sheer impact still shoved Mithra back several steps.
Oh? Not bad… His Vitality doesn't shield the entire body. Some parts are reinforced, but normal strikes can still pierce through.
She recalled Safin's lesson: after activating Vitality, he had smashed his skull against a wall and left a hole in the stone—yet his own head had emerged utterly unscathed.
Crude as the method had been, it was painfully clear and unforgettable.
The man before her was nowhere near Safin's level.
Suddenly, writhing in pain, the man resolved to strike back—launching a flying kick straight at Mithra. The distance was too close, and she was caught off guard. All she could do was raise the pickaxe in defense.
A dull crack rang out as the pickaxe snapped in two. An immense force burst through her guard, hurling her backward. Her body flipped and rolled across the ground in a clumsy sprawl.
"Ugh…"
Even after tumbling, the pain clung to her. Her hands trembled as though stabbed by a thousand invisible needles, while the scrapes across her skin burned like fire.
Yet the agony faded almost as quickly as it had come. The small wounds sealed over in moments, leaving only the memory of pain—like her nerves had been pierced by something unseen, then released.
Mithra staggered upright and bolted for the tunnel behind her.
One thing was certain: though his Vitality was leagues below Safin's, ending her would have been effortless. If that kick had landed on her head, not even divine intervention could have pulled her back.
Footsteps thundered close behind. Mithra spun, hurling her torch directly at his face. As expected, he blocked it without trouble, knocking it aside.
Expressionless, she turned and vanished into the tunnel.
The man snatched up another torch from nearby. "Guard this place. She may be odd, but she's just a human. If she shows herself outside, catch her at once."
The others flinched, cowed into silence, then quickly agreed.
Torch raised, the man plunged into the tunnel after her.
He frowned almost immediately. Mithra had scrambled her trail, and his earlier orders to the villagers had cost him precious time. She was further ahead than he liked.
He halted, closing his eyes.
Five heartbeats passed. The warped "human" sigil on his necklace pulsed with light again—this time channeling into his ears.
The chaos of the tunnels funneled inward, sharpening into clarity. A cold smile crept across his lips.
Found you.
He sprinted forward, his legs—his primary miracle transmission point—driving him with uncanny agility despite the tight confines.
The torchlight stretched farther and farther, spilling over stone until at last it caught a figure ahead.
"Screech!"
"Damn it!"
It wasn't Mithra at all.
It was a Cursed Being.
Unthinking, he lashed out with a kick, shattering the Cursed Being's skull into fragments. He spat a few curses, but before he could even slow his pace, more of the creatures lurched out of the darkness around him.
Too lazy to waste time in a fight, he swung the torch threateningly, hoping to scare them back.
The Cursed Beings hissed and screeched, their distorted cries clawing at his ears—already overstimulated by the Vitality he had channeled.
Then—crash!
A shower of dirt and loose rock poured down from the side passage, snuffing the torch in an instant.
The tunnel sank into absolute blackness.
"You don't know 'Illumination,' do you?" Mithra's voice drifted faintly through the dark, mocking.
"You damned brat, playing tricks with me!" he snarled, cursing as the monsters closed in now that the torch's light no longer restrained them.
His ears rang. Without mastery over his primary transmission point, the Vitality's boost to his hearing was already fading. The unnatural clarity dulled, leaving him half-blind, half-deaf.
He ground his teeth. The girl clearly meant to trap him here, even turning these wretches against him.
But so what? Even stripped of sight and hearing, he still had Vitality flowing in his legs. That alone was enough to smash through a swarm of these things. Once they were dealt with, he would track her down at his leisure.
Besides, his men were already watching the exit. The only way left was deeper into the tunnels. Either way, she was walking toward her own death.
...
Meanwhile, Mithra leaned against the cliff wall, steadying her breath, listening to the chaos echoing in the dark.
This path was one she had already memorized during her earlier scouting. She hadn't run this way at random—she remembered it was where she had once slipped past several Cursed Beings at once. That memory had told her it might serve her now.
She could retreat safely, rejoin Safin, and from there, she would be beyond danger.
But she hesitated.
Her mind returned to the "exchange mechanism." She had already noticed it wasn't simply tied to her own inspiration—it felt as though something else was watching her, evaluating her performance.
If that was true, then maybe she should push herself further. Play her role, and perhaps unlock more of those "Big Boss Rewards."
Yes, the rewards had costs—but they were real. Tangible. And for someone like her, freshly transplanted into this world with no allies, every hidden card was a lifeline. A way to survive, body and mind intact.
As for whether the presence behind the mechanism carried darker intentions… whether her fate was already shackled to it…
That, Mithra chose not to think about.
They had already salvaged her life.
Mithra had no lofty goals—she only intended to work hard, become a diligent, reliable worker.
And really, where wasn't "work" just "work"? Here, it was even more thrilling than before.
That was the extent of her ambition.
Secondly—
She wanted a medium of her own.
She was a miracle novice with clumsy inspiration. Having more backup mediums was perfectly normal. Safin had never promised to give her his, after all.
Now, in this dim, chaotic dark, her opponent was trapped by the Cursed Beings. He couldn't cast Illumination, and his Vitality-enhanced hearing required buildup and ran on limited time.
Yes, the raw gap in strength was huge. But under these conditions—sufficient.
Mithra glanced at the broken pickaxe in her hand.
"Anyway, I'll try it first. Trying won't get me pregnant."
She braced herself—ten seconds.
Calmness.
Ding~.
Her mind cleared in an instant. She drove the pickaxe hard into her own abdomen, twisted, and yanked it back out.
Agony erupted. Normally, she would have collapsed immediately. But Calmness steadied her. Her body shook violently, her face contorted, tears welled at the corners of her eyes—yet her lips pulled into a feral smile.
It didn't matter. The dark concealed everything.
Her body began to regenerate.
And with regeneration came that dreadful side effect—heightened sensitivity. Mithra had learned this before, when pain once knocked her out: not only pain, but all senses sharpened.
"Entire body's sensitivity" wasn't an exaggeration.
She felt it again—her inspiration, tied to those bodily senses, surged stronger.
This time, Calmness lasted a full three seconds. Its duration stretched further.
Chain Calmness.
Ding~.
Perfect. This way she could stay conscious.
Gripping the blood-soaked pickaxe, she advanced.
Her opponent's legs brimmed with Vitality, but the rest of him was weaker. He was flustered, cornered. She, by contrast, walked unhindered through the black, every sense razor-sharp.
Her eyes, like pools of flowing pitch, fixed on him.
She raised the pickaxe.
Brought it down.
Hiss!
...
"...You went and provoked those things again?"
"No. I just killed someone."
"Oh? A Believer, no less."
"Do you think his flesh is edible? He looks… meaty."
"Are you joking?"
"Yes. I'm joking."
Mithra dragged the corpse—riddled with wounds, head smashed like a mangled watermelon—to the entrance of Safin's cave dwelling.
Then she collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath.
Safin glanced at her with a trace of concern, only to see Mithra raise her hand and press Calmness onto her glabella.
Ding~.
The motion was almost instinctive, yet it did nothing to ease her ragged breathing or exhaustion.
"After such a short time outside, your Calmness is already as smooth as if it were innate," Safin said, brows knitting.
Mithra gave no reply.
Perhaps it was the only way to dull the agony of regeneration. Her Calmness proficiency had indeed soared. But in absolute calm, pain grew sharper still—it was only that she could suppress its impact to the limit.
Even so, she had managed to kill the enemy, fumbling her way through the environment.
But his vicious counterattack in his final moments shattered several of her bones; her chest had nearly been torn open.
He had also attempted other miracles—but Mithra cut them off early. It seemed Believers, at least at lower levels, were wary of close combat, since casting often carried initial fluctuations.
In the end, it was still a brutal fight.
After a long silence, Mithra finally felt the pain ebb away and her senses return to normal.
She hesitated briefly.
Ding~.
Still, best to cast Calmness first.
After her senses steadied, her inspiration also returned to normal. Yet now, she could cast Calmness almost instantly. Though its duration had shortened, she could sustain its effect for several minutes with a single use.
"A novice's Senseforce reserves usually aren't lacking," Safin reminded her, watching as she repeatedly triggered Calmness. "But as you learn more miracles, you'll need to manage your Senseforce carefully."
Only now could Mithra spare the focus for conversation. "Is Senseforce fixed at birth?"
"At a child's birth, Senseforce is at its strongest," Safin explained. "But it soon declines, only to rise again once memory begins to form. Before twenty, growth is rapid. After thirty, it wanes. After forty, progress becomes difficult. At fifty, there's one final surge—then it essentially ceases to grow."
"A strange pattern," Mithra remarked.
"Humans are strange. The whole world is strange," Safin said with a faint smile.
"Are there other ways to increase it?"
"Yes," Safin said firmly. "When an active miracle or a Believer perishes, some of their inspiration separates and materializes, falling to the ground. Absorbing it helps. But there are hidden dangers—too much, and you'll lose yourself."
Mithra nodded, committing the knowledge to memory.
"I was planning to teach you how to hunt in the tunnels once you returned," Safin continued, "but it seems you need rest first."
"Sorry… I do need to rest a little," Mithra admitted, not bothering to feign toughness.
"It's fine. I'm in no rush," Safin replied. Then, after a pause, he added, "Oh—how many lives do you have left?"
"…What?" Mithra froze, her mind turning, but she still couldn't grasp his meaning.
Safin's eyes narrowed slightly. "You don't even know? Hm. Very strange."
He thought for a moment, then clarified: "People from the Enchanted Realm—those who cross over—they possess multiple lives. I've met several and heard them speak of it. Anyone from there has at least two lives in the Dream Nexus. And with mastery of miracles, it's said that number can increase."
"I don't know," Mithra said, stunned for a moment after hearing this. Then she added, "Do they have a name for this phenomenon?"
"In the Enchanted Realm, these extra lives are called life locks."
Mithra froze again.
Life locks!?
The cost of exchanging for the "Eyes of Night" had been a reduction in the number of life locks.
So… they were extra lives!?
After piecing it together, she finally understood.
Of course—that explained it. A life lock was certainly worth trading for a pair of eyes with such overwhelming effects.
"I don't even know if I still have any life locks left. I honestly know nothing about them." That was all Mithra could say to Safin.
Safin stroked his chin. "Your battle with that novice Believer was razor's edge. I don't know how you pulled through, but if you unknowingly lost a life lock there, you need to be cautious. From now on, assume you only have one life left."
Mithra nodded in quiet understanding.
Regardless, she had always lived by the principle that life could only be spent once. The regeneration gift, of course, was a separate matter.
With that topic closed, Mithra raised another question: "I've noticed that when you use a medium to cast a miracle, patterns appear—but they don't for me. Is it because I lack a medium?"
As she spoke, she produced the necklace and bracelet she had scavenged from a corpse.
"No," Safin replied. "That's a more advanced miracle item. I had hoped you'd master both Calmness and Vitality before encountering it… but given your proficiency in Calmness—honestly, it puts me to shame—there's no problem." He paused, calculating for a moment before continuing.
"Please teach me," Mithra said, curiosity flickering in her calm, dark eyes.
Safin nodded and explained: "Those patterns are called Belief Totems. They carry symbolic meaning within miracles, letting you sense a target more quickly and magnifying the miracle's effect. Think of them as miracle amplifiers—like a lens."
With that, he demonstrated—first casting a non-totem Illumination without a medium, then a second Illumination that projected a light totem, again without a medium.
The difference was plain: the totem-cast Illumination shone brighter, and its reach was visibly greater.
"These are the common totems—refined over generations of exploration and development by our ancestors. Most of the standard inspiration types have corresponding totems, and anyone can learn them. After all, humans are frail by nature; they must acquire more knowledge to make up for their weakness."
"In deeper studies of miracle casting, however, some powerful individuals gradually create totems unique to their own faith. With those, they can reshape the nature of existing miracles—or even forge entirely new and formidable ones. That lies in the realm of advanced practice."
When he finished, Safin pointed at the novice teaching manual resting by Mithra's feet. "Now, turn to the final pages."
Mithra picked it up obediently. Flipping through to the end, she found an array of intricate patterns—each one a Belief Totem.
Among them, she recognized the Sunshine totem and a totem formed from the character for Human.
The text labeled them instead as the Light totem and the Self totem.
After letting her examine them, Safin tossed her a sharpened stone. "Start with the Self totem. Copy each pattern five times until it's familiar. Between rests, I'll instruct you in Vitality, and afterward you'll continue drawing. There are no shortcuts here—fix the shapes in your mind, let your body repeat them until they become instinct."
And so, Mithra began her dual training in both Vitality and Belief Totems.
Beyond that, Safin also led her out to practice catching ordinary cave creatures.
Mostly wild rabbits and rodents—and, of course, edible insects. Food in the tunnels was little more than this, yet Mithra accepted it with her usual unchanging expression.
Or perhaps, it was simply that she had never worn much expression to begin with.
In the lightless mine, time itself seemed to lose meaning, and Mithra felt herself gradually becoming feral.
Fortunately, Safin could conjure water miracles to keep them clean. Without that, who could say what state of filth they would have sunk into.
During this time, Mithra managed to gain a preliminary grasp of Vitality, though for now she could only channel it into her forearms. She also began weaving the Self totem into her miracle casting.
That was where problems arose.
Adding a totem demanded extra expenditure of Senseforce, and before she reached proficiency the totem's boost to miracles was barely noticeable. Casting did become marginally quicker, yet drawing the totem itself consumed precious seconds. Balancing gain against loss, for Mithra—still a novice—the overall process actually dragged on longer.
In the end, it all came down to skill.
And without the aid of regenerative stimulation, Mithra's progress could only be called ordinary.
More than once she even considered stabbing herself again, practicing while in that state of heightened inspiration.
But for now, with most of her time spent beside Safin, she could hardly act too abnormally.
The two also passed once more through the tunnel that led to the corpse pile. Since the Believer's death at Mithra's hands, the rest of that group had lingered for a while—waiting, hoping for his return. When he never reappeared, they scattered in fear.
No one had returned since.
Once Mithra had mostly mastered the Self totem, her lessons eased somewhat, leaving her free to explore other kinds of knowledge.
One such subject was the history of this world.
"The Dream Nexus once held forty-four powerful beings, each of different origin," Safin began, his voice droning in a way that almost lulled one to sleep. "For a time they ruled the Nexus as one, waging conquest and war without end. In the final years of their dominion, the first miracle-thieves appeared—envoys who turned the gods' exclusive power into miracles, and granted them to mankind. From there, a new era began. Humanity overthrew the forty-four Pillar Gods, destroyed them, and on their ashes laid the foundation of modern civilization."
Mithra listened intently; all of this was new to her.
"Who was the first to steal a miracle?" she asked.
Safin regarded her before replying, "It was Master Cahira. She was the first human Believer—she stole the light of Divine Light Michelle, one of the forty-four Pillar Gods. Cahira was the first human to wield the power of light."
Cahira.
The very name Mithra had once seen written in the "Illumination" miracle through her own eyes.
After a pause, she asked again, "Then… do you know the name Lebionce?"
The name of the one who had granted her the gift of regeneration.
Safin's eyes widened. "How do you know that name?"
"What's wrong?"
"…It's just—your demeanor has always been like that of someone newly born. I'm honestly shocked you know it. Not that the name itself is obscure within the Dream Nexus."
"Who is he?"
"One of the forty-four Pillar Gods: The Infinite Lebionce."
The Infinite Lebionce—spoken with that heavy, downward weight—was perhaps the most renowned of them all.
For during the age of the forty-four, he commanded the broadest dominion and the most formidable, terrifying army. Until humanity finally defeated him, his record in the internecine wars among the Pillar Gods had remained unbroken.
Some even claimed he was the strongest of the forty-four, though such claims were never fully verified.
"Lebionce…" Mithra echoed softly.
A name so distinct could hardly be mere coincidence.
If so, then the presence behind Mithra bore the shadow of this Infinite God of War.
By extension… could it be that the mysterious texts were also tied to the forty-four Pillar Gods themselves?
"Were the forty-four Pillar Gods truly destroyed by humanity?" she asked.
"History lessons say so, of course," Safin admitted. "But there are gaps in that period of record. How exactly the Pillar Gods were toppled, how they truly perished… the chronicles are incomplete. Some even—"
His voice faltered, trailing off into silence.
Under Mithra's steady gaze, he went on, slowly: "Even among the forty-four Pillar Gods, some of their names—and even their true identities—have not survived to this day."
"History really does need to be remembered properly," Mithra murmured, narrowing her eyes, unsure what more to say.
"There's no helping it," Safin said with a shrug. "In that era, even survival was a struggle. Who had the time to record history?"
Mithra felt a flicker of helplessness.
Still, the lesson had given her some fragments of context—threads that might help her understand her own situation.
"I'm getting hungry. Looks like the mountain rat I just caught is already gone," Safin said, flicking his eyes toward Mithra in a teasing gesture.
Mithra rose. "I'll go get some food. Oh—can I go out and look around now?"
At that, Safin hesitated a moment before answering. "You can. Just… be careful."
"Understood."
With that, Mithra left the cave.
As her figure retreated into the darkness, Safin exhaled softly, almost in relief, then pressed a hand to his head. His body trembled faintly, as though enduring some inner torment.
Only after a long while did the pain ebb.
"This might be… the last chance."
...
Mithra hadn't triggered the exchange mechanism recently, but she hadn't stopped experimenting either. She simply tried to keep her behavior restrained while Safin was present.
She had tied both the medium-necklace and bracelet scavenged from the corpse onto her left wrist.
The information her eyes gave her about the two was unremarkable, mere summaries with no detailed background: the necklace was a Self-inspiration–biased medium, while the bracelet held both fire and rock inspiration.
She was now practicing the fire and rock miracles linked to them, though learning through mediums yielded only middling results.
Lost in thought, Mithra returned to the corpse pile and seized a torch.
Scanning the area, she made her way toward the entrance where ordinary people had once stood.
The tunnels still branched off in several directions. Safin had never mapped them either, and Mithra could only marvel at the strange planning behind their original construction.
To orient herself quickly, Mithra first cast Calmness upon herself.
Ding~.
Then, gripping a jagged piece of rock, she cut a deep wound across her own hand.
Mithra drew a deep breath, using Calmness to suppress the searing pain:
"Invincible Calmness."
With her sharpened senses, she quickly began distinguishing directions, honing various miracles along the way, her inspiration surging to aid her.
The wound closed rapidly. Around the same time, Mithra spotted the mouth of a cave faintly glowing with light.
Stepping outside, she gazed for the first time upon the sky of this new world.
But it was far from welcoming—thick, heavy clouds loomed overhead, casting everything in shadow. A breeze swept past, cool but tainted. Before her lay a cracked main road, tools abandoned long ago scattered along its edges.
A rank stench lingered in the air. Even at the cave's entrance, several corpses lay rotting.
Not far away, a handful of houses stood.
Once more, Mithra cut a deep gash into her hand. With her senses heightened again, she scanned the area.
Hmm. No trace of human presence.
Satisfied, she cautiously advanced.
Inside one house, she found only a toolshed. In the corner sat a weathered iron anvil, atop which rested a broken stone hammer.
One edge of the hammerhead was chipped, but it was massive—about the size of a human head. Its handle was long and slender. Mithra hefted it in her grip, finding the weight and balance satisfying.
"Mm. Since Brother Pickaxe has retired, you'll be my next good brother," she muttered.
Rustle…
A faint sound stirred outside.
Bang!
Before Mithra could even turn, something smashed straight through the wooden wall instead of entering through the doorway.
She glimpsed only a mass of thick black fur before instinct took over—she thrust the torch forward.
Flames licked at the dense pelt, and a guttural growl filled the shed.
As the dust settled, Mithra finally saw it clearly.
A bear!
Mithra had visited zoos enough times to recognize it, but this was no ordinary bear. Its body was enormous, its paws thick and powerful, its claws glinting with lethal light.
What unsettled Mithra most was the bear's eyes—small as beans, yet disturbingly alive. After being scorched by the torch, it glared at her with raw brutality, its gaze thick with resentment.
Mithra wasn't the type to read too much from eyes like some novel heroine, but this creature's stare was so unnervingly vivid it struck her with instinctive dread.
Without hesitation, she darted out of the cramped shed.
The bear, ignoring the flames still searing its fur, charged after her without pause.
Even the most athletic student would struggle to flee from such a beast at close range, and Mithra neither knew how to slide away nor had she ever fought a bear barehanded.
So she clutched the stone hammer tightly, putting a bit of distance between them—just enough time to call upon the medium. That was all she needed.
Vitality!
A pulse of white energy gathered in her left hand. She shook it once, the weight growing denser, then pressed it against her right arm—transferring the strength until both hands brimmed with power.
The two-handed Vitality was complete.
Her body flowed into motion—turning, stretching, raising the hammer in a wide arc—
Thump!
The stone hammer crashed squarely into the bear's skull. Its massive frame shuddered, momentum broken, before it toppled sideways in a dazed stumble.
Mithra quickly pressed her left hand to her glabella, casting Calmness on herself first.
Ding~.
Then she set her gaze upon the beast's eyes and swung again. And again.
The hammer rose and fell in relentless rhythm.
The bear's ferocity faltered, its once-vicious glare wavering, softening into something almost fearful. Finally, beaten down and unable to rise, it lay on the ground, whimpering in helpless submission.
"Animal protection, animal protection, animal protection… No, forget that. I came here to hunt. I want to eat bear paw."
Mithra's thoughts often swerved in bizarre directions, sometimes even beyond her own comprehension. And though her mouth muttered about protecting animals, her hammer showed no hesitation, slamming down again and again without mercy.
The bear was barely hanging onto life.
Mithra herself was drenched in sweat, her arms aching with fatigue.
Even though she was just a novice with Vitality, the boost it gave her strength was undeniable. When she had first awakened the skill, Mithra had felt almost superhuman.
She didn't know exactly how hard a bear's skull ought to be, but after pounding it with a stone hammer—one as heavy as a head—fueled by Vitality, she felt certain a normal bear would have been dead many blows ago.
So why was this one still alive?
Her mind churned, but her body didn't pause. She raised the hammer once more.
Whatever the reason, anything that could terrify her had to be completely broken down first. And Mithra, lacking tranquilizers or ropes or any civilized way to subdue a beast like this, saw only one path forward—bludgeon it until it stopped moving.
It was the safest way.
Bang!
But the next sound wasn't her hammer striking.
It was a gunshot.
A hot burst of pain exploded through her chest as blood bloomed outward. Her vision blurred in an instant.
Staggering back, she dropped to one knee, the hammer her only support to keep from collapsing fully.
What…?
Her mind froze for a split second—then she moved.
Ding~.
Good.
Just now… was that really a gun?
Even as her wound began to knit shut under regeneration, her sharpened hearing caught movement from the bushes ahead.
"Why did you attack my dog?" rasped a hoarse voice.
From the brush emerged an old man, dressed like a backwoods hunter. On his forehead, a strange purple tattoo in the shape of an eye glared from beneath his wrinkled skin. His goatee quivered as his lips trembled.
Mithra sucked in a sharp breath, then calmly slid her fingers into the wound on her chest. She groped around until—clink—she pinched out the bullet.
A flintlock round.
The old man ignored her and shuffled to the bear's side. Fishing out a bracelet from inside his shirt, he muttered words too low to catch. The trinket flared, etching the air with a claw-shaped totem before he pressed it to the bear's hide.
The beast's whimpering eased. Wounds knit. Its massive frame shifted as it struggled upright.
"Good child, good child… it's alright now," the old man cooed.
"GRRRROAR!"
The bear bellowed at him, but the man just laughed softly, unfazed.
Behind him, Mithra had already risen, hammer in hand, and aimed at his skull.
Thump!
The blow cracked his neck at an ugly angle. His lips were still twisted in that foolish grin, as if death had taken him painlessly.
Merciful, in its way.
Mithra raised the hammer again and brought it down.
Squish!
Blood and brain matter spattered. Human skulls were fragile things—like pitiful watermelons, she thought.
"This strike feels ordinary… This is going to be a problem."
Mithra lifted her head, shaking off the blood clinging to her hammer. Across from her, the bear—its wounds already closed—stood tall again. Its feral eyes gleamed with something disturbingly human.
She dropped into a half-crouch, cautious but quick, snatching up the flintlock the old man had left behind.
Bang!
The shot went off the moment she leveled the gun, just as the bear lunged. At point-blank range, it should have struck deep. Yet the beast didn't even flinch. The round had been swallowed by its hide—lost in the layers of thick fur and fat.
The paw came crashing down.
Mithra twisted back, but the beast pressed forward, slamming into her with crushing weight. Her body spun like a rag doll, crashing into the ground in a heap.
Trouble. Earlier she'd had the advantage of surprise and first strike. Now, in a head-on clash, she was completely outmatched.
What did that old man do to this creature?
And what should she do next?
For now—
Ding~.
Another Calmness.