I was tempted to linger and observe them, well, more like spying, possibly using my domain while remaining concealed from their view. However, I ultimately dismissed the idea. There was a significant risk they might discover my presence, and that certainly wouldn't foster their trust in me.

It felt disheartening to acknowledge that I had to rebuild their trust from scratch, but I couldn't find any shortcuts in my mind.

There was also a non-negligible concern that they might make mistakes and attract unwanted attention from the authorities, but I had to place my faith in their abilities to avoid such a predicament. I did explain the situation to them, didn't I? Besides, they were in the middle of nowhere, far away from any civilization.

In the end, it seemed wiser to depart. The lingering question was: what should I do next? I contemplated meeting up with Hew and the boys, but it was still early, just past noon. Besides, I couldn't present myself in my current shabby condition. I needed to return home and find some suitable clothes.

Thus, I decided to revert to my true form, cast a concealment spell to shield myself from prying eyes, and flew back home.

Once I stepped into my room, I couldn't help but grimace at the mess I had created earlier. I let out a sigh of frustration, muttering to myself, "Damn, this is going to take me hours to sort out."

I hated the chore of tidying up my room, and thanks to that ill-fated spell, I had to tackle it right away instead of waiting for its planned time on Wednesday, as I usually did.

My exasperation grew when I noticed that the wooden frame of my bed had suffered a crack. I was so close to venting my anger by smashing it completely, but I halted my fist just centimeters away from striking it.

Hold on a second, was there a way to fix this?

My spells seem to generate matter in a manner I can't quite fathom. In theory, I should be capable of repairing it; the only issue was that I was not familiar with a specific spell to achieve that.

Why should I not try, based on my motto: fuck around and find out...

Well, it is not really my motto, but...

I hesitated to employ healing magic on myself, given the darkness of my powers, which would likely fail to create living tissue. At best, it might result in some kind of zombie tissue. However, this bed frame was entirely composed of dead material, wasn't it? Could I attempt a healing spell on it? Logically, it shouldn't work, but I could try to mimic a healing spell, coercing my magic into the attempt.

I placed my hands on the frame and executed the spell, and to my elation, it actually "healed" the damage. After finishing the repair, I tested it and found it as sturdy as new.

"Wow, I can mend things!"

I heaved a sigh of relief and set about tidying up my room. Surprisingly, I managed to mend not only my battered trousers and torn blouse but even the hole in the wall's plaster I had accidentally made weeks ago while hanging a picture. It was as though a self-repair spell had been cast on them but at an accelerated pace.

"Lores, the great repairman! I'll never have to pay for armor fixes!" I exclaimed enthusiastically, performing a triumphant dance on my bed, which, incidentally, almost gave way again.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

I'd only be happier if I had a spell to clean up my room completely, but it's best to count one's blessings!

Coming down from my bed, I examined the frame. Cheap 50-dollar bed that I've bought in a sale for fifteen...

Maybe I should 'heal' the whole frame; the part I mended seemed to be stronger than the rest.

I managed to repair both the display and the PC, but unfortunately, the PC remained nonfunctional. It wasn't much of a surprise; I had a clear image of how it should appear, but constructing its internal components out of wood or plastic wouldn't magically make it work. My magic hadn't thoroughly analyzed its intricate details before the accident, so the repair resulted in something that looked fine but lacked functionality.

A rather amusing idea popped into my head: what if I could create a new motherboard by thoroughly examining a functional one? Sure, those microchips were intricate creations at the nanometer scale, making this a considerably more complex task. However, if I could fix things, could I not conjure an entire motherboard from thin air? After all, wasn't a motherboard akin to a component or limb of a PC?

I mean, I've constructed tissues with living cells before! I've reconstructed limbs, for crying out loud! Isn't that even more intricate? And yet, I successfully rebuilt living limbs!

Bolstered by this realization, I ventured to a local computer shop for some window shopping. After about an hour of perusing various items without causing any chip meltdowns, I felt confident I had cracked it. I didn't need to grasp every detail. My brain only needed to guide my magic to perform the right tasks, just like with healing. It's funny how magic operates!

Upon returning to my room, I enthusiastically began working on my new PC. Nearly an hour later, with ten different versions of the same motherboard before me, a couple of them still smoking, my enthusiasm had significantly waned.

I snored angrily. Now I have to deal with this mess? Why can't I make them vanish as easily as I conjured them? Though, I wasn't sure if blasting them here with a dark spell was a good idea. That might have unfortunate consequences for the environment, and I might have to start cleaning anew.

I wiped the beads of sweat from my forehead. This whole motherboard-building endeavor was incredibly draining, even though I couldn't quite figure out why. Fixing my bed or even mending my trousers didn't leave me feeling tired, but this PC work? It was oddly exhausting, and my mood had taken a dangerous dip.

At least it diverted my thoughts from Alice and the Lynx. What were they up to? I hoped they weren't getting into any trouble!

What could they be up to?

I felt a strong urge to go and check on them, and it took considerable effort to resist it.

What else should I do?

"Alright, I'll pay Gonzo a visit!" I decided.

I recalled that he mentioned something about Helen not feeling well. He had told me that she had been experimenting with the ring, fell ill, and then suspected the ring was the cause of her illness.

At the time, I completely ignored the nonsense, but maybe I should clarify it with him. He should not remain with the idea that she was ill because of the ring, so implicitly because of me. I might also check what really happened and... I could also retrieve my bike.

Although I could fly anywhere I pleased, I thought that appearing randomly through the city without any clues about how I got there might not be the best idea in the long run.

I took my inventory box to search for some clothes, but to my dismay, it refused to open. I tried a few more times, contemplating which clothes to choose. Beads of sweat began to form on my forehead as I realized the box might not recognize me as Cala.

I glared at the darn small case in my trembling hand, a sense of betrayal welling up within me. Fueled by frustration, I hurled it to the ground, shattering the parquet floor and even sending concrete splinters into the air from the surface hidden beneath the parquet.

After a deep sigh, I reluctantly began repairing the floor. The urge to smash the inventory box crossed my mind, but I knew that destroying it would cause all the contents to vanish.

These inventory boxes were incredibly sturdy, nearly indestructible. However, if you somehow managed to break one, you'd lose everything stored inside. That's why it was a foolish move not to repair them when they suffered damage. It probably had something to do with their construction; it seemed as though the small spacial pockets where the objects were stored became disconnected from the box and were lost forever. Perhaps someday, somewhere, they might return to this dimension, but you could never predict when or where.

Damn it! Even my own inventory box didn't recognize me!