Pausing for a moment, Safin continued, "I was part of an investigation team sent by the Sanctuary. We infiltrated this place, but the townspeople and the believers ambushed us. The survivors fled into the tunnels, trying to continue our investigation, but we fell victim to the curse of the dusty Wandering God."

Mithra stared at him in silence.

Safin raised his head slowly, meeting her gaze. "We can’t leave these tunnels. Whether we try to escape or delve deeper, it triggers the Wandering God’s curse. We’re trapped in the shallow tunnels, forced to wander. My teammates... they couldn’t hold on. Some succumbed to injuries, others to mental torment. One by one, they fell. Now, I’m the only one left."

He lowered his head, his voice quieter. "Maybe I’ve already gone mad. It’s just that my symptoms are less severe."

The cave fell silent as his words lingered. Finally, Mithra broke the stillness. "What do you want me to do in the depths of the tunnel?"

Safin rubbed his face, as though trying to wipe away the weight of his story. "When I was fleeing deeper into the tunnels, I dropped something—a silver necklace. I want you to get it back for me. I know I can’t leave, but at least that necklace should. It needs to leave this cursed place."

Mithra’s voice was steady as she asked, "What if I get cursed too?"

Safin shook his head. "That area has fewer curses. The necklace fell in front of what looks like an ancient building. You don’t need to go inside the building. And if you do, don’t touch the object on the altar deep inside. Follow my advice, and you won’t end up like us."

Silence filled the cave once more after he finished speaking.

After a long pause, Safin said softly, "If you’re uncertain, you can refuse. There’s no obligation to repay kindness in this world."

Mithra’s expression didn’t waver. "No, I’ve already made up my mind. I don’t know anything, so I’m not afraid of anything. I’ll go take a look."

"If you find yourself outnumbered, you could try seeking help from the Enchanting Land," Safin added. "Those from the Enchanting Land are adept at calling for aid. Their ability to traverse between worlds allows them to gather strong allies easily."

Mithra sighed, lowering her head. "But I don’t even know how to get back to that so-called Enchanting Land."

"That’s the issue. We Dreamland people rarely understand how you from the Enchanting Land traverse worlds. Otherwise, many would’ve already gone there. If you don’t know how to return, your only option is to wait until you meet someone else from the Enchanting Land. Maybe they could take you back," Safin said, his voice slow and deliberate.

Mithra tossed her head lightly. "That’s too much trouble. I’ll just head down and take a look."

Safin gazed at her. The firelight reflected in his eyes, making them glisten slightly. "The more you talk like this, the more I regret making this deal with you."

Mithra leaned back against the cave wall, her expression unchanging. "As long as your morality hasn’t been completely consumed, you’ll always feel guilty about deals like this. You’re a good person, Mr. Safin."

"A good person..." Safin muttered, burying his face in his knees. He said nothing more.

Only the sound of crackling firewood filled the cave. Occasionally, a spark would leap into the air, but neither spoke.

Though Mithra had resolved to venture deeper into the tunnels to retrieve Safin’s lost necklace, she wouldn’t charge in recklessly. Even without the Wandering God’s curse, the creatures lurking in the deeper tunnels were said to be far more violent and terrifying, their forms twisted by the god’s influence.

For now, she needed to focus on improving her abilities. Preparation was key. She would start by mastering the miracles she already had at her disposal.

Then there was the knowledge about weapons, a lingering echo of Phaselos’s gift.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

The methods for crafting and wielding god-killing weapons were shrouded in layers of obscurity, their complexities daunting. Mithra quickly realized that she lacked a fundamental understanding necessary to fully explore them.

Still, there was a glimmer of utility amidst the chaos—a collection of "various weapon usage experiences" that seemed more like a generous bonus.

For now, that bonus was of immense value to Mithra.

Phaselos had been truly magnanimous. While the gift didn’t provide a direct or systematic blueprint for crafting weapons, it did something extraordinary: whenever Mithra held an object that could remotely function as a weapon, her mind would immediately conjure the most effective techniques for wielding it.

It was intuitive rather than technical, straightforward yet remarkably efficient.

Mithra was in a clearing outside the tunnel, the weight of a sledgehammer in her hands. With every grip and swing, an array of techniques unfolded in her mind.

Some were grounded and practical, others fantastical—methods seemingly tailored for monstrous creatures or beasts with wildly exaggerated forms. They painted images of claws, fangs, and sinew, and in learning them, Mithra felt her muscles aligning with these alien blueprints. Muscle memory developed at an unnervingly rapid pace.

But maintaining the flow of this knowledge taxed her sense power. Even the gifts of higher beings adhered to the same miraculous principles, tethered by natural limitations.

Sweat poured from her brow as she paused, settling under the shade of a tree with the sledgehammer resting across her lap.

"These techniques don’t seem to include Transformation Techniques," Mithra thought, her legs gripping the hammer’s handle while her fingers absently traced its surface. "That must be an entirely higher level of skill than basic swinging."

Transformation Techniques. A concept introduced to her by Safin.

Every miracle followed a sequence: sensing, channeling, visualizing, and releasing. Transformation Techniques intervened during the visualization stage, altering the miracle’s nature and unlocking new possibilities.

For most miracles, such deviations spelled failure. But for certain miracles, the potential for modification was immense.

Take Reinforce Body, the most basic miracle of strengthening. On its own, it targeted specific areas of the body for enhanced durability or power—a foundational Transformation Technique. But variations of Reinforce Body could ascend into entirely new realms of mastery.

Safin had demonstrated this principle, adjusting the miracle’s coverage and intensity to execute advanced techniques. By shifting the balance of power across his body, movements that would ordinarily be impossible became fluid and seamless.

Then came the true marvel: the Shockwave Punch.

Through a brief and focused application of Reinforce Body during an attack, the enhanced force extended beyond the fist, generating shockwaves. It was simple yet devastating.

According to Safin, many powerful believers relied solely on their mastery of Reinforce Body Transformation Techniques to achieve renown. While they might not possess a vast array of miracles, their expertise made them legends in their craft.

The potential of Reinforce Body was limitless—though that potential was far from Mithra’s grasp.

For now, she was preoccupied with a challenge closer to hand: extending the Shockwave Punch's effects to her sledgehammer.

Reinforce Body could briefly channel its power into objects, creating the foundation for weapon-based Transformation Techniques. But the process was far more intricate than transferring force through a punch.

Mithra gripped the hammer tighter, her mind simmering with ideas and possibilities. The difficulty only made the task more alluring.

Lost in thought, Mithra's ears caught a peculiar sound.

A rapid, rhythmic noise—approaching fast.

Her mind flickered with possibilities. Snacks? No. Wild animals? Unlikely. The cadence was... deliberate.

She strained to make sense of it, but the sound remained indistinct. Without hesitation, Mithra activated Stabilize and, with practiced precision, grabbed a jagged rock. She drove it through her palm, ignoring the sharp jolt as it pierced flesh. Leaning casually against the tree, her senses sharpened, tuning into the elusive noise.

...

It wasn’t quadrupedal. This was human. A runner. Their footwork was precise, practiced, but another set of steps followed in pursuit—heavy, frantic, and closing fast.

Mithra pulled the rock free. The bloodied wound in her palm sealed in seconds, flesh knitting seamlessly.

Her Stabilize was improving. Or was she merely growing indifferent to pain? Grim literature often argued pain defied habituation. Yet over time, it dulled, reduced to a manageable hum in the background.

She pushed the thought aside as the lead set of footsteps came closer.

Mithra’s gaze shifted upward, her eyes narrowing in quiet surprise.

A figure burst into view.

Athletic wear—vivid red. The jacket’s zipper hung halfway down, exposing a black undershirt. The pants and jacket bore unfamiliar patterns, but their sleek design screamed modernity, unmistakably tied to some kind of athletic brand.

The runner was a young man, striking in appearance with a face that radiated charm and vitality. His black baseball cap sat low, shading sharp features. Earrings glinted faintly with each step. His style was unmistakably trendy, far removed from anything Mithra had seen in this strange, archaic world.

No, no, no. That wasn’t the most important thing.

The critical detail was that after weeks of acclimating to this realm—a land steeped in the hallmarks of Western fantasy—a modern-looking youth had just sprinted past her.

Mithra froze.

Then, the spark of a thought ignited, flaring brighter as it coalesced into realization.

Safin’s words echoed in her mind.

"Someone from the Enchanting Land?"