After a moment of dizziness, Richter opened his eyes. His last memory was from a few dozen seconds ago—Selene had suddenly disappeared, leaving behind a disturbed wooden box, and he had touched the box.

The surroundings seemed to confirm his theory.

“Scene in a Box…”

Muttering to himself, Richter suddenly noticed that the plants seemed taller.

After carefully comparing, he discovered that he had shrunk—his height was about four feet, and his body proportions had changed. His head and torso seemed slightly larger.

He snapped his fingers and used mana to create a mirror. His reflection showed him—a childish face combined with mature brows. The contrast was striking.

Richter reached out and touched his hair.

It felt smooth. His hair in the reflection was thick and black, very different from the gray-white hair he had at twenty.

Although he clearly recognized his reflection, there was a strange sense of embarrassment when he looked at it, as if this appearance was something shameful he didn’t want others to see. The thought of moving around like this made him feel conflicted.

But he quickly dismissed these useless emotions.

In the brief period before, he discovered that this body was exactly as it had been when he was ten. His soul and mental fortitude were still at the level of a twenty-year-old, but his strength, speed, agility, mana reserves, and mana control were all at the level of a ten-year-old, a ten-year-old who hadn’t trained at all.

Even he would need some time to adjust to controlling this body. And the most obvious thing was that his combat ability had decreased significantly. “Sage” was a profession focused on knowledge and versatility, its abilities consisting mostly of support and a few offensive spells. Though spellcasting mainly relied on mental fortitude and mana reserves, it also required a certain level of physical fitness.

This was a simple truth. Spells naturally formed around the caster. Even if you could avoid most injuries, some were unavoidable. The flow of mana would naturally create invisible vibrations and wasted potential, which couldn’t be avoided. Attempts to circumvent this usually only resulted in stronger vibrations and greater waste.

This put an implicit requirement on the caster's physical condition—you can’t be so weak that you’d drop your staff and accidentally cast a Fireball on yourself.

If this were an ordinary mage, he wouldn’t have to worry about this, because he would never be able to cast spells beyond his level. And the negative effects of spells at or below his level were minimal and could be ignored.

But Richter’s current body was merely at the conduit level. This meant even low-level first- or second-tier spells would have a significant impact on his body. If he wanted to use third- or fourth-tier spells, he would likely suffer significant injuries—but he couldn’t avoid using them. This was a world created by a superhuman. Who knows what dangers were hidden here? Limiting himself might lead to a quicker death.

Stolen story; please report.

A staff, or perhaps a spellcasting medium, might mitigate this to some extent, but it was clear that he wouldn’t be able to use a staff here.

Quickly calculating how many negative effects he could endure, and how many offensive spells he could cast without risking his life, Richter sighed.

…I have to be careful.

He looked ahead.

He could hear faint sounds in that direction. He would go check it out.

But as he took a step, he stopped, raising his right hand, looking at his wrist.

A hazy symbol was forming.

It looked like two intertwined, cold hands, one holding a sword and the other a dagger. An icy chill seemed to emanate from the symbol, making one shudder.

It was the symbol of the War God, the “Undefeated God of War.”

Richter noticed that one of the hands holding the sword and dagger was half-destroyed. The swords, gleaming coldly, were cracked and covered in blood. But the grip hadn’t loosened. In fact, it had tightened. The swords, drinking the blood of both the wielder and the enemy, were becoming sharper, even though the blades were cracked. The unbreakable, heavy faith, the belief the War God had held, was being conveyed to the wielder—

This is the symbol of victory. I will achieve victory in this manner. I will break, crush, and mercilessly destroy my opponent.

An unknown emotion flickered in Richter’s eyes.

The War God was the “Undefeated God of War.” As the name suggested, he could only lose once. After that, he would always win, continuing to win forever.

One of the War God’s spells was named after this concept. But in reality, it was a low-level spell. Its only effect was to bestow a certain degree of blessing upon the next encounter with the same opponent after a defeat. Its effects were limited and didn’t reach the level of controlling fate… This kind of help, though subtle, was useful. His physical attributes were now almost at the level of a first-tier superhuman, significantly reducing the pressure.

But Richter didn’t care about that right now.

The mere existence of this symbol clearly indicated that he had suffered a complete, unquestionable defeat.

He had no memory of it.

Richter looked up, his expression confused.

And the blessing had been bestowed. He could clearly feel his physical attributes enhancing… Who am I fighting?

Here? Now?

...

“Miss Louise, Miss Louise? You seem a bit distracted,” Jose carefully put down the paintbrush, then waved his hand in front of Louise.

Louise, sitting opposite him in the carriage, snapped out of her daze and chuckled awkwardly.

“Sorry, I was a little distracted.”

In reality, she was more than just distracted.

Just now, while she was wandering through the caravan, looking for Jose, and trying to engage him in a conversation using painting as a topic, she had suddenly felt a malevolent, unsettling gaze upon her.

She couldn’t find the source.

Louise sighed and, speaking casually to Jose, urged him to focus on painting. Then, touching her left eye, which inexplicably ached, she whispered,

“Key of the doorway, ritual of awakening. Unbound by all things, unseen by all beings—I implore you! God of the Awakened Eye! Awaken my ignorance! Reveal the door of perception!”

The answer came quickly. The moment the prayer finished, the answer appeared in her mind. It was so fast that Louise felt as if the goddess of freedom, independence, unboundness, and joy couldn’t wait any longer.

Usually, she wouldn’t receive an answer even after ten thousand prayers. She hadn’t even really expected an answer. She’d just wanted to use the prayer to enhance her senses.

Well, it must have been an illusion.

Muttering to herself, Louise turned her attention to the answer.

She murmured,

“I… died twice?”