[Cost: You have lost one life.]
[Compensation received: One Rebirth.]
...
Mithra opened her eyes in a haze. Darkness surrounded her. The air was cold, and a strange scent clung to her nose.
The stench of blood. The tang of burning.
She pushed herself up from the ground, staring blankly into the void. Like someone waking from a long, heavy sleep, her mind lagged, taking time to catch up.
"Ah. I died," she murmured at last.
As for how—she seemed to recall a massive car crash. That stretch of highway had been chaos. She only hoped the driver who had been carrying her had survived.
Though, deep down, she guessed he hadn't.
Why she was alive after death, and why she now stood in a place completely unfamiliar—
That, of course, she did not know.
But those two dreamlike lines that had floated across her hazy mind just before she awoke must be tied to it.
Blinking, she suddenly noticed something forming before her.
A white mass and a purplish-black mass swirled together, resolving into words she could read.
[Next, an explanation will be given.]
"Hm." Mithra blinked again. Many thoughts ran through her head, but in moments like this, the best choice was silence. Cutting someone off mid-speech was terribly impolite.
[We have granted you life in another world, but this is not a mere gift; it may well be endless torment and suffering.]
"Hm..."
[We will not restrict your actions; only a few specific objectives must be completed incidentally, woven into your daily path.]
Well, at least it seems willing to talk...
[To better aid your movements, we have altered your inspiration. When your inspiration is triggered in a given place, you may receive compensation—though at the price of a heavy cost.]
Mithra blinked once more.
[We will also borrow your inspiration to provide you with further aid. In exchange, you must bear the corresponding cost to claim this assistance. That is all.]
When Mithra finished reading, the text dissolved and vanished.
"So I was revived and thrown across worlds. According to this thing's explanation, I died in that car crash, lost my life, and was given rebirth as compensation..."
Mithra frowned, calculating. "Feels like I got swindled."
Well, whatever.
Suddenly, those radiant streaks of light flickered before her eyes once more. But this time, they didn't speak—
They shifted directly into replacement mode.
[Event – "Awakening Gift": You may select one of three forms of aid, each bound to its own price.]
[Perfect Body Reconstruction: Your body will be permanently preserved in flawless form. Cost: You will be unable to walk.]
[Eyes of Night: Your fearless eyes of darkness can glimpse fragments of hidden truths, especially regarding objects without owners. Cost: Your number of life locks is reduced.]
[Humble Remains: You may obtain a set of "wretched, lowly" "remains." Cost: Its will endures, refusing to die.]
"Then the eyes." Mithra chose the second without hesitation.
She hated overthinking, especially when it came to decisions. The first meant she couldn't walk. The third she couldn't even parse. So it had to be the second.
She didn't know what a "life lock" was, but surely it wouldn't kill her outright.
She'd just died and been dragged back—dying again hardly mattered.
Once her choice was made, nothing dramatic occurred. The glowing text dissolved into the air.
Clang!
Her skull felt as though struck by a hammer; her heart clenched and then was crushed to pulp.
Her vision swam black. A shrill ringing split her ears.
And then—clarity returned.
Her eyes looked unchanged, and no further miraculous words appeared. After steadying her breath, Mithra didn't linger.
She had to figure out where she'd landed.
If this was another modern city, that would be ideal. At least it would mean civilization. Anything was better than some wilderness survival hellscape. She prayed the people of this strange world—if not warm or welcoming—would at least be civil.
Following the faint shimmer of light, she felt her way through a narrow corridor swallowed in darkness.
Ahead, the passage widened—torches blazed against stone. A cave mouth.
But the sight within shattered every fragile hope.
Corpses. Heaped high. The stench of rot tangled with the acrid reek of half-burned flesh, stabbing into her nose.
Farther in, figures moved: one bearing a torch, others dragging and discarding bodies. Beyond them, wooden carts sat in rows, piled with cocoon-like shapes haphazardly swaddled in soiled rags.
There was no fooling herself—those were corpses.
A true family portrait of horror.
Mithra clicked her tongue lightly.
The torch-bearer glanced around. Since Mithra hadn't bothered to hide, she was spotted almost instantly.
She braced herself—this was it, the classic setup: stumble into some sacred, poisonous forest, meet bloodthirsty villagers with savage customs, and immediately enjoy their unique brand of "hospitality."
"Ah!"
But instead, it was the man across from her who shrieked.
Mithra: ?
His terrified cry drew the attention of the others dragging corpses. He thrust out a trembling hand, pointed at her, and stammered something incoherent.
Their reaction was instant.
They dropped the bodies, snatched up whatever lay nearby—pitchforks, stone hoes, wooden clubs, tools fit for butchery—
And bolted.
Mithra froze for a beat, stunned. Then she snapped out of it. "Wait!"
Without thinking, she took off after them.
Apparently the villagers weren't warm and hospitable—they were… shy.
Her mind wandered even as her body moved like the wind. At least she'd always kept a baseline of fitness. Though whether her resurrected, transmigrated body still shared that with her old one… who knew.
The fleeing villagers, seeing her give chase, only panicked further.
The torch-bearer, who'd spotted her first, turned out to be the slowest of them all. In his blind desperation, he flung his torch straight at her.
Mithra caught it neatly, eyed the wavering flame, and hooked it onto her belt before continuing the pursuit.
But they darted into another tunnel, twisting deeper, and by the time she arrived, the place had splintered into a maze. She was completely lost.
"..."
In silent frustration, she doubled back, retracing her steps to the open chamber piled with corpses.
Lifting the torch higher, she studied her surroundings. This tunnel bore marks of deliberate construction. Scattered tools suggested it had been worked by hand. No sign of advanced technology—everything felt abandoned, crude, collapsing in on itself.
She recalled the villagers' clothes, their rough-hewn look, their unfamiliar style.
It seemed her new world had nothing in common with the modern city she had hoped for.
Or maybe… maybe she could keep lying to herself. Pretend this was just some forgotten mountain region, and the dream of a civilized city still lingered ahead.
It wasn't impossible. At least, not yet.
"Right, I think I just saw…"
Scanning her surroundings, Mithra recalled that when she'd caught the torch earlier, a black speck had flickered across her vision.
She lifted the torch again. Sure enough, a tiny black dot shimmered into view on its surface.
She fixed her eyes on it. After a few seconds, the dot split open, unraveling into lines of black text.
["Gross Town" Villagers' Torch: A common tool once carried by workers in the Gross Mine. Yet, after all turned to chasing the riches promised by "The Hunter," the small torch's light, once harmless, slowly gave way to darkness, breeding curses in its wake.]
"…So that's how it works." Mithra's eyes widened in sudden clarity.
So these so-called Eyes of Night—no wonder she hadn't seen any hidden vistas or mystical landscapes. They weren't for scenery. They were for this.
She lingered over the torchlight until her eyes ached from the flicker, then shifted her gaze across the chamber, hunting for more black specks.
Beyond the corpses, scattered across the ground lay ores and mining tools.
She examined the cluster of pickaxes. Each carried descriptions much like the torch.
"A mining town then? But what happened here? These tunnels once carved by men have become graves, and now curses coil in the pits… Does that mean something unclean is here?"
Mithra scratched her head.
"So they thought I was the unclean thing, huh?" she clapped her hands, oddly pleased with the thought.
"Perfect. If they mistook me for filth, then I must not actually be filth." The idea let her exhale in relief.
Amid the heaps of remains, under the restless glow of the torches, Mithra's shadow stretched across the stone floor—writhed, almost, as though it were another being moving on its own.
She glanced at it, stomped her foot like a child, as if forcing it back into obedience.
Clatter—
A stone tumbled suddenly from the cavern wall behind her.
Mithra turned her head.
Clinging to the cliff wall was a gaunt, humanoid shape draped in tattered rags. Its face was grotesque—hollow eyes, a gaping maw lined with jagged, saw-like teeth.
The instant Mithra saw it, the creature released its grip and hurled itself straight at her.
She kicked up a nearby pickaxe, caught it cleanly, and swung.
Bang!
The monster twisted mid-air, struck hard, then slammed to the ground with a pitiful thud. Its throat tore loose an inhuman screech—though, to Mithra's ears, it almost sounded awkward.
Without hesitation, she planted her boot squarely on its back, pinning it as it writhed and flailed.
The thing thrashed with startling force. Only then did she realize how strong it actually was. Finding no black dot on it at a glance, she raised the pickaxe again and drove it down toward its skull.
Crunch!
The creature spasmed once, then went limp.
She struck twice more for good measure, then finally eased her foot away.
The last blow had been too much, though—the pickaxe bit through bone and stuck deep into the stone floor beneath. After a few fruitless tugs, she gave up for the moment and crouched to inspect the body.
"Ah, there's the black dot." Her tone was calm, almost indifferent.
Once the monster died, a black speck surfaced on its flesh.
[Gross Tunnel's Cursed Being: A miracle of hatred, born from the dying resentment of Gross Town's forsaken "eyes." This miracle lets them move again after death, but even so, most remain feeble.]
[—Which matters more: eyes, or wealth?]
"I wouldn't know," Mithra replied flatly, glancing at the line.
Rising, she went back to tugging at the embedded pickaxe.
That was when faint noises stirred behind her.
No one knew how Mithra had provoked them, but soon, more of the same twisted creatures spilled from the maze of tunnels, shrieking and howling.
They closed in. Even if there had been no reason, their festering resentment would have found release on any living thing.
Thump!
A sharp, ringing sound broke their momentum for a heartbeat.
Mithra had wrenched the pickaxe free, holding it loosely in one hand. She tilted her head slightly, eyes dark and fluid as they flicked over her shoulder.
"Still… since you all dragged me back here, isn't it better that I stay alive and help you get things done?"
Her voice was quiet, yet it carried, echoing through the forsaken tunnels.
...
Now Mithra was running for her life.
Could she really just cut loose, go full musou, and slaughter her way out?
After transmigrating, she might have grown a little bolder, her body a touch sharper, her mind a bit keener. But beyond that, she was still just an ordinary person.
Killing the first monster had been nothing but luck. Who told that thing to play the dramatic "drop from above" trick? It had practically offered her the opening.
But now—so many at once. Forget monsters—even a pack of dogs would have left her drenched in sweat and blood from their bites.
She tore down the winding passages, frantic, her clothes ripping away each time claws or teeth scraped past. What was left barely clung to her: a few tattered strands on her chest, and shorts stretched to the limit, threatening to give way.
Her skin bore the price—ragged claw marks, punctures where teeth had broken flesh. Blood welled and ran, her body screaming with pain.
Yet her face stayed composed as her eyes searched desperately for a path.
Lost, disoriented, she didn't even know where she was anymore.
Then—a faint glimmer ahead.
She hurled herself toward it.
The tunnel spat her out onto the artificial wooden walkway suspended above the mountain of corpses she had seen before.
"Screeeech…" The sound clawed its way from the darkness behind her.
The walkway stretched in only one direction. Without hesitation, Mithra ran.
As she rounded the bend, something lunged from the cave behind her—one of the monsters, flung forward by its own momentum.
It shot past her, missing completely, then vanished into the abyss, shrieking as it plummeted from the great height.
Mithra glanced back.
"When you're playing up high, everyone really ought to mind their safety."
With that dry remark, she swung the pickaxe to parry another lunging monster, then followed up with a kick that sent it tumbling off the edge.
She didn't linger—too many more were closing in behind. Her only option was to push forward along the narrow walkway.
From this vantage, she could still knock them down one by one; the walkway itself was a natural choke point. If it came down to it, she could make her final stand here.
"Screeech…"
Just as that thought crossed her mind, the sound above made her look up.
More monsters were dropping straight from the cliff face, slamming her down against the planks.
Of course—they could climb too.
Even pinned beneath them, her chest heaving from the sudden crush, Mithra found herself oddly steady. Her heart had spiked at the first surprise, but once she grasped the situation, she settled back into calm.
Claws raked across her arms, teeth snapped at her skin, fingers yanked her hair and ears, talons swiped dangerously close to her eyes. She fought back methodically, twisting and straining to break free.
But more bodies pressed down, smothering her chances.
With a sudden burst, she slammed herself sideways, crushing several of them against the cliff wall, aiming for jagged rock outcroppings.
Splat!
Her own leg took the hit too.
Didn't matter. Better to hurt herself than let their teeth sink in.
The impact loosened some of them. She heaved with all her strength, swinging the pickaxe wide, thrashing violently until a few tumbled away.
There were too many, but the walkway's narrow width worked against them—soon they were clogging themselves, tripping over one another.
Her moment.
One arm wrenched free. She seized the monster clawing at her hair, dragging its hideous face away from her throat.
For an instant, they were eye to eye. She could smell the rotting stench seeping from its saw-toothed maw.
It strained, jaws gaping, desperate to tear into her flesh.
Hiss—
A bite.
But not from the monster.
Mithra sank her own teeth into it.
Her whole body had to fight, and even her mouth proved to be a weapon.
She sank her teeth into the monster's neck first. It thrashed wildly, shrieking in pain. As its limbs loosened, Mithra whipped her head aside, releasing her bite and flinging the creature from the walkway with her jaw alone.
Seizing the pickaxe in both hands, she swung with brutal force. Several monsters were hurled over the edge in one sweep.
At last, she clawed her way free of the writhing heap.
One eye was ruined, her body drenched in blood and gore—but they were only flesh wounds. So long as her arms and legs still answered her, she could go on.
She dragged the corpses together, piling them across the narrow walkway to form a barricade, then staggered forward, squeezing into a side cave at the end.
She hadn't even drawn a full breath when words—stark white entwined with purplish-black—flared across her vision.
[Event – "First Blood Battle"]
[Gift from "Lebionce": Your body's regenerative abilities are greatly enhanced. When replenishing through an enemy's "Blood," no additional nutrients or sensitivity payment are required.]
[Cost: During regeneration, overall sensitivity will be greatly increased.]
[Do you accept?]
The gift glowed white. The cost, purple-black. Every line sharp, inescapable.
"Accept."
The text dissolved.
Agony followed. Every wound screamed at once, fire searing her flesh and nerves. Her blinded eye felt as though the pain were drilling straight into her mind.
"Ahhh!" Mithra's cry tore through the cave.
And then—blackness.
What the hell…? Should've just stayed outside and carved those things up a little longer.
...
Somewhere in the dark, she felt voices. Dozens, maybe hundreds, whispering against her ear—laughter tangled in the murmurs.
Her body shifted, moved by unseen hands.
Her mind clawed its way back.
Consciousness returned.
Mithra opened her eyes again.
Hmm, good. She wasn't dead. Though she had collapsed so suddenly, those strange monsters hadn't managed to catch up.
…Wait. No.
Beside her burned a bonfire, its flames lighting the not-so-large cave, chasing away some of the chill.
Tools were scattered nearby, marked by clear signs of frequent use.
So that's it—it wasn't that the monsters failed to catch her, but that she had been rescued.
"You woke quickly. I'd only just finished settling you in. Do you want to rest a little longer?" A deep, rough voice spoke, tinged with hoarseness.
Mithra turned toward the sound, seeing a man with a sharply cut face. His age showed in his thinning curls of brown hair. A gray robe hung over his frame, and in one hand he turned a string of prayer beads.
"You saved me? Thank you." Mithra rose to her feet as she spoke.
At the same time, she quickly scanned her own condition.
Excellent—her body bore no bruises or wounds, and her blinded eye was entirely intact.
The Cost had been cruel, almost sadistic, but the gift's effect was undeniably potent.
Yet as she thought this, unease stirred. What exactly was this "life lock" that had been exchanged for her eyes?
The price was so steep—had she bartered away something truly vital without even knowing it?
"Oh… Eyes of Night." The man's gaze caught hers, and he exhaled in hushed awe. "You have a remarkable pair of eyes. They say those who possess them are fearless—courageous beyond measure."
"Oh, really?" Mithra lifted a hand to her eyelids.
Wait.
Fearless?
She thought back on her journey: her unnervingly calm composure, unusual for someone her age, someone who had lived an ordinary life in the city.
Yes, she was often called serene—Zen, even—but not to the point of walking past piles of corpses, facing packs of monsters, clashing with them head-on… with her only reaction being the faint widening of her eyes. That was all.
These eyes clearly granted more than just a little extra perception.
Her expression stayed neutral, but inside her heart, a thin sheen of sweat formed.
She also recalled her body had subtly improved. The enhancement wasn't overwhelming, but still—another side effect of these eyes?
If so, then to gain eyes with such extraordinary effects… this "life lock" she had paid couldn't possibly have been something that important. Could it?
Like, what… dignity?
"How did you end up in this mine pit? From what I know, Gross Town has already become a living hell—ordinary folk can't even get close. And though you have those eyes, you're otherwise quite weak." The man pressed on.
"I don't know either. I only came to my senses here."
"Hmm? Where are you from?"
"…Sir, who exactly are you?"
The man chuckled. "Forgive me, I asked too many things at once. My name is Safin, a Believer who investigates ancient ruins. But due to certain complications, I'm now trapped in this mine and unable to leave."
"My name is Mithra," Mithra replied, giving her own introduction.
"A pleasure, Mithra. To return to what I mentioned before—though you may not realize it—your bearing and presence suggest you're someone bound to the 'Enchanted Realm.'"
"What's that?" Mithra asked, eager to learn more about this world.
"It is a realm without gods or great wars—though what its current state is, I cannot say. People there can freely travel between the 'Dream Nexus' and the 'Enchanted Realm.'"
"This is the Dream Nexus?"
"Yes. The Dream Nexus, a place like a fantasy. But here there are both pleasant dreams and nightmares—and now, far more nightmares." Safin's tone was easy, almost casual, reminding Mithra of her high school math teacher.
"I know nothing about any of this." Her inexperience seemed to shine through blatantly in this realm. Dropping all pretense, Mithra spoke plainly.
"I can tell. Your Inspiration hasn't even awakened. Normally, those who journey between realms have at least become Believers, capable of invoking Miracles."
"Miracles? Are they a kind of magic?"
"Magic? Hmm. Some regions do indeed call Miracles by that name. But Miracle is the title passed down from the age of the Forty-Four Pillar Gods, and thus, the more orthodox term."
"Ah, ah." In short, it was magic then, right?
Safin studied Mithra intently, as though weighing something in his mind.
After a long pause, when she was just about to think of another question, Safin spoke: "Since you haven't awakened yet, why don't we strike a bargain?"
Mithra turned her eyes on him.
"I'll teach you Miracles and help you become a Believer. In return, I'll ask you to retrieve something from deep within the tunnels. Of course, there's no urgency. Once you've gained the strength to defend yourself in the shallower passages, you can first go out, explore, get a sense of things—or even return to the 'Enchanted Realm' to rest—before coming back to aid me."
His tone was steady. He laid out the terms without arrogance, without trying to corner her.
"Do I need to swear an oath or anything?"
"No need."
"Aren't you worried I'll just run off?"
"You underestimate how long I've been trapped here. Teaching a novice won't cost me much, and it may even bring a bit of amusement to my boredom. If you lack the ability or the will, then you need never return." Safin's calmness was almost disarming.
"We've only just met…"
"Indeed. I wouldn't trust someone newly awakened, much less one from the Enchanted Realm. But—I trust your eyes." Safin smiled faintly.
It felt like he was underestimating her, and yet, at the same time, as if a strange, invisible trust had quietly been placed upon her shoulders.
The sensation was oddly moving.
"I've no reason to refuse," Mithra finally said.
Safin's smile deepened, and he nodded.
Without further delay, the first lesson began.
Seated by the bonfire, with the crackle of burning wood as their backdrop, Safin spoke slowly.
"Ah, I've never taught a novice before. You don't seem to be in a hurry, so perhaps we can take our time—I'll explain things more thoroughly."
"Please do," Mithra nodded. "Explain in detail."
Pleased with her attitude, Safin continued: "The first thing you must learn is this—Miracles are the power of belief. To phrase it more nobly, they are faith."
"Faith? Do I need to join a religion or something?" Mithra asked.
To be honest, she wasn't particularly inclined to put her trust in anything—especially when, judging from Safin's earlier words, gods in this world seemed to be all too real.
"Haha. As I said, that's just the lofty way of putting it. In truth, simple trust—unyielding conviction—is enough. Besides, the Dream Nexus has no gods worthy of belief, nor any recognized orthodox church."
Mithra gave a small nod of understanding.
"Miracles cannot be born of the faithless. Only when one believes—utterly—that a miracle will appear, can it come into being."
"Sounds very idealistic," Mithra remarked.
"Idealistic? Perhaps. Literally, that is true. The mind's power is vast." Safin smiled, nodding slightly before he went on. "At the beginning, Miracles were born from human desires, from the pursuit of what lay beyond reach. The first sages stole from nature, from wild beasts, from the stars themselves—even from the gods—binding their powers together into the Miracles we now wield."
"They organized these Miracles, studied them, shaped them into a system—a method of channeling this magic."
"And those who hold that method are called Believers."
Safin's explanation concluded. Mithra now understood why those who used Miracles weren't called the more literal "Miracle-workers," but instead the broader, more enigmatic "Believers."
Miracles do not stem directly from the user's own strength—yet faith reflects the very essence of a person.
"That was the gist of the narration. I don't think I misremembered… hmm, wait a moment." Safin broke off, considering for a breath before suddenly reaching into the burlap sack at his side.
Under Mithra's puzzled gaze, he drew out an old book.
The text on the cover at first appeared completely unfamiliar. But as Mithra stared, the letters slowly shifted, reshaping into her own most familiar language.
Another gift of the eyes?
The writing had been alien just seconds ago. By all logic, the language of this world should be different from that of her former life—yet she could already speak fluently with Safin…
So then, what exactly was this "life lock"? What kind of hidden virtue had she exchanged for eyes that worked so seamlessly from the start?
"Cough, cough—yes, here it is." Safin cleared his throat and flipped the book open.
"What is that?"
"Holy Sanctuary Novice Teaching Materials."
"…Just now, you were?"
"I was reciting the summarized prologue from memory." Safin's stiff face bent into a not-very-pleasant smile, without the least embarrassment.
"…You're really impressive."
"The prologue is always tested. The instructors are strict—you could be stopped in the dining hall and made to recite it on the spot."
Mithra was speechless, though an odd sense of familiarity crept over her.
Turning to the epilogue, Safin smiled faintly, then shut the book and held it out to her. "Here. Keep this for now. It's mostly technical material, but it should still be useful."
Mithra accepted it without hesitation.
Safin lifted his hand. "Then let's move straight to practice. The basic sequence for casting a Miracle is: sensing, connecting, imagining, releasing."
As he spoke, a faint golden light glimmered from the bracelet on his wrist. Mithra caught a fleeting pattern, like a shard of sunlight, flashing across its surface. In the next instant, a glowing orb bloomed in his palm, radiating a gentle brilliance.
Mithra: ?
Seeing her baffled look, Safin dimmed the orb. "Too bright?"
"No. I just don't understand," Mithra admitted plainly.
"That's expected. Your Inspiration hasn't awakened yet, so you can't perceive the subtleties of borrowing power. I'm only showing you. This is the simplest 'Illumination' among the Light Miracles, drawing light from nature itself."
Lowering her eyes, Mithra noticed something startling: within the orb shimmered a tiny black dot.
As she stared, the dot swelled, unfurling into words.
["Illumination": Anciently called "Divine Light," a Miracle that summons light. It is the most fundamental Miracle of Light, and the very first Miracle in human history. "Cahira" once performed this first act of light, declaring that humanity could now behold the radiance of Miracles.]
[— "With this proclamation, humanity shall no longer be slaves."]
So even the most basic Miracle carried its own legacy, its own story.
And in the process, Mithra had also gained a new, unfamiliar name.
"You keep mentioning Inspiration. It seems to be the key to performing Miracles," Mithra said once she steadied herself.
"Exactly. The human body is frail—our bloodlines hold no inherent power. But the mind… the mind is priceless, capable of touching even the divine. Inspiration flows from our intellect, and serves as the bridge that allows us to cast Miracles."
Having said this, Safin extended his hand toward her. "Take my hand. Awakening Inspiration is simple—it only requires the stimulus of one Miracle. Focus, and feel it."
Mithra did not hesitate. She placed her hand into Safin's rough, calloused palm.
Once more, the pattern on Safin's bracelet flashed. Mithra noticed it, but chose not to dwell on it, concentrating instead.
Moments later, her vision dimmed.
Not only sight—her hearing, smell, taste, even the sense of touch all seemed to shut down at once.
Everything about her—except thought—had slipped into a void.
She waited. In the pitch-black emptiness, she seemed to sense something.
Mithra "saw" a white silhouette.
Wait—was that… herself?
At the figure's abdomen, a blazing red mass churned violently.
Suddenly, all of Mithra's senses snapped back. She found herself staring in shock at the pale light orb glowing in her own hand.
"I borrowed your perception to cast the Miracle," Safin explained, dispersing the orb as he spoke.
"But since your Inspiration wasn't awakened, it passively triggered all your senses. In that empty state, stimulation forces an awakening, and Inspiration becomes unusually vivid."
"Now—tell me, what did you see?" Safin asked with a trace of anticipation.
"A white version of myself, and something red in its abdomen," Mithra replied without hesitation.
Safin: "..."
Mithra: ?
"What's wrong?" she asked, seeing him still waiting.
"Nothing else?" Safin's expression flickered with disbelief.
"Nothing else."
Her crisp, straightforward answer left Safin momentarily speechless.
At last, he rubbed his forehead. "You're certain you didn't overlook anything?"
"Yes."
Safin fell into thought.
Watching him, Mithra asked, "Is there a problem?"
"Your Inspiration is too limited—only Self and Ki types."
Mithra listened in silence.
Safin went on: "There are many kinds of Inspiration. Just as people's outward appearances differ, yet all lives flow toward the same river. Broadly speaking, they fall into categories: Natural Inspiration, Beast Inspiration, Divine Inspiration, Self Inspiration, Ki Inspiration..."
"Everyone has Self Inspiration; it's the most basic foundation. Ki Inspiration is similar, though it varies from person to person—some shallow, some profound. Your ability to clearly perceive the red Ki is already sufficient. But normally, people also possess Inspiration attuned to other aspects of nature: water, fire, wood, stone, and so on. Later, there are even deeper and more mysterious kinds."
"So does that mean my talent is awful?" Mithra asked, ruffling her hair.
Safin shook his head firmly. "No. The type of Inspiration doesn't determine talent. Think of them instead as passes. Without these Inspirations, you can't directly borrow from the corresponding source to cast a Miracle. You'd have to rely on artificial mediums. What surprises me most is that your case is extremely rare… it suggests you're almost untouched by this world's dust, carrying no deep imprint or experience of it."
"But that's impossible. Anyone born here is long since marked by the world's dust."
Mithra couldn't help but wonder if it had something to do with her transmigration.
"What exactly is a medium?" Unable to figure it out, she pressed further.
Safin, unable to offer a reason, put the question aside for now. At Mithra's query, he raised his hand toward the bracelet on his wrist.
"This is a medium. In the Dream Nexus, there are special minerals, certain biological materials, even meteorites fallen from the sky—items that, once refined, can serve as mediums for specific Inspirations. With such a medium, even someone lacking the natural Inspiration can use it as a bridge to sense and cast Miracles."
"Don't you have Light Inspiration?" Mithra noticed Safin seemed to rely on that bracelet whenever he performed a Miracle.
"No. My Light Inspiration is profound—my specialty. But mediums of that type can accelerate perception and resonance during channeling, which is crucial in critical moments," Safin explained. "The minerals on this bracelet correspond to Water, Fire, Wood, Rock, and Light—five Inspiration types. Aside from the Light mineral, which I personally assembled, the other four are basic, beginner-level mediums that came with it."
He removed the bracelet from his wrist and tossed it gently to Mithra. "This is a standard medium, gifted to every Believer by the Holy Sanctuary. Take a look if you like."
Mithra caught the bracelet, but instead of inspecting it right away, she asked, "So should I mainly focus on Miracles related to Self and Ki?"
"Yes. Novices naturally seek the simpler path. And apart from Ki, basic Self Miracles are mandatory—you can't skip them."
"Such as?" Now that they were finally getting to actual practice, Mithra's curiosity sharpened.
"Vitality and Calmness."
Safin explained: "Vitality uses Inspiration to strengthen the body, rescuing it from weakness and even progressively improving it to a level rivaling wild beasts. Calmness helps eliminate external disturbances, stabilizes the mind, enhances mental endurance, and can even awaken perceptive awareness."
Mithra's attention caught on a keyword.
"Can Calmness reduce pain?!" she asked eagerly.
Safin raised an eyebrow but answered seriously: "No—this is Calmness, not paralysis. But it can indeed boost your endurance to pain, which is also considered an external disturbance."
"Please, you have to teach me this!" Mithra said with absolute sincerity.
"Well… I did say it's a mandatory Miracle," Safin replied.
"No, I mean teach me Calmness, and teach it properly," Mithra insisted, her tone earnest.
Safin looked a little taken aback, silent for a moment before murmuring: "…I'll do my best."