"Ugh..."
A deep, hollow weakness flooded through Bell's entire body. The consciousness he had fought so hard to regain felt as though it might slip away again at any moment.
No—he must not black out again!
From the corner of his eye, Bell noticed light seeping in beyond the curtains. A long time had passed already. He absolutely could not afford to fall asleep again; otherwise, he wouldn't even know when he might wake.
Forcing strength into his limbs, he kept his eyes open and pushed himself up from the bed.
Standing so abruptly made the entire world sway violently. The drunken, reeling sensation was awful, but he gritted his teeth and endured, refusing to collapse.
"Huff... huff..."
He focused on adjusting his breathing, trying to pull himself out of the hollow emptiness inside.
It felt as if some part of his body had been torn away. Worse than before—far worse.
[When I first accepted the concept of Robust Health, it greatly strengthened my body. That's why separating from it now triggers a reaction this severe...]
Enduring the discomfort, Bell slowly began to adapt to the sensation.
That extraordinary adaptability of his had finally kicked in. And Bell realized something: his ability to adjust to environments and conditions didn't come from any Craft Essence.
It came from himself.
[Heh... humans really do have absurd adaptability.]
Bell exhaled quietly. His body rapidly adapted to the lingering weakness. Unlike the one- and two-star Craft Essences, the physical enhancements from Robust Health couldn't simply be "filled in" again, which made the backlash harsher and the recovery time longer.
Even so, thanks to his adaptability, the feeling of weakness eased considerably. Yet his physical capability had clearly dropped—by a lot. Even with all his preparation, the extent of the decline startled him.
[My physical stats dropped by a full twenty percent. Tch... at this rate, it feels like I would've been better off never having Robust Health at all.]
But the decision had already been made. There was no point dwelling on it.
Choosing to discard it meant accepting the consequences.
Gradually, his breathing became steady, the weakness retreating bit by bit. His sense of complete control over his body began to return.
[So fast.]
Bell was startled. His recovery speed was faster than ever before. Always attentive to time, he realized this wasn't a slight increase—it was several times faster.
[So any external power interferes with me? Even indirectly?]
This realization made Bell truly understand the meaning of "sacrifice" that the old man once spoke of.
Sacrifice and gain—only by letting go can one receive.
Because he had abandoned external power, other parts of himself had grown.
Bell inhaled deeply, extended a hand, and gathered wind into his palm.
The breeze carried no destructive intent—just an ordinary whisper of air. And yet—
He flicked it toward the window.
The small breeze drifted lazily across the glass.
There was no sound, no impact. But Bell watched the windowpane riddled with countless microscopic cuts made by wind particles.
Bracing himself against the bed, he walked to the window and gently touched the surface.
"Ssssh..."
The window, intact only moments before, disintegrated into a layer of fine sand the instant his fingers brushed it, cascading across the sill.
"Weathering..."
Even the hardest stone, after years of exposure to wind, eventually succumbs to erosion—far more merciless than simply being crushed apart.
"Normally, material breaks down when it loses moisture and its structure destabilizes."
"Wind can achieve the same result—stripping moisture away, causing an object's structure to collapse instantly."
"No... more accurately, it's not destruction, but erosion."
It was unbelievable. He was certain that breeze carried no destructive force. Yet the wind had borne the properties of the Seven Deadly Sins he commanded—producing microscopic erosion on the window.
This transformation stunned Bell. And immediately, he thought of the ritual ahead.
"Sacrifice... sacrifice..."
"This really is... ha... far beyond what I expected."
To abandon everything external and liberate the power he possessed. To allow the strength he'd concealed to finally reveal itself.
Bell's dazed expression shifted into clarity.
"So that's why I needed to 'discard' it. Because those things became unnecessary."
"... 'Possessiveness.'"
"Pfft—ha! Hahahahaha!"
Bell covered his face, laughing. He truly hadn't expected this outcome. For him to fully unleash his own power, what he needed wasn't any external strength—it was the strength belonging solely to himself.
His power was proud. It would coexist with nothing. Only when it was wholly his own could its full might be displayed.
"Ahh... you really are domineering. And I, in my inferiority, kept clinging to old ideas that only made me less worthy of using your power."
"Sacrifice, sacrifice... you've really taught me a vivid lesson."
His body had already grown accustomed to the emptiness. It no longer hurt. The void gradually began to refill—but this time, it didn't surge beyond its previous level. It merely returned to its natural state.
This time, Bell felt no disappointment.
Now that he understood external forces were his obstacle, losing that enhancement no longer meant anything.
Discarding them had always been the correct outcome.
And now the only external force left to him was Runes.
Runes would be discarded as well. They had already served their purpose. Once they held no further value, abandoning them was only natural.
Bell lowered his head, smiling faintly.
"The past... really was lacking in foundation."
His start had been terrible—an opening with nothing. Building himself up from such a beginning through traditional means might have been possible, but how long would that take?
Sometimes, it wasn't that he didn't want to choose differently.
It was that he had no choice at all.