Allen pulled a long face. His "Pseudo-Immortality" skill only lasted 6 minutes, but the cooldown was a staggering 800 days. Assuming a Mushoku Tensei year was about 300 days, that was over 2.5 years.
If his healing magic rank increased later, he could potentially regenerate lost limbs, but the corresponding mana consumption would skyrocket, shortening the duration even further.
A Tryndamere ult with a 2-year cooldown?
Allen strongly suspected the System was screwing with him.
The [6] from last night was hard evidence.
[How could that be?]
[The Healing Magic Crest is intended for post-combat recovery. As for continuous combat activation, that is reserved for do-or-die scenarios. Given the relative peace of the Mushoku Tensei world, where would you find enough death matches to grind daily?]
[Furthermore, Host, consider this: if this Crest could be used freely, once you acquired Emperor or God-tier Healing Crests, wouldn't you effectively have the immortality of the Demon race? Combine that with a leveled-up Dragon Saint Touki for defense... don't call yourself Allen anymore. Call yourself 'Cockroach'. Why even play? Just skip to the credits. No one would pose a threat to you.]
Allen spat on the ground, seemingly trying to cover up the System text that had suddenly popped up to lecture him.
"Emperor-tier and above magic requires massive mana and lengthy chants, making them impractical for combat. No one uses them. I read the main story, and I never saw anyone use God-tier Healing magic. Who am I supposed to shake hands with to get that crest?"
"If you have time to jump out and explain crests, why not tell me how to increase my Dragon Saint Touki reserves? You know the current state of the core—it can only squeeze out a few drops to dilute into my native Touki to improve quality."
[...Con... tact... Orst...]
The text suddenly flickered. Just as it was about to solidify, it scattered into the air like smoke.
Allen raised an eyebrow, surprised.
"System?"
No more text appeared.
Allen stood there for a moment, frowning and muttering to himself.
"Ever since I met Roxy, the System has been weirdly hyperactive, popping out to interact with me... It never did that before. And now it disappears just as mysteriously."
"If it really is based on my phone... it feels like it just lost signal."
"But Sword Rank updates and Score updates are always instant. I haven't seen this 'no signal' issue before."
"Strange."
"World rejection? Cheat code limitations? Bad signal? Or did I run out of RAM?"
"...Insufficient data. Can't judge. But the answer to my question was already given. 'Contact Orsted'... The Dragon Saint Touki originates from the Dragon God Style, so it implies I need to learn from Orsted."
"Too early to find the Dragon Boss. Need to farm more. If the old man gets happy and decides to rip my heart out, being too weak to even kowtow properly would be pathetic."
"As for the Healing Crest... The limit for 'Pseudo-Immortality' is 6 minutes and 36 seconds, with an 800-day recharge. Based on PvP experience in this world, life and death are decided in a few moves."
"So, allocating it as '1 minute every 120 days' or '30 seconds of True Man mode every 60 days' is reasonable. Of course, that's for all-out, near-death fights."
"For normal combat, using it intermittently during breathers or taunts to recover is efficient enough in terms of mana and healing."
"Plus, I can feign weakness to bait the enemy, creating an information gap to ambush them with North God or Water God styles."
"Overall, it's a solid upgrade-type cheat. Seems I wasn't destined to be an overpowered protagonist."
Allen stopped muttering.
He paused. Silence.
The System smoke did not appear.
He raised an eyebrow and probed again.
"System?"
The System did not answer.
Allen narrowed his eyes, then looked up at the sky.
"..."
"Well then. Next step: meet Paul and convince him to take me in. To participate in the major events, integrating into Paul's family—like Roxy did—is the best choice."
"Find a way to get Rudeus's goodwill. That shouldn't be hard. The Detoxification Crest isn't as practical as Healing, but hey, you can never have too many skills."
Cling! He sheathed his sword.
And continued on the road.
Sunset. Buena Village.
The evening glow dyed the white walls of the Knight's residence—the Greyrat manor—a deep red.
Just like Lilia's face.
Her red hair was tied back efficiently, with two locks framing her cheeks, looking very smooth.
Her black-and-white maid uniform was tailored perfectly. She stood behind the second-floor window, her gaze behind her glasses fixed quietly on the courtyard below.
Following her line of sight, three figures—two adults and one child—stood in the spacious country yard under the setting sun.
A beautiful blonde woman and a handsome, muscular man were scolding a child who had his head bowed in silence.
It would have been a harmonious family picture.
If one ignored the fact that the Master, using his body as a shield from his son, was currently letting his hand roam freely over the Mistress's white skirt...
Master and Mistress have such a good relationship... every night, full of energy and passion... I can hear everything clearly.
Thinking this, Lilia subconsciously touched her own backside, her eyelids lowering.
In the courtyard.
"Rudeus, we agreed last night to spar this afternoon so I could check your self-study progress. Why did you run off and only come back now?"
Rudeus kept his head down, eyes awkwardly focused on the grass, scratching his cheek with a crooked mouth.
"Well... I was scouting the terrain and investigating plants. I got a bit carried away... haha... cough."
Paul narrowed his eyes at Rudeus, his grip tightening slightly. Beside him, Zenith, who was supposed to be the mediator, had a vein throbbing on her forehead. But since Rudeus was watching, she kept a smile plastered on her face, though the blush on her cheeks burned brighter and brighter.
She had completely forgotten the peacemaking words she had prepared.
Paul spoke in a muffled voice.
"Rudeus. The truth."
Hearing this, Rudeus snapped to attention, clamped the plant encyclopedia under his arm, bowed, and answered seriously.
"Although I was indeed scouting and investigating plants, the thought 'If I'm late, I won't have to spar with Father' did cross my mind. I apologize!"
Paul nodded with a grin, then turned to wink at Zenith.
"Then wifey should go make dinner. Rudeus and I have a man's promise to fulfill. Cough! Cough cough!!"
Zenith patted down the wrinkled back of her white house dress, gave Paul a fake smile, and drove her elbow backward into his ribs.
Then she crouched down, speaking gently to Rudeus, who was staring at her skirt with "pure, childlike eyes."
"It's okay if you don't want to spar with Father next time, but you must say so in advance. We were worried sick when you didn't come back all afternoon."
"What! Rudeus practices swordplay willingly!"
"Honey, you don't understand the situation at all!"
Rudeus looked at his parents, whose four hands were intertwined and wriggling around—ostensibly arguing, actually flirting—and made a speechless face.
Hey... you two dry-wood-meets-fire old married couple... think of the children...
A moment later, the flirting ended. Once Zenith was out of earshot, Paul tore his eyes away from his wife's rear and leaned down to Rudeus's ear.
"Hey, hey. Tell the truth. Did you go out to flip girls' skirts?"
Don't project your own habits onto me, Lord Paul!
Rudeus screamed internally, while outwardly grinning like an innocent child. But suddenly, he sensed something.
It was the feeling of a venomous snake crawling over his skin.
What is this sensation? A gaze. Someone is watching me. And it's that look I hated most in my past life—scrutiny.
Instinct drove him to ignore Paul's teasing. He turned his head toward the courtyard gate not far away.
A male middle-schooler with terrifying eyebrows and a sturdy build was watching him.
No, not terrifying. He just had a pair of sharp, inverted-V brows that looked overly aggressive. His hair was messy and swept back, giving him a sharp, dangerous aura.
But Rudeus generally couldn't handle people with this kind of vibe.
It subconsciously reminded him of the bullies who had tormented him.
The "bully" was rubbing his chin, looking at him with great interest.
Their gazes locked.
The bully raised an eyebrow, as if seeing something amusing, and a playful smile curled at the corner of his lips.