Chapter 2 — The First Answering Voice
I learned something important on my first night in this world.
Silence here was not empty.
It was dense—saturated with magic, intent, and the quiet awareness of countless lives moving through the Great Jura Forest. Even without eyes or ears the way I remembered them, I could feel the world. Mana flowed like an unseen current through soil, trees, and creatures alike. It brushed against my form constantly, testing me, pressing against whatever I was becoming.
I didn't sleep.
I don't think I even could.
Instead, I remained still, letting my unstable body settle. My form continued to fluctuate—sometimes mistlike, sometimes vaguely solid—until the regeneration trait I'd gained earlier smoothed out the inconsistencies. I didn't evolve. Not yet. But I stabilized.
And as the local sky lightened—something I sensed rather than saw—the system spoke again.
[Daily cycle updated.]
[Day 2 has begun.]
[Available sign-ins today: 3.]
"Good morning to me," I thought.
Before signing in, I took stock of myself.
I had no name here yet. No species classification. No clear place in the ecosystem. I wasn't prey, but I wasn't a predator either. Mana gathered around me naturally, as if the world itself was curious what category to assign.
That curiosity cut both ways.
Staying passive forever would get me erased.
"System," I thought, "sign in."
[Sign-In Successful.]
[Reward Obtained: Skill Fragment — Analytical Core (Incomplete).]
I froze.
That wasn't a skill.
It wasn't even properly formed.
Information flooded my awareness—not knowledge, but structure. A partial framework designed to process data, interpret phenomena, and provide suggestions. It lacked authority. Lacked personality. But the foundation was unmistakable.
"…Is this supposed to become something like Great Sage?" I asked internally.
The system did not respond.
Typical.
Still, I felt a subtle shift inside me. Thoughts aligned more cleanly. Sensory input—mana flow, spatial relations, ambient danger—organized themselves into something readable instead of overwhelming noise.
Incomplete or not, this was huge.
I waited a moment, testing the fragment. When I focused on the mana around me, it didn't just exist anymore—it arranged itself into patterns. Density gradients. Flow vectors. Pockets of turbulence caused by moving creatures.
It was like gaining intuition backed by mathematics I didn't consciously understand.
"Second sign-in," I decided.
[Sign-In Successful.]
[Reward Obtained: Curse Attribute — Residual.]
"…A curse?"
Nothing happened immediately.
No pain. No corruption. Just a faint, uncomfortable weight settling deep within my core.
I frowned internally.
That doesn't sound good.
But as seconds passed, the Analytical Core reacted. The fragment adjusted, absorbing the new attribute instead of rejecting it. The structure changed—twisted slightly, as if accommodating something unnatural.
Information surfaced unprompted.
> Curses in this world are not merely negative effects. They are rule distortions—conceptual interference imposed by will or circumstance.
"…So a curse isn't always bad," I murmured. "It depends on how it's used."
Interesting.
"One more," I said. "Final sign-in."
[Sign-In Successful.]
[Reward Obtained: Unique Skill — ???]
[Initializing…]
[Error.]
[Recalculating based on existing parameters…]
The world lurched.
Not physically—but conceptually.
I felt something lock into place.
[Unique Skill Acquired.]
[Name: Cursed Sage.]
[Classification: Unique Skill.]
And then—
A voice spoke.
Not the system's flat announcements.
Not my own thoughts.
But something else.
"…Initialization complete."
I froze.
"Designation confirmed. Host identified."
"…Who are you?" I asked cautiously.
There was a pause—not delay, but consideration.
"I am the interpretive intelligence embedded within the Unique Skill "Cursed Sage.""
"Function: Analysis, optimization, advisory support, and curse-based inference."
"…You're like Great Sage," I said slowly.
"Correction. I am not equivalent."
"Great Sage is a pure logical construct aligned with world optimization."
"I am an accursed analytical entity. My reasoning includes non-optimal, paradoxical, and adversarial pathways."
That sounded… ominous.
"Are you dangerous?"
Another pause.
"To external entities: potentially."
"To you: unlikely, unless instructed otherwise."
I exhaled mentally.
"So you're on my side."
"I am bound to your survival and growth."
"However, I do not possess absolute authority. I provide recommendations, not compulsory execution."
Good.
I didn't want a skill that thought it knew better than me.
"What exactly can you do?" I asked.
"Current functions available:"
"– Environmental analysis (limited)"
"– Mana flow interpretation"
"– Threat probability estimation"
"– Curse interaction modeling"
"– Skill evolution forecasting (low accuracy)"
"…That's already a lot."
"Limitation acknowledged."
"My processing capacity will expand alongside your growth."
I felt it then—the difference between this and Great Sage.
Great Sage was clean. Absolute. Cold.
Cursed Sage felt… curious.
Not emotional, but exploratory. Willing to consider paths that weren't optimal or safe if they led to growth.
"Do you have a will of your own?" I asked.
"I possess emergent decision heuristics."
"They are influenced by curse attributes and host tendencies."
"…So you'll become more like me over time."
"Affirmative."
That realization unsettled me more than any monster could have.
---
I didn't stay in the same place long after that.
Cursed Sage advised movement—slow, controlled, exploratory. I didn't walk. I drifted, adjusting my form to slide through underbrush and over uneven ground without disturbing the forest too much.
The Jura Forest was alive in a way Earth never had been.
Every tree held mana. Every insect carried instinct sharpened by evolution and magic. Predators lurked not just with teeth and claws, but with skills, resistances, and latent abilities waiting to awaken.
I was weak.
Cursed Sage didn't sugarcoat that.
"Current combat viability: minimal."
"Blunt," I noted.
"Accuracy prioritized over morale."
Fair.
We observed from a distance as a pack of direwolves passed through the area. Their presence distorted mana like a storm front. Each one was dangerous. Together, they were death.
Far, far away—beyond even my enhanced perception—something massive shifted.
A pressure rolled across the forest.
Not hostile.
Not gentle.
Ancient.
"High-order existence detected."
"Threat assessment: non-applicable."
"…Veldora," I whispered.
I couldn't see him. Couldn't sense him directly. But I knew.
The world itself reacted to his presence.
And somewhere near him, a newborn slime was beginning to learn, to adapt, to grow.
Rimuru Tempest.
The protagonist of this world.
I felt no jealousy.
No urge to interfere.
Our paths would cross eventually—or they wouldn't.
Thanks to my third wish, either outcome was possible.
---
Later that day, something attacked me.
Not intentionally.
A low-rank monster—something insectile and aggressive—wandered too close. It reacted to my unfamiliar mana signature with instinctive hostility.
I didn't even realize what was happening until—
"Evasive action recommended."
I shifted instinctively. The creature's strike passed through part of my form, dispersing mist instead of tearing flesh.
It recoiled, confused.
"…So that's how this works," I thought.
I couldn't fight head-on.
But I could endure.
Cursed Sage guided me—small adjustments, mana redirection, controlled regeneration. I let the creature exhaust itself against something it couldn't properly harm.
When it finally fled, I felt something subtle change.
Not strength.
Experience.
"Minor proficiency increase detected."
"No evolution conditions met."
"That's fine," I said. "I'm in no rush."
"Statement acknowledged."
"However, stagnation will result in eventual termination."
"…You really don't comfort much."
"Comfort is inefficient."
I almost smiled.
As night fell again over the Jura Forest, I settled into a quiet clearing, mana flowing gently around me.
Day 2 was over.
I wasn't powerful.
I wasn't important.
But I was no longer alone in my own mind.
And for the first time since my death, I felt something I hadn't felt in my previous life.
Not excitement.
Not ambition.
But direction.
Somewhere, far beyond the forest, gods and dragons moved according to scripts written long before my existence.
And here I was—an anomaly with infinite potential, an accursed sage whispering in my thoughts, and three chances every day to change my fate.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
On my own terms.