UmbralWhite (TheFrozenMoogle)
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Chapter 46
🕑 Added 2025-03-20 21:41:26 +0000 UTCAs I emerged from my trance, I caught Ranah’s gaze fixed on me, her expression laced with curiosity. She clearly had questions, but I was far too drained to entertain them. My head throbbed like I had been reading through an entire library of cursed tomes in a single sitting. Rubbing my left temple, I instinctively channeled my Gloss to verify a few things.
You have fully awoken your Dimension and Nature mana types.
You have unlocked a new mana type: Star.
Please send the required information to the Walker’s Association. Would you like to send the information digitally now?
I barely had the energy to process the words, but I mentally confirmed the request with a simple probe for "yes." My head felt like it was splitting apart, yet something else gnawed at my awareness. Standing up, I steeled myself. Moving forward was interesting. With every step I took, I wasn’t just walking—I was feeling. The world wasn’t distant, external, or separate from me anymore. Every minuscule movement resonated within my consciousness.
I felt the shifting air as Ranah followed behind me. I felt the dust particles displaced with each shake of my foot. I felt the delicate tremors of unseen forces moving through the room, the unseen symphony of the microscopic and celestial alike. It was too much. My mind was an overclocked engine running on fumes.
Still, I forced myself forward, glancing toward the three Domini in question. I opened my mouth to speak—then promptly shut it. Not worth it. Instead, I turned my attention to something manageable, something mundane.
Pulling up the room service menu, I scanned for something simple. My eyes landed on a basic meal: Strawberry Salad, Two Sausages, and a Bagel. A nostalgic combination—my uncle swore by strawberry salad every morning. He was also a staunch believer that Almiraj were strict vegetarians, which, for the record, was entirely false. But reminiscing about my uncle’s dietary debates was easier than dealing with the chaos in my head.
Distraction secured, I collapsed onto the couch, exhaling deeply. My body language must have spoken volumes because even Morres, usually unreadable, looked mildly concerned. The silence in the room stretched, thick with unspoken questions. It was Temptation, in his childish form, who finally broke it.
“Okay. Spill. What did you awaken?” His voice carried the lightness of youth, yet it bore the weight of untold battles, echoing the contradiction of something ancient forced into a form far too young. “Most people’s first shells don’t cause this much upheaval.”
I pressed my fingers against my temple, as if that would somehow massage the migraine away. Even forming words felt like wading through molasses.
“Uhh…” I struggled, choosing the least headache-inducing explanation. “Something about an aura and… a celestial forest?”
“Welp. That’d do it,” Ranah said, her head bobbing in an emphatic nod. “No wonder your presence suddenly feels heavier. You gained an aura. That puts you, what, the fifteen-hundredth person in Pandora’s Box to manifest one from their first three shells?”
Morres, shockingly alert for once, actually shook his head. “That number includes those who gained it from their second or third shells. If you only count the first manifestation, he’s number forty-seven.” He then turned his attention to me, his gaze sharpening.
“Alexander, could you explain what your aura does?”
I exhaled sharply and shook my head. “No idea yet. A bunch of words flashed by, and my Gloss can’t get a proper read. Not to mention, I can’t exactly dive into my soul right now to poke around and figure it out myself.”
“Heh.” Temptation smirked, folding his arms. “Then there’s an easy way to figure it out—stress-test it until you run out of mana, miasma, and force. But that’d be a great way to make you hate the three of us.”
I gave him a flat look. Noted. Avoid stress-testing my aura at all costs.
Ranah, already poised with a pen, cut in. “Have you noticed any immediate changes?”
I nodded, though the motion only made my head throb harder. “Yeah. I can feel everything within my field of influence. Every motion. Every trace of movement. It’s like I’m hyper-aware of the tiniest shifts in my surroundings.” I exhaled, pressing a palm against my forehead. “And it’s exhausting. I’ve read that people constantly shed bacteria, but did you know how many particles of dust people generate? How many bacterial colonies ride on each fleck of dust?” I exhaled again, rubbing my eyes. “Neither did I. Until about thirty seconds ago.”
Ranah blinked. Temptation stifled a chuckle. Even Morres looked vaguely amused.
“Well,” Temptation finally said, grinning, “congratulations, Alex. You’re now cursed with hyper-awareness of every speck of filth around you.”
I groaned, sinking further into the couch. Fantastic.
“That’s not all it does. I’m sure of that,” Morres said, his voice carrying an air of certainty.
Ranah nodded energetically, her eyes sharp with analysis. “Agreed. If that was the extent of your aura’s effect, it wouldn’t explain why your presence feels so much heavier now. It’s like… you’re pulling at something. Not gravity, but there’s definitely a force being generated around you.”
I let out a frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. The sensory overload was relentless—each particle of dust, every infinitesimal shift in the air, the sheer existence of everything in my radius pressing against my awareness like an ocean on all sides. “I’m going to assume it’s not a convenient supply of migraine medication?” I muttered. “Because I could really use some right now.”
“Wouldn’t recommend it,” Temptation interjected, shaking his head. His youthful form didn’t match the sheer weight of experience behind his words. “You’re going to have to acclimate to this naturally. It’s part of the process. Lucky for you, you’ve got a shell now, and what—still sitting on an obscene stockpile of miasma?” He glanced at me with something between amusement and curiosity. “Seriously, kid, you’ve got more excess miasma than most people in your stage. You could probably push straight to Tier 8 without fighting another Other or monster.”
Morres scoffed at that, folding his arms. “Bad idea. If he rushes ahead like that, he won’t properly acclimate to his newfound abilities. His body and mind need time to adjust, or he’ll be constantly struggling against himself. A better approach would be directing some of that excess miasma toward improving his mental acumen—it should help with the cognitive strain he’s dealing with.”
“No, that’s a half-measure at best,” Temptation argued, shaking his head. “The issue isn’t just his brain keeping up—it’s his perception itself. Right now, his aura is hyper-sensitive, pulling in everything at once and overwhelming him. He needs to refine it, not brute-force his way through. If he hones his perception, he can filter what he actually needs to sense instead of drowning in useless noise. Plus, it’ll give him better range for things like archery.”
Ranah let out an exasperated sigh, stepping between them. “You two are missing the bigger picture.” She turned toward me with a knowing smirk. “Morres, you’re a Magus, through and through—your solution is always going to be tied to magic first. Temptation, you’re classified as a Warlord—your instinct is to optimize his combat potential with weaponry. Me?” She jabbed a thumb toward herself. “I’m a Machinist—at least, that’s the closest equivalent in this world. And Alexander?” She fixed me with a pointed look. “He’s trying to master all three disciplines—the bow, the Machina, and the spell. His shell was influenced by his Machina’s presence when it formed, so there’s no simple, singular fix here.
“So instead of debating, how about we just ask him? Let Alexander decide which path he wants to prioritize first.”
All three of them looked at me expectantly.
Great. No pressure or anything.
My decision was, fortunately, delayed by the arrival of breakfast. Sitting at the dining table for the first real time since coming here was… surprisingly pleasant. The aroma of warm food, the simple comfort of eating something that wasn’t scavenged or hastily consumed in the middle of a crisis—it was a welcome reprieve.
The Domini, however, didn’t partake in the meal. Instead, they launched into a discussion, dissecting the various ways I could allocate my miasma through my shell.
“The inner self is split into three paths,” Temptation began, his tone carrying a measured certainty. “Which is fitting, considering your goal of mastering a threefold approach. These paths determine how you interact with your abilities and the world itself.” He tapped a finger against the table. “First, there’s the Path of Mana. This governs your magical influence on reality. The more miasma you invest here, the stronger your spells, the deeper your well of magical power. Morres, for instance, allocates fifty-five percent of his miasma into this category.”
Morres gave a faint nod, his usual drowsiness not dulling his sharp gaze. “Next is the Path of the Body—physical prowess, reflexes, endurance. The higher your allocation, the further you can jump, the faster you can move, the quicker you can think. Anything tied to your biological function is improved here.” He cast an unimpressed glance at Temptation. “He, unsurprisingly, has poured sixty percent of his total miasma into his body, which is why he can switch forms so easily. He simply can.”
Temptation smirked, unbothered.
Ranah took over smoothly. “That leaves the Path of the Spirit. This one is crucial. Spirit governs your Providence’s strength, your Machina’s abilities, and, most importantly, directly amplifies your Arte. No one sane allocates less than thirty-three percent here. Those who rely on Machina tend to invest even more.”
Her words carried weight. I knew the Machina was integral to my combat style, but hearing it framed in such absolute terms only reinforced its significance.
“That brings us to the real problem,” Temptation said, leaning forward, his playful facade giving way to the cold weight of experience. “We can’t make this choice for you. Each path has strengths and trade-offs, and if you stretch yourself too thin, you’ll weaken across the board. But you will have to sacrifice something. So tell us—if you had to focus on two primary combat styles, which would they be?”
His gaze bore into me. For all his youthful appearance, the sheer depth behind his eyes spoke of countless battles fought, endless victories and defeats, an understanding of warriors of every build imaginable.
I exhaled slowly. “If you’d asked me before that nightmare in the fly pit, I would’ve said I’d drop my Machina without hesitation.” I flexed my fingers, thinking back to how I’d been forced to adapt without it—how much I relied on it. “But now? That’s twice I’ve been thrown into a book without my bow, and even though I technically have one on me at all times now, I still had to fight without it. So if I have to choose…” I met their gazes evenly. “I’ll keep my Machina. And my magic.”
All three of them nodded, as if my answer had been expected. Without another word, Ranah handed me a piece of paper.
“Here’s the allocation we’d recommend for you, then.” Her tone was neutral, offering no hint of preference—just facts.
The paper was simple, almost disappointingly so. It lacked the finer details of how each path branched into sub-specialties, but the numbers were clear:
Mana: 35%
Body: 30%
Spirit: 35%
I frowned. “So… why this split? How is this better than any other balance?” The only distribution I was even vaguely familiar with was the standard Marr build, which evenly allocated thirty-three percent into all three paths.
“Because this keeps you adaptable while reinforcing your identity as a trispect warrior,” Temptation explained. “Your foundation remains even, but your Spirit and Mana receive an extra boost to keep up with the demands of both your Arte and your Machina. Your mana would also give you greater access to stronger mystical cubes. You’ll be able to handle a variety of combat situations without overloading any one aspect of yourself.”
Morres yawned, already drifting back into his sleep-laden stupor. “You’re also way too overloaded on passive effects. We think that’s a big part of why you feel so… heavy, aside from your aura. It’s not just perception—your presence is dense because you’ve accumulated too many ability interactions without properly integrating them.”
Ranah nodded. “We recommend picking up more Machina-based skillcubes, along with a mix of spellcasting cubes and some attack-focused ones for your bow. Right now, you have a ton of passive and auxiliary effects, but you need more direct combat enhancements.”
I studied the paper again. A clear recommendation, but ultimately, it was still my choice.
I set it down and looked up at them.
“…Alright. Let’s do this.”
“Learn to walk before you try to fly,” Morres chided, shaking his head. “You’re in no condition to start condensing miasma into your three cores. We suggested it as a medicine, yes, but let’s be realistic—until you get used to the current mental strain, it’s best if you don’t attempt anything reckless. Partly because you can’t.”
His words carried no malice, just blunt honesty.
“You require meditation and focus just to enter your inner self,” he continued. “And even more to access your shell’s world—assuming you even gave it one.” He shot me a knowing glance. “As someone who’s been inside your inner world, I know you did.”
Yowch. I winced. He wasn’t trying to insult me, but still—am I really that predictable?
“Yes,” Morres said immediately, without missing a beat.
I sighed. Of course, he knew exactly what I was thinking. Before I could even recover, he tilted his head slightly, scrutinizing me.
“Your passive defenses against mental intrusions have improved dramatically,” he noted. “But why are you using the Chimera Fly legion as the imagery for it? Did they not disgust you?”
I blinked. That’s what they were called?
“Oh, so that’s their actual name? Chimera Flies?” I asked, wanting to confirm.
“Yes,” Morres said simply. “They were biological weapons. That Pendell did, in fact, die in a military siege—but not from the weapons of the enemy.”
My breath caught. My expression must have shifted instantly because all three of them exchanged brief looks before glancing at me with something resembling quiet sympathy.
I swallowed. “So the flies were…”
“A weapon of Pendell’s own making,” Ranah finished for me. “A weapon you destroyed.”
Comments
RedLeaf
Thanks for the chapter! What a nasty way to go, suicide by your own weapon(s).
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