{ 7 DAYS LATER… }
It was March 13th.
In the seven days that followed, Carmen and Mirac had trekked for miles along winding trails through the wild forest.
Their journey had followed a now-established routine: during the day, they marched without rest, stopping only for brief breaks to hunt or gather berries; at night, they alternated in guard shifts, the crackling fire keeping wild animals at bay.
And at night, Mirac took advantage of the moments when he stayed awake to increase the Maximum Capacity of his Mana Core.
To do this, he followed the teachings of Grand Knight Leonard, who had explained to him years ago the three key factors for the Core's growth: its size, the Orbits surrounding it, and the speed of cultivation.
The first factor, however, depended in turn on several elements, the first of which was the size of the so-called "Original Core."
Indeed, every person capable of using Mana—except for rare exceptions—was born with a tiny Mana Core, an organ that existed in a purely energetic state, not physical, located in the heart.
The initial size of the Mana Core varied from individual to individual, but a larger Core from birth represented both a huge advantage and a disadvantage for the future.
It was up to each person to cultivate their Mana Core and make it grow, layering it with the so-called "Magical Layers," energy structures that gradually increased its size and stability.
Each Magical Layer was simply a condensation of refined Mana, an additional layer that was "nourished" by the Orbitals around it and that overlapped the Original Core, strengthening it and making it more capacious.
In fact, the more Layers that were added, the more the entire Magical Apparatus of the Core expanded, promoting the formation of a greater number of the so-called "Orbits."
The Orbitals were invisible energy pathways of Mana particles, similar to rings, that formed and stabilized around each Layer of the Core, amplifying its capacity to store and control magical energy.
However, to create new Magical Layers or Orbits, time and deep internal stability were required, attainable only through meditation.
And in the end, when a Magic Layer completed the absorption of Mana from the Orbitals, it solidified, wrapping around and overlapping the previous Layers—or the Original Core, if it was the first. At that exact moment, the Orbitals that had nourished it dissolved, forcing the practitioner to rebuild new ones, in a continuous cycle of growth and renewal.
Mirac, however, forced to remain vigilant at night to watch their surroundings, had never had the opportunity to engage in a true meditative session.
So, he had always limited himself to a passive assimilation of the Mana present in the environment—a method significantly slower than the normal process of Core development.
The speed of Mana Core cultivation therefore depended on several factors: first, the method by which the Mana was assimilated and circulated; then, the number of Orbitals surrounding it—since, although theoretically a single Orbital per Layer would be enough, a greater number of energy rings accelerated the nourishment and growth of the Layers.
Finally, another crucial role in the cultivation of one's Core was played by the environment itself in which one meditated: indeed, a place saturated with Mana offered a significantly greater advantage compared to a barren one, where magical energy was scarce.
At the moment, Mirac possessed 2 Magical Layers and 19 Orbits.
However, having only 2 Magic Layers at the age of 14 was considered a rather mediocre result, as within the magical community, anyone would have regarded such a level as well below the average for a Mana User of his age.
But Mirac was one of the "rare exceptions," those who had been both advantaged and disadvantaged since birth!
In fact, on the day he first assimilated a particle of Mana to activate his Core, he discovered that it was 7 TIMES LARGER THAN NORMAL!
This was undoubtedly an advantage, as it guaranteed him a potentially above-average Mana storage capacity in the future.
However, it was also a significant disadvantage, because the stratification of the Core would always take more time compared to someone with a smaller Original Core.
If the Mana Core were considered a sphere, the principle became easier to understand: in fact, for the same wrapping speed, the larger the surface area of the sphere, the more time was needed to cover it completely.
Thus, at the same rate of stratification, a larger Core inevitably required more time to be enhanced, since its surface area increased in proportion to the square of the radius (A = 4πr²).
The same principle obviously applied to the Orbitals, which were also heavily dependent on the radius of the Mana Core.
And yet, despite this, in terms of Magical Mana Output, Mirac had managed to surpass the level of his peers.
With the imminent formation of the 20th Orbit, he would be ready to create the 3rd Layer of his Magical Core.
This would guarantee him significant progress: a greater flow of Mana, increased efficiency in its manipulation, and, most importantly, an increase in the Maximum Capacity of the Core for Mana storage.
Meanwhile, as for his Mathematical Powers, Mirac had greatly improved his mental calculation skills, thanks to the daily use of his "Cloning" ability to multiply their supplies—bread, apples, even a small portion of dried meat—which allowed the two of them to continue their journey without worrying about running out of food.
However, during the journey, Mirac had never encountered an event that required the use of that ability…
An ability that, having tested it years before—the day after receiving it from Math—he knew exactly how it worked.
And precisely because he was aware of its exceptional potential, Mirac deemed it wiser to save it for the future, to be used especially in case he found himself facing a real moment of danger…
Beyond that, over the course of that week, a silent understanding had developed between him and Carmen—more made of gestures and glances than words.
However, Mirac's caution towards the woman had never fully dissipated: a survival instinct, deeply rooted in his nature, urged him to never let his guard down completely around her…
In fact, as they made their way along the path, from time to time, Mirac would cast a furtive glance at her from the corner of his eye, a quick and discreet gesture, followed by a glance at his "Immaterial Clock."
At that moment, the hands of that psychic clock embedded in his mind pointed to 12:23 PM.
As usual, the midday sun bathed the landscape in golden light, making the scattered rocks along the path sparkle.
The still, warm air carried only the chirping of crickets and the rustling of the wind through the leaves.
The two walked side by side, their steady footsteps echoing on the dusty trail.
"We're almost at Raerno," Carmen announced, breaking the silence with a firm but calm voice. "We should get there by tonight if we keep up this pace."
"Alright," Mirac replied, offering a bitter smile that barely tugged at the corners of his mouth, an expression that betrayed more resignation than agreement. 'I just hope we don't really have to go through the sewers…'
Meanwhile, Carmen briefly glanced towards Mirac, her cloak rustling against her shoulders like an echo of the wind through the trees.
"Anyway," continued the red-haired woman, "to infiltrate the city, we'll stay close to the West entrance until midnight, so we can take advantage of the late hour to-"
"HEEEELP!!!"
A piercing scream tore through the air, cutting off Carmen's words.
The sound echoed through the trees like a call impossible to ignore, laden with desperation, fading into an eerie echo.
Carmen and Mirac froze, their muscles tensed and their breaths held for a moment.
"What was that?!" Mirac exclaimed, his voice cracking with a mix of surprise and concern, his wide eyes scanning the underbrush for any sign or clue.
"I don't know, but it seemed to come from that direction," Carmen replied, pointing quickly to their right—her other hand already poised to draw the dagger at her side.
Neither Carmen nor Mirac said another word.
The weight of that scream lingered between them, a call they could not afford to ignore.
Without needing to exchange another word, the two sprang in unison towards the source of the scream, their feet sinking into the soft earth, kicking up small clods of dirt.
They veered right, leaving the path, zigzagging through the bushes, pushing aside branches and thorns that impeded their rush.
The rapid beating of their hearts blended with the rustling of leaves and the crackling of branches breaking under their steps.
Then, suddenly, the vegetation thinned out, revealing a small, barren clearing where the bare earth contrasted with the dense forest.
Ahead of them, a few meters away, set into the rock, was a dark opening: a cave that gaped like a silent mouth.
The entrance was partially concealed by climbing plants, but its presence loomed over them, a cold shadow contrasting with the warmth of the day.
"PLEASE, SOMEONE HELP MEEEE!!!"
There was no doubt: the screams were coming from there!
The voice, male and cracked with terror, erupted from the darkness, now accompanied by the frantic sound of footsteps echoing against the rock.
Carmen stopped a few meters from the entrance, while Mirac positioned himself at her side.
And only moments after their arrival, a figure emerged from the thick shadow of the cave.
It was a boy, just over a teenager, with messy brown hair and a face covered in dirt and sweat.
He ran with desperate urgency, his arms flailing awkwardly, and his wide eyes were filled with pure fear.
He wore shining medieval armor, though now dirty with mud: a carved breastplate, wide pauldrons, metal bracers, and a torn black gambeson.
In his hand, he held the hilt of a broken sword, while sturdy brown leather greaves and boots, worn and dusty, completed his equipment.
Thanks to his secret ability "Instant Knowledge of Age," Mirac instantly knew the boy was 18 years old.
But at that moment, his age was certainly not what mattered.
"Hey, you!" shouted the boy, addressing the two figures draped in black cloaks, their silhouettes outlined against the sunlight. "Please, help me! They're behind me!"
As he ran out of the cave, the boy stumbled several times over the scattered stones in front of him, his hands flailing in the air, desperately seeking something to grab onto to avoid falling.
ROAAAAAR!
Suddenly, a guttural rumble erupted from the cave, a deep and primal sound that made the ground vibrate, followed by the heavy thud of slow, relentless footsteps.
From the darkness of the cave, three massive figures emerged, roaring like lions: creatures over two meters tall, with muscular bodies and blood-colored, wrinkled skin.
Strips of raw leather tightened around their wrists and ankles, while ragged, foul-smelling scraps of cloth barely covered their intimate parts.
Their protruding bellies expanded with each breath, taut and massive.
Their faces, however, were just as horrendous: masks of pure brutality!
Mouths wide open, revealing rows of yellowing, chipped teeth, sharp as blades, while their eyes, sunken and filled with savage fury, burned with primal hatred.
"W-WHAT?!" Mirac stammered, his voice fractured by disbelief. "H-How is this possible?!"
His eyes widened, struggling to accept what he was seeing.
"T-Those… Those are ROGTHARS?!" he finally exclaimed, his body tensing up instantly, his breath caught in his throat.
He recognized them immediately, his memory flashing back to the faded illustrations in the books on magical beasts—pages he had flipped through a thousand times under the watchful eye of Professor Warnock.
But seeing them in real life, those creatures were something entirely different from the simple sketches on paper: they emanated a strong, brutal, and monstrous presence!
At the sight of them, in fact, Mirac's heart leapt into his throat, his fingers instinctively closing around the hilt of the dagger hidden beneath his cloak, his gaze fixed on those creatures.
Their massive arms, swollen with veins, ended in thick, clawed hands, their black, jagged nails perfect for crushing bones like twigs. Their wide, misshapen bare feet sank into the ground with every step, making the earth tremble.
One of them—the most muscular of the three—bore two small, sharp black horns protruding from its head, giving it an even more menacing appearance.
Moreover, in its right hand, it gripped a crude wooden club reinforced with rusted metal spikes, holding it with the confidence of someone who knew exactly how to use it to shatter the bones of anyone foolish enough to come close.
The other two Rogthars, on the other hand, advanced bare-handed, but their imposing presence alone was enough to instill fear.
However, it wasn't their monstrous appearance that had frozen Mirac in place, but the realization that—according to every text on magical beasts he had ever read—Rogthars belonged to one of the many demonic races declared extinct over a thousand years ago, wiped out during the Great Extermination!
"Damn it!" Mirac exclaimed, his eyes wide as they darted between the massive figures advancing and the path behind them. "What do we do?"
Carmen didn't move, nor did she show any signs of agitation.
"Let's fight them," she simply said, her voice as sharp as the blade she held.
"What?!" Mirac exclaimed, his voice trembling with surprise. "Why?!"
Carmen didn't flinch.
"Think about it: once we take out those Rogthars, we can dismember them and sell their organs. That way, we'll earn the money we need for our gear," she explained briefly, her tone cold and pragmatic, as she began marching toward the approaching enemies.
Meanwhile, the boy who had emerged fleeing from the cave reached the two figures cloaked in black, gasping for air, his lungs seemingly on the verge of exploding after the desperate run.
He staggered to a stop behind Carmen, his trembling legs giving way under the weight of exhaustion and fear.
"Stay back," Carmen ordered him, her voice steady.
Her eyes were locked on the approaching Rogthars, analyzing their every move.
Then, with a quick motion, she dropped her backpack to the ground, freeing herself from the cumbersome weight that would have slowed her movements in the upcoming fight.
In the meantime, Mirac had stayed behind, momentarily paralyzed, his heart pounding in his chest and his wide eyes locked on Carmen's figure.
'Organs? Sell them?'
The mere thought clenched his stomach in a knot of disgust.
And yet, behind the cruel efficiency of that plan, there was a ruthless logic—a necessity Mirac couldn't ignore.
Moreover, the Rogthars emerging from the cave belonged to the sub-species known as Combat Rogthars, a variety that, despite the high concentration of Mana in their bodies, couldn't use magic.
For that reason, they were significantly weaker—far beneath the legendary demonic race described in the bestiaries.
As a result, probably as Carmen had already guessed, facing those three creatures wouldn't even come close to fighting a true Rogthar.
This thought should have reassured Mirac, but instead, the more he watched them, the more his heart raced uncontrollably.
Why…
Why did he feel so uncertain?!
Was he perhaps… afraid of fighting them?
Was it their monstrous appearance that instilled fear in him, making him unable to react?
Or perhaps… was it because of his old trauma?
After all, this was only the second time he'd found himself in battle—the first had been against Klark—and maybe it was the memory of his own blood on the ground that paralyzed him, that stopped him from charging forward.
'Damn it!'
Unconsciously, Mirac took a step back, and at the same time, his grip on the dagger loosened.
Second by second, the temptation to run grew stronger.
His mind screamed:
'Do I really have to fight against those monsters? Why? For the money? But we could definitely find another solution for that in the future. Right now, our priority should be to get to our destination safe and sound, and not risk our lives along the way. So… wouldn't the most sensible choice be… to just run away?'
But as that thought grew inside him, making him instinctively back away, another one echoed in his mind:
'No, wait…' Mirac froze, stopping his body from turning and fleeing. 'What am I doing?'
He looked down at his hand, the palm rough with calluses.
'After all these years of training, the hours spent sweating, perfecting every sword strike… Am I really going to run away with my tail between my legs?'
Sure, running was undoubtedly the safest choice… but was it really the right one?
'Is this how I want to live from now on? Turning my back on every challenge I face, instead of confronting it head-on?'
No, that wasn't what he wanted…
Not after everything he'd sacrificed to get here!
'Tsk, screw this!' Mirac thought, gripping the dagger tightly once again. 'If I ran away now, what would all those years of sword training have been for? To make my father proud? Maybe, but he's not here now. He's not with me. He never will be. From now on, I'll be alone. And to live the way I want, I'll have to rely only on my own strength. So now, it's no longer about fighting to make someone else proud, nor following a path that doesn't belong to me… It's time to do it for myself! To give value to who I am and what I've built with my own hands!'
Taking a deep breath, he straightened his posture, back upright, eyes lit with a newfound determination.
He took one step forward, then another, until he stood to Carmen's right.
Mirac had made his decision…
He wouldn't run…
He would fight them, plain and simple!
"Alright… Let's do this!" he added boldly, his voice steadier than he expected.
There was no time to lose!
In a fluid, synchronized motion, Carmen and Mirac drew their daggers from their belts.
The blades caught the sunlight, flashing with a cold gleam that cut through the tension-thick air.
Carmen turned to Mirac, a spark of determination in her gaze.
"Ready?" she asked, one eyebrow slightly raised.
Mirac nodded, gripping the dagger tightly.
"Yeah… now I am!"
Without another word, the two assumed fighting stances, ready to face the threat lumbering inexorably toward them.