Chapter 10: A Heart of Pity
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During the day, I collected ice bricks. Then, I proceeded to build four small walls of ice, closing them off with a thin ice plate.
And now, I had a fridge with zero technology.
I added some snow around the four walls to make it look more unassuming.
I exhaled a small sigh.
My body was cold. It felt like the air itself was trying to pierce my lungs.
By the time I finished my small project, it was already noon.
I took out some rations and began to ponder: 'Am I truly free?'
I was summoned here to fulfill a quest, a duty.
Now that I think about it, would the gods retaliate if I continued to do nothing about the 'Demon King'? Would they even care about someone as insignificant as me?
How could we even fight a 'Demon King'—a being that slaughters human heroes as if they were ants with devastating magical attacks…
…Magic attacks.
There is magic in this world!
Many traits in the library could improve magic sensitivity, regeneration, and even magical properties.
The only problem was that I had no idea how to unlock or use magic.
My body felt different—not in appearance, but in a way I couldn't quite grasp.
I could actively control my trait Regulated Metabolism, but my other two traits felt like they had been part of me since the moment I was reborn.
As I tried to unlock Magic I sat cross-legged on the cold ground, breathing deeply.
How does magic even work?
I tried focusing on my body, searching for something unfamiliar, something otherworldly.
Nothing.
I held my palm out, fingers curled slightly, and imagined fire.
A burning sensation. Heat flowing from deep within. A flame flickering into existence.
I visualized it as vividly as possible—but my hand remained empty.
I tried different emotions, clenching my fists and forcing anger to rise within me, hoping for some reaction.
Still nothing.
Maybe magic required incantations?
I shouted random words:
"Fireball!"
"Earth Shield!"
"Wind Blade!"
The only thing I gained was embarrassment.
I tried focusing on the elements around me—the wind against my skin, the snow beneath my fingertips.
Maybe magic was about attunement?
I pressed my hand into the snow, trying to connect with it, to become one with the cold.
Still… nothing.
Hours passed with no results.
Magic was real—I was sure of it. But how could I to tap into it?
As the sun began to set, I pushed magic aside for now.
I needed food.
I moved toward the river, crouching low, slipping behind a bush.
I needed to find out what creatures lurked here.
After what felt like an eternity of waiting, something emerged from the trees.
My heart began to race.
A hare jumped out, its small frame barely making a sound as it landed in the snow.
It hopped toward the river, glancing around briefly before lowering its head to drink.
It didn't even hesitate.
It didn't suspect a thing.
Silent Frame ensured that my presence was nothing more than a ghost to the world around me.
I was invisible in a way beyond sight.
I moved.
My footstep didn't disturb the snow. My breathing was soundless. The hare remained completely unaware.
I reached for my dagger.
The moment felt slower, like time had stretched, each second passing in sharp, deliberate beats.
I knew that once I did this, there was no undoing it.
This was the first life I would take with my own hands.
I sprang forward.
The hare's ears twitched—too late.
I thrust my dagger into its neck.
I felt it.
The way the blade slid through fur and skin, how it met resistance against muscle, the sudden warmth of blood splattering against my fingers.
The hare let out a small, sharp gasp—a sound that was barely there—before its body jerked violently.
It kicked. Twitched. Tried to flee, but its legs gave out after just a few steps.
It collapsed.
I stood there, watching.
It wasn't dead yet.
The wound wasn't enough.
Its tiny chest rose and fell rapidly, each breath shaky, shallow.
Its front paws scratched weakly at the snow.
It wanted to run.
It wanted to live.
A strange tightness formed in my chest.
I had expected a clean kill. A single strike. But this?
It was pathetic.
It wasn't struggling against me.
It was struggling against death itself.
I couldn't look away.
For a moment, I saw myself in the hare's place.
I saw myself dying in my past life—confused, weak, helpless. Clinging to something that had already been taken away.
The hare had done nothing wrong.
It had just been alive.
Just like me.
I clenched my jaw.
This is what it means to take a life. There is no glory. Only struggling liveforms.
I tightened my grip on the dagger and stepped forward.
The hare's eyes flickered toward me.
I drove the blade deep into its throat, severing everything that connected it to this world.
It went still.
Steam rose from the open wound, its warmth meeting the frozen air.
The tension in my chest slowly unraveled.
After the kill, I quickly cleaned my dagger in the river and dried it with my cloak.
To drain the blood from the corpse, I tied its two feet together and hung it upside down, cutting its head off.
I tied its severed head to my waist and carried the upside-down hare in my left hand.
By the time I reached my future home, all the blood had already seeped out of the body.
I threw it into my makeshift fridge, sealing the smell with snow.
Then, I regulated my metabolism down as I climbed a tall pine tree nearby.
My eyes grew heavier…