Chapter 2

In the heart of this world, it is said that there lies an unfathomable hollow, the "Gloomy Great Hole."

From this abyss, the miasma that rises gives birth to the monsters, the minions of the gods of destruction.

Their bodies, transformed by the miasma, are so tough that they can repel even mediocre attacks.

It is possible to injure them by repeatedly targeting the same spot, but they will recover and return to their original state over time.

Furthermore, the problem is that their activities cannot be stopped unless their vital points, such as the brain or heart, are destroyed.

For ordinary humans, they are far too formidable to handle.

However, the gods of creation have bestowed upon people the means to counter them—skills known as martial techniques and magical techniques.

By mastering these, people have secured their living areas and protected themselves from the threat of monsters.

However, to use these skills effectively, one must pass certain trials.

In their granted state, the skills are at a low level and are not very useful in actual combat.

The skill tree is rooted in the soul of a newborn, and it is considered that an immature body would be a burden.

Therefore, people need to raise the level of the granted skills on their own.

Literally, they must nurture the tree within their hearts.

The method is straightforward: first, defeat a monster.

This will accumulate training points in the soul.

By accumulating a certain number of points and pouring them into the skill tree, the branches that house the skills will grow and become stronger.

The branches closer to the ground are less effective, while those higher up the trunk are more effective.

Moreover, one cannot reach the upper branches without cultivating the lower ones to a certain extent.

Lower branches, or lower-level skills, require fewer points to cultivate, making them easy to develop, but their effects and power are limited.

These are primarily used by apprentices at the G rank and beginners at the F rank.

Mid-level branches, or mid-level skills, require more points but offer stable strength.

Those who start using these are typically promising E-rank adventurers and those considered full-fledged at the D rank.

At the C rank, many adventurers cultivate multiple branches.

Upper branches, or high-level skills, are worthy of the name "fatal," and the number of users is limited.

These are used by A-rank experts and B-rank masters.

And Thor, a thirty-nine-year-old man, was still at the lowest rank, G, having not yet cultivated a single branch.

The reason was clear: it was due to his useless skill.

To face monsters that cannot be easily defeated, one needs skills that boast high killing power.

Alternatively, skills that can support allies who use such skills are also useful.

However, Thor's <Restoration> did not fit either of these categories.

While it is indeed a convenient and rare skill that can repair broken weapons and armor, few people would consider sacrificing a valuable party slot for this alone.

Unfortunately, the skill points obtained from defeating monsters are divided among the party members.

Therefore, the fewer people there are, the more points each person receives.

Weapons and armor can be repaired with money, but points cannot be obtained no matter how much money is spent.

Thor, who had been blending into the crowd, suddenly slowed his pace and slipped into a side alley.

Unlike the main street, the narrow alley did not receive much light from the magic stone lamps.

Thor silently moved forward in the dark, quiet alley.

After distancing himself from the noise of the main street, Thor stopped and placed the package he had been holding on the ground.

The alley was filled with the smell of blood, and at the same time, multiple presences approached from the darkness.

"Meow."

"Meow."

They were cats with glowing eyes.

A tiger-striped one and a black one.

The cats that approached rubbed their bodies against Thor's leather boots in a fawning manner.

Thor, who had skillfully removed the leather glove from his right hand, bent down and gently stroked the tiger-striped cat's back.

Strangely, Thor had never been infested with fleas from these stray cats.

The tiger-striped cat purred happily, lifting its tail.

The black cat also came over, and Thor, this time using his right hand, removed the leather glove from his left hand and offered it.

A large, discolored scar remained on Thor's left wrist.

Thor narrowed his eyes as the rough tongue licked his barely moving fingertips.

After enjoying the sensation of the coarse fur for a while, Thor quietly stood up.

The cats, having finished their greetings, alternately buried their noses in the pile of bones and began gnawing on them, carrying them to a nearby spot.

Thor had noticed the residents of this alley a few months ago.

It started when he was walking past and was suddenly overwhelmed by a strange sensation.

Thinking someone was peering at him from behind, he entered the alley and found himself surrounded by hungry beasts.

Since then, giving leftover bones and organs to the stray cats here became Thor's only pleasure.

The area, which already smelled foul and was littered with garbage, had never drawn complaints from the neighbors.

Satisfied with the lively cats, Thor turned and walked back to the main street.

Actually, there was another presence lurking in the darkness of the alley, in addition to the two cats.

This one never joined the others for a meal when Thor was around.

Even now, only the glowing blue-purple eyes of the beast in the depths of the alley watched Thor.

Thor's small hope was to someday pet this shy third cat.

However, this became difficult when the supply of bones and organs to discard ran out.

Suppressing the urge for a drink after work, Thor quickly passed through the South Main Street, lined with restaurants and taverns.

He also resisted the pleasant feeling of a good sweat and passed by the public bath without a second glance.

His wooden sword was worn out, and his disassembly knife was due for sharpening.

With Thor's earnings, which did not even reach a large copper coin per day, he had to endure all of this.

As he approached the city walls, the number of passersby decreased.

This area, close to the wall, had poor sunlight and was home to cheap lodgings and rented houses for struggling novice adventurers.

Following the wall to the west, Thor finally reached his boarding house when the moat between the inner city and the wall came into view.

It was a modest one-story house, and Thor was the only boarder.

Well, technically, there was one other person, but they were not in a condition to be counted as a tenant.

Thanks to its location slightly away from the adventurer's bureau, the rent was very cheap, and the landlord, Yuri, was gentle and always smiling, making Thor very grateful for this boarding house.

The biggest advantage was that he was never questioned about his roommate.

"Welcome back, Mr. Thor."

Thor bowed slightly and took off his leather gloves and wiped the mud off his boots as Yuri, the landlord, greeted him with a tallow lamp in hand.

Although she was supposed to be sixty this year, she had a strong build and a straight back, making her look much younger.

Her face, with a high nose, suggested she must have been a beauty in her youth.

Her white hair was neatly tied up, and her long, pointed gray ears, characteristic of the northern people, were visible.

"Would you like dinner?"

In response to the old woman's gentle question, Thor nodded and handed over the mole meat he had brought back.

He used this to supplement his rent.

Dinner was a salted stew made with mole meat and round potatoes.

He soaked the hard bread and chewed it thoroughly.

It was a taste he was tired of, but he had no right to complain.

After his stomach was full, Thor bowed in gratitude and returned to his room.

Thor's room contained only a built-in bed and a long wardrobe.

Although he had few changes of clothes, the wardrobe was filled with other items.

He removed his wooden sword and sword belt and hung them on the end of the bed's headboard.

Next, Thor skillfully took off his mole leather jacket with one hand, shook off the dirt, and applied birch oil to keep it from stiffening before hanging it on the wall.

He also took care of his gloves, underclothes, and boots in the same manner.

In his room clothes, Thor flopped onto the bed on his back.

He exhaled deeply.

Today was almost the same as yesterday.

Tomorrow would likely be the same.

A deep, black feeling welled up from the bottom of his heart, and he often had trouble falling asleep.

He had wished countless times to throw everything away and run far away.

But he didn't.

He wouldn't tomorrow either.

He had made a resolve to see it through.

And there was also a sense of stubbornness.

If he had come this far, he would see it through to the end.

Reaffirming this, Thor picked up the adventurer's badge hanging around his neck.

The familiar green border was reflected in his black eyes.

This badge, when touched by its owner, displays the owner's skills and their levels.

In Thor's case, the word <Restoration> was displayed, with nine light points indicating its level.

In the lower right corner, the accumulated skill points were also displayed as light points, each representing a thousand points.

The badge is checked twice a year, and if there is no significant change in the values, the rank may be demoted or the adventurer's qualification revoked.

This is necessary because of the benefits such as the exemption of entry fees.

The number of checks is also capped at fifty.

Thor received this badge at the age of fifteen, so it would expire this summer, twenty-five years later.

Thinking about the remaining time, Thor exhaled deeply again.

He then began to count the light points of the skill points absentmindedly.

"... Seven ... Eight ... Nine ... Ten ... Oh, it's accumulated."

This was the first thing Thor had said out loud today, other than numbers.

Thor, who had been listening to his own words as if they were someone else's, suddenly sprang up from the bed like a spring.

He rushed to the wardrobe, grabbed the handle, took a deep breath, and whispered in a hushed voice.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, old man."

The door, opened with a bang, revealed a young girl standing inside.

Her eyes were wide open, and her mouth was open as if she was about to scream.

But what caught the eye first was her neck.

A horizontal wound gaped open, and the blood that had spilled out dyed it a deep red.

It was as if she were a statue of a girl dying right before his eyes.